Dr. Death

CHAPTER 38

Two WEEKS BEFORE Christmas, I called FBI headquarters at the Federal Building and, not expecting any success, asked to speak with Special Agent Mary Donovan.

I was transferred to her immediately.

"Hello, Doctor. What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if you've had any success with Dr. Fusco."

"Success," she said. "As measured by?"

"Finding him. Helping him."

"You're serious."

"About what?"

"Helping him. As if we're a clinic or something."

"Well," I said, "there's always the issue of collegiality. And respect for what he once was. No sign of him, at all?"

Long silence.

She said, "Look, I took your call because I thought you might've changed your mind, but this is a waste of time."

"Changed my mind in what way?"

"Being willing to cooperate. Helping us find him."

"Helping you?" I said. "As if I'm a clinic or something."

Another silence.

"I guess my question's been answered," I said.

"Have a nice day, Doctor."

Click.

I sat there holding the phone. Thinking about Alice Zoghbie's claim of being audited by the IRS because she'd rubbed important noses the wrong way. Probably a lie, covering for a call from Roy Haiselden.

But you never knew.