Fatal Cure

22

Once again neither David nor Angela slept well. As was becoming his habit, David woke well before dawn. Although he was exhausted, he didn't feel ill like he had the previous morning.

Without waking Angela he went down to the family room to ponder their financial situation. He began to make a list of things to do and people to call, ranking them according to priority. He firmly believed their current plight required calm, rational thinking.

Angela appeared at the doorway in her robe. In her hand was a tissue; she'd been crying. She asked David what he was doing. He explained but she wasn't impressed.

"What are we going to do?" she cried. New tears spilled from her eyes. "We've made such a mess of everything."

David tried to console her by showing her his lists, but she shoved them away, accusing David of being out of touch with his feelings.

"Your stupid lists aren't going to solve anything," she said.

"And I suppose your hysterical tears will," David shot back.

Fortunately, they didn't let their argument go any further. They both knew they were overwrought. They also knew they each had their own way of dealing with a crisis.

"So what are we going to do?" Angela asked again.

"First, let's go to the hospital and check on Nikki," David said.

"Fine," Angela said. "It will give me a chance to talk with Helen Beaton."

"It will be futile," David warned. "Are you sure you want to expend the emotional effort?"

"I want to be sure she's aware of my complaint about sexual harassment," Angela said.

They had a quick breakfast before starting out. It felt strange for both of them to be going to the hospital yet not to work. They parked and went directly to the ICU.

Nikki was fine and antsy to get out of the unit. Although she'd found the bustle engrossing during the day, the night shift wasn't so pleasant. She'd gotten little sleep.

When Dr. Pilsner arrived he confirmed that Nikki was going to a regular room as soon as the floor sent someone to transport her.

"When do you think she'll be coming home?" Angela asked.

"As well as she's doing, she'll be home in just a few days," Dr. Pilsner said. "I want to make certain she doesn't suffer a relapse."

While David stayed with Nikki, Angela headed for Helen Beaton's office.

"Would you call Caroline and have her get my schoolbooks?" Nikki asked David.

"I'll take care of it," David promised. He was purposefully evasive. He was still reluctant to tell his daughter about Caroline's death.

David couldn't help but notice that Sandra's bed in the ICU was now occupied by an elderly man. It was half an hour before David mustered the courage to go to the unit clerk and ask about her.

"Sandra Hascher died this morning about three," the clerk said. He spoke as if he were giving a weather report; as accustomed to death as he was, he was unmoved.

David wasn't so unmoved. He'd been fond of Sandra, and his heart went out to her family, particularly her motherless children. Now he'd lost six patients in two weeks. He wondered if that was a record at Bartlet Community Hospital. Maybe CMV had been wise to fire him.

Promising Nikki that he and her mother would be back to see her later after she'd been moved to a regular room, David walked over to administration to wait for Angela.

Hardly had David sat down when Angela came storming out of the hospital president's office. She was livid. Her dark eyes shone with intensity, and her lips were clamped shut. She walked past David without slowing. He had to run to catch up with her.

"I suppose I shouldn't ask how it went," David said as they pushed through the doors to the parking lot.

"It was terrible," Angela said. "She's upholding Wadley's decision. When I explained to her that sexual harassment was at the bottom of the whole affair, she denied that any sexual harassment had taken place."

"How could she deny it when you'd spoken with Dr. Cantor?" David asked.

"She said that she asked Dr. Wadley," Angela said. "And Dr. Wadley said there had been no sexual harassment. In fact, he claimed it had been the other way around. He told Beaton that if there had been any impropriety it was that I'd tried to seduce him!"

"A familiar ploy of the sexual harasser," David said. "Blame the victim." He shook his head. "What a sleazebag!"

"Beaton said she believed him," Angela said. "She told me he was a man of impeccable integrity. Then she accused me of having made up the story to try to get back at him for spurning my advances."

When they arrived home they collapsed into chairs in the family room. They didn't know what to do. They were too depressed and confused to do anything.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel in their driveway broke the heavy silence. It was Calhoun's truck. Calhoun pulled up to the back door. Angela let him in.

"I brought you some fresh doughnuts to celebrate the first day of your vacation," Calhoun said. He passed by Angela and dumped his parcel on the kitchen table. "With a little coffee we'll be in business."

David appeared at the doorway.

"Uh oh," Calhoun said. He looked from David to Angela.

"It's okay," said David. "I'm on 'vacation' too."

"No kidding!" Calhoun said. "Lucky I brought a dozen doughnuts."

Calhoun's presence was like an elixir. The coffee helped as well. David and Angela even found themselves laughing at some of Calhoun's stories from his days as a state policeman. They were in high spirits until Calhoun suggested they get down to work.

"Now," he said, rubbing his hands with anticipation. "The problem has been reduced to finding someone with a damaged tattoo who didn't like Hodges. That shouldn't be so hard to accomplish in a small town."

"There's a catch," David said. "Since we are unemployed, I don't think we can afford to employ you."

"Don't say that," Calhoun whined. "Just when this whole thing is getting interesting."

"We're sorry," David said. "Not only will we soon be broke, but we'll obviously be leaving Bartlet. So among other things, we'll be leaving this whole Hodges mess behind."

"Hold on a second," Calhoun said. "Let's not be too rash here. I've got an idea. I'll work for nothing. How's that? It's a matter of honor and reputation. Besides, we might be catching ourselves a rapist in the process."

"That's very generous of you…" David said. He started to say more but Calhoun interrupted him.

"I've already begun the next phase of inquiry," he said. "I found out from Carleton, the bartender, that several of the town's policemen, including Robertson, have tattoos. So I went over and had a casual chat with Robertson. He was more than happy to show me his. He's rather proud of it. It's on his chest: a bald eagle holding a banner that reads 'In God We Trust.' Unfortunately-or fortunately, depending on your perspective-the tattoo was in fine shape. But I used the opportunity to ask Robertson about Hodges' last day. Robertson confirmed what Madeline Gannon had said about Hodges' planning on seeing him, then canceling. So I think we're onto something. Clara Hodges may be the key. They were estranged at the time of the doc's death, but they still spoke frequently. I get the feeling living apart greatly improved their relationship. Anyway, I called Clara this morning. She's expecting us." He looked at Angela.

"I thought she'd moved to Boston," David said.

"She did," Calhoun said. "I thought Angela and I, er, now all three of us, could drive down."

"I still think Angela and I should drop this whole business, considering what's happened. If you want to continue, that's your business."

"Maybe we shouldn't be too rash," Angela said. "What if Clara Hodges can shed some light on the history of those patients who died? You were interested in that aspect of the case last night."

"Well, that's true," David admitted. He was curious to know how many similarities there were between Hodges' patients and his own. But he wasn't curious enough to visit Clara Hodges. Not after being fired.

"Let's do it, David," Angela said. "Let's go. I feel as if this town has conspired against us, and it bothers me. Let's fight back."

"Angela, you're beginning to sound a little out of control," David said.

Angela put her coffee cup down and grabbed David by the arm. "Excuse us," she said to Calhoun. Angela pulled David into the family room.

"I'm not out of control," she began once they were beyond Calhoun's earshot. "I just like the idea of doing something positive, of having a cause. This town has pushed us around the same way it's pushed Hodges' death under the carpet. I want to know what's behind it all. Then we can leave here with our heads held high."

"This is your hysterical side talking," David said.

"Whatever you want to call it is okay with me," Angela said. "Let's give it one more final go. Calhoun thinks this visit to Clara Hodges might do the trick. Let's try it."

David hesitated. His rational side argued against it, but Angela's pleas were hard to resist. Underneath his veneer of calm and reason, David was just as angry as Angela.

"All right," he said. "Let's go. But we'll stop and see Nikki first."

"Gladly," Angela said. She put out her hand. David halfheartedly slapped it. Then when he put out his own, Angela hit it with surprising force.

David's next surprise was that they had to take Calhoun's truck so Calhoun could smoke. But with Calhoun driving, they were able to pull right up to the front door of the hospital. Calhoun waited while David and Angela ran inside.

Nikki was much happier now that she was out of the ICU. Her only complaint was that she'd been transferred to one of the old hospital beds and, as usual, the controls didn't work. The foot would rise but not the head.

"Did you tell the nurses?" David asked.

"Yeah," Nikki said. "But they haven't told me when it will be fixed. I can't watch the TV with my head flat."

"Is this a frequent problem?" Angela asked.

"Unfortunately," David said. He told her what Van Slyke had said about the hospital purchasing the wrong kind of beds. "They probably saved a few dollars buying the cheap ones. But any money saved has been lost in maintenance costs. It's that old expression: penny-wise and pound-foolish."

David left Angela with Nikki while he sought out Janet Colburn. When he found her he asked if Van Slyke had been alerted about Nikki's bed.

"He has, but you know Van Slyke," Janet said.

Back in Nikki's room, David assured her that if her bed wasn't fixed by that evening, he'd do it himself. Angela had already informed her that she and David were on their way to Boston but would be back that afternoon. They'd come see her as soon as they were back.

Returning to the front of the hospital, Angela and David piled into Calhoun's truck. Soon they were on their way south on the interstate. David found the trip uncomfortable for more reasons than the truck's poor suspension. Even though Calhoun cracked his window, cigar smoke swirled around inside the cab. By the time they got to Clara Hodges' Back Bay address in Boston, David's eyes were watering.

Clara Hodges struck David as having been a good match for Dennis Hodges. She was a big-boned, solid woman with piercing, deep-set eyes and an intimidating scowl.

She invited them into her parlor decorated with heavy Victorian furnishing. Only a meager amount of daylight penetrated the thick velvet drapes. Despite being midday the chandelier and all the table lamps were turned on.

Angela introduced herself and David as the purchasers of Clara's home in Bartlet.

"Hope you like it better than I did," Clara said. "It was too big and drafty, especially for only two people."

She offered tea which David took with relish. Not only were his eyes burning from the secondhand smoke in the truck, but his throat was parched.

"I can't say I'm pleased about this visit," Clara said once her tea was poured. "I'm upset this ugly business has surfaced. I'd just about adjusted to Dennis's disappearance when I learned that he'd been murdered."

"I'm sure you share our interest in bringing his killer to justice," Calhoun said.

"It wouldn't matter much now," Clara said. "Besides, we'd all be dragged through some awful trial. I preferred it the way it was, just not knowing."

"Do you have any suspicions about who killed your husband?" Calhoun asked.

"I'm afraid there are a lot of candidates," Clara said. "You have to understand two things about Dennis. First off, he was bull-headed, which made him hard to get along with. Not that he didn't have a good side, too. The second thing about Dennis was his obsession with the hospital. He was at constant odds with the board and that woman administrator they recruited from Boston.

"I suppose any one of a dozen people could have gotten angry enough to do him in. Yet I just can't imagine any one of them actually beating him. Too messy for all those doctors and bureaucrats, don't you think?"

"I understand that Dr. Hodges thought he knew the identity of the ski-masked rapist," Calhoun said. "Is that a fair statement?"

"That's certainly what he implied," Clara said.

"Did he ever mention any names?" Calhoun asked.

"The only thing he said was that the rapist was someone connected to the hospital," Clara said.

"An employee of the hospital?" Calhoun asked.

"He didn't elaborate," Clara said. "He was purposefully vague. That man lived to lord things over you. But he did say he wanted to speak to the person himself, thinking he could get him to stop."

"Lordy," Calhoun said. "That sounds like a dangerous thing to do. Do you think he did?"

"I don't know," Clara said. "He might have. But then he decided to go to that abominable Wayne Robertson with his suspicions. We got into a fearful quarrel over the issue. I didn't want him to go since I was sure he and Robertson would only squabble. Robertson always did have it in for him. I told him to tell Robertson his suspicions by phone or write him a letter, but Dennis wouldn't hear of it. He was so stubborn."

"Was that the day he disappeared?" Calhoun asked.

"That's right," Clara said. "But in the end Dennis didn't see Robertson-not because of my advice, mind you. He got all upset over one of his former patients dying. He said he was going to have lunch with Dr. Holster instead of seeing Robertson."

"Was this patient Clark Davenport?" Calhoun asked.

"Why yes," Clara said with surprise. "How did you know?"

"Why was Dr. Hodges so upset about Clark Davenport?" Calhoun asked, ignoring Clara's question. "Were they good friends?"

"They were acquaintances," Clara said. "Clark was more a patient, and Dennis had diagnosed Clark's cancer which Dr. Holster had successfully treated. After the treatment Dennis had felt confident that they'd caught the cancer early enough. But then Clark's employer switched to CMV and the next thing Dennis knew, Clark was dead."

"What did Clark die of?" David asked suddenly, speaking up for the first time. His voice had an urgent quality that Angela noticed immediately.

"You've got me there," Clara said. "I don't recall. I'm not sure I ever knew. But it wasn't his cancer. I remember Dennis saying that."

"Did your husband have any other medically similar patients who ended up dying unexpectedly?" David asked.

"What do you mean by medically similar?" Clara asked.

"People with cancer or other serious diseases," David said.

"Oh, yes," Clara said. "He had a number. And it was their deaths that upset him so. He became convinced that some of the CMV doctors were incompetent."

David asked Angela for copies of the admission sheets she and Calhoun had gotten from Burlington. As Angela was searching for them, Calhoun pulled out his set from one of his voluminous pockets.

David fumbled with the papers as he unfolded them. He handed them to Clara. "Look at these names," he said. "Do you recognize any?"

"I'll have to get my reading glasses," Clara said. She stood up and left the room.

"What are you so agitated about?" Angela whispered to David.

"Yeah, calm down, boy," Calhoun said. "You'll get our witness all upset and she'll start forgetting things."

"Something is beginning to dawn on me," David said. "And I don't like it one bit."

Before Angela could ask David to explain, Clara returned with her reading glasses. She picked up the papers and quickly glanced through them.

"I recognize all these people," Clara said. "I'd heard their names a hundred times, and I'd met most of them."

"I was told all of them died," Calhoun said. "Is that true?"

"That's right," Clara said. "Just like Clark Davenport. These are the people whose deaths had particularly upset Dennis. For a while I heard about them every day."

"Were their deaths all unexpected?" Calhoun asked.

"Yes and no," Clara said. "I mean it was unexpected for these people to die at the particular time they did. As you can see from these papers, most of the people were hospitalized for problems that usually aren't fatal. But they all had battled terminal illnesses like cancer, so in that sense their deaths weren't totally unexpected."

David reached out and took the papers back. He glanced through them quickly, then looked up at Clara. "Let me be sure I understand," he said. "These admission summary sheets are the admissions during which these people died."

"I believe so," Clara said. "It's been a while, but Dennis carried on so. It's hard to forget."

"And each of these patients had a serious underlying illness," David said. "Like this one admitted for sinusitis."

Clara took the sheet and looked at the name. "She had breast cancer," Clara said. "She was in my church group."

David took the sheet of paper back from Clara and rolled it up with the others. Then he stood up and walked over to the window. Pulling back the drapes, he stared out over the Charles River, ignoring the others. He seemed quite distracted.

Angela was mildly embarrassed at David's poor manners, but it was apparent that Clara didn't mind. She simply poured them all more tea.

"I want to ask a few more questions about the rapist," Calhoun said. "Did Dr. Hodges ever allude to his age or height or details such as whether or not he had a tattoo?"

"A tattoo?" Clara questioned. A fleeting smile flashed across her face before her frown returned. "No, he never mentioned a tattoo."

With a swiftness that took everyone by surprise, David returned from the window. "We have to leave," he said. "We have to go immediately."

He rushed for the door and pulled it open.

"David?" Angela called, astonished at his behavior. "What's the matter?"

"We've got to get back to Bartlet immediately," he said. His urgency had grown to near panic. "Come on!" he yelled.

Angela and Calhoun gave a hurried goodbye to Clara Hodges before running after David. By the time Angela and Calhoun got out to the truck, David was already behind the wheel.

"Give me the keys," he ordered.

Calhoun shrugged and handed them to David. David started the truck and gunned the engine. "Get in," he shouted.

Angela got in first, followed by Calhoun. Before the door was closed behind them, David hit the gas.

For the first portion of the trip no one spoke. David concentrated on driving. Angela and Calhoun were still shocked by the sudden, awkward departure. They were also intimidated by the rapidity with which they were overtaking other motorists.

"I think we'd better slow down," Angela said as David passed a long row of cars.

"This truck has never gone this fast," Calhoun said.

"David, what has come over you?" Angela asked. "You're acting bizarre."

"I had a flash of insight while we were talking to Clara Hodges," he said. "It concerns Hodges' patients with potentially terminal illnesses dying unexpectedly."

"Well?" Angela asked. "What about them?"

"I think some disturbed individual at Bartlet Community Hospital has taken it upon himself to deliver some sort of misguided euthanasia."

"What's euthanasia?" Calhoun asked.

"It translates to 'good death,' " Angela said. "It means to help someone who has a terminal illness to die. The idea is to save them from suffering."

"Hearing about Hodges' patients made me realize that all six of my recent deaths had battled terminal illnesses," David said. "The same as his. I don't know why I didn't think about it before. How could I have been so dense? And the same is true with Caroline."

"Who's Caroline?" Calhoun asked.

"She was a friend of our daughter," Angela explained. "She had cystic fibrosis which is a potentially terminal illness. She died yesterday." Angela's eyes went wide. "Oh, no! Nikki!" she cried.

"Now you know why I panicked," David said. "We have to get back there as soon as we can."

"What's going on?" Calhoun said. "I'm missing something here. Why are you two so agitated?"

"Nikki is in the hospital," Angela said anxiously.

"I know," Calhoun said. "Before we went to Boston I took you there so you could visit her."

"She has cystic fibrosis just like Caroline had," Angela said.

"Uh oh," Calhoun said. "I'm getting the picture. You're worried about your daughter being targeted by this euthanasia fiend."

"You got it," David said.

"Would this be something like that 'Angel of Mercy' case on Long Island I read about?" Calhoun asked. "It was a number of years ago. It involved a nurse who was knocking people off with some sort of drug."

"Something like that," David said. "But that case involved a muscle relaxant. The people stopped breathing. It was pretty straightforward. With my patients I have no idea how they're being killed. I can't think of any drug or poison or infectious agent that would cause the symptoms these patients had."

"I can understand why you'd be worried about your daughter," Calhoun said. "But don't you think you're being a bit hasty with this theory?"

"It answers a lot of questions," David said. "It even makes me think of Dr. Portland."

"Why?" Angela asked. She was still uncomfortable any time his name came up.

"Didn't Kevin tell us that Dr. Portland said he wasn't going to take all the blame for his patient deaths and that there was something wrong with the hospital?"

Angela nodded.

"He must have had his suspicions," David said. "Too bad he succumbed to his depression."

"He committed suicide," Angela explained to Calhoun.

"Terrible waste," Calhoun said. "All that training."

"The question is," David said, "if someone is performing euthanasia in the hospital, who could it be? It would have to be someone with access to the patients and someone with a sophisticated knowledge of medicine."

"That would limit it to a doctor or a nurse," Angela said.

"Or a lab tech," David suggested.

"I think you people are jumping the gun," Calhoun said. "This isn't the way investigations are done. You don't come up with a theory and then go barreling off at ninety miles an hour like we're doing. Most theories fall apart when more facts are in. I think we should slow down."

"Not while my daughter is at risk," David said. He pushed the old truck harder.

"Do you think Hodges came to the same conclusion?" Angela asked.

"I think so," David said. "And if he did, maybe that's why he was killed."

"I still think it was the rapist," Calhoun said. "But whoever it turns out to be, this investigation is fascinating. Providing your daughter's okay, I haven't enjoyed myself this much in years."

When they finally reached the hospital, David pulled right up to the front door. He jumped out with Angela close at his heels. Together they charged up the main stairs and ran down the hall.

To their supreme relief, they discovered Nikki perfectly happy watching TV. David snatched her up in his arms and hugged her so tightly that she began to complain.

"You're coming home," David said. He held her away so he could examine her face, especially her eyes.

"When?" Nikki asked.

"Right now," Angela said. She started disconnecting the IV.

At that moment a nurse was passing in the hall. The commotion drew her attention. When she saw Angela detaching the IV, she protested.

"What's going on here?" she asked.

"My daughter is going home," David said.

"There are no orders for that," the nurse said.

"I'm giving the order right this minute," David said.

The nurse quickly ran out of the room. Angela started to gather Nikki's clothes. David helped.

Soon Janet Colburn came back with several nurses in tow. "Dr. Wilson," Janet said, "what on earth are you doing?"

"I think it's rather apparent," David said as he packed Nikki's toys and books in a bag.

David and Angela had Nikki half dressed when Dr. Pilsner arrived. Janet had paged him. He urged them not to remove Nikki from the IV antibiotic or the hospital's talented respiratory therapist prematurely.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Pilsner," David said. "I'll have to explain later. It would take too long right now."

At that moment Helen Beaton arrived. She, too, had been called by the nurses. She was incensed. "If you take that child out of here against medical advice I'll get a court order," she sputtered.

"Just try," Angela said.

When they had Nikki fully dressed, they led her down the hall. The commotion had drawn a flock of gawking patients and staff.

Once outside they all climbed into the truck. Calhoun drove with Nikki and Angela in the cab. David had to sit in the truck bed.

The whole way home Nikki questioned her sudden discharge. She was happy to be out, but puzzled by her parents' odd behavior. But by the time she got in the house she was too excited to see Rusty to persist in her questioning. After she played with Rusty for a bit, David and Angela set her up in the family room and restarted her IV. They wanted to continue her antibiotics.

Calhoun stayed and participated as best he could. Following Nikki's request he brought wood upstairs from the basement and made a fire. But it wasn't his nature to stay silent. Before long he got into an argument with David over the motive for Hodges' murder. Calhoun strongly favored the rapist, whereas David favored the deranged "Angel of Mercy."

"Hell!" Calhoun exclaimed. "Your whole theory is based on pure supposition. Your daughter is fine, thank the Lord, so there's no proof there. At least with my theory there's Hodges' ranting about knowing who the rapist was before a roomful of people the very day he got knocked off. How's that for cause and effect? And Clara thinks Hodges might have had the nerve to speak to the man. I'm so sure the rapist and the murderer are one and the same, I'll wager on it. What kind of odds will you give me?"

"I'm not a betting man," David said. "But I think I'm right. Hodges was beaten to death holding the names of his patients. That couldn't have been a coincidence."

"What if it is the same person?" Angela suggested. "What if the rapist is the same person behind the patient deaths and Hodges' murder?"

The idea shocked David and Calhoun into silence.

"It's possible," David said at last. "It sounds sort of crazy, but at this point I'm prepared to believe almost anything."

"I suppose," Calhoun added. "Anyway, I'm going after the tattoo clue. That's the key."

"I'm going to medical records," David said. "And maybe I'll visit Dr. Holster. Hodges might have said something to him about his suspicions regarding his patients."

"Okay," Calhoun said agreeably. "I'll go do my thing, you go ahead and do yours. How's about if I come back later so we can compare notes?"

"Sounds good," David said. He looked over at Angela.

"It's fine by me," she said. "What about having dinner together?"

"I never turn down dinner invitations," Calhoun said.

"Then be here by seven," Angela said.

After Calhoun left, David got the shotgun and proceeded to load it with as many shells as it would hold. He leaned it against the newel post in the front hall.

"Have you changed your mind about the gun?" Angela asked.

"Let's just say I'm glad it's here," David said. "Have you talked to Nikki about it?"

"Absolutely," Angela said. "She even shot it. She said it hurt her shoulder."

"Don't let anyone in the house while I'm gone," David said. "And keep all the doors locked."

"Hey, I'm the one who wanted the doors locked," Angela said. "Remember?"

David took his bike. He didn't want to leave Angela without a car. He rode quickly, oblivious to the sights. His mind kept going over the idea of someone having killed his patients. It horrified and infuriated him. But as Calhoun said, he didn't have any proof.

When David arrived at the hospital, the day shift was being replaced by the evening shift. There was a lot of commotion and traffic. No one paid the slightest attention to David as he made his way to medical records.

Sitting down at a terminal, David set out Calhoun's copies of the pages that had been interred with Hodges. He'd held onto them since their visit to Clara Hodges. He called up each patient's name and read the history. All eight had had serious terminal illnesses as Clara Hodges had said.

Then David read through the notes written during each patient's hospital stay when they died. In all cases, the symptoms were similar to those experienced by David's patients: neurological symptoms, gastrointestinal symptoms, and symptoms dealing with the blood or immune system.

Next, David looked up the final causes of death. In each case except for one, death resulted from a combination of overwhelming pneumonia, sepsis, and shock. The exception was a death subsequent to a series of sustained seizures.

Putting Hodges' papers away, David began using the hospital computer to calculate yearly death rates as a percentage of admissions. The results flashed on the screen instantly. He quickly discovered that the death rate had changed two years before when it had gone from an average of 2.8% up to 6.7%. The last year the figures were available, the death rate was up to 8.1%.

David then narrowed the death rate to those patients who had a diagnosis of cancer, whether the cancer was attributed as the cause of death or not. Although these percentages were understandably higher than the overall death rate, they showed the same sudden increase.

David next used the computer to calculate the yearly diagnosis of cancer as a percentage of admissions. With these statistics he saw no sudden change. On average, they were nearly identical going back ten years.

The increased percentage of deaths seemed to back up David's theory of an angel of mercy at work. Euthanasia would explain the fact that the relative incidence of all cancers was remaining stable while the death rate for people with cancer was going up. The evidence was indirect, but it couldn't be ignored.

David was about to leave when he thought of using the computer to elicit additional information. He asked the computer to search through all the medical histories on all the admissions for the words "tattoo" or "dyschromia," the medical word for aberrant pigmentation.

He waited while the computer searched. David sat back and watched the screen. It took almost a minute, but finally a list blazed on the screen. David quickly deleted the cases with medical or metabolic causes of pigmentary change. In the end, he came up with a list of twenty people who had been treated at the hospital with a mention of a tattoo in their records.

Using the computer yet again to match name and employment, David discovered that five of the people listed worked in the hospital. They were, in alphabetical order, Clyde Devonshire, an RN who worked in the emergency room; Joe Forbs from security; Claudette Maurice from dietary; Werner Van Slyke from engineering/maintenance; and Peter Ullhof, a lab technician.

David was intrigued to see a couple of the other names and occupations listed: Carl Hobson, deputy policeman, and Steve Shegwick, a member of the security force at Bartlet College. The rest of the people worked in various stores or in construction.

David printed out a copy of this information. Then he went on his way.

David had assumed his visit to medical records had gone unnoticed, but he was wrong. Hortense Marshall, one of the health information professionals, had been alerted to some of David's activities by a security program she'd placed in the hospital computer.

From the moment she'd been alerted, she'd kept an eye on David. As soon as he'd departed from records, she placed a call to Helen Beaton.

"Dr. David Wilson was in medical records," Hortense said. "He's just left. But while he was here he called up information concerning hospital death rates."

"Did he talk with you?" Beaton asked.

"No," Hortense said. "He used one of our terminals. He didn't speak with anyone."

"How did you know he was accessing data on death rates?" Beaton asked.

"The computer alerted me," Hortense said. "After you advised me to report anyone requesting that kind of data, I had the computer programmed to signal me if someone tried to access the information on their own."

"Excellent work," Beaton said. "I like your initiative. You're to be commended. That kind of data is not for public consumption. We know our rates have gone up since we've become a tertiary care facility for CMV. They're sending us a high proportion of critically ill patients."

"I'm sure statistics of that ilk would not help our public relations," Hortense said.

"That's the concern," Beaton said.

"Should I have said anything to Dr. Wilson?" Hortense asked.

"No, you did fine," Beaton said. "Did he research anything else?"

"He was here for quite a while," Hortense said. "But I have no idea what else he was looking up."

"The reason I ask," Beaton said, "is because Dr. Wilson has been suspended from CMV."

"That I wasn't aware of," Hortense said.

"It just happened yesterday," Beaton said. "Would you let me know if he comes back?"

"Most certainly," Hortense said.

"Excuse me," Calhoun said. "Is your name Carl Hobson?" He'd approached one of Bartlet's uniformed patrolmen as he came out of the diner on Main Street.

"Sure is," the policeman answered.

"Mine's Phil Calhoun," Calhoun said.

"I've seen you around the station," Carl said. "You're friends with the chief."

"Yup," Calhoun said. "Wayne and I go back a ways. I used to be a state policeman, but I got retired."

"Good for you," Carl said. "Now it's nothing but fishing and hunting."

"I suppose," Calhoun said. "Mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Hell, no," Carl said with curiosity.

"Carleton over at the Iron Horse told me you had a tattoo," Calhoun said. "I've been thinking about getting one myself so I've been looking around and asking questions. Many people in town have 'em?"

"There's a few," Carl said.

"When did you get yours?" Calhoun asked.

"Way the hell back in high school," Carl said with an embarrassed laugh. "Five of us drove over to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, one Friday night when we were seniors. There's a bunch of tattoo parlors over there. We were all blitzed."

"Did it hurt?" Calhoun asked.

"Hell, I don't remember," Carl said. "Like I said, we were all drunk."

"All five of you guys still in town?" Calhoun asked.

"Just four of us," Carl said. "There's me, Steve Shegwick, Clyde Devonshire, and Mort Abrams."

"Did everybody get tattooed in the same spot?" Calhoun asked.

"Nope," Carl said. "Most of us got 'em on our biceps, but some chose their forearms. Clyde Devonshire was the exception. He got tattooed on his chest above each nipple."

"Who got tattooed on his forearm?" Calhoun asked.

"I'm not sure," Carl admitted. "It's been a while. Maybe Shegwick and Jay Kaufman. Kaufman's the guy who moved away. He went to college someplace in New Jersey."

"Where's yours?" Calhoun asked.

"I'll show you," Carl said. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled up the sleeve. On the outer aspect of his upper arm was a howling wolf with the word "lobo" below it.

By the time David returned home from his visit to medical records, Nikki had begun to feel worse. At first she only complained of stomach cramps, but by early evening she was suffering from nausea and increased salivation-the same symptoms David had experienced during the night. They were also the symptoms reported by the six night-shift nurses and, even scarier, by his six patients who had died.

By six-thirty Nikki was lethargic after several bouts of diarrhea, and David was sick with worry. He was terrified that they'd not gotten her out of the hospital quickly enough: whatever had killed his patients had already been given to her.

David did not share his fears with Angela. It was bad enough that she was concerned about Nikki's ostensible symptoms without adding the burden of a potential link to all those patients who died. So David kept his worries to himself, but he agonized over the possibility of an infectious disease of some kind. He comforted himself with the thought that his illness and the nurses' had been self-limiting, suggesting a low exposure to an airborne agent. David's great hope was that if such an agent was to blame, Nikki had only gotten a low dose as well.

Calhoun arrived at exactly seven. He was clutching a sheet of paper and carrying a paper bag.

"I got nine more people with tattoos," he said.

"I got twenty," David said. He tried to sound upbeat, but he couldn't get Nikki out of his mind.

"Let's combine them," Calhoun said.

When they combined the lists and threw out the duplicates, they had a final list of twenty-five people.

"Dinner's ready," Angela said. Angela had cooked a feast to buoy their spirits and to keep herself busy. She'd had David set the table in the dining room.

"I've brought wine," Calhoun said. He opened his parcel and pulled out two bottles of Chianti.

Five minutes later they were sitting down to a fine meal of chicken with chevre, one of Angela's favorite dishes.

"Where's Nikki?" Calhoun asked.

"She's not hungry," Angela said.

"She doing okay?" Calhoun asked.

"Her stomach's a bit upset," Angela said. "But considering what we put her through, it's to be expected. The main thing is that she has no fever and her lungs are perfectly clear."

David winced but didn't say anything.

"What do we do now that we have the list of people with tattoos?" she asked.

"We proceed in two ways," Calhoun said. "First we run a background computer check on each person. That's the easy part. Second, I start interviewing them. There are certain things we need to find out, like where each person's tattoo is located and whether they mind showing it off. The tattoo that got scratched by Hodges must be the worse for wear and tear, and it has to be located someplace where it could have been scratched in a struggle. If someone has a little heart on their butt, we're not going to be too interested."

"What do you think is the most promising location?" Angela asked. "On the forearm?"

"I'd say so," Calhoun said. "The forearm, and maybe the wrist. I suppose we shouldn't rule out the back of the hand although that's not a common place for professional tattoos. The tattoo we're dealing with has to have been done by a professional. Professionals are the only ones who use the heavy metal pigments."

"How do we run a background computer check?" Angela asked.

"All we need is the social security number and the birth date," Calhoun said. "We should be able to get those through the hospital." Calhoun looked at David. David nodded. "Once we have that information the rest is easy. It's staggering what information can be obtained from the hundreds of data banks that exist. Whole companies are set up in the information business. For a nominal fee you'd be surprised what you can find out."

"You mean these companies can tap into private data banks?" Angela asked.

"Absolutely," Calhoun said. "Most people don't realize it, but anybody with a computer and a modem can get an amazing amount of information on anybody."

"What kind of information would people be looking for?" Angela asked.

"Anything and everything," Calhoun said. "Financial history, criminal records, job history, consumer purchasing history, phone use, mail order stuff, personal ads. It's like a fishing trip. But interesting stuff turns up. It always does, even if you have a group of twenty-five people who are ostensibly the most normal people in a community. You'd be shocked. And with a group of twenty-five people with tattoos, it will be very interesting. They will not be, quote, 'normal,' believe me."

"Did you do this when you were a state policeman?" Angela asked.

"All the time," Calhoun said. "Whenever we had a bunch of suspects we'd run a background computer check, and we always got some dirt. And in this case if David is right and the killer is committing euthanasia, I can't imagine what we'd run across. He or she would have to be screwed up. We'd find other crusades, like saving animals from shelters and being arrested for having nine hundred dogs in their house. I guarantee we'll come across lots of screwy, weird stuff. We'll need to get hold of some computer jock to help us tap into the data banks."

"I have an old boyfriend at MIT," Angela said. "He's been in graduate school forever but I know he's a computer genius."

"Who's that?" David asked. He hadn't heard about this old boyfriend before.

"His name is Robert Scali," Angela said. To Calhoun she asked: "Do you think he would be able to help us?"

"So why have I never heard of this guy?" David asked.

"I haven't told you every little detail of my life," Angela said. "I dated him for a short time freshman year at Brown."

"But you've been in touch since then?"

"We've gotten together a couple of times over the last few years," Angela said.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," David said.

"Oh, please, David," Angela said with exasperation. "You're being ridiculous."

"I think Mr. Scali would probably do fine," Calhoun said. "If not, as I said, I know some companies who will gladly help for a modest fee."

"At this point, we'd do well to avoid any fees," Angela said. With that, she started to clear the table.

"Any chance of getting a description of the tattoos from medical records?" Calhoun asked.

"I think so," David said. "Most physicians would probably note them in a physical examination. I certainly would describe them in any physical I'd do."

"It sure would help prioritize our list," Calhoun said. "I'd like to interview those with tattoos on their forearms and wrists first."

"What about the people who work for the hospital?" David asked.

"We'll start with those," Calhoun said. "Absolutely. Also I've been told Steve Shegwick has a tattoo on his forearm. I'd like to talk with him."

Angela came back and asked who wanted ice cream and coffee. David said he'd pass, but Calhoun was eager for both. David got up and went to check on Nikki.

Later when they were sitting around the table after the meal was complete, Angela expressed an interest in organizing the efforts for the following day.

"I'll start interviewing the tattooed hospital workers," Calhoun said. "I still think it's best for me to be the front man. We don't want any more bricks through your windows."

"I'll go back to medical records," David said. "I'll get the social security numbers and birth dates and see about getting descriptions of the tattoos."

"I'll stay with Nikki," Angela said. "Then when David's gotten the social security numbers and birth dates I'll take a run into Cambridge."

"What's the matter with sending them by fax?" David asked.

"We'll be asking for a favor," Angela said. "I can't just fire off a fax."

David shrugged.

"What about that Dr. Holster, the radiotherapist," Calhoun said. "Someone has to talk with him. I'd do it but I think one of you medical people would do a better job."

"Oh yeah," David said. "I forgot about him. I can see him tomorrow when I finish at medical records."

Calhoun scraped back his chair and stood up. He patted his broad, mildly protuberant abdomen. "Thank you for one of the best dinners I've had in a long, long time," he said. "I think it's time for me to drive me and my stomach home."

"When should we talk again?" Angela asked.

"As soon as we have something to talk about," Calhoun said. "And both of you should get some sleep. I can tell you need it."