Funny how you can read a hundred newspaper articles and still have nothing but secondhand slop. I would have to examine the video tapes for answers to two important questions. Was Ledbetter really guilty? What were the consequences of my dodging the subpoena?

     The next morning, I pulled the VCR from the garbage bag, plugged it into my portable TV and plugged both to shore power. The VCR had fast forwarding, which proved a blessing. When I heard a defense objection and saw a "side-bar" coming up, I pressed a button, speeding up the two attorneys’ march to the bench. The exits and returns of the jury looked like Keystone Cop comedies. When something important was said, I took notes and jotted down the tape-counter numbers for future reference. The defense attorney was Jason "Tassel-Toe" Diamond, Esquire.

     It took seven days to watch the whole trial. I fell into a routine of watching all day and calling Rebecca’s apartment at night. All I got was her answering machine.

     Dressed in a business suit, Dr. Jane Goddard Cooper stepped into the box as the first witness. She told how her husband died in her arms; how she learned from the doctors that the purple tongue and skin symptoms were unusual for a heart attack; and how she began to suspect foul play, and asked for an autopsy. She called up Mrs. Warren, Dr. Cooper’s secretary, who "had gotten Charles his food, as usual." She, Mrs. Warren and a detective retrieved the hamburger sack early the next morning, turning it over to the M.E.’s Office.

     Mrs. Warren explained how she went to the departmental administrator for a $10 bill and picked up a hamburger, French fries and a malted milk at the fast-food place, "as usual." Five minutes before the faculty meeting, she left the sack on the desk in her office, which was also the anteroom and entrance to Dr. Cooper’s office. She remembered seeing Dr. Ledbetter reading the bulletin board in the hall as she left her office to drop off the change and receipt with the administrator.

     She returned to find Dr. Ledbetter in her office. She told Dr. Ledbetter that he could go into Dr. Cooper’s office, and she remembered his sarcastic response, "No, I would not impose myself on His Excellency. I’ll just wait until the other peons arrive." When Dr. Taylor came, Dr. Ledbetter said there was a "critical mass" for the meeting.

     Mrs. Warren opened Dr. Cooper’s door and followed the two professors in, giving the hamburger bag to Dr. Cooper who was behind his desk, talking on the phone. She had no indication that the bag had been tampered with. It had the same "feel" as when she put it on her desk. And the bag had not been out of her sight except for the one minute she left it on her desk with Dr. Ledbetter in the room. She remembered that Dr. Ledbetter had worn a lab coat — unusual for him.

     Dr. Gordon Taylor was brought in to corroborate the secretary’s description of his movements relative to Ledbetter. He was a hostile witness, volunteering his serious reservations about "this hamburger theory."

     The next witness for the prosecution was a crime technician who examined the wadded-up sack, the cardboard burger box, the French-fry box and milk-shake cup. When the botulinum tests came back negative, he boxed and stored it at liquid-nitrogen temperature under Dr. Westley’s orders. In February, when Dr. Westley ordered a closer physical examination, he found a small puncture in a remnant of a pickle and a mayonnaise-like substance in and around it. A minuscule hole in the side of the sack corresponded to the position of the pickle in the hamburger in the sack when all the food items were "packed correctly." They later brought in the manager of the hamburger joint to testify how they trained their counter clerks to pack the sacks.

     It was an interesting first day of viewing. Bright and early the next morning, I watched the thin detective who had questioned me. He described Dr. Westley’s suspicion that Dr. Ledbetter had "put certain microencapsulated protein toxins into Dr. Cooper’s food." With proper attention to due process, they put Dr. Ledbetter’s laboratory under surveillance and brought Dr. Ledbetter in for questioning. The surveillance team followed Dr. Ledbetter to his apartment where he was seen "pacing back and forth most of the night." At 12:30 in the morning, he got into his car and drove to the Medical School. Next, the detective brought in a video monitor and played the now-famous arrest scene for the courtroom. They played it three times.

     The next witness was a Ph.D. who worked in the Division of Cardiology of the Department of Medicine. It was his dogs that were poisoned. Unluckily for Ledbetter, he had saved some frozen samples of the hearts and could turn them over to Westley. The friendly security guard was right. The scientist did have about $20,000 of work in those animals.

     The next witness was the Chief of Security at the med school, thug Joe Klouski’s boss. Reluctantly, he described the "computerized access control system" and verified the taped log which showed that Ledbetter had entered the dog rooms. In cross-examination, the defense obtained his willing admission that someone else might have used Ledbetter’s access card.

     The next witness was Westley. He described the autopsy of Cooper, his suspicions that it was not a normal food poisoning or heart attack, and how he had "taken the extraordinary step of freezing all of the blood and organs of the deceased, indeed the whole body." He explained about chemicals, drugs, toxins and how you assay for them. He said it had to be a poisoning by protein toxins and attributed the long delay in interrogating Dr. Ledbetter to the complexity of the case.

     Dr. Westley admitted that, when it came to his attention that Dr. Ledbetter had invented a means of oral delivery of proteins into the bloodstream, he had focussed his attention on which proteins were available to Dr. Ledbetter. This led to the interrogation of Dr. Ledbetter.

     "And that led to Dr. Ledbetter’s actions which were so ably recorded by the gentlemen of the constabulary." This concluded the general portion of Westley’s testimony. He was cross-examined.

     Tassel-Toe got up slowly, glared at Westley and asked, "And in pursuing your theory of murder, you confined your investigation to one professor: Ledbetter. Is that correct?"

     Dr. Westley said, "No. We looked for some snake toxins and other agents which were used by other faculty members."

     Tassel-Toe looked surprised.

     "When did Dr. Ledbetter become a suspect in your mind?"

     Dr. Westley said, "I learned from an ex-employee who was a graduate student in the Pharmacology Department that Dr. Ledbetter had told a group of medical students that he could deliver proteins to the blood by an oral route. This supplied the missing piece of the puzzle."

     "Wasn’t it true that this ex-employee was one Mr. Benjamin Candidi and that you invited him to your home several times for the sole purpose of pumping him for information to prove that one of the faculty poisoned Dr. Cooper?"

     "I should like to answer that. Might we repeat the question substituting the word ‘partial’ for ‘sole’ and substituting ‘one or the other’ for ‘one?’"

     "I don’t understand."

     "Well, I shouldn’t really expect that you would. Please let me state that it is true that this ex-employee was one Mr. Benjamin Candidi, whom I invited several times with the partial purpose of pumping him for information which I could use to prove whether one or another of the faculty poisoned Dr. Cooper."

     Westley’s flawless delivery produced titters in the courtroom.

     "And to the extent that the poor lad was an unwitting servant of my curiosity, I would like to publicly apologize to him . . . here and now."

     "So then you constructed an elaborate theory of murder based on these findings?"

     Westley remained silent.

     "Will you please answer my question?"

     "My dear boy, if you would have me answer it as a question, you should phrase it as a question. As it stands now, it is but an impertinence."

     Laughter reverberated through the courtroom.

     "Is it not true that if it had not been for your ex-employee Mr. Candidi, you wouldn’t have had any information on which to base your theory?"

     "That is not true."

     "Could you please explain?"

     "In addition to reviewing every publication of each professor, we also reviewed their public utterances. Dr. Ledbetter’s boasting about his oral delivery system for proteins was dutifully recorded by a medical student in their ‘Sophomore Note Service.’" Dr. Westley pulled out paper and asked, "May I read into the record a report by sophomore medical student Ronald Harris?"

     There was a lengthy side-bar, then adjournment to chambers. When they returned, the judge stated, "Let the record reflect that State’s Exhibit number nineteen has been entered into evidence, and that the subpoena of Mr. Benjamin Candidi be negated. Dr. Westley will please return to the stand."

     Dr. Westley returned to the stand, picked up the exhibit, and read:

     "LEDBETTER SPITS LEAD. November three, the Class of nineteen ninety-five witnessed a great moment in medical history as Professor John Ledbetter announced to the world that he had invented a means of delivering insulin and other proteins to the bloodstream by an oral dosage form which is so ingenious that it can be understood only by him! But don’t worry, classmates, this foaming-at-the-mouth material will not upset your stomach and will not be on the exam. Study your aspirin and ibuprofen. Six exam questions from last year are attached."

     The next new face to appear on my screen was that of Mr. Ronald Harris, M.D. (to be), who testified to the veracity of his contribution to the Sophomore Note Service. He was the guy who insulted me in front of Rebecca after our Thanksgiving vacation. I wondered if the Dean would haul his ass down to his office and give him hell for getting the med school in trouble. In any case, Mr. Harris seemed quite contrite and it was nice of him to take over as scapegoat.

     So I was off the hook! My dodging the subpoena had not influenced the outcome of the trial. I called it a day and phoned Rebecca’s apartment. Her answering machine gave a message that it was overloaded.

     The next morning I called the Florida Marine Patrol. Luckily, Officer Mike Carter was deskbound that day.

     "Oh, yes! Mr. Candidi. I’m glad you’ve called. I need to know if you are going to file a complaint on that B and E. Also, we need to serve you with a subpoena in another matter."

     "The subpoena is no longer current. They don’t need me anymore. Never really did."

     "Well, they should have told us earlier. We’ve been looking for you and your boat all the way down to Key West."

     "Did you try Ten Thousand Islands?"

     "South of Sanibel Island?"

     "Yes. If it was good enough for Gasparilla, it’s good enough for me."

     "Right place for that pirate. Mosquitoes thick as black clouds there. Bet you were eaten alive."

     "I had a quart of Avon lotion. Mosquitoes didn’t bite but the fish did."

     We talked for a while about saltwater fishing. Then Officer Carter suddenly reverted to a businesslike manner.

     "Mr. Candidi, regarding the assault-and-battery charge, we put the case on hold because we weren’t able to get you. Those photos you sent tell a helluva story."

     "I’m sorry I left you holding the bag, but we’d scheduled the vacation. Did you get the facts?"

     "We checked the serial numbers of the guns. They belong to Joseph Klouski and Alberto Alonso. Both gentlemen work in private security and are deputized by the City of Opa Locka."

     Yes, private security for the Bryan Medical School, I thought. "That checks with my sources. I’d appreciate your mailing me this information. Do you know if they reported their guns as missing?"

     "We have not actively checked that, sir."

     "And you probably have no way of knowing if they have reported the incident to any other law authority."

     "That’s affirmative, sir."

     "Well, for right now I would like to keep the matter in abeyance. I need some further information."

     "Just from me to you, the thing could get a little messy if you pursue it."

     "It’s already been messy for me. I’ve been parting my hair differently ever since."

     This was slightly exaggerated, because my hair grew back with Mediterranean vigor. But my scalp would forever carry a scar as a reminder of the experience. We ended the conversation on a cordial note, and I went back to the tapes.

     Dr. Westley resumed the stand. Next to him stood a tripod holding some oversized figures taken from Ledbetter’s European Patent Application. Sitting comfortably in the witness box, with pointer in hand, Dr. Westley showed how the microcapsules in the captured vial were identical to what was described in the patent — except that the payload was poison, not insulin.

     He explained how the three deadly peptide/protein toxins were nested in core of the microcapsule, coated with a layer of starch, then coated with a lecithin membrane containing selectin molecules to give the particle a toehold, and were then enterically coated with a layer of a polymer to protect everything from stomach acid.

     Then he explained how the microcapsules were mixed with water to make a mayonnaise-like paste, how the paste was injected into the hamburger through a syringe, how the microcapsules got through the stomach unharmed and stripped off their protective coat in the gut, exposing their selectin toes, which made the particles stick to the Peyer’s Patch, grabbing onto the selectin receptor toeholds and entering the intestinal lymphocyte manholes leading to the bloodstream.

     Dr. Westley next described a molecular time bomb ticking inside Cooper. As water penetrated to the starch layer, the amylase enzyme started breaking it down, releasing sugars, building up pressure on the lecithin membranes until they popped, spilling the three toxins into the bloodstream. Yes, Dr. Johnson was right. Those lecithin membranes are damn thin.

     Ledbetter had included a small amount of cobra venom phospholipase enzyme to chop up the lecithin molecules and break the membrane, just in case the starch swelling didn’t do the trick. Dr. Westley commented that the enzyme serves a similar purpose in cobra venom, spreading the poison.

     Dr. Westley described how the released KN-25 mathriotoxin from Kanazawa Nippon blocked Cooper’s acetylcholine receptors, making it hard for him to breathe; how the O-35 from Oregon Biological made every mast cell in his body dump histamine, triggering a massive shock reaction equal to hundreds of bee stings; and how the E 7532 thrombin from Eta Chemical Company activated Cooper’s clotting factors, making his blood turn to jelly. Dr. Westley showed that any of the three agents, alone, would have been sufficient to kill Cooper.

     Then Dr. Westley presented assays which proved that all three toxins were in Cooper’s blood, Cooper’s gut, Cooper’s hamburger remnant, in the captured vial and in the dog hearts. The prosecution brought in a string of expert witnesses from research institutes all over the country. They showed the jury enough oversized charts to paper the whole courtroom. The final compilation was thicker than a Ph.D. dissertation.

     Interestingly, the dog experiment provided the most damning evidence: the cryptic record of injecting the hamburger, feeding it to the poor animal and Ledbetter’s jubilation at finding it dead the next morning. Like the animal rights people, many folks feel more pity for an abused animal than for an abused human being. The prosecutor brought in a professor of German to translate the passage about the "advancement of science" and to explain the meaning of Vergeltung. This gave the experiment a damning Nazi touch.

     Dr. Westley was brought back to summarize the scientific evidence.

     "The unfortunate Dr. Cooper received a very strong combination of a snake bite and bee sting. It is the most ingenious murder device brought into being by the imagination or hate of a human being."

     In cross examination, the defense went to great length to debunk Dr. Westley’s description of how the microparticles got into the bloodstream. To this, Westley had one simple answer: "What I have told you is described most eloquently in Dr. Ledbetter’s patent . . . for the delivery of insulin."

     Then the defense quarreled about how Dr. Westley assayed for the three toxins, objecting to the immunoassays. But Dr. Westley replied that the same technique is used in hospital laboratories to analyze digitalis.

     The defense resorted to sophistic counter-arguments. At one point Tassel-Toe pounded away at Westley, finally concluding, "I find your testimony incomprehensible."

     Dr. Westley replied, "My dear boy, you must realize that people have to go to school eight years past high school to only partially understand these things. I shouldn’t be too disappointed if you do not succeed in understanding this, particularly since you seem to have given over most of your attention to . . . how shall we say . . . ‘fast and dirty’ arguments against the very things you must learn!"

     High English is an excellent vehicle for a reprimand, and the courtroom responded to Westley’s seamless delivery with hearty laughter.

     The defense called a long line up of chief cardiologists from famous universities. The prosecuting attorney was very well prepared by Westley, and he made fools out of most of them. One of the cardiologists criticized Westley’s immunoassay, but didn’t know it was the same kind of technique used to assay the heart drug, digitalis. Some of this went over the jury’s heads. From their standpoint, the trial probably was a high-tech Mexican standoff.

     Another day’s viewing, and Rebecca’s answering machine was still overloaded. The next morning I called the med school to confirm that her Board Exams would be given Monday, only a few days away. Rebecca would have to return by then. I went back to analyzing the trial.

     Ledbetter made a big mistake when he took the stand in his own defense. Sure, he was his brilliant self, debunking Westley’s assays and offering alternative explanations for everything presented. But everyone saw that it was self-serving — except him. Under cross-examination, he got caught up in his own explanations and lost all credibility. At one point he threw a tirade at the prosecutor, telling him that he didn’t know a damn thing. His argument wasn’t that much different from Westley’s "my dear boy" pronouncement, except that Westley was calm and Ledbetter was livid.

     I viewed Ledbetter’s testimony several times, coming each time to the same conclusion: Ledbetter convicted himself. He made it easy to imagine him writing hate letters to Cooper, thinking up his dream poison and putting it into Cooper’s food. It was easy to imagine the medical sophomores laughing at his "foaming at the mouth lecture." As Dr. Westley had said to me, "He is a real Toscanini; He went into tirades on the podium." And his tirade in the witness box was one tirade too many.

     I completed my analysis of the video tapes at 1:00 Saturday afternoon. It was a week well spent. I was certain that Ledbetter was guilty, that justice had been served and that my non-availability for the trial could not be grounds for an appeal. I could return to the Pharmacology Department holding my head high — although it might get bloodied, running a gauntlet of pharmacology profs.

     I walked to the bait shop and made two phone calls. Half an hour later a cab pulled up. I gestured to the dock cart containing my VCR and 15 shelf-feet of video cassettes. "Load it in the trunk and take me to ninety-three twenty-seven Bird Road."

     It was a thoughtful and silent ride. In the doorway of his shop, Zeekie greeted me with a smile which turned to a frown when he saw the cab driver unloading the trunk.

     "Hey, Ben, I already cashed the check. A deal’s a deal."

     "Of course, Joe. But now I want to make you a new deal." Reluctantly, Zeekie picked up an armload of VCR tapes. "You know how wordy these lawyers are. I need only a few tapes for the stuff I really want to keep. Here’s a list of the tapes and counter numbers for the video footage that I want. You get the stuff onto four or five tapes, and I’ll give you all the rest."

     Zeekie shook his head as he studied the list.

     "I don’t know Ben. It’s a lot of work cueing these things up, and — "

     "And there’s $700 worth of tape that I’ll give you in trade. You could use it to build up your video collection. Think of all those porno movies you’ve been picking up on your satellite dish. It takes an electronic genius like you to unscramble them, but it’s all lost if you don’t get it on tape."

     Zeekie smiled at the mention of this opportunity. Then he frowned. "But why’d you bring back Ferina?" he asked, motioning to the VCR.

     "No, she’s not part of the deal. I’m only loaning her so you can cue up on the right tape-counter numbers."

     This seemed to relieve him.

     "She works real nice, doesn’t she? Okay, Ben. We’ve got ourselves a deal. But don’t you think we could make a documentary on it?"

     "You’re welcome to do anything you want with the original. But I don’t think the courthouse camera work was good enough for any entertainment value. It’s interesting to me as a permanent record of exactly what they said. And it’s all very complicated."

     "So you aren’t writing a book?"

     "No, I’m just keeping it as a souvenir."

     "Pretty expensive souvenir."

     "The best ones are."

     "Okay, Ben. Check back with me in a week. I’ll have to rig up a programmable counter so that I can get this shit copied off without having to stand over it all day. I’ve got a repair shop to run, too."

     "I know you’ll take it in stride, Joe. You’re a genius with electronics."

     "You’re right, I am. Give you a ride?"

     "No, thanks. I have some business in the neighborhood." That was a fib, but I needed a long walk to clear my mind.

     My slow progress along the mean, dusty, commercial strips fronting Bird Road was anything but pleasant. After three eastward miles, the coral stone entrance arches of Coral Gables finally came into sight. Passing between these markers was like coming into a harbor, out of a storm. Coral Gables was so green and peaceful. I walked through the section where Rebecca and I had our bicycle date just before her return to New York, walked past the Café Place St. Michel where we talked about the Yanomamo/Amazon and the biological imperative, walked past the Federal Express office where I’d dispatched my inquiry to the German patent service, and walked along the Woodlawn Cemetery where we discovered the first signs of our mutual love. As the sun set, I trudged through Little Havana, revisiting all the stops of our first date. My feet took me north to Rebecca’s apartment building across from the Bryan Medical School. Her answering machine was still overloaded and her windows were still dark.

     My feet took me to the hamburger restaurant, the one that sold Mrs. Warren Dr. Cooper’s hamburger, the one that gave me the stomach ache when I was deciphering Ledbetter’s files that frantic night in the library. Amid a crowd of Saturday night hospital visitors, I ate a silent meal. On the way out, I bumped into Sheng-Ping coming in to chow up for an all-nighter in the lab.

     "Oh, Ben! Grad to see you. I worry that you not come back."

     "No, I’ll be back Monday, Sheng-Ping. Just took off some time to study."

     "Oh, Ben, you in big trouble. Dr. Taylor say you like in Army when soldier leave when not suppose to. He say you AWOL. And school police come and ask questions. I think when Dr. Taylor see you he be very, very mad."

     "That may be, but I have some reasons to be mad myself. Thanks for warning me, Sheng-Ping, and don’t worry. I’ll see you Monday."

     I took a taxi to Matheson Hammock. The next morning, a Sunday, Rebecca’s answering machine was still jammed. But she had to arrive by that evening, because the Board Exams were Monday. I whiled away the day with swimming and daydreams. As the sun went down, I put on my back pack and rode my bicycle north to Rebecca’s apartment. She still wasn’t home. I locked the bike, sat down on the grass in front of the entranceway, and waited, my brain burning with Dostoevskian fever. Eight o’clock. Nine o’clock . . . Twelve midnight. A few minutes shy of 1:00, a yellow taxi pulled up, and Rebecca stepped out, looking as lovely as ever. I ran up to her as she pulled a second heavy bag from the back seat.

     "Rebecca!"

     "Ben!" she cried with joy.

     I put out my arms to embrace her, but she held me off with a flattened palm to my chest.

     "We have some things to take care of first, Ben," she said with a slight frown, her voice quietly resolute.

     The meter showed $12. I pulled out two $10 bills and tossed them onto the front seat next to the driver. "Any more baggage?"

     "No."

     I waved the driver away.

      "Ben, we have to talk."

      We stood facing each other, our faces half in darkness, half illuminated by the light of the entranceway. She now looked so worried, small and shaky, yet purposeful. She would insist on the truth. A frog stuck in my throat, and I shook all over.

     "Ben, it was wonderful, all the telegrams you sent. I’m so glad you did. They kept me believing in you. But, Ben, you ran from the law and left me to cover up for you!"

     "Rebecca, I’m sorry," I pleaded. "There was no other way. They wanted to drag me into that murder trial. I couldn’t testify. I just couldn’t. Security officers from the med school broke into my boat looking for things to discredit me. They planted false evidence on my boat. When I caught them in the act, they beat me up. They tried to escape in my dinghy, and I almost drowned them. I had to hang up on you. I couldn’t drag you into it. You have to trust me. I think that everything is all right now. I’ll know for sure in a day or two."

     I must have blurted this out in a feverish pitch, because Rebecca’s expression slowly changed from cool resolution to concern. She reached out and put her hand on my cheek as if to gauge my temperature. She softened, but it would have been a mistake to lean forward and kiss her.

     "Oh, Ben. They acted like you were a criminal. A fugitive. All I had were your last words and then that lovely telegram. The next afternoon, I went to your anchorage and the Diogenes was gone. I had to go to New York for father. It was so horrible, so lonely."

     "I’m sorry, Rebecca. I had to sail the Diogenes away and hide for a long time."

     "Ben, be honest with me. Was it a coincidence that you came to Pharmacology right after Dr. Cooper died?"

     "No, Rebecca. But that’s what I’d like to think it was."

     "Ben! You are not being forthcoming. Dr. Westley is the chief coroner and your ex-boss. He had you over to dinner almost every week. I know there was a reason for those dinners. If we are going to get back together, our relationship must be based on truthfulness. Absolute truth, Ben. Even if it hurts."

     I chose my words carefully. "Rebecca, it has proven true that Dr. Westley invited me over to pump me for information on the Pharmacology Department. He admitted that at the trial. He also publicly apologized to me for it. He said I was ‘the unwitting servant of his curiosity.’"

     "And what do you have to say to me?"

     "Anything I say will complicate things further — for me, for you, and for us. If I have to give you the truth from the bottom of my heart, we have to be married. With the legal ramifications, there’s no other way."

     "Ben, you’re starting to talk like a lawyer. Don’t you know I’ve given up on lawyers?" She said this with a frown, which turned to a smile, which turned to a laugh, which quickly dissolved into a passionate moan as our lips met.

     Our embrace may have lasted for five minutes. It may have lasted an hour. I do know it was ended by a polite honk of a car trying to squeeze by us. I carried the bags up to Rebecca’s apartment where, once again, our lips met, our weary bodies drew strength from each other and we were reunited in communion of flesh and spirit. An hour or two before dawn, we fell into an equally delicious sleep.

     At 8:30 I kissed Rebecca goodbye and wished her well on her Board Examinations. Over a second cup of coffee, I mentally rehearsed my return to the Department of Pharmacology.