Fatal Cure

15

It had been a turbulent night at the Wilson house. Just after two o'clock in the morning Nikki had begun screaming again and had to be awakened from yet another terrifying nightmare. The episode had upset everyone and had kept them all up for over an hour. David and Angela regretted having allowed Nikki to watch crime-scene technicians work, guessing they had contributed to her terror.

At least the day dawned bright and clear. After five days of continuous rain the sky was pale blue and cloudless. In place of the rain was a big chill. The temperature had plunged into the upper teens, leaving the ground blanketed with an exceptionally heavy hoarfrost.

There was little conversation as the Wilsons dressed and breakfasted. Everyone avoided making reference to the luminal test although Angela refused to sit at the kitchen table. She ate her cereal standing at the sink.

Before Angela and Nikki left, David asked Angela about lunch. Angela told him she'd meet him in the lobby at twelve-thirty.

On the way to school, Angela tried to encourage Nikki to give Mr. Han more than one day's chance. "It's difficult for a teacher to take over someone else's class. Especially someone special like Marjorie."

"Why couldn't Daddy save her?" Nikki asked.

"He tried," Angela said. "But it just wasn't to be. Doctors can only do so much."

Pulling up to the front of the school, Nikki jumped out and was about to dash up the walk when Angela called her back.

"You forgot the letter," Angela said. She handed Nikki a letter Angela had written explaining Nikki's health problems and needs. "Remember, if Mr. Hart has any questions he should give either me or Dr. Pilsner a call."

Angela was relieved to find that Wadley wasn't around when she arrived at the lab. Quickly she immersed herself in her work, but no sooner had she started when one of the secretaries let her know that the chief medical examiner was on the phone.

"I have some interesting news," Walt said. "The material that we teased from beneath Dr. Hodges' fingernails was indeed skin."

"Congratulations," Angela said.

"I've already run a DNA screen," Walt said. "It is not Hodges' skin. I'd bet a thousand dollars it belongs to his assailant. It could prove to be critical evidence if a suspect is charged."

"Have you ever found evidence like this before?" Angela asked.

"Yes, I have," Walt said. "It's not rare in mortal struggles to find remnants of the attacker's skin under the victim's nails. But I have to admit that this case represents the longest interval from the time of the crime to the discovery of the body. If we can make an I.D. with a suspect it might be worth writing it up for one of the journals."

Angela thanked him for keeping her informed.

"I almost forgot," Walt added. "I found some black carbon particles embedded in the skin samples. It looks strange. It's as if the killer had scraped up against a hearth or a wood stove during the struggle. Anyway, I thought it was curious and that it might help the crime-scene investigators."

"I'm afraid it might only confuse them," Angela said. She explained about the luminol test the night before. "The blood spatter wasn't anywhere near a fireplace or the stove. Maybe the killer picked up the carbon earlier, someplace else?"

"I doubt it," Walt said. "There was no inflammation, just a few red blood cells. The carbon had to be picked up contemporaneous to the struggle."

"Maybe Hodges had carbon under his nails," Angela suggested.

"That's a good thought," Walt said. "The only trouble is the carbon is evenly distributed in the skin samples."

"It's a mystery," Angela said. "Especially since it doesn't jibe with what the crime-scene people found."

"It's the same with any mystery," Walt said. "To solve it you have to have all the facts. We're obviously missing some crucial piece of information."

After having been denied the opportunity to ride his bike for an entire week, David thoroughly enjoyed the trip from his home to the hospital. Taking a little extra time, he followed a route that was slightly longer than usual but much more scenic.

The exhilaration of the cold, crisp air and the views of the frost-filled meadows cleared David's mind. For a few minutes he was relieved of his anguish over his recent medical failures. Entering the hospital he felt better than he had for several days. The first patient he visited was Mary Ann Schiller.

Unfortunately Mary Ann was not bright and cheerful. David had to wake her up, and while he was examining her, she fell back asleep. Beginning to feel a little concerned, David woke her up again. He asked her how it felt when he tapped over her antral sinuses. With a sleep-slurred voice she said she thought there was less discomfort, but she wasn't sure.

David then listened to her chest with his stethoscope, and while he was concentrating on her breath sounds, she fell asleep again. David allowed her to fall back onto the pillows. He looked at her peaceful face; it was in sharp contrast to his state of mind. Her drowsiness was alarming him.

David went to the nurses' station to go over Mary Ann's chart. At first he felt a little better, seeing that the low-grade fever she had developed the day before had remained unchanged. But his apprehension grew when he read the nurses' notes and learned that GI symptoms had appeared during the night. She'd suffered from nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea.

David couldn't account for these symptoms. He wasn't sure how to proceed. Since her sinusitis seemed to be slightly better, he did not alter her antibiotics even though there was a slight chance the antibiotics were causing the GI problems. But what about the drowsiness? As a precaution, he canceled her PRN sleep order as he'd done with John Tarlow.

Going on to Jonathan Eakins' room, David's relatively buoyant spirits returned. Jonathan was in an expansive mood. He was feeling chipper and reported that his cardiac monitor had been beeping as regularly as a metronome without the slightest suggestion of irregularity.

Taking out his stethoscope, David listened to Jonathan's chest. He was pleased to hear that Jonathan's lungs were perfectly clear. David wasn't surprised with Jonathan's rapidly improved status. He had spent several hours going over the case with the cardiologist the previous afternoon. The cardiologist had been certain there would be no problems with the heart.

The rest of David's hospital patients were all doing as well as Jonathan. He was able to move from one to the other swiftly, even discharging a few. With his rounds finished, David headed to his office, happy to be early. After the experiences of the last few days, he'd made a vow to make every effort not to get behind again.

As the morning progressed, David remained acutely aware of the amount of time he spent with each patient. Knowing that his productivity was being monitored, he tried to keep each visit short. Although he didn't feel good about it, he was afraid he didn't have much choice. Kelley's implied threat of firing him had left him shaken. With their debt, the family could not afford for him to be out of work.

Having gotten an early start, David was able to keep ahead all morning. When two second-floor nurses called and asked to be seen as semi-emergencies, David was able to take them the moment they came in the door.

Both had flu-like symptoms identical to the two previous nurses. David treated them the same way: recommending bed rest and symptomatic therapy for their GI complaints.

With ample time to attend to other matters, David even had an opportunity to slip over to Dr. Pilsner's office. He told the pediatrician that he'd been seeing some flu already, and he asked him about Nikki's flu shot.

"She's already had it," Dr. Pilsner said. "I haven't seen any flu in my practice yet, but I don't wait to see it before I give the shots, especially to my cystic fibrosis patients."

David also asked Dr. Pilsner about his opinion regarding the use of prophylactic antibiotics for Nikki. Dr. Pilsner said he was not in favor of it. He thought it best to wait until Nikki's condition suggested she needed them.

David finished his morning patients before noon and even had time to dictate some letters before meeting Angela in the hospital lobby.

"With the weather as nice as it is, what do you say we go into town and have lunch at the diner?" David suggested. He thought some fresh air would be good for both of them.

"I was about to suggest the same thing," Angela said. "But let's get take-out. I want to stop by the police station and find out how they intend to proceed with the Hodges investigation."

"I don't think that's a good idea," David said.

"Why not?" Angela questioned.

"I'm not entirely sure," David admitted. "Intuition, I guess. And it's not like the town police have inspired much confidence. To tell you the truth, I didn't get the impression they were all that interested in investigating the case."

"That's why I want to go," Angela said. "I want to be sure they know that we're interested. Come on, humor me."

"If you insist," David said with reluctance.

They got tuna sandwiches to go and ate them on the steps of the gazebo. Although it had been well below freezing that morning, the bright sun had warmed the air to a balmy seventy degrees.

After finishing their meal they walked over to the police station. It was a plain, two-story brick structure standing on the town green directly across from the library.

The officer at the front desk was gracious. After a quick call he directed David and Angela down a creaky wooden corridor to Wayne Robertson's office. Robertson invited them in and hastily took newspapers and Dunkin' Donuts bags off two metal chairs. When David and Angela were seated, he leaned his expansive backside against his matching metal desk. He crossed his arms and smiled. Despite the lack of direct sunlight in the room, he was wearing his reflective aviator-style sunglasses.

"I'm glad you folks stopped in," he said once David and Angela were seated. He had a slight accent that had a vague similarity to a southern drawl. "I'm sorry we had to intrude the other night. I'd like to apologize for upsetting your evening."

"We appreciated your coming," David said.

"What can I do for you folks?" Robertson asked.

"We're here to offer our cooperation," Angela said.

"Well now, we appreciate that," Robertson said. He smiled widely, revealing square teeth. "We depend on the community. Without its support, we couldn't do our job."

"We want to see the Hodges murder case solved," Angela said. "We want to see the killer behind bars."

"Well, you're certainly not alone," Robertson said with his smile plastered on his face. "We want to see it solved as well."

"Living in a house where there's been a murder is very distressing," Angela said. "Particularly if the murderer is still on the streets. I'm sure you understand."

"Absolutely," Robertson said.

"So we'd like to know what we can do to help," Angela said.

"Well, let's see," Robertson said, showing signs of unease. He stammered, "Actually, there's not a whole bunch anybody can do."

"What exactly are the police doing?" Angela asked.

The smile faded from Robertson's face. "We're working on it," Robertson said vaguely.

"Which means what?" Angela persisted.

David started to stand up, concerned about the direction and tone of the conversation, but Angela wouldn't budge.

"Well, the usual," Robertson said.

"What's the usual?" Angela asked.

Robertson was clearly uncomfortable. "Well, to be truthful we're not doing much right now. But back when Hodges disappeared, we were working day and night."

"I'm a little surprised that there hasn't been a resurgence of interest now that there is a corpse," Angela said testily. "And the medical examiner has unquestionably ruled the case a homicide. We've got a killer walking around this town, and I want something done."

"Well, we certainly don't want to disappoint you folks," Robertson said with a touch of sarcasm. "What exactly would you like done so that we'll know in advance you'll be pleased?"

David started to say something, but Angela shushed him. "We want you to do what you normally do with a homicide," she said. "You have the murder weapon so test it for fingerprints, find out where it was purchased, that sort of thing. We shouldn't have to tell you how to carry out an investigation."

"The spoor is a little cold after eight months," Robertson said, "and frankly I don't take kindly to your coming in here telling me how to do my job. I don't go up to the hospital and tell you how to do yours. Besides, Hodges wasn't the most popular man in town, and we have to set priorities with our limited manpower. For your information we have a few more pressing matters just now, including a series of rapes."

"It's my opinion that the basics ought to be done on this case," Angela said.

"They were," Robertson said. "Eight months ago."

"And what did you learn?" Angela demanded.

"Lots of things," Robertson snapped. "We learned there was no break-in or robbery, which has now been confirmed. We learned there was a bit of a struggle…"

" 'A bit of a struggle'?" Angela echoed. "Last night the state police crime-scene investigators proved that the killer chased the doctor through our house bashing him with a pry bar, spattering blood all over the walls. Dr. Hodges had multiple skull fractures, a fractured clavicle, and a broken arm." Angela turned to David, throwing her hands in the air. "I don't believe this!"

"Okay, okay," David said, trying to calm her. He had been afraid she'd make a scene like this. She had little tolerance for incompetence.

"The case needs a fresh look," Angela said, ignoring David. "I got a call today from the medical examiner confirming that the victim had skin from his attacker under his fingernails. That's the kind of struggle it was. Now all we need is a suspect. Forensics can do the rest."

"Thank you for this timely tip," Robertson said. "And thank you for being such a concerned citizen. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Robertson stepped over to the door and held it open. David practically had to yank Angela from the office. It was all he could do to keep her from saying more on her way out.

"Did you catch any of that?" Robertson asked when one of his deputies appeared.

"Some of it," the deputy said.

"I hate these big-shot city people," Robertson said. "Just because they went to Harvard or someplace like that they think they know how to do everything."

Robertson stepped back inside his office and closed the door. Picking up the phone, he pressed one of the automatic dial buttons.

"Sorry to bother you," Robertson said deferentially, "but I think we might have a problem."

"Don't you dare paint me as an hysterical female," Angela said as she got into the car.

"Baiting the local chief of police like that certainly isn't rational," David said. "Remember, this is a small town. We shouldn't be making enemies."

"A person was brutally murdered, the body dumped in our basement, and the police don't seem too interested in finding out who did it. You're willing to let it rest at that?"

"As deplorable as Hodges' death was," David said, "it doesn't involve us. It's a problem that should be left up to the authorities."

"What?" Angela cried. "The man was beaten to death in our house, in our kitchen. We're involved whether you want to admit it or not, and I want to find out who did it. I don't like the idea of the murderer walking around this town, and I'm going to do something about it. The first thing is we should learn more about Dennis Hodges."

"I think you're being overly dramatic and unreasonable," David said.

"You've already made that clear," Angela said. "I just don't agree with you."

Angela seethed with anger, mostly at Robertson but partly at David. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't the paragon of rationality and agreeableness that he thought he was. But she held her tongue.

They reached the hospital parking lot. The only space available was far from the entrance. They got out and started walking.

"We already have plenty to worry about," David said. "It's not as if we don't have enough problems at the moment."

"Then maybe we should hire somebody to do the investigating for us," Angela said.

"You can't be serious," David said, coming to a halt. "We don't have the money to throw away on such nonsense."

"In case you haven't been listening to me," Angela said, "I don't think it's nonsense. I repeat: there's a murderer loose in this town. Someone who has been in our house. Maybe we've already met him. It gives me the creeps."

"Please, Angela," David said as he started walking again. "We're not dealing with a serial killer. I don't think it's so strange that the killer hasn't been found. Haven't you read stories about murders in small towns where no one would come forward even though it was common knowledge who the killer was? It's a kind of down-home justice where the people think the victim got what he deserved. Apparently Hodges wasn't uniformly admired."

They reached the hospital and entered. Just inside the door they paused.

"I'm not willing to chalk this up to down-home justice," Angela said. "I think the issue here is one of basic social responsibility. We're a society of laws."

"You're too much," David said. Despite his aggravation, he smiled. "Now you're ready to give me a lecture on social responsibility. You can be such an idealist sometimes, it blows my mind. But I do love you." He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "We'll talk more later. For now, calm down! You've got enough problems with Wadley to keep you occupied without adding this."

With a final wave David strode off toward the professional building. Angela watched him until he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. She was touched by his sudden display of affection. Its unexpectedness mollified her for the moment.

But a few minutes later as she was sitting at her desk trying to concentrate, she replayed the conversation with Robertson in her mind and got furious all over again. She left her office to look for Paul Darnell. She found him where he always was: hunched over stacks of petri dishes filled with bacteria.

"Have you lived in Bartlet all your life?" Angela asked.

"All except four years of college, four of medical school, four of residency, and two in the navy."

"I'd say that makes you a local," Angela said.

"What makes me a local is the fact that Darnells have been living here for four generations."

Angela stepped into Paul's office and leaned against the desk. "I suppose you heard the gossip about the body found in my home," she said.

Paul nodded.

"It's really bothering me," Angela said. "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Not at all," Paul said.

"Did you know Dennis Hodges?"

"Of course."

"What was he like?"

"He was a feisty old codger few people miss. He had a penchant for making enemies."

"How did he get to be hospital administrator?" Angela asked.

"By default," Paul said. "He took over the hospital at a time when no other doctors wanted the responsibility. Everybody thought that running the hospital was below their physician status. So Hodges had a free hand, and he built the place like a feudal estate, associating with a medical school for prestige and billing the place as a regional medical center. He even sank some of his own money into it in a crisis. But Hodges was the world's worst diplomat, and he didn't care one iota about other people's interests when they collided with the hospital's."

"Like when the hospital took over pathology and radiology?" Angela asked.

"Exactly," Paul said. "It was a good move for the hospital, but it created a lot of ill will. I had to take an enormous cut in my income. But my family wanted to stay in Bartlet so I adjusted. Other people fought it and eventually had to move away. Obviously Hodges made a lot of enemies."

"Dr. Cantor stayed as well," Angela remarked.

"Yes, but that was because he talked Hodges into a joint venture between himself and the hospital to create a world-class imaging center. Cantor wound up doing well financially, but he was the exception."

"I just had a conversation with Wayne Robertson," Angela said. "I got the distinct impression that he's dragging his feet about investigating who killed Hodges."

"I'm not surprised," Paul said. "There's not a lot of pressure to solve the case. Hodges' wife has moved back to Boston, and she and Hodges weren't getting along at the time of his death. They'd essentially lived apart these last few years. On top of that, Robertson could have done it himself. Robertson always had it in for Hodges. He even had an altercation with him the night Hodges disappeared."

"Why was there animosity between those two?" Angela asked.

"Robertson blamed his wife's death on Hodges," Douglas said.

"Was Hodges Robertson's wife's physician?" Angela asked.

"No, Hodges' practice was minuscule by then. He was running the hospital full time. But as director he allowed Dr. Werner Van Slyke to practice even though most everybody knew Van Slyke had a drinking problem. Actually Hodges left the issue of Van Slyke's privileges up to the medical staff. Van Slyke bungled Robertson's wife's appendicitis case while under the influence. Afterward, Robertson blamed Hodges. It wasn't rational, but hate usually isn't."

"I'm getting the feeling that finding out who killed Hodges won't be easy," Angela said.

"You don't know how right you are," Paul said. "There's a second chapter to the Hodges-Van Slyke affair. Hodges was friends with Traynor who is the present chairman of the hospital board. Traynor's sister was married to Van Slyke, and when Hodges finally denied Van Slyke privileges…"

"All right," Angela said, holding up her hand, "I'm getting the idea. You're overwhelming me. I had no idea the town was quite this byzantine."

"It's a small town," Paul said. "A lot of families have lived here a long time. It's practically incestuous. But the fact of the matter is there were a lot of people who didn't care for Hodges. So when he disappeared, not too many people were broken up about it."

"But that means Hodges' murderer is walking around," Angela said. "Presumably a man who is capable of extreme violence."

"You're probably right about that."

Angela shivered. "I don't like it," she said. "This man was in my home, maybe many times. He probably knows my house well."

Paul shrugged. "I understand how you feel," he said. "I'd probably feel the same way. But I don't know what you can do about it. If you want to learn more about Hodges, go talk to Barton Sherwood. As president of the bank he knows everyone. He knew Hodges particularly well since he's been on the hospital board forever and his father had been before that."

Angela went back to her office and again attempted to work, but she still couldn't concentrate. It was impossible to get Hodges out of her mind. Reaching for the phone, she called Barton Sherwood. She remembered how friendly he'd been when they bought the house.

"Dr. Wilson," Sherwood said when he came on the line. "How nice to hear from you. How are you folks making out in that beautiful house of yours?"

"Generally well," Angela said, "but that's what I'd like to chat with you about. If I were to run over to the bank, would you have a few moments to speak with me?"

"Absolutely," Sherwood said. "Any time."

"I'll be right over," Angela said.

After telling the secretaries that she'd be back shortly, Angela grabbed her coat and ran out to the car. Ten minutes later she was sitting in Sherwood's office. It seemed like just yesterday that she, David, and Nikki were there, arranging to buy their first house.

Angela came right to the point. She described how uncomfortable she felt about Hodges having been murdered in her house and about the murderer being on the loose. She told Sherwood she hoped he would be willing to help.

"Help?" Sherwood questioned. He was leaning back in his leather desk chair with both thumbs tucked into his vest pockets.

"The local police don't seem to care about solving the case," Angela said. "With your stature in the town a word from you would go a long way in getting them to do something."

Sherwood thumped forward in his chair. He was clearly flattered. "Thank you for your vote of confidence," he said, "but I truly don't think you have anything to worry about. Hodges was not the victim of senseless, random violence or of a serial killer."

"How do you know?" Angela asked. "Do you know who killed him?"

"Heavens no," Sherwood said nervously. "I didn't mean to imply that. I meant… well, I thought… there's no reason for you and your family to feel at risk."

"Do a lot of people know who killed Hodges?" Angela asked, recalling David's theory of down-home justice.

"Oh, no. At least, I don't think so," Sherwood said. "It's just that Dr. Hodges was an unpopular man who'd hurt a number of people. Even I had trouble getting along with him." Sherwood laughed nervously, then went on to tell Angela about the spit of land that Hodges had owned, fenced, and refused to sell out of spite, keeping Sherwood from using his own two parcels.

"What you're trying to tell me is the reason no one cares who killed Hodges is because he was disliked."

"Essentially, yes," Sherwood admitted.

"In other words, what we have here is a conspiracy of silence."

"I wouldn't put it that way," Sherwood said. "It's a situation where people feel that justice has been served, so no one cares much whether someone is arrested or not."

"I care," Angela said. "The murder took place in my house. Besides, there's no place for vigilante justice in this day and age."

"Normally I would be the first to agree with you," Sherwood said. "I'm not trying to justify this affair on moral or legal grounds. But Hodges was different. What I think you should do is go talk with Dr. Cantor. He'll be able to give you an idea of the kind of animosity and turmoil that Hodges was capable of causing. Maybe then you'll understand and be less judgmental."

Angela drove back up the hill toward the hospital feeling confused about what she should do. She did not agree with Sherwood for one second, and the more she learned about the Hodges affair, the more she wanted to know. Yet she did not want to speak with Cantor, not after the conversation she'd had with him the day before.

Entering the hospital, Angela went directly to the section of the pathology lab where slides were stained and prepared. Her timing was perfect: slides that she'd been anticipating that morning had just been completed. Taking the tray, she hurried back to her office to get to work.

The moment she entered her office Wadley appeared at the connecting door. Like the day before, he was visibly distressed. "I just paged you," he said irritably. "Where the hell were you?"

"I had to make a quick trip to the bank," Angela said nervously. Her legs suddenly felt weak. She feared Wadley was about to lose control the way he had the day before.

"Restrict your visits to the bank to your lunch hour," he said. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped back into his office and slammed the door.

Angela breathed a sigh of relief.

Sherwood had not moved from his desk following Angela's departure. He was trying to decide what to do. He couldn't believe this woman was making such a issue about Hodges. He hoped he hadn't said something that he would regret.

After some deliberation, Sherwood picked up the phone. He'd come to the conclusion that it was best for him to do nothing other than pass on the information.

"Something has just happened that I thought you should know about," Sherwood said when the connection went through. "I just had a visit from the newest member of the hospital's professional staff and she's concerned about Dr. Hodges…"

David finished with his last office patient for the day, dictated a few letters, then hurried over to the hospital to make his late afternoon rounds. Fearing what he'd find, he left Mary Ann Schiller for last. As he'd intuitively suspected, she'd taken a turn for the worse.

Her low-grade fever had gradually climbed during the afternoon. Now it hovered a little over one hundred and one. The fever bothered David, especially since it had risen while she was on antibiotics, but there was something that bothered him more: her mental state.

That morning Mary Ann had been drowsy, but now as David tried to talk to her, he found her both drowsy and apathetic. It had been a distinct change. Not only was it hard to wake her and keep her awake, but when she was awake she didn't care about anything and paid little attention to his questions. She was also disoriented with respect to time and place although she still knew her name.

David rolled her on her side and listened to her chest. When he did so he panicked. He heard a chorus of rhonchi and rales. She was developing massive pneumonia. It was like John Tarlow all over again.

David raced back to the nurses' station where he ordered a stat blood count as well as a portable chest film. Going over Mary Ann's chart he found nothing abnormal. The nurses' notes for the day suggested that she had been doing fine.

The stat blood count came back showing very little cellular response to the developing pneumonia, a situation reminiscent of both Tarlow and Kleber. The portable chest film confirmed his fear: extensive pneumonia developing in both lungs.

At a loss, David called Dr. Mieslich, the oncologist, to confer by phone. After all the trouble with Kelley he was reluctant to ask for a formal consult even though that would have been far better.

Without having seen the patient, Dr. Mieslich could offer little help. He did confirm that the last time he had seen Mary Ann in his office there had been no evidence of her ovarian cancer. At the same time he told David that her cancer had been extensive prior to treatment and that he fully expected a recurrence.

While David was on the phone with the oncologist, a nurse appeared in front of the nurses' station and yelled that Mary Ann was convulsing.

David slammed down the phone and raced to the bedside. Mary Ann was indeed in the throes of a grand mal seizure. Her back was arched and her legs and arms were rhythmically thrashing against the bed. Fortunately, her IV had not become dislodged, and David was able to control the seizure quickly with intravenous medication. Nevertheless, in the wake of the seizure, Mary Ann remained comatose.

Returning to the nurses' station, David put in a stat call to the CMV neurologist, Dr. Alan Prichard. Since he was in the hospital making his own rounds, he called immediately. After David told him about the seizure along with a capsule history, Dr. Prichard told David to order either a CAT scan or an MRI, whichever machine was available. He said he'd be over to see the patient as soon as he could.

David sent Mary Ann to the Imaging Center for her MRI accompanied by a nurse in case she seized again. Then he called the oncologist back, explained what had happened, and asked for a formal consult. As he'd done with Kleber and Tarlow, he also called Dr. Hasselbaum, the infectious disease specialist.

David couldn't help but worry about Kelley's reaction to these non-CMV consults, but David felt he had little choice. He could not allow concern about Kelley to influence his decision making in light of the grand mal seizure. The gravity of Mary Ann's condition was apparent.

As soon as David was alerted that the MRI study was available, he dashed over to the Imaging Center. He met the neurologist in the viewing room as the first images were being processed. Along with Dr. Cantor they silently watched the cuts appear. When the study was complete David was shocked that there was no sign of a metastatic tumor. He would have sworn such a tumor was responsible for the seizure.

"At this point I cannot say why she had a seizure," Dr. Prichard said. "It could have been some micro emboli, but I'm only speculating."

The oncologist was equally surprised about the MRI result. "Maybe the lesion is too small for the MRI to pick up," he suggested.

"This machine has fantastic resolution," Dr. Cantor said. "If the tumor was too small for this baby to pick up, then the chances it could have caused a grand mal seizure are even smaller."

The infectious disease consult was the only one with anything specific to add, but his news wasn't good. He confirmed David's diagnosis of extensive pneumonia. He also demonstrated that the bacteria involved was a gram-negative type organism similar but not identical to the bacteria that had caused Kleber's and Tarlow's pneumonia. Worse still, he suggested that Mary Ann was already in septic shock.

From the Imaging Center David sent Mary Ann to the ICU where he insisted on the most aggressive therapy available. He allowed the infectious disease consult to handle the antibiotic regimen. The respiratory care he turned over to an anesthesiologist. By then Mary Ann's breathing was so labored she needed a respirator.

When everything that could be done for Mary Ann had been done and after all the consults had departed, David felt dazed. His group of oncology patients had become far more emotionally draining than he'd originally feared. Finally he left the ICU, and just to be reassured, he stopped in again to see Jonathan. Thankfully Jonathan was doing marvelously.

"I only have one complaint," Jonathan said. "This bed has a mind of its own. Sometimes when I press the button nothing happens. Neither the head nor the foot rises."

"I'll take care of it," David assured him.

Thankful for a problem that had an easy solution, David went back to the nurses' station and mentioned the problem to the evening head nurse, Dora Maxfield.

"Not his too," Dora said. "Some of these old beds break down a little too often. But thanks for telling us. I'll have maintenance take care of it right away."

David left the hospital and got on his bike. The temperature had dropped as soon as the sun had dipped below the horizon, but he felt the cold was somehow therapeutic.

Arriving home David found a bedlam of activity. Nikki had both Caroline and Arni over, and they were racing around the downstairs with Rusty in hot pursuit. David joined the melee, enjoying being pummeled and trampled by three active children. The laughter alone was worth the punishment. For a few minutes he forgot about the hospital.

When it was almost seven Angela asked David if he would take Caroline and Arni home. David was happy to do it, and Nikki came along. After the two children had been dropped off, David was glad for the moments alone with his daughter. First they talked about school and her new teacher. Then he asked her if she thought much about the body discovered in the basement.

"Some," Nikki said.

"How does it make you feel?" David asked.

"Like I don't want to ever go in the basement again."

"I can understand that," David said. "Last night when I was getting firewood I felt a little scared."

"You did?"

"Yup," David said. "But I have a little plan that might be fun and it might help. Are you interested?"

"Yeah!" Nikki said with enthusiasm. "What?"

"You can't tell anybody," David said.

"Okay," Nikki promised.

David outlined his plan as they continued home. "What do you say?" he asked once he had finished.

"I think it's cool," Nikki said.

"Remember, it's a secret," David said.

"Cross my heart."

As soon as David got into the house, he called the ICU to check on Mary Ann. He had been distressed that the floor nurses had missed the worsening condition of his two patients who had died. At the same time he recognized that his patients' vital signs had shown little change as their clinical states markedly deteriorated.

"There has been no alteration in Mrs. Schiller's status," the ICU nurse told him over the phone. She then gave him a lengthy review of Mrs. Schiller's vital signs, lab values, and even the settings on her respirator. The nurse's professionalism bolstered David's confidence that Mary Ann was receiving the best care possible.

Intentionally avoiding the kitchen table after the previous night's revelation, Angela served dinner in the dining room. It seemed huge with just three people and their skimpy dining-room furniture. But Angela tried to make it cozy with a fire in the fireplace and candles on the table. Nikki complained it was so dark she could hardly see her food.

After they had finished eating, Nikki excused herself to watch her half-hour allotment of television. David and Angela lingered at the table.

"Don't you want to ask me how my afternoon went?" Angela asked.

"Of course," David said. "How was it?"

"Interesting," Angela said. She told him about her conversations with Paul Darnell and Barton Sherwood concerning Dennis Hodges. She conceded that David might have been right when he suggested that some people in town knew who did it.

"Thanks for giving me credit," David said, "but I'm not happy about your asking questions about Hodges."

"Why not?" Angela asked.

"For a number of reasons," David said. "Mainly because we both have other things to worry about. But beyond that, did it occur to you that you might wind up questioning the killer himself?"

Angela admitted she hadn't thought of that, but David wasn't listening. He was staring into the fire.

"You seem distracted," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Another one of my patients is in the ICU fighting for her life."

"I'm sorry," Angela said.

"It's another disaster," David said. His voice faltered as he struggled with his emotions. "I'm trying to deal with it, but it's hard. She's doing very poorly. Frankly, I'm worried she'll die just like Kleber and Tarlow. Maybe I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe I shouldn't even be a doctor."

Angela came around the table to put an arm around David. "You are a wonderful doctor," she whispered. "You have a real gift. Patients love you."

"They don't love me when they die," David said. "When I sit in my office in the same spot where Dr. Portland killed himself, I start thinking that now I know why he did it."

Angela shook David's shoulders. "I don't want to hear any talk like that," she said. "Have you been speaking with Kevin Yansen again?"

"Not about Portland," David said. "He seems to have lost interest in the subject."

"Are you depressed?"

"Some," David admitted. "But it's not out of hand."

"Promise me you'll tell me if it gets out of hand?" Angela said.

"I promise," David said.

"What's this new patient's problem?" Angela asked. She sat down in the seat next to his.

"That's part of what's so upsetting," David said. "I don't really know. She came in with sinusitis which was improving with antibiotics. But then she began to develop pneumonia for some unknown reason. Actually, first she became drowsy. Then she became apathetic, and finally she had a seizure. I've had neurology, oncology, and infectious disease look at her. No one has any bright ideas."

"Then you shouldn't be so hard on yourself," Angela said.

"Except I'm responsible," David said. "I'm her doctor."

"I wish I could help," Angela said.

"Thank you," David said. He reached out and gave Angela's shoulder a squeeze. "I appreciate your concern because I know you mean it. Unfortunately, there's nothing you can do directly except understand why I can't get so worked up about Hodges' death."

"I can't just let it go," Angela said.

"But it could be dangerous," David said. "You don't know who you're up against. Whoever killed Hodges isn't likely to be thrilled by your poking around. Who knows what such a person might do? Look what he did to Hodges."

Angela looked into the fire, mesmerized for the moment by the white-hot coals that shimmered ominously in the intense heat. Potential danger to her family was her motivation for wanting Hodges' murder solved. She hadn't considered that her investigation itself could put them in greater jeopardy. Yet all she had to do was close her eyes and see the luminol glow in her kitchen or remember the horrid fractures on the X rays in the autopsy room to know that David had a point: a person capable of that kind of violence was not someone who should be provoked.