Silent Treatment

Chapter9

Harry recounted in detail for Tom Hugheshis call to the anesthesiologist and his review of Evie's chart. He was justfinishing when Evie was wheeled back in. Shaken by the sight of her, Harryrealized that he had already begun to think of her, of their life together, inthe past tense. To all intents, the woman he had been married to for nine yearswas dead.

'The EEG showed a little activity,'Richard Cohen reported as she was being reconnected to the monitoring andrespiratory systems, 'but not much. Certainly not enough to keep the variousteams from moving forward if you give the word. As you know, time is prettycrucial here. Organs do begin to break down.'

'I know,' Harry said. 'When do you plan todo a second EEG?'

'Ten in the morning.'

Harry looked down at his wife. Over histwenty-five years as an M.D., he had shared every conceivable experienceinvolving death and bereavement. But none of those experiences prepared him forthis. A few short hours ago, she was the most important person in his life. Afew short hours ago, Sidonis or not, they still had the chance to turn theirmarriage around, to make it work again. But suddenly, it was over. And now, hewas being asked to validate Evie's death by authorizing the donation of hervital organs. He had always been supportive to families in such situations.When he needed them, the right words had come. But he had never had to make thedecision himself.

'Leave the papers at the nurse's station,'he heard himself say. 'I'll sign them before I leave. But I want to see her inthe morning before anyone moves ahead with this.'

'I'll see to it.'

Cohen thanked him, murmured a brief,somewhat uncomfortable condolence, and left the room. Moments later, heradjustments on the ventilator completed, the respiratory technician followed.Sue Jilson checked Evie's blood pressure and monitor pattern, and then turnedto Harry.

'The CT tech took this off your wife,' shesaid coolly, handing Harry the diamond pendant from Tiffany's. 'I didn't seeany sense in putting it back on her.'

Harry looked at her stonily.

'I do,' he said.

He hooked the necklace back in place. Whenhe turned around again, he and Tom Hughes were alone with the two patients.Maura continued her almost nonstop prattle, pausing only to pick tormentors offthe bedclothes. The ventilator connected to Evie again was whirring softly asit provided oxygen to organs that were now of value only when consideredindividually.

Tom turned off the overhead light, leavingonly the dim over-the-bed fluorescents.

'I'm really sorry for everything you'regoing through,' he said.

Harry glanced over at his wife.

'Thanks,' Harry managed to say.

'If you want to talk some more about it, Ihave the time, and I'm not at all tired.'

'In the hall, maybe,' Harry said. 'Not inhere.'

They dragged their chairs outside thedoor. The corridor was dimly lit and silent, save for the white noise of nightin the hospital.

'You don't have to keep talking about yourwife if it's too hard for you,' Hughes said.

'It actually might help.'

'Okay. Just don't be embarrassed to tellme to shut up. I confess that as a cop, what little you've told me so far hasme intrigued. What do you think is going on?'

'I have no idea. There's probably astupid, simple explanation for everything. The nurse who took the telephoneorder got the anesthesiologist's name wrong. . Some M.D. friend of ours wason the floor seeing another patient and stopped by to see Evie — '

'That's two simple explanations. Inmy experience, when you need to invoke more than one explanation for thingshappening coincidentally, none of them is the true story. Would you mind goingback into the room with me for a minute?'

Harry considered the request, thenfollowed him in.

Hughes began pacing deliberately aroundfirst Maura's bed, then Evie's, checking the wails, the light switches, and thebeds themselves. Maura watched him curiously.

'Rather than assume the most benignexplanation,' Tom said, continuing his inspection, 'for the moment let's assumethe worst. Some doctor — or perhaps someone planning to pose as a doctor — called in an order to have an IV started in your wife's arm and gave the realanesthesiologist-on-duty's name. Later, he entered this room, unseen by thenurses, spoke to my sister, then administered a pressor drug to your wife. Thenhe left the floor, again managing to avoid being spotted by anyone. We need amotive for why he would have done such a thing, and an explanation as to how hecould have made it on and off the floor without being spotted.'

'Dickinson made it in here without beingseen.'

'One way, he did. The nurses were in theirchange of shift report when he came on the floor. But having two suchopportunities — onto the floor, then off again — let alone planning on them, isasking a bit much.'

'So what are you looking for now?'

'Places where our mystery doctor mighthave left a fingerprint or two. Too bad we don't have prints of every M.D. onthe — '

'Okay, Dr. Corbett,' Albert Dickinson cutin. 'I guess is time you and I had a little talk.' The detective, leaningagainst the doorjamb, sighed wearily. 'I'm required to tell you that you havethe right to remain silent, but that anything you choose to say may and will beused against you in a court of law. You — '

'Wait a minute,' Tom said. 'Why are youreading him Miranda? Is he being arrested?'

'Not yet, but he will be. I just thoughtI'd get through the formalities.'

'Lieutenant Dickinson,' Hughes went on,'there are some things you don't know about what's gone on here.'

'You wanna know what I do know,Yalie? I know that no matter how much they got — sex, money, power, drugs, orwhatever — doctors always want more. That's just the way they are. Give me anunsolved crime where one of ten suspects is a doctor, and my money's on the docevery time. Now, Dr. Corbett, if you'd like to — '

'Lieutenant, another doctor came in to seeMrs. Corbett after Harry left here tonight,' Tom Hughes said.

'There was no one. The next person to comeon this floor after Dr. Corbett left here was you. And by that time, Mrs.Corbett was already on the chute. I checked with the nurses. They have allvisitors logged.'

'Well, the nurses are wrong. Someone washere. A white male in his forties wearing a white clinic coat. Five eight,brown hair, brown eyes.'

'Who says?'

Tom's expression suggested that he wasexpecting the question but still had found no easy way around having to answerit.

'My sister,' he said boldly. 'The manspoke to her, then went around the curtain to Mrs. Corbett, and then left. Itwas soon after that her aneurysm ruptured.'

Dickinson smirked. 'Is that what you saw,little lady?'

'Pinhead. You know, you should firewhoever made you that toupee. I could paint a piece of lettuce with shoe polishand have it look more realistic'

Dickinson smiled blandly but it was clearhe had been skewered. Harry realized only then that the man was wearinga hairpiece. Score one more for Maura Hughes's power of observation.

'Why don't you have another drink, littlelady,' Dickinson said.

'Maura,' Tom pleaded, 'would you pleasestop with the wisecracks and just tell the detective what you saw?'

Maura brushed at something on her shoulderbut said nothing.

'Don't bother,' Harry said. 'I don't thinkthe detective is going to pay much attention. Come on, Lieutenant. Let's getthis over with.'

'Lieutenant Dickinson,' Tom asked, 'do youthink it would be worthwhile calling someone over from forensics?'

'For what?'

'Maybe the doctor who was here left someprints.'

'Fingerprint a hospital room, huh. Soundslike a great idea to me, Yalie. I mean there couldn't have been more than, oh,one or two hundred people in here over the last day.'

'Almost everyone who's been in this room,including the doctors, has a set of fingerprints on file with hospitalsecurity,' Harry said. 'It's been hospital policy for years, ever since aconvicted child molester lied on his application and got a job as an orderly onthe pediatric unit.'

'Great. I'm sure forensics will bethrilled to come out on a night like this because a woman in the goddamn DTsclaims she saw someone that not a single other person on this whole floor saw.'

'I'm telling you, I know my sister, and Iknow that there was someone here.'

'And I'm telling you, spiders and ants andgiant snakes don't leave fingerprints. Now, Corbett, let's get this over.You'll feel much better when you get everything off your chest. .'

It was well after midnight by the timeHarry finished responding to Albert Dickinson's unemotional and uninspiredinterrogation. The detective had clearly made up his mind that the scenario fedto him by Caspar Sidonis was the correct one. Harry, unwilling to allow hiswife to run off with another man, had administered a blood-pressure-raisingagent to her. Her death would appear to be due to the rupture of her aneurysm,and no questions would be asked. Now, samples of her blood were being sent to thestate lab for analysis. If any unusual substances were found, especially onesrelated to raising blood pressure, there was a good chance that a warrant wouldbe issued for Harry's arrest.

'Motive, method, opportunity,' Dickinsonsaid. 'Right now, all we're missing is the method.'

Harry saw no point in telling the hostiledetective about the telephone order to start an IV on Evie. Pramod Baraswattiwould undoubtedly check with the floor first thing in the morning. An incidentreport would be filed, and sooner or later, word would trickle back toDickinson. His conclusion would, of course, be that Harry had made the callhimself, setting up a port for his lethal injection.

Motive, method, opportunity.

He followed Harry back to the room.

'Yalie, I want a cop here as long as she'salive and he's on the floor.'

'She's already been pronounced clinicallydead,' Hughes said.

'Look, are you gonna make me send someoneelse in here, or are you gonna show us that you're a fucking team player?'

'Some team,' Hughes muttered.

'What did you say?'

'I said I'll stay here and protect her.'

'That's what I thought. I've already toldthe nurses that I don't want him alone with her as long as she's alive.'

'But — '

'Is that clear?'

'Sure, Lieutenant.'

Harry followed Dickinson down the hall andwatched until the elevator doors closed behind him.

'He gone?' Hughes asked when Harryreturned.

'For now. He says that as soon as anythingshows up in Evie's blood, I'll be arrested.'

'Do you think something will?'

Harry rubbed at the persistent stinging inhis eyes.

'I don't know what the hell to think,' hesaid. 'What an asshole that man is. I mean, the least he could have done wascall someone in for the fingerprints. I agree it's a long shot, but it's a noshot at all if — '

'We don't need him,' Tom said, leadingHarry back toward the elevators.

'What?'

'We've got the Dweeb. He's on his way upright now.'

At almost that moment, the elevator doorsglided open and a slight, almost frail-looking black man emerged. He waswearing a Detroit Tigers jacket and a Detroit Lions cap, and was carrying abriefcase in one hand and a large fishing-tackle box in the other.

'Did he see you?' Tom asked.

'Nope. Walked right past me, too. I swear,Albert wouldn't see a corpse if it was hanging from his ceiling.'

'I appreciate this. I really do,' Tomsaid. 'Harry Corbett, meet Lonnie Sims, also known as the Dweeb.'

Sims set his tackle box down and shookHarry's hand with a linebacker's grip.

'He's with us,' Tom said to thenight-shift nurse as they hurried past her. 'Another detective.' They enteredroom 928. 'Lonnie and I were classmates at NYU when I got my master's incriminology,' he explained. 'He's the best crime-scene man that school's everproduced. And he loves doing fingerprints.'

'That's true, my man,' Sims said, settinghis tackle box on a chair and snapping it open. 'That's true.'

'One of my friends, Doug Atwater, has alot of clout here,' Harry said. 'Actually, Tom, you probably saw him. He washere a while ago.'

'Tall, good looking, sort of blondishhair?'

'That's him. Anyhow, I think he'll be ableto get the print records from security or personnel, or wherever they're kept.'

'Great,' Sims said, slipping on rubbergloves and handing a pair to both Tom and Harry. 'I have some people at the FBIlab in D.C. who can help us, too. Now, we're going to play a little actinggame. Tom, do what you can to have your sister direct us, and try not to touchanything, especially those metal bed railings. Harry, you're going to play themysterious stranger. Don't you touch anything either.'

'Okay.' Harry glanced past Maura's bed towhere Evie lay. Even her decerebrate posturing had stopped now. She had led atleast one secret life with Caspar Sidonis. Had there been others? Had one ofthem led to her death? He headed toward the doorway to begin his part in theperformance. One thing seemed almost certain to him. The laboratory studies ofEvie's blood, which could take days or even weeks to complete, were going toturn up something. And sometime tomorrow, Evie would be gone and her roomscrubbed down. If they were going to have any chance at picking up thefingerprints of Doctor X, it had to be done now.

'Tell me,' he said, 'why do they call youDweeb?'

Lonnie Sims glanced over at Tom.

'He. . um … he did pretty well ingrad school,' Hughes explained. 'In fact, pretty well doesn't really cover it.The truth is, if they had curved the grades in our class, only Dweeb, here,would have passed.'

By the time Harry left the hospital, thefirst hint of dawn was washing over the city. The session with Lonnie Sims hadtaken over two hours. And as far as Harry could tell, the man was, asadvertised, a genius.

The thumb's the ticket,' the Dweeb toldhim. 'That sneaky, opposable thumb. Most forensic so-called experts dust on topof things. The key is to dust under them. Show me a lab man with floor dirtground into the knees of his trousers, and I'll show you a man who knows whathe's about.'

With Maura's help, he guided Harry or Tomslow-motion through half a dozen possible scenarios, watchingtheir movementsclosely and calling out, 'Freeze!' whenever he wanted to check a spot forprints. The mystery Doc had not worn rubber gloves, Maura assured them. Simsdusted beneath the Formica tray tables and along the underside of the bedrails.He did the door handles and the light pulls, both sides of the headboards andfootboards of both beds, and even the fixtures in the bathroom. He used specialpowders and an infrared light, magnifiers and a tiny, state-of-the-art camera.He lifted about fifty prints — some quite clear, some badly smudged.

In the end, he told them, if Doug Atwatercould arrange access to the hospital's personnel fingerprint files, anythingwas possible. By the time Sims folded his tackle box, closed his briefcase, andaccompanied Tom Hughes off of Alexander 9, it was three A.M. Harry called Philand Evie's family. Then he sat by Evie's bedside in the darkened room for atime, his thoughts focused on nothing. . and everything.

'You take care now, Gene,' Maura said as heheaded out of the room.

Harry had thought she was asleep. Only nowdid he realize she was quite awake and had been keeping quiet for him — for thetime that might be his last alone with his wife. Perhaps her sedation hadkicked in, he reasoned. Perhaps the horrors of her DTs were abating. Or perhapsshe had just enough willpower to hold them off for a while.

'I will,' he said. 'You take care, too,Maura. And thanks for your help tonight.'

On the way off the floor, he stopped atthe nurse's station and signed permission for Evie's organs to be taken. Thenotion that somewhere, someone was about to receive the heart they haddesperately been praying for did help ease the profound sadness he was feeling.But nothing helped lessen his confusion — or his sense of foreboding.

The streets were virtually deserted.Emotionally drained, Harry drove home peering through a film of gritty fatigue.He parked in the indoor garage a block from his apartment. As usual RockyMartino, the co-op's night doorman, was asleep in a worn leather chair in clearview of anyone who chose to look through the glass front doors of the building.Although he would never admit it, Rocky was well past sixty. He would also notadmit to drinking more than was healthy, or to drinking on the job, althoughmost of the residents knew he did both. Firing him had been on the agenda ofvirtually every co-op meeting for as long as Harry had been part of thebuilding. But since nothing of consequence had ever happened during Rocky'sshift, and because he was a sweet guy, no action had ever been taken. Harrydebated knocking on the glass, or even ringing the ancient doorbell. Finally,he took out his keys. With the first touch of metal on metal, Rocky was on hisfeet.

'Doc, you scared the crap out of me,' hesaid, opening the inside door. 'I thought everyone in the building was tuckedin for the night. When did you go out?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I didn't see you go out after thatChinese food you ordered was delivered.'

Harry felt his pulse jump.

'You sure it was me the food was for?'

'Of course I'm sure.'

'Did you buzz me before you sent thedelivery man up?' he asked.

'I … um … I think I did.'

'And did the guy go right out?'

Rocky was clearly beginning to panic. Hewas also clearly about to lie.

'Sure,' he said. 'He went right up andcame right down.'

Harry headed for the elevator.

'Rocky, what time was that?'

'I don't know, Doc. Ten, maybe. Eleven.Why?'

Harry stepped into the elevator and heldthe door open.

'Because, Rocky,' he said, more testilythan he had meant, 'I haven't been home all night, and I didn't order anyChinese food.'

The apartment door was locked, but thatmeant nothing. They had a police lock, but he and Evie never bothered using itunless they were home. Once, when Evie had locked her keys inside, the superhad gotten her in with a credit card. Harry thought about calling the policewithout going inside. But he was exhausted and the cops might take hours to getthere.

He opened the door slowly, expectingdarkness. Lights were on in the foyer and, it appeared, in every room as well.Even from where he stood, he could see that the place had been ransacked. Heconsidered the possiblity that the intruder was still inside. A sane personwould definitely retreat to the lobby and call the police from there. But atthat moment, Harry was feeling anything but sane. He stalked down the hall halfhoping the man would jump out at him. He desperately needed someone to hit.

The apartment was empty, the carnageextensive. Every painting had been removed from the wall, every drawer openedand emptied. The mattresses had been moved and all the contents of all theclosets thrown on to them. Even the rugs had been lifted. It was as if theintruder was searching for a safe. If so, he had to be disappointed. They keptlittle cash in the apartment, and Evie's most precious jewels — by far theirmost extravagant possessions — were in a safe-deposit box. Still, it seemedthat a number of the most valuable portable items they owned had been taken.Evie's jewel box had been emptied. Her mink coat was gone, as was their silver,some crystal, and several small pieces of art, including a Picasso drawing Eviehad taken from her first marriage that was worth maybe fifteen thousanddollars.

But it was in the small study that themost thorough work had been done. The desk drawers had been emptied and thecontents screened and quite carefully set in a pile by one wall. The drawersthemselves had been broken apart, the seat of the desk chair slashed. Everybook from the floor-to-ceiling shelves had been opened, examined, and tossedaside. There was something wrong, Harry thought, pushing some of the mess asidewith his foot. This was a robbery, all right, but a robbery with a purpose.

He wandered into the kitchen. That roomhad been ransacked as rudely and thoroughly as the rest of the place. Hesurveyed the wreckage for several minutes before noticing the four unopenedwhite cartons on the table. Each contained a Chinese dish, now cold. Set atopone of them, in a stapled waxpaper holder, was a fortune cookie. Harry's firstimpulse was to heave it and the rest of the food against a wall. Instead hecracked it open.

The Beacon of Good Fortune WillContinue to Brighten Your Path, it read.