Silent Treatment

Chapter15

Six days after Evie's funeral, and exactlyone day before his fiftieth birthday, Harry Corbett realized he was no longer apotential suspect in a probable murder case. He was the only suspect in adefinite one.

The morning had begun like all of theothers since Evie's death, with Harry trying to appear focused and businesslikewhile his thoughts were swirling like a tornado. Although he felt almostcertain that the man who had drugged and then interrogated him that night wasresponsible for Evie's death, there seemed to be absolutely nothing he could doabout it. After leaving the apartment, he had stopped by Paladin Thorvald'sshop. The two thugs who had attacked him had used Thorvald's name. But thejeweler knew nothing about them and his manner suggested that he was becomingincreasingly suspicious of Harry's sanity. Harry sensed that before long,Thorvald would have company in that boat.

From Thorvald's shop he had gone to thelocal police station. He made it inside the front door. Then, knowing what layahead, he left and started for home. A block away, he screwed up his courage,prepared for yet another onslaught on his self-esteem, and went back to thestation. With no keys to Desiree's apartment, all he could do was file a reportand wait an hour and a half for the officer to locate the building manager.Apartment 2F had been leased to one Crystal Glass, with six months rent paid inadvance in cash. Harry wondered if Crystal Glass was another of Evie'spersonalities or merely a display of her wit. He hoped against hope thatsomething in the apartment might have been overlooked that would at least raisethe possibility that he might not be a head case. But there was nothing.Absolutely nothing.

'Be sure to check with us if you get anyfurther information, Dr. Corbett,' the investigating officer said, earning a9.5 on the 10-point patronization scale.

'Sure thing,' Harry responded.

The two intruders at the apartment had tohave been following him, he reasoned. But for how long? Harry worriedthat he might have inadvertently placed Julia Ransome in jeopardy and called towarn her. But over the intervening days, nothing had happened.

When Albert Dickinson arrived at hisoffice to announce the new evidence that elevated his status to sole suspect,Harry was just completing a cardiac treadmill test on a seventy-six-year-oldretired printer named Daniel Gerstein. Gerstein, a cantankerous survivor of theNazi camps, adamantly refused to see any other doctor for the stress test toevaluate his persistent chest pain, so Harry had temporarily abandoned hispolicy of not doing them. His patient had sailed through the protocol with nosymptoms and no changes on his cardiogram. Degenerative arthritis of the ribcage and shoulders, Harry told him. Gerstein demanded a more impressive diagnosisand the feel-good medicine his friends all got from their doctors. Hesettled for 'advanced noncardiac thoracic arthralgia' and some Motrin.

As he watched the elderly man's heart rateclimb without any abnormality on the monitor screen, Harry wondered if his ownstress test would look nearly so good. The chest pain he had experienced inEvie's apartment had prompted him to call a cardiologist. But when hewas informed the man was out of town at a meeting, he had made no attempt tocontact another. Instead, he ran especially hard during his next few workoutson the track. There was no recurrence of the discomfort. And each symptom-freeday dulled the memories of the numbing sensation and produced any number ofplausible explanations for it.

What was really happening, he decided, wasthat his family history — the Corbett curse he had created — had given him anabnormally high cardiac awareness. The minor aches and pains most people wouldsimply ignore were gaining heightened significance in his mind. His brother hadto have had some chest discomfort from time to time. There wasn't a soul whodidn't. Yet Phil wasn't running around checking calendars and callingcardiologists. It was because he didn't believe for one second that hisgenetics had doomed him to an early coronary.

Sometime soon, Harry was thinking as he wroteout renewals for Daniel Gerstein's blood-pressure pills. Sometime soon hereally would call someone and set up a stress test. But at the moment, curse orno curse, there were other, more pressing concerns in his life.

That was when Mary Tobin's voice crackledthrough his intercom announcing that he had two visitors, an Officer Graham anda Detective Dickinson.

Dickinson directed Officer Graham, who wasin uniform, to one of the chairs Harry offered, but remained standing himself,pacing as he talked. He still reeked of cigarettes and was dressed in whatlooked to Harry to be the same ill-fitting polyester suit he had had on at thehospital.

'So, Doc,' Dickinson began, surveying thediplomas and artwork, 'I told you that night in the hospital I'd be back. Andhere I am.'

'Here you are,' Harry echoed sardonically.

'That's a pretty full waiting room youhave out there. You always that busy?'

'Lieutenant, do you think you could comeback after five? A lot of those people out there have gone to a good deal ofinconvenience to make it in for their appointments. I try to be on time.'

'I wish my doctor cared so much aboutbeing on time. Dr. McNally on Central Park West. You know him?'

'I don't. Lieutenant, how long is thisgoing to take?'

'That depends.'

'On what?'

'On you, Doc. Does the name' — he pulledout his spiral-bound pad and read the word a syllable at a time — 'me-tar-am-i-nolmean anything to you?'

Harry felt his heart sink. The faintglimmer of hope that Evie's blood analysis might be negative had just vanished.

'It's metaraminol,' he said,correcting the pronunciation. 'The brand name we doctors know it by isAramine.'

'And you know what it does?'

'Yes, I know what it does. Lieutenant, getto the point.'

'You keep any of this me-tar-am-i-nolaround?'

'It's almost never used by anyone anymore.I don't keep it around. I never have. Now would you say what you have to sayand leave? I have patients to — '

Dickinson whirled on him.

'I'll say what I have to say when I amfucking good and ready,' he snapped, his fists clenched. 'If you can't do whatmy fucking doctor does, which is to keep everyone sitting around until he feelslike seeing them, then call your receptionist out there and have her send themall home.'

'Get out of here,' Harry said. 'Now.'

'Or what? Or you'll call the cops?'Dickinson sighed, ostensibly to calm himself. 'Look, Doc. Let's try to worktogether on this thing. It will be better for everyone that way.'

Harry snatched up the phone to call theprecinct house. Then he hesitated, set the receiver back down, and sank back inhis chair.

'What do you want?' he asked.

'I want you to own up to what you did toyour wife.'

'What?'

'Doc, I know you did it, you know you didit, anyone who knows anything about this case knows you did it. Now all youhave to do is admit it.'

'I didn't do anything. Did Evie haveAramine in her blood?'

Dickinson smiled condescendingly.

'Only enough to blow the tops off theheads of the whole New York Giants football team. The ME says no one but anM.D. or someone in the pharmaceutical business would have known about thisstuff. Now come on, Doc. How about it?'

'I didn't kill her.' This time it wasHarry's turn to sigh. As unsubstantiated as his information was, at this pointthere was no sense in keeping it from Dickinson. 'She was killed by a man Ibelieve is a doctor. Probably the man Maura Hughes saw come into the room. Eviewas working on a story that was making someone very worried. All I know is thatit had to do with high-priced call girls and very important people. She waskilled to keep her from finishing it. The night after her funeral I found thestuff she had been working on in an apartment in the Village.'

'And?'

'And this doctor and two of his thugs brokein on me before I could read much of it.' Sooner or later he would have todisclose the nature of Evie's alter ego and her writing. But he wasn't readyyet.

'How do you know he's a doctor?'

'I don't know for sure. I just think he isbecause he knows his way around hospitals and drugs. He put an IV in my arm inthe apartment, then he drugged me with some pretty sophisticated stuff andquestioned me for several hours. Finally, he cleaned out the apartmentcompletely and left.'

'Leaving you alive after you had seen hisface?'

'I … I never did see his face. Or theother two for that matter.' He noted the cynicism in Dickinson's expressionturn to incredulity. 'The two thugs wore stocking masks,' he explained. 'By thetime the doctor or whatever he is came on the scene my eyes were taped over.Maura Hughes is the only one I know of who saw his face.'

It had not taken long for Harry toappreciate why the mysterious physician had let him live. Under the influenceof the potent hypnotic chemicals he had told everything he knew, which wasessentially nothing. The man knew he had been interrupted before he got morethan a glance at Evie's material. And there was nothing in what he had read orseen that would incriminate anyone. No names, no dates, no places. If the M.D.had faith in his methods — and there was every reason to believe he was expertat such interrogations — he knew Harry posed no threat to him.

But now Harry understood that there wasanother, more logical reason he had been left alive. If Caspar Sidonis had notstormed in with his anger and suspicion, no one would have questioned thatEvie's death was due to natural causes. Hemorrhage at any stage of the game wasa well-accepted complication of berry aneurysms. The medical examiner wouldhave signed her off without a second thought. Instead, at Sidonis's insistence,a thorough analysis of her blood was being performed. The Aramine was bound tobe identified, and Harry would be available to take the blame. His murder ordisappearance now would only ensure an intensified investigation of Evie'scase. He had been spared death at the hands of the gladiators in favor of amore protracted demise from the lions.

'So tell me, Doc,' Dickinson asked, 'howdo you know this guy from the apartment is the same man who killed your wife?'

'I don't — at least not for certain. Now,would you please go?'

'I have a warrant to search this officefor that drug, Doc. Your condo, too.'

'Oh, this is ridiculous! If I had donewhat you say, I certainly wouldn't be stupid enough to keep a batch of Araminearound.'

'Doc, you were stupid enough to kill yourwife and think you could get away with it. That's more than stupid enough tokeep a batch of Aramine around. See, Graham? I told you. These M.D.s never giveanyone credit for having any brains. That's why they always fuck up, and that'swhy they always get caught.'

The young officer shifted uncomfortably inhis seat and looked away.

'You're going to search this office whileI'm seeing patients?'

'We don't have to if you just tell us thetruth. Look, I know about your wife's affair with Super Doc. I know she wasplanning on leaving you. I know about the tidy little insurance policy youstand to cash in. I know about the drug you used. And I know you were the lastone to see her alive. Now how about it, Doc. Maybe it was just a spur of themoment thing. She was a beautiful woman. You couldn't stand the thought oflosing her. Suddenly you pass by the medication room. You think about thataneurysm of hers. Next thing you know the drug is in your hand. . Seconddegree. That's what you'd get. Nothing more. Second degree's not that big adeal, Doc. You could be out in five years. Maybe even get off entirely, youfind yourself a good lawyer.'

Dickinson studied the citation framedalongside the silver star. Killed three of the enemy. Harry knew thewords were not going unnoticed. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him — aquestion, complete with its answer.

'Lieutenant, tell me something,' he said.'If you know all this about me, and you're so certain I murdered my wife, whyhaven't you come here with a warrant for my arrest?'

'Pardon?'

'A warrant. Some judge or magistrate orwhatever has refused to issue a warrant for you to arrest me for murder unlessyou find I've got a secret stash of Aramine. Isn't that true?'

Dickinson's expression — the tightnessaround his mouth — said that he had been nicked.

'What if it is?' he said. 'In two weeksthe grand jury sits. And I guarantee you that with the evidence I have topresent them, they won't have any problem handing down an indictment. Graham,let's get started.'

'Wait a minute, Officer.' On the offensiveat last, Harry had no intention of letting up. 'Lieutenant, there's more, isn'tthere? Is it Maura Hughes? Your magistrate believed her claim about someoneelse being in the room after me. That's it, isn't it?'

'You killed that woman, Corbett.'

'They believed her, didn't they?'

'Not her,' Dickinson said, barely able totemper his frustration and anger. 'Her goddamn Yalie brother. That asshole wentover my head. Filed a report. Cooked his own friggin' goose is what he did.Believe me, Charles Manson will get that goddamn detective slot before he does.And don't think for a moment they bought his story, neither. He just made themdecide to wait until a few things could be checked out, that's all. And as foryour drunken sot witness, her brother won't be able to take the stand in herplace. And as soon as anyone gets a look at her and hears what she's like,there's not a soul who'll believe she saw anything except spiders and flies.Now, are you going to let us do our work?'

'Do I have a choice?'

'No, Corbett. You don't have a fuckingchoice. You're a smug bastard. I hate smug bastards. And you killed your wife.I hate people who do that, too. It's just begun between us, Doc. Mark my words.I'm going to put the screws to you like you were a dime-store Erector set. Andsooner or later you're going to fuck up. Count on it. Come on, Graham. Let'sget started.'

It took two hours for Dickinson and Grahamto finish their room-by-room search of the office. Harry waited a few minutesuntil he was certain the detective wasn't going to return. Then he took a cupof tepid coffee and a bagel back to his office, fished out the slip of paperfrom his wallet, and called Maura Hughes. She answered on the sixth ring.

'Miss Hughes, it's Harry Corbett, Evie'shusband. Remember?'

'I remember.'

Though her words weren't slurred, hervoice was husky, and her speech seemed a bit thick. Harry wasn't sure whethershe was drinking again.

'How are you feeling?' he tried.

'I've been better.'

'Sorry.'

'But I've been worse.'

He waited for more unsolicitedconversation, but quickly realized there would be none. 'Have the police beento see you?'

'Nope.'

'Well, they just left my office, and I thinkthey might be contacting you soon. They found a drug in Evie's blood. She wasmurdered.' There was silence on the other end. 'That Lieutenant Dickinson iscertain I did it. I think it must have been the doctor you saw.' Still silence.'Miss Hughes, are you still there?'

'It's Maura. I'm still here.'

'Are you okay?'

'You mean am I drinking?'

Harry pictured the woman in her robe atthe kitchen table of a small, dingy apartment, staring at a half-filled glassand a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort. The image brought a heavy sadnessto his throat.

'Yes, I guess I did mean that,' he said.'Sorry. It's none of my business. Listen, I want to get together with you. It'svery important to me.'

'Why?'

'That cop, Dickinson, is on a mission tonail me for Evie's murder. He just left here after searching my office forhours while all my patients watched. In fact, there were moments when the onlything that kept me from hitting him over the head with a chair was rememberingwhat you called him. Pinhead.'

'I remember.'

'Well, the only reason they haven'tarrested me so far is that someone — a judge or DA, or maybe one of Dickinson'ssuperiors — is worried that the man your brother reported you saw was actuallythere.'

'He was.'

'I know. That's why I need to see you.Somehow, I've got to find out who he is, and you're the only one who's seenhim.'

There was a prolonged silence.

'When did you want to see me?' she saidfinally.

'I don't know. Tonight?'

'Can't.'

'Tomorrow, then.' He considered addingthat it would be his birthday — his fiftieth birthday — but decided against it.'Maura, listen,' he said, 'if you're embarrassed about drinking, please don'tbe.'

'Seven-thirty,' she replied, 'You have mynumber, so I assume you know where I live.'

'I do. Thanks, Maura.'

'And Dr. Corbett?'

'Yes?'

'I can't remember the last time I caredenough about what I did to be embarrassed about it. But since you keep asking,the truth is that if it sounds like I've been drinking it's because I just gotup from a nap. I haven't had a drink since the day I was operated on.'

'Hey, that's great.'

'But I was about to.'

Please — don't!' Harry did not have toforce desperation into the words. Again there was prolonged silence.

'I suppose I can keep it together at leastuntil tomorrow night. I think maybe I really don't want to drink. Maybe I'mjust bored.'

'Your brother said you were a painter.Have you been able to paint any since you've been home?'

'Not really. I haven't done much ofanything except hang around here, take naps, feel sorry for myself, and thinkabout drinking.'

'Well, listen, maybe tomorrow night wecould go out for dinner. You're the main reason I'm still a free man. I couldpick your brain, and you could get away from your place for a while.'

If she was as depressed as she sounded, heknew there was no possibility she would agree. He could feel her choosing theway to tell him so.

'Do I have to get dressed up?' she askedsuddenly.

'Not unless you want to. When I'm not atwork, jeans is as dressy as I ever get.'

'In that case, sure,' Maura said. 'I'dlike that.'