Shock

SEVEN

STILL HABITUATED TO ITALIAN time, the women found themselves awake early despite their exhaustion. Deborah was the first to get out of bed. Believing Joanna was still asleep, she tried to be quiet as she passed through the kitchen into the bathroom. The moment she flushed the toilet the connecting door to Joanna's bedroom opened.

"You look like something the cat dragged in,' Deborah said as she eyed her roommate.

"You've looked better yourself," Joanna said. "What time is it?" "Quarter past six, but my pituitary gland thinks it's noon." "Spare me the specifics," Joanna said. "All I know is that I had intended on sleeping late, yet I've been awake for at least an hour."

"Me too," Deborah said, "How about we go down to Charles Street for breakfast? I need coffee big time."

"Since the cupboard is bare we don't have much choice."

Three quarters of an hour later the women descended to the square and walked down Mt. Vernon Street to Charles. It was a fine spring morning with lots of bright flowers in the window boxes. Although there were few pedestrians until they got to Charles, the birds were out in full force. At the end of Charles Street fronting the Boston Common they found a Starbucks that was open. They went in and ordered cappuccinos and got some pastry as well. They carried their food over to a small marble table by the window. At first they ate and drank in silence.

"The coffee is good," Joanna said at length. "But I have to say it tasted better in Campo Santa Margherita."

"Isn't that the truth," Deborah agreed. "But it is reviving me."

"So you still want to go out to the Wingate Clinic and get jobs?" Joanna asked.

"Absolutely," Deborah said. "I'm psyched. But we'd better start brainstorming about specifics. How are we going to get names and Social Security numbers of dead people?"

"That's a good question," Joanna said. "While I was lying in bed this morning I was thinking about it. A few years ago I read about somebody doing it in a novel."

"How did he or she do it?"

"She had an in. She worked in a hospital and got the information from the hospital chart."

"What did she do with it?"

"It was a Medicare scam of some sort."

"Good grief!" Deborah commented. "That's interesting, but unfortunately it's not going to help us. That is, unless you were thinking of enlisting Carlton's help."

"I think we'd better leave Carlton out of this," Joanna said. "If he had an inkling of what we were up to, he'd probably turn us in to the FBI."

Deborah took another sip of her coffee. "I think we should break the problem into two parts. First we get the names. After we have the names we worry about getting the Social Security numbers and whatever else we need, like birth date and maybe even mother's maiden name."

"Getting names won't be a problem," Joanna said. "At least that came to me while I was lying in bed. All we have to do is head over to the library and look at the Globe's obituary pages."

"Good ideal" Deborah said. She sat forward eagerly. "Why didn't I think of that? It's perfect. The obituaries usually have ages if not birth dates. That will help picking out appropriate names since we should try to look for women about our age, as bizarre as that sounds."

"I know," Joanna said. "It's creepy. They also have to be women who have died relatively recently."

"Getting the Social Security number is going to be more difficult," Deborah said.

"Maybe I'll have to break down and ask Carlton for help," Joanna said. "The chances are, any woman our age who's passed away will have been a patient in a local hospital. If she'd been in the MGH, and if we could come up with some plausible reason why we want the Social Security number that won't make Carlton suspicious, maybe he'd help."

"That's a lot of ifs and maybes," Deborah commented.

"I suppose," Joanna agreed.

"I've got it," Deborah said. She slapped her palm against the tabletop. "A couple of years ago when my grandfather died, my grandmother had to get a death certificate to take his name off the deed to the house."

"How does that help us?"

"The death certificate is public information," Deborah said. She laughed at herself. "I can't believe I didn't think about this right off. The death certificate has the Social Security number."

"My gosh, that's perfect."

"Absolutely," Deborah said. "First we hit the library, then City Hall."

"Wait a second," Joanna said. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "We've got to make sure that the Social Security number hasn't been retired. Knowing government bureaucracy I'm sure it takes a while, but we have to be sure."

"You're absolutely right," Deborah said. "It would certainly blow our cover if we get out there to the Wingate and a background check turns up that one or both of us are dead." She laughed hollowly.

"I know what we can do," Joanna said. "After we go to City Hall, we stop at the Fleet Bank. We'll open up savings accounts with both names. As American citizens we'd have to supply the Social Security numbers, and they'll run a check on them straight off, so we'll know."

"Sounds good," Deborah said. "What time do you think the library opens?"

"My guess would be nine or ten," Joanna said. "But there's one other thing we should discuss. What about altering our appearances a bit more? I think our different hairstyles are quite effective and probably enough under the circumstances, but why not go a step further just to be sure."

"You mean like hair color."

"Hair color is one thing, but I'm also talking about our general style, our look. We're both rather preppy. I think we each ought to aim for another type."

"Well, I'm all for changing my hair color," Deborah said. "I've always wanted to be a blond. I've heard you guys have a lot more fun."

"I'm trying to be serious here," Joanna said.

"Okay, okay," Deborah said. "So what else do you have in mind: strategic facial piercings and a couple of wild tattoos?"

Joanna laughed in spite of herself. "Let's try to be serious for a moment. I'm thinking in terms of clothes and makeup. There's a lot that we could do."

"You're right," Deborah said. "Occasionally I've had a fantasy of dressing up like a hooker. I guess I have an exhibitionist streak; I've just never acted on it. This could be my big chance."

"Are you mocking me again or are you serious?"

"I'm serious," Deborah said. "We might as well make this fun."

"I was thinking about going in the opposite direction," Joanna said. "The prudish librarian stereotype."

"That will be easy," Deborah joked. "You're practically there already."

"Very funny," Joanna said.

Deborah wiped her mouth with her napkin and tossed it onto her pastry plate. "Are you finished?"

"I certainly am," Joanna said.

"Then let's get this show on the road," Deborah said. "On the way here we passed a grocery store. Why don't we stop in and get some staples so that we don't have to come out for every meal? By then the library should be open."

"It sounds like a perfect plan," Joanna said.

THE WOMEN WERE STANDING ON THE FRONT STEPS OF THE old Boston Library building gazing at the Trinity Church across the busy Copley Square when the library's custodian unlocked the front door. It was nine o'clock. Since neither of the women had been in the Boston Library before, they were, in Deborah's words, blown away by the grand architecture and the vivid John Singer Sargent murals.

"I can't believe I lived in the Boston area for six years and never came in here," Deborah said as they walked through the echoey marbled halls. It was as if her head were on a swivel as it pivoted from side to side to take in all the details.

"I have to agree," Joanna said.

After inquiring where they could go to view old Boston Globe newspapers, the women were directed to the microfilm room. But once there they learned that there was a delay, sometimes as much as a year, before the papers were microfilmed. Consequently they were sent to the newspaper room. There they found the newspapers themselves.

"How far back should we go?" Deborah questioned.

"I'd suggest a month and then work backward," Joanna said.

The women got a stack of several weeks' worth of papers and carried them over to a vacant library table. They divided the stack in two and went to work.

"This isn't as easy as I thought it would be," Deborah said. "I was wrong about ages and birth dates. Few of the death notices have them."

"We'll have to just look at the obituaries," Joanna said. "They all seem to have the age."

The women went through the first stack of papers without success and went back for another.

"There certainly aren't many young women," Joanna commented.

"Nor young men," Deborah added. "People our age are not supposed to die that often. And even if they do, they're usually not famous enough to have an obituary written about them. Of course we don't want the name of anyone famous either, so we might have a problem here. But let's not give up yet."

After three more trips to get fresh stacks of papers, they had success.

"Ah, here's one!" Deborah said. "Georgina Marks."

Joanna looked over Deborah's shoulder. "How old?"

"Twenty-seven," Deborah said. "She was born January 28, 1973."

"Right time frame," Joanna said. "Does it say what she died of?"

"Yes, it does," Deborah said. She was quiet while she scanned the rest of the article. "She was accidentally shot in a shopping mall parking lot. Obviously in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apparently rival gangs were having a fight, and she caught a stray bullet. Can you imagine being called up and being told your wife was killed while she was out on a shopping trip at the neighborhood mall?" Deborah shuddered. "To make it worse, it says here she was the mother of four young children. The youngest was only six months old."

"I think it is best if we don't obsess about the sad details," Joanna said. "For us, these should be just names, not people."

"You're right," Deborah agreed. "At least she wasn't famous except for the tragic way she died, so it should be a good name for our purposes. I suppose I'll be Georgina Marks." She wrote the name and the birth date down on a pad of paper she and Joanna had brought.

"Now let's find a name for you," Deborah said.

Both women went back to scouring the obituaries. It wasn't until they'd perused six more weeks of papers that Deborah came across another name candidate.

"Prudence Heatherly, age twenty-four!" Deborah read out loud. "Now that name has an interesting ring to it. It's perfect for you, Joanna. It even sounds like a librarian, so it will go with your disguise."

"I don't find that funny in the slightest," Joanna said. "Let me read the obituary." She reached for the paper, but Deborah moved it out of her reach.

"I thought we weren't going to obsess about the details?" Deborah teased.

"I'm not obsessing," Joanna said. "I want to make sure she's not a local celebrity in Bookford. Besides, I feel I have to know something about the woman if I'm going to be borrowing her name."

"I thought these were just names, not people."

"Please!" Joanna enunciated slowly as if losing her patience.

Deborah handed the paper over and watched her roommate's face while she read the obituary. Joanna's expression progressively sagged.

"Is it bad?" Deborah asked when Joanna looked up.

"I'd say it was just as bad as Georgina's story," Joanna said. "She was a graduate student at Northeastern."

"That's getting a little too close to home," Deborah said. "What did she die of, or shouldn't I ask?"

"She was pushed in front of the Red Line subway at the Washington Street station." Now it was Joanna's turn to shudder. "A homeless man with no apparent motive did it. My word! What a tragedy for a parent getting a call saying your daughter was pushed in front of a train by a vagrant."

"At least we have the two names," Deborah said. She snatched the paper away from Joanna and refolded it. She wrote Prudence Heatherly down on the pad below Georgina, then busied herself restacking the papers. Joanna was motionless for a moment but then pitched in to help. Together the women carried the papers back to where they were kept.

Fifteen minutes later, first Deborah and then Joanna exited the library from the same entrance they'd entered. Although they were pensively subdued, they were pleased with their progress. It had only taken an hour and three quarters to get the two names.

"Should we walk or take the subway?" Deborah questioned.

"Let's take the subway," Joanna answered.

From the front of the library it was only a short walk to the inbound T stop on Boylston Street, and the Green Line took them directly to Government Center. When they emerged on the street level they were conveniently in front of the inappropriately modern Boston City Hall, which loomed out of its brick-paved mall like an enormous anachronism.

"Can you tell me where I'd find death certificates?" Joanna asked the receptionist at the information desk located in the building's multistoried lobby. Joanna had waited several minutes before speaking. The woman was involved in an animated but hushed dialogue with her colleague sitting next to her.

"They're downstairs at the Registry Department,' the woman said without looking up and hardly interrupting her conversation.

Joanna rolled her eyes for Deborah's benefit. The two women set out for the wide stairs leading downward. Once on the lower level they found the proper Registry Department window without difficulty. The only problem was there wasn't any personnel in evidence.

"Hello!" Deborah called out. "Anybody home?"

A woman's head popped up from behind a row of file cabinets. "Can I help you?" she called out.

"We'd like several death certificates," Deborah answered back.

The woman ambled around the row of file cabinets, rocking from side to side. She was wearing a black dress that restrained her ample flesh in a series of descending, horizontal bulges. Reading glasses hung around her neck on a chain and rested on the nearly horizontal swelling of her bosom. She came to the counter and leaned on it. "I need to know the names and the year," she said in a bored voice.

"Georgina Marks and Prudence Heatherly," Joanna said. "And both passed away this year, 2001."

"It takes a week to ten days for the certificates to get here," the woman said.

"We have to wait that long to get them?" Joanna questioned with dismay.

"No, that's how long the death certificates take to get here to the registry after the individual dies. I only mention it because if these people you're interested in have just passed away, the certificates won't be here."

"Both these people have been dead for over a month," Joanna said.

"Then they should be here," the woman said. "That will be six dollars each."

"We only want to look at the certificates," Joanna said. "We don't need to remove them from the premises."

"Six dollars each is fine," Deborah interjected. She gave Joanna a jab in the side to keep her quiet.

After writing the names down while eyeing Joanna skeptically, the woman leisurely disappeared behind the file cabinets.

"Why did you poke me?" Joanna complained.

"I didn't want you messing things up to save twelve dollars," Deborah whispered. "If the woman guesses we're here just to get Social Security numbers she might get suspicious. I think I would. So we'll pay the money, take the certificates, and get the hell out of here."

"I guess you're right," Joanna said reluctantly.

"Of course I'm right," Deborah said.

The clerk returned a quarter hour later with the forms. Deborah and Joanna had the money ready and the exchange was made. Five minutes later the women were back outside where each carefully copied down the respective Social Security numbers onto a piece of paper. They pocketed the death certificates.

"I suggest we try to memorize the numbers while we're on the way to the bank," Joanna said. "It might attract attention if we don't."

"Especially if we pulled out the death certificates by accident inside the bank," Deborah said.

Joanna chuckled. "I also think we should start addressing each other with our assumed names. Otherwise we'll forget in front of people and that could be a problem."

"Good point, Prudence," Deborah said with a chuckle of her own.

It was only a ten-minute walk from City Hall to the Charles River Plaza where the local branch of the Fleet Bank was located. For the most part the women were silent while committing the respective Social Security numbers to their memories. When they turned into the Charles River Plaza, Joanna pulled Deborah to a stop.

"Let's discuss this for a moment before we go inside," she said. "We should open these accounts with just a token deposit because we're not going to be able to get this money back out."

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't think it really matters," Joanna said. "How about twenty dollars."

"Fine by me," Deborah said. "But I wouldn't mind hitting the ATM machine on the way in."

"That's not a bad idea either," Joanna said.

Each got several hundred dollars in cash before entering the bank proper. They then went directly to the service desk. Since it was in the middle of the lunch hour, the bank was busy with hospital people from the MGH, and the women had to wait almost twenty minutes before being helped. But setting up the accounts was accomplished quickly since the bank officer whose turn it was to help them was particularly efficient. Her name was Mary. The only minor problem was the lack of any IDs, but Mary solved it by saying they could bring them in the following day. By one o'clock Mary had already excused herself to activate the accounts and get them receipts. Joanna and Deborah were sitting on vinyl chairs facing Mary's desk.

"What if she comes back and says we're dead?" Deborah whispered.

"Then we're dead," Joanna answered. "But that's what we're here for."

"But what are we going to say? We'd have to say something."

"We'll just say we must have been mistaken about the numbers. We'll tell them we'll check them and come back."

"I was enjoying myself a half hour ago," Deborah complained. "Now I'm nervous. We can't tell them a fishy story like that."

"Here she comes!" Joanna said in a forced whisper.

Mary came back clutching the deposit receipts. "I've got you all set up," she reported. "Every thing is just fine." She gave a receipt to each woman along with one of the packets of material sitting on her desk which she'd prepared earlier. "You're all set. Do you have a parking ticket?"

"No, we walked over," Joanna said. For an address the women had given Seven Hawthorne Place, part of the Charles River Park apartment complex behind the hospital.

A few minutes later the women were back out in the May sunshine. Deborah was euphoric. "We did it!" she declared as they walked quickly away from the bank. "I had my doubts there for a minute, but apparently we've got good names and Social Security numbers."

"They're good for now," Joanna said. "But that's going to change sometime in the near future. Let's head back to the apartment, put in a call to the Wingate Clinic, and get the next step out of the way."

"What about a bit of lunch?" Deborah said. "I'm starved. That coffee and pastry we had a little after seven this morning is long gone."

"I could use some food myself," Joanna agreed. "But let's make it quick."

"WINGATE CLINIC," A PLEASANT VOICE SAID CHEERFULLY. It came from the speaker phone in Joanna and Deborah's apartment. The telephone itself was on the couch between the women who were sitting on either side of it. It was two-thirty-five and sun was just beginning to spill onto the hardwood floor through the front windows.

"I'm interested in employment in your institution,' Joanna said. "To whom should I speak?" The women had flipped a coin to see who should make the call. Joanna had won.

"That would be with Helen Masterson, Director of Personnel,' the operator said. "Shall I connect you?"

"Please," Joanna said.

The same elevator music they'd heard the day before drifted out of the phone, but it didn't last long. A strong, deep, woman's voice preempted the Muzak. Both women jumped: "Helen Masterson here. I understand you are looking for employment."

"Yes, both myself and my roommate,' Joanna said as soon as she'd recovered.

"What kind of experience do you and your roommate have?" Helen asked.

"I've had extensive word-processing experience," Joanna said.

"As a student or in a work environment?"

"Both," Joanna said. She'd worked summers during undergraduate school in a Houston law firm with whom her father did a great deal of business.

"Are you college graduates?"

"Yes, indeed," Joanna said. "I've a degree in economics. My roommate, Georgina Marks, was a biology major." Joanna looked over at Deborah who gave her a thumbs-up sign.

"Has she had any laboratory experience?"

Deborah nodded emphatically.

"Yes, she has," Joanna said.

"I must admit you both sound perfect for the Wingate Clinic," Helen said. "How did you hear about us?"

"Excuse me?" Joanna said while making a grimace of consternation for Deborah's benefit. It was a question she'd not anticipated. Deborah fumbled for the pad and pencil on the floor. While Helen repeated the question, she quickly wrote: "A friend saw an ad."

"Word of mouth," Joanna said. "A friend of ours saw an ad."

"Was that a newspaper ad or a radio ad?"

Joanna hesitated. Deborah shrugged.

"I'm not sure," Joanna said.

"Well, it doesn't matter except to know which is more effective," Helen said. "Do you live here in Bookford?"

"We currently live in Boston," Joanna said.

"So you are willing to reverse commute."

"That's the plan, at least for the time being. We'd be driving out together."

"Why do you want to work out here in Bookford?" Helen asked.

"We need to find work quickly," Joanna said. "We heard your organization was in need of help. We just got back from a rather long stay in Europe, and frankly we need the money."

"It sounds like we can help each other," Helen said. "I can either fax you or E-mail you employment questionnaires which you can fill out and send back the same way you got it. Which way would you prefer?"

"E-mail is fine," Joanna said. She gave Helen her E-mail address which conveniently had no association with her name.

"I'll E-mail forthwith," Helen said. "Meanwhile I think we should go ahead and schedule interviews. What would be a convenient date for you and your roommate? Just about any day this week or next week is available."

"The sooner the better," Joanna said. Deborah nodded. "In fact, tomorrow would be fine for us if it works for you."

"By all means," Helen said. "I applaud your eagerness. Would ten o'clock be okay?"

"Ten o'clock will be fine," Joanna said.

"Will you need directions?" Helen asked.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Joanna said. "We're quite resourceful."

"We look forward to seeing you tomorrow," Helen said before disconnecting.

Joanna hung up the phone.

"Very smooth!" Deborah commented. "I think we're in."

"So do I," Joanna said. She unplugged the phone and headed over to the computer. "Let's log on so we can get the E-mail as soon as it comes in."

True to her word, Helen had sent the E-mail within minutes of hanging up the phone, and it popped up on the women's computer screen just moments after they logged on. Fifteen minutes later, Joanna and Deborah had filled in their respective employment forms directly on the screen and E-mailed them back to the Wingate Clinic.

"This almost seems too easy," Deborah commented as she shut down the computer.

"Don't jinx us," Joanna said. "You can call me superstitious, but I'm not going to say anything like that until after I get into the Wingate server room. There's too much that can still go wrong."

"You mean like one or both Social Security numbers suddenly going bad."

"Either that or someone like Dr. Donaldson recognizing us tomorrow morning."

"Let me guess," Deborah said. "You're back to thinking about the disguise idea."

"I've never stopped thinking about it," Joanna said. "And we have the rest of the afternoon. So let's do it. We can head over to the Galleria Mall in Cambridge and, without spending much, get ourselves some new outfits."

"I'm game," Deborah said. "The trendy tart… that's going to be me. Maybe I can find something with an exposed midriff that I can combine with a Miracle Bra. Then on the way back we can stop at CVS and get some hair coloring and extra makeup. Do you remember the receptionist when we were out at the Wingate doing the egg donations?"

"It would be hard to forget her," Joanna said.

"I'm going to give her a run for her money," Deborah declared.

"I don't think we should go overboard on this," Joanna said skeptically. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves unnecessarily."

"Speak for yourself," Deborah said. "You don't want us recognized, and I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen, especially with me."

"But we want them to give us jobs," Joanna said.

"No need to worry," Deborah said. "I'm not going to go that far."