Sacrificial Ground

15

It was almost noon the next day when Angelica Devereaux was buried in one of Atlanta’s most exclusive cemeteries. It was the sort of exquisitely kept ground that up until recent years had never received the body of a black or a Jew. It held to a certain rigid dignity, the sort that looked as if money couldn’t buy it, even though everyone knew that it was the only thing that could.

“They’ll probably bury the mayor here,” Caleb said, his lips fluttering around the stem of his pipe. “That’ll make integration complete.”

To Frank, it had only mattered that Angelica was being buried. He could still remember the feel of her clothing. He’d gone through it the day before, fingering the pockets of her ordered blouses and neatly folded jeans for some note with a name or number on it. The closets had revealed nothing, and so, as Karen stood in the doorway, he had gone through the drawers of the vanity, then the bureau, had peered under the canopy bed and beneath the primly stuffed pillows. The underside of things revealed no more than their appearances, and a little girl’s room remained a little girl’s room forever.

“Who’s the guy with the white hair and black suit?” Caleb asked.

“Arthur Cummings,” Frank said.

Caleb leaned against the large elm and sucked his teeth. “Oh yeah, the guardian.”

Even from the distance, Frank could hear the low moan of the Episcopalian minister as he began his prayer for Angelica’s salvation.

“I recognize that guy on Cummings’ right,” Caleb said, “the headmaster.” He squinted against the bright light. “But who’s the blonde guy with the hairdo?”

“James Theodore. Friend of Karen’s.”

The sound of prayer died away, and Karen stepped forward. For a moment she remained, staring into the open grave. Then she took a spadeful of reddish earth and scattered it over Angelica’s coffin.

“From the look of it, Frank,” Caleb said, “Angelica didn’t have many friends.”

“No teachers from the school. No students.”

“You think the little papa might be here?”

Frank glanced at one face, then another: Cummings, Morrison, Theodore, and at last, a small, squat man in a gray suit and hornrimmed glasses.

“The guy in the gray suit,” he said. “He looks familiar.”

Caleb shook his head. “I think Angelica could have done better than that.”

“I’ve seen him somewhere,” Frank said thoughtfully. He was not sure exactly what he remembered, the flabby round face, the short, stocky body, the enormous glasses, but it was something unpleasant. He replayed his past cases, searching for some detail that would sweep the man back into his memory.

Then, suddenly, the man reached in his jacket pocket and fingered the antenna of a small remote receiver.

“He’s a doctor,” Frank whispered. He looked over to Caleb. “There was a woman, a society woman. They found her dead in her house on the Prado.”

Caleb watched him. “This one’s new to me, Frank.”

“She’d OD’d on something,” Frank continued. “Alvin brought the doctor in for questioning.”

Caleb’s eyes slowly shifted back to the little man in the gray suit.

“It turns out he was one of those Dr. Feelgood types,” Frank said. “He was pretty much giving a few rich people anything they wanted. Loading them up on prescription drugs.”

“Did they nail him?”

“No, he slipped by,” Frank said. “There was some talk about the medical society checking him out, but I don’t know if anything ever came of that.”

Caleb took out a large handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his neck. “Well, as a group, we got the family lawyer, the family educator … maybe we got the family doctor, too.”

“Maybe,” Frank said. His eyes had shifted over to Karen. She stood beside the grave, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes fixed on the open ground and the coffin which rested in it. She looked sadder than he had ever seen her. It was as if she were mourning everything around her, the bright midday light that swept the grounds, the stifling heat, the enormous magnolia that rose beside the grave, even the small bird that could be heard from somewhere deep in its lush growth.

Within a moment the service was over, and Frank continued to watch as Karen and the rest of them moved toward their waiting limousines.

“Remembered awhile, forgot forever,” Caleb said. “That’s what my mother used to say.”

The doctor was leaving too, and Frank walked over to him immediately.

The doctor’s eyes lifted slowly as Frank approached. They were large and brown, and they gave his face a cuddly expression.

Frank flashed his badge.

The man smiled. “I thought you were the police.”

“Did you?”

“Like in the movies. They always go to the funeral of the deceased.” He thrust out his hand. “I’m Herman Clark, Dr. Herman Clark.”

Frank shook his hand quickly. “I’m handling the investigation into Angelica’s death.” He took out his notebook. “Did you know her?”

“I suppose you could say I was her physician,” Clark said. “I suppose you must have discovered that she was pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“I’m the physician who confirmed that.”

“Confirmed?”

“Told Angelica,” Dr. Clark explained.

“She came to your office?”

“Yes.”

“Did someone recommend you?”

“She said she took my name from the phone book,” Dr. Clark told him. “As far as I know, that’s how she found me.”

“And you saw her in your office?”

“Yes.”

“When was that?”

“Well, two days ago, when I read about her death in the newspaper, I went to my files and reviewed the whole case.” He smiled. “I mean, you can’t be too careful, what with all these malpractice suits.” He shifted slightly on his feet. “Well, anyway, I wanted to make sure that I was clear of any negligence in her case. I didn’t even want the appearance of negligence. I mean, that’s all they need, these people and their goddamn lawyers, just appearance.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “But thank God, I’m clear on this case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there was nothing to it,” Dr. Clark said. “She came for two office visits. She was given a routine examination and pregnancy test. After that she was appropriately notified of her pregnancy. No medicines were prescribed, no course of treatment recommended.” He snapped his fingers. “In and out, like that.” He looked at Frank pointedly. “So there’s no goddamn way any shyster lawyer can nail me on a negligence suit. I’m like Caesar’s wife on this one.”

Frank continued to hold his pen over a blank page in his notebook. “When did she first visit your office, Dr. Clark?”

“May eleventh,” Clark said. “It’s all right there in my files. The visit lasted about an hour. I did an examination and a pregnancy test, and she was on the streets in no time.”

“Did she know she was pregnant when she came to you?” Frank asked.

“She suspected it.”

“She told you that?”

“She indicated that her menstrual cycle was off, that she was late.”

Frank wrote it down. “So, May eleventh,” he repeated.

Clark smiled happily. “At eleven oh five in the morning, to be exact. I keep very accurate records.” Then he noticed that Frank was writing in his notebook, and the smile vanished. “Now look,” he said, “I didn’t come to this funeral in order to be drawn into the investigation.”

Frank looked up. “Why did you come?”

“It’s a nice gesture.”

“What do you mean?”

“For the deceased person’s relatives,” Dr. Clark explained. “I always make it a policy to attend the funerals of my patients. It shows my sympathy. The relatives appreciate it.” He chuckled lightly. “I think it helps to protect you from lawsuits. The family sees you in your black suit. They see you mourning their dead loved one. It makes them feel grateful to you for being such a caring person. Nobody sues a kind, sympathetic doctor.” He laughed again. “I mean, it’s an inconvenience, but it’s worth it. I figure that over the whole life of a medical practice, it could probably save the average physician close to a million dollars in malpractice claims.”

“Where is your practice, Dr. Clark?” Frank asked.

“Midtown, not far from the Hyatt,” Dr. Clark said. “I’m in the book. Clark, Herman, M.D.”

“Are you an obstetrician?”

“Yes,” Clark said. “I usually handle the entire pregnancy. I expected to do that in Miss Devereaux’s case.” He shook his head. “I mean, if all she’d wanted was to confirm her pregnancy, she could have done that at home and saved herself a lot of money.”

“Why didn’t she do that?”

“She was very naive,” Dr. Clark said. “It was like talking to a little girl. I could hardly believe that she was eighteen.” He smiled. “And so beautiful. Her body, I mean, was stunning. Nothing childlike about it.” He pressed his hand against Frank’s arm. “Between us, she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever examined. And let me tell you, my practice being what it is, dealing with the kind of clientele I have, I’ve examined some beautiful women.” His eyes drifted toward the grave. “What a waste. “ For a moment, he stared at Angelica’s coffin, then he looked back up at Frank. His eyes widened somewhat, as if he were seeing him for the first time. “My word, what happened to you?”

“What?”

“Your face, my dear man. What happened to your face?”

“Nothing much.”

“Well, I hope you got some medical attention for that,” Dr. Clark said. He moved his hand to touch Frank’s face.

Frank flinched away.

Clark smiled oddly. “She was like you, jumpy.”

“Angelica?”

“Yes,” Dr. Clark said. “Of course, that’s sometimes the case. An examination of this kind involves a certain amount of intimacy. It isn’t unusual for a woman to be a little nervous.”

“But Angelica was more than that?” Frank asked.

“A good deal more,” Dr. Clark said.

“How long did the examination take?” Frank asked bluntly.

Dr. Clark’s face stiffened. “What?”

“How long did it take?” Frank repeated.

Clark hesitated. “About an hour,” he said finally.

“You examined her body for an hour?” Frank asked coldly.

Clark’s whole body tightened. “It was my medical judgment that a routine examination was not enough.”

Frank jotted it down.

“My professional judgment,” Dr. Clark added nervously. “There’s nothing wrong with a more intimate examination if it is in the professional judgment of the examining physician.”

“Why did she need one?”

“I just thought she did.”

“Why?”

Clark’s lips fluttered rapidly. “What is all this? I’m not on trial here.”

“You wanted to see her, didn’t you?”

“What!”

“She was beautiful and you wanted to see her … touch her.”

“How dare you!”

Frank stepped toward him. He could feel the rage of every woman who had ever been stared at by a man.

Clark glared at him fearfully. “Now, look, I don’t have to submit to this.”

Frank realized that he was right, and he drew back and glanced quickly down at his notes.

“I am a professional physician,” Dr. Clark said haughtily. “I do not ‘look’ at women.”

“What did you find out in this ‘examination’?” Frank asked.

Clark took a deep breath, calming himself. “I’m not sure I wish to continue this discussion.”

Frank looked at him lethally. “You said she needed an examination. You gave her one. What did you find out?”

For a moment, Clark did not answer. He seemed to consider his options for a moment. Then he made a decision.

“I discovered that she was a very healthy young woman,” he said finally.

“Anything else?”

“Other than that she was pregnant, no.”

“Did she say she was married?”

“No.”

“What did she tell you, exactly?”

“She said that she’d missed her period, that she had always been very regular, and that she suspected that she was pregnant.”

“Anything else?”

“That she wanted everything to be kept in confidence,” Clark said. “Of course, that really was not in question. I always keep everything confidential.” He hesitated. “You know, it was odd.”

“What was odd?”

Clark looked at him. “I really don’t want to get into this business of the examination again,” he said hesitantly. “I would like to keep our relationship a little less strained.”

“What was odd?”

“Well, she seemed rather like a virgin,” Clark told him. “Inexperienced. Yet she was pregnant.” He smiled. “You know, I actually felt that she’d probably been one of those poor, unfortunate girls who gets pregnant the first time out.”

Frank wrote it down.

“Did she mention anything about an abortion?” he asked.

“No.”

“Did she say anything about what she intended to do about the baby?”

“No.”

“Did you think she was going to have it?”

“I assumed that she was, yes,” Clark said. “And I assumed that I would be in attendance at the birth.” Once again he looked at Frank closely. “You know, you really should get something done about your face.”

Frank gave him his card. “I want you to send me everything in your file on Angelica. Tests, consultation notes, everything.”

Dr. Clark nodded quickly. “Yes, of course.”

“I want them on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

“I will have them there,” Clark assured him. He shifted about nervously. “May I go now? I have an appointment in half an hour.”

Caleb was still leaning against the tree when Frank returned. The heat of midday had already wet the armpits of his light green jacket, and he looked as if he were about to dissolve into the sweltering air.

“It’s rougher on the fatties,” he said. “Skinny people, they don’t ever look hot.” He glanced at the figure of Dr. Clark as he scurried down a small hill. “Who was that peckerwood?”

“A doctor,” Frank said morosely. “Like I said. She had figured out that she might be pregnant. She went to him to make sure.”

Caleb straightened himself. “Well, let’s get back downtown,” he said.

The two of them headed down the hill toward the car. The bright light swept around the gray tombstones, bleaching them to a pure hard white.

“He saw her for the first time on May eleventh,” Frank said. “Then she came back four days later for the results.”

Caleb stopped. “May fifteenth? What time?”

Frank looked at his notes. “Three-thirty in the afternoon.”

“Well, that’s pinpointing it,” Caleb said casually.

“If you were a young girl who’d just found out she was pregnant, who would you call, Caleb?”

“Daddy, I guess.”

Frank nodded. “Have you done a check on her phone yet?”

“No,” Caleb said. “But it would only take a second.”

They hurried back to their car, then headed downtown. Once at his desk, Frank ran the check, detailing Angelica’s calls on the afternoon and evening of May 15.

“She made three calls that day,” he told Caleb, who waited anxiously beside his desk. “They were all to the same number.”

Caleb walked away quickly, then returned with the reverse directory.

Frank read him the number, and Caleb looked it up.

“That number belongs to a Stanford K. Doyle,” Caleb said. “He lives in Ansley Park.”

Frank pulled the program of Angelica’s play from his pocket and opened it. “Stanford Doyle was one of the cast,” he said.

“Daddy,” Caleb whispered vehemently.

A few minutes later, they were in the car, heading down a road that seemed to lead like a single dark thread to the heart of Ansley Park.