Right To Die

15

I DROVE BACK INT0 DOWNTOWN AND FOUND A PARKING SPACE on Charles near Cambridge Street. Stopping in a bookstore, I bought the latest Robert Randisi paperback to see how private investigators in the Big Apple were doing. A couple of chapters went down over lunch at the Sevens, a great neighborhood bar that's still what the Bull & Finch used to be before the latter went television as Cheers. I tried to wash the taste of Doleman's bitterness from my mouth with a pub sandwich and draft ale, but they didn't help much.

Leaving my car where it was, I walked to Massachusetts General Hospital. Inside the imposing white granite facade, an information volunteer with the demeanor of a kindergarten teacher explained the color – coded lines on the floors of the corridors. Following the path for Internal Medicine, I eventually reached Paul Eisenberg's office. Or at least the suite that included his office. The waiting area was crowded, some people obviously in serious if not emergent difficulty even just sitting, others at attention, as if to advertise that they were only companions, not sick themselves.

I went to the reception counter, a harried Hispanic woman looking up from one of twenty or so files teetering next to her elbow.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Eisenberg, please."

"You have your hospital card?"

"No, but – "

"You need to go around the corner, with your Blue Cross/Blue Shield, and get a hospital card. Then come back."

"I'm not a patient. I'm just here to see Dr. Eisenberg."

"Oh." She was confused, as though she couldn't process what I'd said. "Uh, what's your name?"

"Cuddy. John Cuddy. I have an appointment."

That she could process. "Have a seat. The doctor will see you as soon as possible."

I was glad I'd brought a book.

"Mr. Curry, is it?"

"Cuddy, Doctor. John Cuddy."

Eisenberg looked at me over the half-glasses. "What seems to be the problem?"

I showed him my ID. Up close, his immaculate hands were steady. The stage fright he'd exhibited at the debate seemed gone.

Eisenberg closed the holder and handed it back to me. "It's hospital policy not to discuss cases without our lawyers present."

"I'm not here about one of your cases. I'm working for Maisy Andrus on a problem she has."

"What problem is that?"

"She's been receiving threats."

Eisenberg sighed, rolling his shoulders like a weary starter in the eighth inning. "Mr. Cuddy, I really don't see how I can help with that, and I have an arkful of patients out there that I might be able to help. So, if you'll excuse me."

I held out the copies of the threats. "These are what she's been getting. It won't take long to read them."

Eisenberg sighed again, but accepted the pages. After the first one, the skin on his forehead wrinkled, flexing the bald scalp above it.

When he got to the fourth one, I said, "That was in one of the books she was given to sign at Plato's after the debate."

"I'm sorry. I can see how she'd be… how anybody would be upset over this kind of thing. I noticed there was something wrong at the signing." Eisenberg changed tone. "But I still don't see where I'd come in."

"You're pretty well known for your stands on patients' rights. I thought you might know of somebody who could have written these."

"Hmmm." He brought the right hand up, combing his beard with the fingers. "I think you'd be better off with a psychiatrist."

"I'm not looking for a profile, Doctor. I'd like names, if you have them."

"Toward what end?"

"Toward the end of finding out who's sending these."

Eisenberg combed some more. "Mr. Cuddy, I don't know anyone who would do something like this."

"Has anybody approached you about their opposition to what Andrus is doing?"

He hesitated. "No personal approaches, outside of professional circles, of course, but none of them could possibly be involved in this."

"How about letters or phone calls?"

"I do get correspondence from time to time. From nonprofessionals, I mean. Mainly older persons who don't have much… who have the time to read books and articles like mine. The closer we get to the end, Mr. Cuddy, the more the end intrigues us."

"The name Louis Doleman sound familiar?"

"The man at the debate. Who asked the question about his daughter, you mean?"

"Right."

"Well, yes. At the time it did sound familiar, but I was too…it wasn't until I was home that I remembered who he was. He'd written me, even made a small splash in the newspapers after his daughter committed suicide. Tragic situation. I believe she was a spinster who cared for him."

"You wouldn't by any chance have a copy of his letter?"

"A copy? No, all I would have is the original. But that sort of thing would just go into the daily file."

"Daily file?"

"Yes. My daily correspondence file for the day it was received. We date and time-stamp each communication. It's simply easier for the lawyers to be able to read everything that arrives on a given day rather than rely on our… uncertain filing system for the case folders themselves."

"By 'the lawyers,' you mean for malpractice?"

"Yes. It's eating us up, you know. The insurance rates are soaring, and the state won't let us balance-bill the patients to keep up with it. On top of that, most of us are scared blind of AIDS and can't even test for it without the patient's permission. Crazy."

"Was there any malpractice involved with Doleman's daughter?"

Eisenberg's forehead wrinkled again. "What?"

"Doleman's daughter died of leukemia. Was there any malpractice'?"

"What difference would that make?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I don't know either, Mr. Cuddy. I don't even recall where she was treated."

I was starting to tick Eisenberg off, and I didn't want to do that.

"Anybody else?"

"Anybody else?"

"Besides Doleman, anybody else contact you about Andrus and mercy-killing?"

"Oh. No, but you have to understand, I wouldn't be thinking of it that way."

"If mercy-killing is the wrong phrase, I – "

"No, no. What I mean is, I wouldn't get a letter and say to myself, 'Aha, another Andrus-hater.' My mind wouldn't have been alert to that kind of thing."

"The name Steven O'Brien mean anything to you?"

Eisenberg laughed. "Poor man. He lives in Rhode Island, comes up to lectures. I'm afraid he's a bit too… concentrated in his view."

"Which is'?"

"The right to life, but the sort of person who makes debates like the other night a debacle. He talked to me after a presentation I made at one of the local colleges. Nearly ranting, though in a strange way."

"Strange how?"

"Well, he has this little voice, and he speaks very quietly. But he still gives the impression of fanaticism. You'd have to see him to know what I mean."

"You said before that nobody had approached you."

"Approached me?"

"About Maisy Andrus."

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood your question.

I meant to say that the only people who've approached me about her were professional colleagues, in the circle of physicians or professors of philosophy who are interested in the area of euthanasia and patients' rights. We would talk about many things, Maisy and her writings included. But not in any… vindictive way."

"And O'Brien?"

"He may be aware of Maisy's works. In fact, I can't imagine he isn't. But I don't recall his ever saying her name, and that's why I suppose I didn't think of Steven as approaching me until you mentioned him by name."

Steven. "Any other characters like O'Brien, floating around?"

"Probably. I'm sure I don't know them all."

"How about Gunther Yary?"

"Never heard of him."

"At the debate, he was the skinhead who incited the riot."

Eisenberg didn't laugh this time. "I've read about the skinheads, Mr. Cuddy. Have you?"

"Not extensively."

"They're neo-Nazis. Oh, they come on like states' righters without southern accents, but you heard the words he used for us. 'Nigger,' 'kike.' People like that – like Yary, you say his name is?"

"Yes."

"People like this Yary are very dangerous. They can do anything, as history proves."

"Do you know Alec Bacall?"

"Quite well. If you are active in the area. you come to know most of the others. Alec is a good man. and of all of them – the advocates of euthanasia, I mean – he's the one I could come closest to agreeing with. However, the development of AZT and DDI and the drugs they might inspire merely make my point more strongly."

"Which is?"

"That no patient should be taken from us because medical technology may yet improve to the point that he or she could be saved."

Eisenberg consulted his watch. "Look, Mr. Cuddy, I really have to insist."

"I understand. I'd appreciate your keeping our talk confidential."

"I will."

Eisenberg gathered the threat notes but paused before handing them back to me. "One more thing, though."

"Yes?"

"I know you said you weren't looking for a profile, but I can't help but notice something in these notes."

"Which is?"

"The use of words. I think only a male would use… those words to describe a fema1e."

"That's how I see them too."

"Foul, but evasive as well. 'THEY DIE,' and so on. As though it were a cause involving a lot of people."

"Why is that evasive?"

"It's hard to work up to violence for a cause, Mr. Cuddy. I think it's more personal."

"Personal."

"Yes. Somebody who lost a loved one to something he blames on Maisy Andrus."

"Like Louis Doleman."

"Like a Louis Doleman. Good luck."

"Thanks."