Fatal Cure

19

Neither David nor Angela slept well. Both were overwrought, but they responded differently. While Angela had trouble falling asleep, David woke well before dawn. He was appalled to see the time: four A.M. Sensing he would not fall back asleep, David got up and tiptoed out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb Angela.

On his way to the family room, he paused at the head of the stairs. He'd heard a noise from Nikki's room and was surprised to see his daughter appear.

"What are you doing awake?" David whispered.

"I just woke up," Nikki said. "I've been thinking about Caroline."

David went into his daughter's room to talk with her about her friend. David told her that he thought Caroline would be a lot better by now. He promised to check on her as soon as he got to the hospital. He said he'd call Nikki and let her know.

When Nikki coughed a deep, productive cough, David suggested they do her postural drainage. It took them almost half an hour. When it was over, Nikki said she felt better.

Together they went down into the kitchen and made breakfast. David cooked bacon and eggs while Nikki prepared a batch of drop biscuits. With a fire in the fireplace the meal had a festive quality that felt like a good antidote for their troubled spirits.

David was on his bike by five-thirty and at the hospital before six. En route, he made a mental note to arrange for someone to fix the bay window.

Several of David's patients were still asleep and David didn't disturb them. He went over their charts, planning to see them later. When he peeked into Donald's room he found the man was wide awake.

"I feel terrible," Donald said. "I haven't slept all night."

"What's the problem?" David asked, feeling his pulse quicken.

To David's dismay, the complaints were disturbingly familiar: crampy abdominal pain along with nausea and diarrhea. In addition, just like Jonathan, he complained of having to swallow continually.

David tried to remain calm. He spoke with Donald for almost half an hour, asking detailed questions about each complaint and ascertaining the sequence in which the complaints had appeared.

Although Donald's complaints certainly reminded him of his other deceased patients, there was an aspect of Donald's history that was different: Donald had never had chemotherapy.

Donald had been initially diagnosed as having pancreatic cancer, but surgery had proved this not to be the case. He'd undergone a massive operation called a Whipple procedure which included the removal of his pancreas, parts of his stomach and intestines, and a good deal of lymphatic tissue. When pathology examined the tumor it had been determined to be benign.

Since he had had such extensive surgery on his digestive system, but had not had chemotherapy to compromise his immune system, David was hopeful that Donald's complaints were purely functional and not harbingers of whatever afflicted David's other unlucky patients.

After finishing his rounds, David called admitting to find out Caroline's room number. On his way he had to pass the ICU. Steeling himself against what he might learn, he went in to check on Jonathan Eakins.

"Jonathan Eakins died about three this morning," the busy head nurse said. "It was a very quick downhill course. Nothing we did seemed to help. It was a shame. A young man like that. It proves you never know when you're going to have to go."

David swallowed hard. He nodded, turned, and left the unit. Even though he'd known in his heart that Jonathan would die, the reality of it was hard to take. David still had a hard time absorbing the staggering fact: he had now lost four patients in a little over a week.

On a brighter note, David discovered that Caroline had responded well to her treatment of IV antibiotics and intensive respiratory therapy. Her fever was gone, her color was pink, and her blue eyes sparkled. She smiled broadly the instant David appeared.

"Nikki wants to come to visit you," David said.

"Cool," Caroline said. "When?"

"Probably this afternoon," David said.

"Could you please ask her to bring me my reading book and my spelling book," Caroline said.

David promised he would.

The first thing David did when he got to his office was call home. Nikki answered. David told her that Caroline was much better and that Nikki could visit her that day. He also relayed Caroline's request for her books. Then David asked Nikki to put her mother on the line.

"She's in the shower," Nikki said. "Should she call you back?"

"No, it's not necessary," David said. "But I want you to remind her of something. She brought a gun home yesterday. It's a shotgun, and it is leaning against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. She's supposed to show it to you and warn you not to touch it. Will you remind her to do all that?"

"Yes, Dad," Nikki said.

David could picture his daughter rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious," he said. "Don't forget."

Hanging up the phone, David wondered about the gun. He didn't like it. Yet he wasn't about to force the issue at the moment. More than anything, he wanted Angela to give up her obsession with Hodges' murder. A brick through the front window was all the warning David needed.

David decided to take this early-morning opportunity to get through some of the never-ending reams of paperwork he was forced to process in connection with his practice. As he laid the first form on his desk, the phone rang. The caller was a patient named Sandra Hascher. She was a young woman with a history of melanoma that had spread to regional lymph nodes.

"I didn't expect to get you directly," Sandra said.

"I'm the only one here just now," David explained.

Sandra told him she'd been having trouble with an abscessed tooth. The tooth had been pulled, but the infection was worse. "I'm sorry to bother you with this," she continued, "but my temperature is one hundred and three. I would have gone to the emergency room, but the last time I took my son there I had to pay for it myself. CMV refused."

"I've heard the story before," David said. "Why don't you come right over. I'll see you immediately."

"Thanks, I'll be right there," Sandra said.

The abscess was impressive. The whole side of Sandra's face was distorted by the swelling. In addition, the lymph nodes beneath her jaw were almost golf-ball size. David checked her temperature. It was indeed one hundred and three.

"You've got to come into the hospital," David said.

"I can't," Sandra said. "I've got so much to do. And my ten-year-old is home with the chicken pox."

"You'll just have to make arrangements," David said. "There's no way I'm going to let you walk around with this time bomb."

David carefully explained the anatomy of the region to Sandra, emphasizing how close the infection was to her brain. "If the infection gets into your nervous system, we're in deep trouble," David said. "You need continuous antibiotics. This is no joke."

"All right," Sandra said. "You have me convinced."

David called admitting to warn them Sandra would be coming. Then he gave her a written set of orders and sent her on her way.

Angela felt terrible. She was exhausted. Several cups of coffee had not been enough to revive her. It had been almost three o'clock before she'd fallen asleep, and once she had, she'd not slept soundly. She'd had nightmares again, featuring Hodges' body, the ski-masked rapist, and the brick through the window.

When she finally did wake up she was surprised to discover that David had already left for work.

As Angela dressed, she regretted her promise to David to try to forget about Hodges. She didn't see how she could "just let Hodges go" as David suggested.

Angela wondered again about Phil Calhoun. She still had not heard a word from him. She figured that the least he could do was check in. Even if he hadn't discovered something significant, he could at least let her know what he'd accomplished to date.

Angela decided to give Phil Calhoun a call, but all she got was his answering machine. Deciding against leaving a message, she simply hung up.

Downstairs, Angela found Nikki in the family room busily reading from one of her schoolbooks.

"Okay," Angela said. "Upstairs for postural drainage."

"I already did it with Dad," Nikki said.

"Really?" Angela said. "How about breakfast?"

"We had that too," Nikki said.

"What time did you two get up?" Angela asked.

"Around four," Nikki said.

Angela wasn't happy about David's getting up so early. Having trouble sleeping was often a sign of depression. She also didn't like the idea of having Nikki up so early.

"How did Daddy seem this morning?" Angela asked as she joined Nikki in the family room.

"Fine," Nikki said. "He called while you were in the shower. He said that Caroline was okay and that I can visit her this afternoon."

"That's wonderful news," Angela said.

"He also asked me to remind you about a gun," Nikki said. "He acted weird, like I wouldn't know what a gun is."

"He's worried," Angela said. "It's no joke. Guns are bad business when it comes to kids. A lot of kids are killed each year because of family-owned guns. But more often than not those cases involve handguns."

Angela walked out into the front hall and brought the shotgun back into the family room. She took the shell out of the chamber and showed Nikki how to tell there were no more inside.

Angela spent the next half hour going over the gun with Nikki, allowing Nikki to pump it, pull the trigger, and even load and unload it. When they were finished with the instruction, they went outside behind the barn and each fired a shell. Nikki said she didn't like firing it because it hurt her shoulder.

Returning to the house, Angela told Nikki that she wasn't to touch the gun. Nikki told her not to worry, she didn't want to have anything to do with it.

Since the weather was warm and sunny, Nikki wanted to ride her bike to school. Angela watched as she started off toward town. Angela was pleased she was doing so well; at least Bartlet was good for Nikki.

Shortly after Nikki left, Angela did the same. After parking in the reserved area, Angela couldn't resist the temptation to examine the spot where she'd been attacked. She retraced her steps into the stand of trees that separated the parking lots and found her own footprints in the muddy earth. With the help of the footprints she found the spot where she'd fallen. Then she discovered the deep cut left in the earth by the man's club.

The cleft was about four inches deep. Angela put her fingers in it and shuddered. She could still vividly recall the sight and sound of that club whizzing by her ear. She even could vaguely recall the glint of a flash of metal streaking by.

Suddenly, Angela realized something she hadn't focused on before: the man had not hesitated. If she had not rolled out of the way, she would have been struck. The man hadn't been trying to rape her, he'd wanted to hurt her, maybe kill her.

Angela thought back to the injuries to Hodges' skull she'd examined during the autopsy. Hodges had been hit with a metal rod. Her head could have looked just like Hodges'!

Against her better judgment, Angela put in a call to Robertson.

"I know what you're calling about," Robertson said irritably, "and you can just forget it. I ain't sending this brick up to the state police lab for fingerprints. They'd laugh me out of the goddamn state."

"I'm not calling about the brick," Angela said. Instead, she conveyed her idea that her assault had been attempted murder, not attempted rape.

When Angela was finished, Robertson was so quiet, she was afraid that he'd hung up. "Hello?" she asked at last.

"I'm still here," Robertson said. "I'm thinking."

There was another pause.

"Nah, I don't buy it," Robertson said finally. "This guy is a rapist, not a murderer. He's had opportunity to kill in the past, but he didn't. Hell, he didn't even hurt the ones he did rape."

Angela wondered if the rape victims didn't feel hurt, but she wasn't about to argue the issue with Robertson. She merely thanked him for his time and hung up.

"What a flake!" Angela said out loud. She was a fool to have thought Robertson would give any credence to her theory. Yet the more she thought about the attack, the more sure she became that rape hadn't been the goal. And if it had been an attempted murder, then it had to be related to her interest in Hodges' murder. Maybe the man was Hodges' murderer!

Angela shivered. If she was right, then she'd been stalked. The idea terrified her. Whatever she did, she'd have to be sure to make it seem as if she were giving up on the affair.

Angela wondered if she should tell David her latest suspicions. She was indecisive. On the one hand, she never wanted there to be any secrets between them. On the other, she knew he'd only use it as more reason for her to give up her probe of Hodges' murder. For the time being, Angela decided that she'd only tell Phil Calhoun-if and when he contacted her.

"I'll have a little more coffee," Traynor said as he pointed toward his cup with the handle of his gavel for the waitress's benefit. As was their habit, Traynor, Sherwood, Beaton, and Caldwell were having a breakfast meeting in advance of the monthly hospital executive board meeting scheduled for the following Monday night. They were seated at Traynor's favorite table at the Iron Horse Inn.

"I'm encouraged," Beaton said. "The preliminary figures for the second half of October are better than those of the first half. We're not out of the woods yet, but they are significantly better than September's."

"We get one crisis under control and then have to face another," Traynor said. "It's never-ending. What's the story about a doctor being assaulted last night?"

"It was just after midnight," Caldwell said. "It was the new female pathologist, Angela Wilson. She'd been working late."

"Where in the parking lot did it take place?" Traynor asked. He began his nervous habit of hitting his palm with his gavel.

"In the pathway between the lots," Caldwell said.

"Have lights been put in there?" Traynor asked.

Caldwell looked at Beaton.

"I don't know," Beaton admitted. "But we'll check as soon as we get back. You ordered lights to be put there, but whether it got done or not I'm not sure."

"They'd better be," Traynor said. He hit his palm particularly hard and the sound carried around the room. "I've had no luck lobbying the Selectmen about the parking garage. There's no way it can even get on the ballot now until spring."

"I checked with the Bartlet Sun," Beaton said. "They have agreed to keep the rape attempt out of the paper."

"At least they're on our side," Traynor said.

"I think their loyalty is inspired by the ads we run," Beaton said.

"Any new business to be brought up at the board meeting?" Sherwood asked.

"There's a new battle fomenting in the clinical arena," Beaton said. "The radiologists and the neurologists are squaring off for a bloody fight over which group is officially designated to read MRIs of the skull."

"You've got to be kidding," Traynor said.

"Honest," Beaton said. "If we gave them weapons it would be a fight to the death. It involves dollars and ego, a tough combination."

"Damn doctors," Traynor said with disgust. "They can't work together on anything. They're a bunch of lone rangers, if you ask me."

"Which brings me to M.D. 91," Beaton said. "He's planning on suing the hospital over his privileges."

"Let him sue," Traynor said. "I'm even tired of the medical staffs insistence that we call these 'compromised physicians' by code numbers. Hell, 'compromised physician' is a euphemism in itself."

"That's all the new business," Beaton said.

Traynor looked around the table. "Anything else?"

"I had a curious visit yesterday afternoon," Sherwood said. "The caller was a PI by the name of Phil Calhoun."

"He came to see me too," Traynor said.

"He makes me nervous," Sherwood said. "He asked a lot of questions about Hodges."

"Likewise," Traynor said.

"The problem was that he already seemed to know a fair amount," Sherwood said. "I was reluctant to give him any information, but I didn't want to appear to be stonewalling either."

"My feelings exactly," Traynor said.

"He hasn't come to see me," Beaton said.

"Who do you think retained him?" Sherwood asked.

"I asked him," Traynor said. "He implied that the family had. I assumed he meant Clara, so I called her. She said she didn't know anything about Phil Calhoun. Next I called Wayne Robertson. Calhoun had already been to see him. Wayne thought that the most likely candidate is Angela Wilson, our new pathologist."

"That makes sense," Sherwood said. "She came to see me about Hodges. She was very upset about his body being discovered in her house."

"That's a curious coincidence," Beaton said. "She's certainly having her troubles: first finding a body in her house and then experiencing a rape attempt."

"Maybe the rape attempt will dampen her interest in Hodges," Traynor said. "It would be ironic for something positive to come out of something so potentially negative."

"What if Phil Calhoun figures out who killed Hodges?" Caldwell asked.

"That could be a problem," Traynor said. "But it's been over eight months. What are the odds? The trail must be pretty cool by now."

When the meeting broke up, Traynor walked Beaton out to her car. He asked her if she'd had a change of heart about their relationship.

"No," Beaton said. "Have you?"

"I can't divorce Jacqueline right now," Traynor said. "Not with my boy in college. But when he gets out…"

"Fine," Beaton said. "We'll talk about it then."

As Beaton drove up to the hospital, she shook her head in dismay. "Men!" she said irritably.

After seeing off his last patient for the day, David stepped across the hall into his private office. Nikki was sitting at his desk leafing through one of his medical journals. David liked the fact that she was interested in medicine. He hoped that if her interest persisted, she would have the opportunity to study medicine.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Let's go."

It took them only a few minutes to cover the short distance to the hospital and up a flight of stairs. When they stepped into Caroline's room, Caroline's face lit up with joy. She was especially pleased that Nikki had remembered to bring the books that she'd requested. Caroline was a superb student, just like Nikki.

"Look what I can do," Caroline said. She reached up and grabbed an overhead bar and pulled herself completely off the bed, angling her feet up into the air.

David clapped. It was a feat that took considerable strength, more than David would have guessed her slender arms had. Caroline was in a large orthopedic bed with an overhead frame. David assumed they'd put her in it for its entertainment value since the child was obviously enjoying it.

"I'm going to check on my patients," David said. He shook a finger at Nikki. "I won't be long, and no terrorizing the nurses, promise?"

"Promise," Nikki said, then she giggled with Caroline.

David headed straight for Donald Anderson's room. He wasn't worried about Donald's status because he'd called to check on him throughout the day. The reports had always been the same: the blood sugars were all normal and the GI complaints had decreased.

"How are you, Donald?" David asked as he arrived at the bedside.

Donald was on his back. His bed was raised so that he was reclining at a forty-five-degree angle. When David spoke he slowly rolled his head to the side, but he didn't answer.

"How are you?" David said, raising his voice.

Donald mumbled something David couldn't understand. David tried again to talk with him, but quickly realized that the man was disoriented.

David examined him carefully. He listened intently to his lungs, but there were no adventitious sounds, indicating that his lungs were clear. Walking out to the nurses' station he ordered a stat blood sugar.

While the blood sugar was being processed, David saw his other patients. Everyone else was doing well, including Sandra. Although she'd been on antibiotics for less than twelve hours, she insisted the pain in her jaw was better. When David examined her, his impression was that the abscess was the same size, but the symptomatic improvement was encouraging. He did not change her treatment. Two other patients were doing so well he told them they could go home the following day.

As he was finishing his entry in the chart of his last patient, the floor secretary slipped the result of Donald's blood sugar under David's nose. It was normal. David picked up the scrap of paper and studied it. He didn't want it to be normal. He wanted it to explain the change in Donald's mental status.

David slowly walked back to Donald's room, puzzling over his condition. The only explanation that David could think of was that Donald's blood sugar had had a wild swing either up or down and had then corrected itself. The problem with that line of reasoning was that the patient's sensorium usually returned to normal simultaneous with the blood sugar.

David was still mulling over the possibilities when he reentered Donald's room. When he first saw Donald, David stared in utter disbelief. Donald's face was dusky blue and his head was thrust back in hyper-extension. Dark blood oozed from a half-open mouth. His body was only partially covered; the bedcovers were in total disarray.

David's initial shock quickly turned into motion. He alerted the nurses that there had been an arrest and started cardiopulmonary resuscitation. The resuscitation team arrived and followed their familiar routine. Even Donald's surgeon, Dr. Albert Hillson, came in. He'd been making round's when he'd heard the commotion.

The resuscitation attempt was soon called off. It was apparent that Donald had suffered a seizure and respiratory arrest somewhere between fifteen and twenty minutes prior to David finding him. With that amount of time having passed with no oxygen getting to the brain, there was no hope. David declared Donald dead at five-fifteen.

David was devastated at having lost yet another patient, but he forced himself not to show it. Dr. Hillson was saddened but expansive. He said that it had been a tribute to good medical care that Donald had lived as long as he had. When Shirley Anderson came in with her two young boys, she voiced the same sentiment.

"Thank you for being so kind to him," Shirley said to David as she blotted her eyes. "You had become his favorite doctor."

After David had done all he could, he headed toward Caroline's room to get Nikki. He felt numb. It had all happened so quickly.

"At least you know why this patient died," Angela said after David had described what had happened to Donald Anderson. They were sitting in the family room. Dinner was long since over; Nikki was up in her room doing her homework.

"But I don't," David complained. "It all happened so fast."

"Now, wait a minute," Angela said. "With the other patients I could understand your confusion. But not with this one. Donald Anderson had had most of his abdominal organs rearranged if not removed. He was in and out of your office and the hospital. You can't possibly blame yourself for his death."

"I don't know what to think anymore," David said. "It's true; he was always teetering on the edge with his frequent infections and his brittle diabetes. But why a seizure?"

"His blood sugar was wandering all over the map," Angela said. "What about a stroke? I mean the possibilities are legion."

The phone startled them both. David reached for it by reflex. He was afraid it was the hospital with more bad news. When the caller asked for Angela, he was relieved.

Angela immediately recognized the voice: it was Phil Calhoun.

"Sorry I haven't been in touch," Calhoun said. "I've been busy, but now I'd like to have a chat."

"When?" Angela asked.

"Well, I'm sitting here in the Iron Horse Inn," Calhoun said. "It's only a stone's throw away. Why don't I come over?"

Angela covered the phone with her hand. "It's the private investigator, Phil Calhoun," she said. "He wants to come over."

"I thought you were letting the Hodges affair go," David said.

"I have," Angela said. "I haven't spoken to anyone."

"Then what about Phil Calhoun?" David asked.

"I haven't spoken to him either," Angela said. "Not since Saturday. But I've already paid him. I think we should at least hear what he's learned."

David sighed with resignation. "Whatever," he said.

A quarter of an hour later when Phil Calhoun came through their door, David wondered what could have possessed Angela to describe him as professional. To David he appeared anything but professional, with a red baseball cap on backwards and a flannel shirt. The sorrels on his feet didn't even have laces.

"Pleasure," Calhoun said when he shook hands with David.

They sat in the living room on the shabby old furniture that they'd brought from Boston. The huge room had a cheap dance-hall feel with such meager, pitiful furnishing. The plastic bag taped to the window didn't help.

"Nice house," Calhoun said as he looked around.

"We're still in the process of furnishing it," Angela said. She asked if she could get Calhoun something to drink. He said he'd appreciate a beer if she didn't mind.

While Angela was off getting the beer, David continued to eye their visitor. Calhoun was older than David had expected. A shock of gray hair bristled' from beneath the red cap, which Calhoun made no attempt to remove.

"Mind if I smoke?" Calhoun asked as he brandished his Antonio y Cleopatras.

"I'm sorry, but we do," Angela said, coming back into the room and handing Calhoun his beer. "Our daughter has respiratory problems."

"No problem," Calhoun said agreeably. "I wanted to give you folks an update on my investigations. It's proceeding well, although not without effort. Dr. Dennis Hodges was not the most popular man in town. In fact, half the population seems to have hated him for one reason or another."

"We're already aware of that," David said. "I hope that you have more specific details to add to justify your hourly wage."

"David, please!" Angela said. She was surprised at David's rudeness.

"It's my opinion," Calhoun continued, ignoring David's comment, "that Dr. Hodges either didn't care what other people thought of him or he was socially handicapped. As a purebred New Englander, it was probably a combination of the two." Calhoun chuckled, then took a drink of his beer.

"I've made up a list of potential suspects," Calhoun continued, "but I haven't interviewed them all yet. But it's getting interesting. Something strange is going on here. I can feel it in my bones."

"Who have you spoken with?" David asked. There was still a rudeness to his voice that bothered Angela, but she didn't say anything.

"Just a couple so far," Calhoun said. He let out a belch. He made no attempt to excuse himself or even cover his mouth. David glanced at Angela. Angela pretended not to have noticed.

"I've talked to a few of the higher-ups with the hospital," Calhoun continued. "The chairman of the board, Traynor, and the vice chairman, Sherwood. Both had reasons to hold a grudge against Hodges."

"I hope you plan to speak with Dr. Cantor," Angela said. "I'd heard he really had it out for Hodges."

"Cantor's on the list," Calhoun assured her. "But I wanted to start at the top and work down. Sherwood's grudge involved a piece of land. Traynor's beef was far more personal."

Calhoun went on to explain the Traynor-Hodges-Van Slyke triangle, concluding with the suicide of Sunny Traynor, Traynor's sister.

"What a terrible story," Angela said.

"It's like a TV melodrama," Calhoun agreed. "But you'd think that if Traynor felt compelled to do anything about Hodges, he would have done it back then, not now. Besides, Hodges had hand-picked Traynor to take over the hospital board well after the suicide. I doubt he'd have done that if he and Traynor were still at odds. And Van Slyke's child, Werner, works for the hospital today."

"Werner Van Slyke is related to Traynor?" David questioned with surprise. "Now that smacks of nepotism."

"Could be," Calhoun said. "But Werner Van Slyke, Junior, had a long-term friendly relationship with Hodges. He'd taken care of this house for Hodges for years. His position at the hospital is probably more a result of Hodges' doing than Traynor's. At any rate, I don't suspect Traynor of murder."

"How can you be sure?" Angela questioned.

"Can't be sure of anything except Hodges' murder," Calhoun said. "After that we can only deal in probabilities."

"This is all very interesting," David said, "but have you come up with a suspect or at least narrowed the list down?"

"No, not yet," Calhoun said.

"How much have we spent to get to this dubious crossroad?" David asked.

"David!" Angela snapped. "I think you're being unfair. I think Mr. Calhoun has learned a lot in a short period of time. I think the important question now is whether he believes the case is solvable."

"I'll buy that," David said. "What's your professional assessment, Mr. Calhoun?"

"I think I need a cigar," Calhoun said. "Would you folks mind if we were to sit outside?"

A few minutes later they assembled on the terrace. Calhoun was utterly content with his smoke and another beer.

"I think the case is definitely solvable," he said. His broad, doughy face intermittently lit up as he puffed on his cigar. "You have to know something about small New England towns: they are more the same than they are different. I know these people and I understand the dynamics. The characters are generally the same from town to town, only the names are different. Anybody's business is everybody else's. In other words I'm sure that some people know who the killer is. The problem is getting somebody to talk. My hunch is that the hospital is involved on some level, and no one wants it to get hurt. And there's a chance it could get hurt because Hodges made the hospital his life's work."

"How have you gotten your information so far?" Angela asked. "I thought New Englanders were closed-mouthed, reluctant to talk."

"Generally true," Calhoun said. "But some of the best people for town gossip happen to be friends of mine: the bookstore owner, the pharmacist, the bartender, and the librarian. They've been my sources so far. Now, I just have to start eliminating suspects. But before I begin I have to ask you a question: Do you want me to continue?"

"No," David said.

"Wait a minute," Angela said. "You've told us that the case is definitely solvable. How long do you think it will take?"

"Not too long," Calhoun said.

"That's too vague," David said.

Calhoun lifted his cap and scratched his scalp. "I'd say within a week," he said.

"That's a lot of money," David said.

"I think it's worth it," Angela said.

"Angela!" David pleaded. "You told me you were going to drop this Hodges affair."

"I will," Angela said. "I'll let Mr. Calhoun do everything. I won't talk to a soul."

"Good Lord," David said dejectedly as he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Come on, David," Angela said. "If you expect me to live in this house then you have to support me in this."

David hesitated, then thought of a compromise. "Okay," he said. "I'll make a deal. One week, then it's over no matter what."

"All right," Angela said. "It's a deal." Then she turned to Calhoun. "Now that we have a time constraint, what's the next move?"

"First I'll continue interviewing my list of suspects," Calhoun said. "At the same time there are two other major goals. One is to reconstruct Dr. Hodges' last day, assuming he was killed on the day he disappeared. To do this I want to interview Hodges' secretary-nurse who'd worked for him for thirty-five years. The second goal is to get copies of the medical papers that were found with Hodges."

"They're in the custody of the state police," Angela said. "Having been on the force, can't you get copies easily?"

"Unfortunately, no," Calhoun said. "The state police tend to be inordinately guarded when it conies to evidence in their custody. I know because I used to work for a while in the crime-scene division up in Burlington. It makes for a kind of 'catch-22.' The state police with the expertise and the evidence aren't motivated to expend a lot of time and effort on this kind of case because they take their cue from the local police. If the local police don't care, then the state police let it slide. One of the reasons the local police don't care is they don't have the evidence to go on."

"Another reason is that they might be somehow involved," Angela said. She then told Calhoun about the brick through the window, the threatening notes, and the police's response.

"Doesn't surprise me," Calhoun said. "Robertson's on my list. He couldn't stand Hodges."

"I knew that," Angela said. "I was told that Robertson blames his wife's death on Hodges."

"I don't give that story a lot of significance," Calhoun said. "Robertson's not that stupid. I think the sorry episode about his wife was just an excuse. I think Robertson's anger toward Hodges stemmed more from Hodges' behavior which we know was less than diplomatic. I'd bet my last dollar that Hodges knew Robertson for the blowhard he is and never gave him any respect. I sincerely doubt that Robertson killed Hodges, but when I was talking with him, he gave me a funny feeling. He knows something he wasn't telling me."

"The way the police have been dragging their feet they have to be involved," Angela said.

"Reminds me of a case when I was a state trooper," Calhoun said after another long pull on his cigar. "It was also a homicide in a small town. We were sure the whole town, including the local police, knew who'd done it, yet no one would come forward. We ended up dropping the case. It's unsolved to this day."

"What makes you think Hodges' case is any different?" David asked. "Couldn't the same thing happen here?"

"Not a chance," Calhoun said. "In the case I just told you about the dead person was a murderer and a thief himself. Hodges is different. There are a lot of people who hated him, but there's also a bunch who think he was one of the town heroes. Hell, this is the only referral hospital in New England outside of the big cities, and Hodges was personally responsible for building it up. A lot of people's livelihood is based on what Hodges created here. Don't worry, this case will be solved. No doubt about it."

"How will you manage to get copies of Hodges' papers if you can't do it yourself?" Angela asked.

"You have to do it," Calhoun said.

"Me?" Angela asked.

"That's not part of the deal," David said. "She has to stay out of this investigation. I don't want her talking to anyone. Not with bricks coming through our window."

"There will be no danger," Calhoun insisted.

"Why me?" Angela asked.

"Because you are both a physician and an employee of the hospital," Calhoun said. "If you show up at the crime-scene division up in Burlington with the appropriate identification and say that copies of the papers are needed to take care of patients, they'll make you copies in a flash. Judges' and doctors' requests are always honored. I know. As I said, I used to work there."

"I guess visiting the state police headquarters couldn't be very dangerous," Angela said. "It's not as if I'm participating in the investigation."

"I suppose it's okay," David said. "Provided there's no chance of getting into trouble with the police."

"No chance," Calhoun said. "The worst thing that could happen is they wouldn't give her the copies."

"When?" Angela asked.

"How about tomorrow?" Calhoun suggested.

"It will have to be on my lunch hour," Angela said.

"I'll come pick you up at noon in front of the hospital," Calhoun said. He stood up, thanking them for the beers.

Angela offered to walk Calhoun to his truck while David went back in the house.

"I hope I'm not causing trouble between you and your husband," Calhoun said as they approached his vehicle. "He didn't seem at all pleased about my investigation."

"It won't be a problem," Angela said. "But we'll have to stick to the one-week agreement."

"Should be plenty of time," Calhoun said.

"There is something else I wanted to tell you," Angela said. She explained her new theory on her assault.

"Hmmm," Calhoun said. "This is getting more interesting than I thought. You'd better be doubly sure to leave the sleuthing to me."

"I intend to," Angela said.

"I've been careful about not letting it be known that you've retained me," Calhoun said.

"I appreciate the discretion."

"Maybe tomorrow I should pick you up in the parking lot behind the library instead of in front of the hospital," Calhoun said. "No sense taking chances."