Fatal Cure

16

Worried about Mary Ann, David was up before the sun. He stole out of the house without waking Angela and Nikki and got on his bike. Just as the sun was inching above the eastern horizon, he crossed the Roaring River. It was as cold as it had been the previous morning. Another heavy frost blanketed the fields and covered the naked branches of the leafless trees with a vitreous sheen.

David's early-morning arrival surprised the ICU nurses. Mary Ann's condition had not changed dramatically although she had developed moderately severe diarrhea. David was amazed and grateful for how the nurses took such a development in stride. It was a tribute to their compassion and dedication.

Reviewing Mary Ann's case again from the beginning, David did not have any new ideas. He even called one of his past professors in Boston whom he knew to be a chronic early riser. After hearing about the case, the professor volunteered to come immediately. David was overwhelmed by the man's commitment and generosity.

While he waited for his professor to arrive, David made the rounds to see his other hospitalized patients. Everyone was doing fine. He thought about sending Jonathan Eakins home but decided to keep him another day just to be sure his cardiac status was truly stable.

Once his professor arrived some hours later, David presented Mary Ann as if he were back in his training program. The professor listened intently, examined Mary Ann with great care, then went over the chart in detail. But even he had no new insights. David saw him out to his car, thanking him profusely for having made the trip.

With nothing else to do at the hospital, David headed home. He avoided Saturday morning basketball since he was still smarting from the unpleasant confrontation with Kevin Yansen over their tennis match. In his precarious emotional state, David felt that he'd do well to avoid Kevin's unpleasant competitiveness for another week.

When he got home, Angela and Nikki were just finishing breakfast. David teased them that they'd missed half the day. While Angela tended to Nikki's respiratory treatment, David went down into the basement and removed the crime scene tape. Then he took some of the storm windows out to the yard via the steps leading outdoors.

He'd put the first-floor windows up by the time Nikki joined him.

"When are we going to…" Nikki began to ask.

David put his finger to his lips to shush Nikki while he pointed to the nearby kitchen window where Angela could be seen. "As soon as we clean up," he said.

David let Nikki help him carry each of the screens down into the basement. He could have done it more easily himself, but she liked to think she was helping. They leaned them up against the base of the stairs where the storm windows had originally been.

With that accomplished, David and Nikki announced to Angela that they were heading into town on a shopping mission. Then they rode off on their bikes. Angela enjoyed seeing them having so much fun, though she did feel excluded.

Left alone, Angela began to feel a little edgy. She noticed every creak the empty house made She tried to immerse herself in the book she was reading, but before long she was up locking the doors and even the windows. Ending up in the kitchen, Angela could not suppress her imagination from coating the walls with blood.

"I can't live like this," Angela said aloud, realizing how paranoid she was becoming. "But what am I going to do?"

She stepped over to the kitchen table, the legs of which she had scrubbed with the strongest disinfectant Mr. Staley had in his hardware store. Her fingers brushed its surface. She wondered if luminol would still fluoresce now that she had cleaned it so thoroughly. She still didn't like the idea that Hodges' killer was free. Yet she took to heart David's warning that it was dangerous for her to be snooping around about the murder.

Walking over to the phone directory, she looked up "private investigators" but didn't find any entries. Then she looked up "detectives" and found a list. Most were security businesses, but there were several individuals listed as well. One-a Phil Calhoun-was in Rutland, which was only a short drive away.

Before she had time to reconsider, Angela dialed the number. A man with a husky, slow, and deliberate voice answered.

Angela hadn't given much thought to what she would say. She finally stammered that she wanted to investigate a murder.

"Sounds interesting," Calhoun said.

Angela tried to picture the man on the other end of the wire. Judging from the voice she imagined a powerfully built man with broad shoulders, dark hair, maybe even a mustache.

"Perhaps we could meet," Angela suggested.

"You want me to come there or do you want to come here?" Calhoun asked.

Angela thought for a moment. She didn't want David finding put what she was up to-not just yet.

"I'll come to you," she said.

"I'll be waiting," Calhoun said after he gave her directions.

Angela ran upstairs, changed clothes, then left a note saying "Gone shopping" for David and Nikki.

Calhoun's office was also his home. She had no trouble finding it. In the driveway she noticed his Ford pickup truck had a rifle rack in the back of the cab and a sticker on the back bumper that read: "This Vehicle Climbed Mount Washington."

Phil Calhoun invited her into his living room and offered her a seat on a threadbare sofa. He was far from her romantic image of a private investigator. Although he was a big man, he was overweight and considerably older than she'd guessed from his voice. She figured he was in his early sixties. His face was a little doughy, but his gray eyes were bright. He was wearing a wool black and white checkered hunting shirt. His cotton work pants were held up by black suspenders. On his head was a cap with the words "Roscoe Electric" emblazoned above the visor.

"Mind if I smoke?" Calhoun asked, holding up a box of Antonio y Cleopatra cigars.

"It's your house," Angela said.

"What's the story about this murder?" Calhoun asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Angela gave a capsule summary of the whole affair.

"Sounds interesting to me," Calhoun said. "I'll be delighted to take the case on an hourly basis. Now about me: I'm a retired state police officer and a widower. That's about it. Any questions?"

Angela studied Calhoun as he casually smoked. He was laconic like most New Englanders. He seemed forthright, a trait she appreciated. Beyond that, she had no way of judging the man's competence, although having been a state policeman seemed auspicious.

"Why did you leave the force?" Angela asked.

"Compulsory retirement," Calhoun said.

"Have you ever been involved in a murder case?" Angela asked.

"Not as a civilian," Calhoun said.

"What type of cases do you usually handle?" Angela asked.

"Marital problems, shoplifting, bartender embezzlement, that sort of thing."

"Do you think you could handle this case?" Angela asked.

"No question," Calhoun said. "I grew up in a small Vermont town similar to Bartlet. I'm familiar with the environment; hell, I even know some of the people who live there. I know the kinds of feuds that simmer for years and the mindset of the people involved. I'm the right man for the job because I can ask questions without sticking out like a sore thumb."

Angela drove back to Bartlet wondering if she'd done the right thing in hiring Phil Calhoun. She also wondered how and when she'd tell David.

Arriving at home Angela was distressed to find that Nikki was by herself. David had gone to the hospital to check on his patient. Angela asked Nikki if David had tried to get Alice to come over while he was away.

"Nope," Nikki said, unconcerned. "Daddy said he'd be back soon and that you'd probably show up before he did."

Angela decided she'd talk with David. Under the circumstances, she did not like Nikki being in the house by herself. She could hardly believe that David would leave Nikki alone, and the fact that he did eliminated any reservations Angela had about hiring Phil Calhoun.

Angela told Nikki that she wanted to keep the doors locked, and they went around to check them all. The only one that was open was the back door. As she prepared a quick snack for Nikki, she casually asked what she and her father had been doing that morning, but Nikki refused to say.

When David returned, Angela took him aside to discuss his leaving Nikki by herself. David was defensive at first but then agreed to avoid it in the future.

Soon David and Nikki were thick as thieves again, but Angela ignored them. Saturday afternoons were one of her favorite times. With little opportunity to cook during the week, she liked to spend a good portion of the day hovering over her recipe books and putting together a gourmet meal. It was a therapeutic experience for her.

By midafternoon she had the menu planned. Leaving the kitchen, she opened the cellar door and started down. She was on her way to the freezer to get some veal bones to make a golden stock when she realized she'd not been back to the basement since the technicians had been there. Angela's steps slowed. She was a little nervous going down in the cellar by herself and toyed with the idea of asking David to accompany her. But she realized she was being silly. Besides, she didn't want to spook Nikki any more than she already was.

Angela continued the rest of the way down the stairs and headed toward the freezer against the far wall. As she walked she glanced in the direction of Hodges' former tomb and was relieved to see that David had stacked the window screens over the hole.

Angela was just reaching into the freezer when she heard a scraping sound behind her. She froze. She could have sworn the noise had come from behind the stairs. Angela allowed the freezer to close before she slowly turned around to face the dimly lit cellar.

With utter horror, Angela saw the screens begin to move. She blinked, then looked again, hoping that it had been her imagination. But then the screens fell over with a loud, echoing crash.

Angela tried to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. She tried to move, but she couldn't. With great effort, she at last took a step, then another. But she was only halfway to the stairs when Hodges' partially skeletonized face emerged from the tomb. Then the man himself staggered out. He seemed disoriented until he saw Angela. Then he started toward her, his arms extended.

Angela's terror translated to motion. She ran for the stairs in earnest, but she was too late. Hodges cut her off and grabbed her arm.

Feeling the creature's hand on her wrist unlocked Angela's voice. She screamed, struggling to free herself. Then she saw another ghoul emerge from the tomb, a smaller but equally hideous fiend with the exact same face. Suddenly Angela realized that Hodges was laughing.

Angela could only stare, dumbfounded, as David pulled off a rubber mask. Nikki, the smaller ghoul, pulled an identical mask from her face. Both of them were laughing hysterically.

At first Angela was embarrassed, but her humiliation quickly turned to fury. There was nothing funny about this gag. She pushed David aside and stomped upstairs.

David and Nikki continued to laugh, but their laughter soon faltered as they began to understand how much they had frightened Angela.

"Do you think she's really mad?" Nikki asked.

"I'm afraid so," David said. "I think we'd better go up and talk with her."

Angela refused to even look at them as she busied herself in the kitchen.

"But we're sorry," David repeated for the third time.

"We both are, Mom," Nikki insisted. But then both Nikki and David had to suppress giggles.

"We never imagined you'd be fooled for a minute," David said, trying to control himself. "Honest! We thought you'd guess immediately; it was so corny."

"Yeah, Mom," Nikki said. "We thought you'd guess because next Sunday's Halloween. These are going to be our Halloween costumes. We even bought the same mask for you."

"Well, you can just throw it away," Angela said.

Nikki's face fell. Her eyes welled with tears.

Angela looked at her and her anger melted. "Now don't you get upset," she said. She drew Nikki to her. "I know I'm overreacting," she added, "but I was really scared. And I don't think it was funny."

Eager to get started on what was easily the most intriguing case he'd landed since he started his little side business to supplement his pension and social security, Phil Calhoun drove into Bartlet in the middle of the afternoon. He parked his pickup truck within the shade of the Bartlet library and walked across the green to the police station.

"Wayne around?" he asked the duty officer.

The duty officer merely pointed down the hall. He was reading a copy of the Bartlet Sun.

Calhoun walked down and knocked on Robertson's open door. Robertson looked up, smiled, and invited Phil to take a load off his feet.

Robertson tipped back in his chair and accepted an Antonio y Cleopatra from Calhoun.

"Working late on a Saturday," Calhoun said. "Must be a lot going on here in Bartlet."

"Goddamned paperwork," Robertson said. "It sucks. And it gets worse every year."

Calhoun nodded. "I read in the paper that old Doc Hodges turned up," he said.

"Yeah," Robertson said. "Caused a little stir, but it's already died down. Good riddance. The man was a pain in the ass."

"How so?" Calhoun asked.

Robertson's face became red as he aired yet again his litany against Dr. Dennis Hodges. He admitted that there had been numerous times he'd almost decked the man.

"I gather Hodges wasn't the most popular man in town," Calhoun said.

Robertson gave a short, caustic laugh.

"Much action on the case?" Calhoun asked casually, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling.

"Nah," Robertson said. "We spun our wheels a bit back when Hodges disappeared, but it was mostly going through the motions. Nobody cared much, not even his wife. Practically ex-wife. She'd just about moved back to Boston even before Hodges disappeared."

"What about now?" Calhoun asked. "The Boston Globe said the state police were investigating."

"They were just going through the motions, too," Robertson said. "The medical examiner called the state's attorney. State's attorney sent some junior assistant to check it out. This assistant called in the state police who then sent some crime-scene investigators to the site. But after that a state police lieutenant called me. I told him it wasn't worth his time and that we'd handle it. And as you know better than most people, the state police take their cue from us local guys on a case of this sort unless there's pressure from someplace like the state attorney's office or from some politician. Hell, the state police have more pressing cases to attend to. Same with us. Besides, it's been eight months. The trail's stone cold."

"What are you guys working on these days?" Calhoun asked.

"We've had a series of rapes and attacks up in the hospital parking lot," Robertson said.

"Any luck snagging the perpetrator?" Calhoun asked.

"Not yet," Robertson said.

After leaving the police station, Calhoun wandered down Main Street and stopped in the local bookstore. The proprietor, Jane Weincoop, had been a friend of Calhoun's wife. Calhoun's wife had been a big reader, especially the last year of her life when she'd been confined to bed.

Jane took Calhoun into her office, which was only a tiny desk stuck in the corner of the stock room. Calhoun said he was just passing through and after a bit of chitchat and catching up, he managed to steer the conversation to Dennis Hodges.

"The discovery of his body was certainly news in Bartlet," Jane admitted.

"I understand he wasn't a popular man," Calhoun said. "Who all had it in for him?"

Jane gave Calhoun a look. "Is this a professional or personal visit?" she asked with a wry smile.

"Just curiosity," Calhoun said with a wink. "But I'd still appreciate it if you'd keep my question to yourself."

Half an hour later Calhoun wandered back out into the fading afternoon sunlight clutching a list of over twenty people who had disliked Hodges. The list included the president of the bank, the owner of the Mobil station near the interstate, the town's retarded handyman, the chief of police whom Calhoun already knew about, a handful of merchants and store owners, and a half dozen doctors.

Calhoun was surprised by the length of the list but not unhappy. After all, the longer the list, the more billable hours he'd be logging in.

Continuing his trek up Main Street, Calhoun stopped into Harrison's Pharmacy. The pharmacist, Harley Strombell, was the brother of one of Calhoun's fellow troopers, Wendell Strombell.

Harley wasn't fooled any more than Jane had been about the nature of Calhoun's inquiries, but he promised to be discreet. He even added to Calhoun's list by offering his own name as well as those of Ned Banks, the owner of the New England Coat Hanger Company, Harold Traynor, and Helen Beaton, the new hospital administrator.

"Why did you dislike the man?" Calhoun asked.

"It was a personal thing," Harley said. "Hodges lacked even the rudimentary social graces." Harley explained that he'd had a small branch pharmacy up at the hospital until one day without explanation or warning, Hodges just kicked him out.

"I mean it was natural for the expanding hospital to have its own outpatient pharmacy," Harley said. "I understood that. But it was handled very badly, thanks to Dennis Hodges."

Calhoun left the pharmacy wondering how long his list would get before he could start whittling it down to serious suspects. He had close to twenty-five names and there were still a few more contacts in Bartlet he could check out before he considered the list complete.

Since most of the shops were closing for the night, Calhoun crossed the street and headed for the Iron Horse Inn. It was an establishment that held many pleasant memories for him. It had been his wife's favorite restaurant for special-occasion dinners, like celebrating anniversaries and birthdays.

Carleton Harris, the bartender, recognized Calhoun from across the room. By the time Calhoun got to the bar a glass of Wild Turkey neat was waiting for him. Carleton even drew half a mug's worth of draft beer for himself so they could clink glasses in a toast.

"Working on anything interesting these days?" Carleton asked after downing his spot of beer.

"I think so," Calhoun said. He leaned in toward the bar and Carleton instinctively did the same.

Angela didn't say a word to David and avoided eye contact as they got ready for bed. David guessed that Angela was still irritated about the basement prank with the Halloween masks. He disliked moodiness and wanted to clear the air.

"I'm getting the message you're still upset about Nikki and me scaring you," he said. "Can't we talk about it?"

"What makes you say I'm angry?" Angela asked innocently.

"Come on, Angela," David said. "You've been giving me the silent treatment ever since Nikki went to bed."

"I suppose I'm disappointed you'd do such a thing when you know how upset I am about that body. I would have thought you'd have been more sensitive."

"I said I was sorry," David said. "I still can't believe you just didn't laugh the second you saw us. It never occurred to me you'd get as frightened as you did. Besides, it wasn't just an idle prank. I did it for Nikki's benefit."

"What do you mean?" Angela asked skeptically.

"With the nightmares she's been having, I thought it would help to treat the subject with humor. It was a ruse to get her in the basement without being afraid. And it worked: she was so focused on surprising you, she didn't think about her fears."

"You could have at least warned me."

"I didn't think I had to. Like I said, I never thought you'd be fooled. And the conspiratorial nature of the activity is what got Nikki so involved."

Angela eyed her husband. She could tell he was remorseful as well as sincere. Suddenly she felt more embarrassed she'd fallen for the trick than angry. She put down her toothbrush and went over to David and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry I got so mad," she said. "I guess I'm stressed out. I love you."

"I love you, too," David echoed. "I should have told you what we were doing. You could have pretended not to know. I just didn't think. I've been so distracted lately. I feel so stressed out, too. Mary Ann Schiller is no better. She's going to die. I just know it."

"Come on now," Angela said. "You can never be sure."

"I don't know about that," David said. "Come on, let's get to bed." As they finished washing he told Angela about his professor's having driven all the way from Boston and that even he had nothing to add.

"Are you any more depressed?" Angela asked.

"About the same," David said. "I woke up at four-fifteen this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. I keep thinking there's something I'm missing with these patients; maybe they've picked up some unknown viral disease. But I feel as though my hands are tied. It's so frustrating to have to think about Kelley and CMV every time I order a test or a consult. It's gotten so bad that I even feel like I have to rush through my daily office schedule."

"You mean to see more patients?" Angela asked. They moved from the bathroom into the bedroom.

David nodded. "More pressure from CMV via Kelley," he said. "I hate to admit it, but what it means is that I have to avoid talking with patients and answering their questions. It's not hard because it's easy to bully patients, but I don't like it. I wonder if the patients realize they are being shortchanged. A lot of critical clues for making the right diagnosis come from the kind of spontaneous comments patients make when you spend a little time with them."

"I have a confession to make," Angela said suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" David asked as he got into bed.

"I also did something today I should have spoken to you about before I did it," Angela said.

"What?" he asked.

As Angela slipped under the covers, she told David about going to Rutland and hiring Phil Calhoun to investigate Hodges' murder.

David looked at her, then looked away. He didn't say anything. Angela knew he was angry.

"At least I took your suggestion that it was dangerous for me to investigate it," Angela said. "Now we have a professional doing it."

"What makes this man a professional?" David asked, looking back at Angela.

"He's a retired state policeman."

"I was hoping you were going to be reasonable about this Hodges affair," David said. "Hiring a private investigator is going a little overboard. It's throwing money away."

"It's not throwing money away if it is important to me," Angela said. "And it should be important to you if you expect me to continue living in this house."

David sighed, turned out his bedside light, and rolled away from Angela.

She knew she should have warned him about hiring the investigator. She too sighed as she reached for her light. Maybe she didn't go about it the right way, but she was still confident that hiring Calhoun had been a good idea.

Hardly had the lights been turned out than they heard several loud thumps followed by the sound of Rusty's barking.

Angela turned her light back on and got out of bed. David did the same. They grabbed their robes and stepped into the hall. David turned on the hall light. Rusty was at the top of the stairs, looking down toward the darkened first floor. He was growling ferociously.

"Did you check to see if the front door was locked?" Angela whispered.

"Yes," David said. He walked down the hall and patted Rusty's head. "What is it, big fellow?"

Rusty went down the stairs and began barking at the front door. David followed him. Angela stood at the top of the stairs.

David unlocked the front door.

"Be careful," Angela warned.

"Why don't you slip on one of those Halloween masks," David called up to Angela. "We'll give whoever it is a good scare."

"Stop joking," Angela said. "This isn't funny."

David stepped out onto the porch holding onto Rusty's collar. The dark sky was strewn with stars. A quarter moon provided enough light to see all the way down to the road, but there wasn't anything unusual to be seen.

"Come on, Rusty," David urged as he turned around. As he approached the door he saw a typed note nailed to the muntin. He pulled it off. It read: "Mind your own business. Forget Hodges."

Closing the door and locking it, David climbed the stairs and handed the note to Angela. She followed David into the bedroom.

"I'll take this to the police," Angela said.

"Hell, it could have come from the police," David replied. He climbed back into bed and turned out the light. Angela did the same. Rusty padded back down the hall to rejoin Nikki who'd evidently not stirred.

"Now I'm wide awake," David complained.

"So am I," Angela said.

The jangle of the telephone made them both jump. David answered it on the first ring. Angela turned on the light and watched her husband. His face fell as he listened. Then he hung up the phone.

"Mary Ann Schiller had another seizure and died," he said. "I told you it would happen." He raised a hand to his face and covered his eyes. Angela moved over and put her arms around him. She could tell he was crying silently.

"I wonder if this ever gets easier," he said. He wiped his eyes, then began to get dressed.

Angela accompanied him as far as the back door. After she saw him off, she locked the door behind him, then watched as the Volvo's taillights descended the driveway and disappeared.

Stepping from the mud room into the kitchen, Angela could still see the eerie glow of the luminol in her mind's eye. She shivered. She did not like being in the huge old house at night without David.

At the hospital, David met Mary Ann's husband, Donald, for the first time. Donald, his teenage son Matt, and Mary Ann's parents were in the patients' lounge across from the ICU quietly talking and consoling each other. As with the Kleber family and the Tarlow family, they were appreciative of David's efforts. None of them had a bad word for him or a complaint.

"We had her for longer than Dr. Mieslich estimated," Donald said. His eyes were red and his hair was tousled as if he had been sleeping. "She even got to go back to her job at the library."

David commiserated with the family, telling them what they wanted to hear: she hadn't suffered. But David had to confess his confusion as to the cause of her seizures.

"You didn't expect seizures?" Donald asked.

"Not at all," David said. "Especially since her MRI was normal."

Everyone nodded as if they understood. Then, on the spur of the moment, David went against Kelley's orders and asked the family if they would permit an autopsy. He explained that it might answer a lot of questions.

"I don't know," Donald said. He looked over at his in-laws. They were equally indecisive.

"Why don't you think about it overnight?" David suggested. "We'll keep the body here."

Leaving the ICU, David felt despondent. He didn't go directly home. Instead, he wandered over to the dimly lit second-floor nurses' station. It was a quiet time of the night. Trying to keep his mind on other things, he glanced at Jonathan Eakins' chart. As he was perusing it, one of the night nurses told David that Mr. Eakins was awake, watching TV. David walked down and poked his head in.

"Everything okay?" David asked.

"What a committed doctor," Jonathan said with a smile. "You must live here."

"Is that ticker of yours staying nice and regular?" David asked.

"Like clockwork," Jonathan said. "When do I get to go home?"

"Probably today," David said. "I see they changed your bed."

"Sure did," Jonathan said. "They couldn't seem to fix the old one. Thanks for giving them a nudge. My complaints fell on deaf ears."

"No problem," David said. "See you tomorrow."

David left the hospital and got into his car. He started the engine but didn't put the car in gear. He'd had three unexpected deaths in one week: patients other doctors had been keeping alive and healthy. He couldn't help but question his competence. He wondered if he were meant to be a doctor. Maybe those three patients would still be alive if they'd had another physician.

He knew he couldn't sit in the hospital parking lot all night, so David finally put the car in gear and drove home. He was surprised to see a light on in the family room. By the time he'd parked and gotten out of the car, Angela was at the door. She was holding a medical journal.

"Are you all right?" she asked as she closed and locked the door behind David.

"I've been better," David said. "Why are you still up?" He removed his coat and motioned for Angela to precede him into the kitchen.

"There was no way I would sleep without you here," Angela said over her shoulder as she passed through the kitchen into the hall. "Not after that note was nailed to our door. And I've been thinking. If you have to go out in the middle of the night like this, I want to have a gun here."

David reached out and pulled Angela to a stop. "We'll have no guns in our house," he said. "You know the statistics as well as I do about guns in houses where there are children."

"Such statistics are not for physicians' families with a single, intelligent child," Angela countered. "Besides, I'll take responsibility for making sure Nikki is well acquainted with the gun and its potential."

David let go of his wife and headed for the stairs. "I don't have the energy or the emotional strength to argue with you."

"Good," Angela said as she caught up with him.

Upstairs, David decided to take another shower. When he came into the bedroom Angela was reading her pathology journal. She was as wide awake as he.

"Last night after dinner you said that you wished you could help me," David said. "Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember," Angela said.

"You might get your wish," David said. "An hour ago I asked the Schiller family if they would permit an autopsy. They said they'd think about it overnight and talk to me tomorrow."

"Unfortunately, it's not up to the family," Angela said. "The hospital doesn't do autopsies on CMV patients."

"But I have another idea," David said. "You could do it on your own."

Angela considered the suggestion. "Maybe I could," she said. "Tomorrow is Sunday and the lab is closed except for emergency chemistries."

"That was exactly my thought," David said.

"I could go to the hospital with you tomorrow and talk to the family," Angela said, warming to the idea.

"I'd appreciate it," David said. "If you could find some specific reason why she died, it would make me feel a whole lot better."