Silent Treatment

Chapter21

'All right, Doc, let's start all overagain.'

'From where?'

'From the fucking beginning, that's fromwhere.'

Albert Dickinson, his rumpled shirt indesperate need of dry cleaning, stubbed out one Pall Mall as he prepared tolight another. The ashtray was full-to-overflowing. The small interrogationroom reeked of years of tobacco, stale coffee, and body odor. Harry shifteduncomfortably in the slat-back wooden chair and wondered if he should back offon saying anything else without calling Mel Wetstone. But the truth was he haddone nothing wrong. And aside from his intimate involvement in last night'sCentral Park murder, he had nothing to hide. Still, his troubles were piling uprapidly. And now a young man he cared very much for was dead.

Approximately twenty minutes after Harryleft room 505, a nurse's aide found Andrew Barlow lying peacefully in bedwithout any pulse or respirations. A brief attempt at resuscitation by thenurses and residents was called off because of fixed, dilated pupils and anabsolutely straight-line EKG. Although morning was the busiest, most hectictime of day in the hospital, with any number of technicians, physicians,students, maintenance people, aides, transportation workers, and nurses comingand going, none of the staff on Alexander 5 recalled seeing anyone enter orleave Barlow's room after Harry.

After receiving the news, Harry canceledwhat few patients he had left to see and returned, numb and dreamlike, to thehospital. Andy Barlow lay on his back in the semidarkness, a sheet drawn up tohis chin. His face already reflected the early mottling of death. Harry wantedto scream, to bellow like the wounded animal he was. He wanted to destroy theroom, to rip attachments from the wall, to snatch up a chair and hurl itthrough the plate glass window. Instead, he sat alone by the bedside, AndyBarlow's hand in his, and wept.

Before he left the floor, he placed threephone calls. The first was to inform Owen Erdman that he would be calling backlater that day to set up an appointment as soon as possible. The second callwas to Andy's family, and the third was to Albert Dickinson.

'If you think being the one to notify metakes you off my list,' Dickinson said now, 'you're crazy.' He thought for amoment and then added. 'But that's just the point, isn't it.'

'What?'

'That you're crazy.'

Dickinson could not charge him with anycrime until an autopsy proved that Andy had died of something other thannatural causes. But even a negative autopsy would leave unanswered questions.After all, the young architect was officially listed by the hospital as beingin guarded condition, and the nurses to whom Dickinson had spoken testifiedthat Harry's false alarm had doubtless added immeasurable stress to an alreadydifficult situation.

'It wasn't a false alarm,' Harry said,with exaggerated patience. 'My office manager heard the call.'

'Correction, sir. She heard the phone ring.Even a dumb cop like me knows the difference between hearing a phone ringand overhearing a conversation.'

'Well, there was a patient of mine there,too. Standing in the hall right outside my door. He heard some of theconversation. Some of my half of it, anyway.'

'Well, I guess that convinces me.'

'Don't be snide.'

'Then don't keep throwing ridiculousstories at me like I'm some sort of fucking retard.'

'The man's name was Concepcion. WalterConcepcion.

Harry reviewed the little he had learnedabout his new patient — former private detective, now unemployed, recoveringcrack cocaine addict, chronic headaches, nervous tic. Just the sort ofcorroborating witness Dickinson would expect him to come up with — one thatwould fit in nicely alongside DT-ing alcoholic Maura Hughes. Bookends.

'Get me this Walter whatsizname's addressand I'll speak to him,' Dickinson said.

'Listen,' Harry responded, 'just tell meone thing. What would I have to gain by faking such a phone call? Why would Ido it?'

'Let me think. . Why would you fake aphone call from the man you say killed your wife, announcing that now he hasdecided for no particular reason to knock off some poor faggot who was going todie anyway? Gee, beats me.'

'I didn't kill my wife. I didn't make upthe phone call. Are you done with me?'

You know, it could be this guy just diedof heart failure or something,' Dickinson went on, loosening his tie. 'I mean,if I was lying there in guarded condition with AIDS and pneumonia and my doctorcame bursting into my room screaming that someone was trying to kill me, Imight just croak, too.'

Harry sighed.

'Look, Lieutenant. I called you and toldyou about Andy's death. I waited around while you and your man questionedeveryone on the floor. I came down here to the station without calling alawyer. I've sat here for an hour and a half answering questions that I'veanswered two or three times already. I've listened to your insults and yourinnuendos and your accusations, and I haven't given you a hard time in any way.Right at this moment, I'm feeling incredibly bad about what happened to AndyBarlow. I really liked him, and I was working like hell to get him through hispneumonia. I think he was murdered by the same man who murdered Evie. But thatman wasn't me. If you have any questions I haven't heard before, ask them.Otherwise, I want to go home.'

'If that autopsy's positive, you're myman,' Dickinson said.

'Fine.'

'And if it's negative, you're still myman.'

'That's your problem.'

Dickinson moved to stub out ahalf-finished Pall Mall, realized what he was doing, and instead flicked theash in Harry's general direction before taking another drag. Harry took hissuit coat from the back of his chair and headed for the door.

'You haven't arrested me for Evie's murderbecause you couldn't find a DA who thought you had a good enough case. Andthey're right, I didn't do it.'

'Tell that to the grand jury, Doc. I'vegot a week's pay says they're about to come down on you like a ton of bricks.'

'You know how to find me,' Harry said.

It was after three when Harry returned tohis office. The waiting room was empty. Behind the glass of the reception area,Mary Tobin looked forlorn.

'We had already canceled and rescheduledMrs. Gonsalves and the Silverman kids once before today,' she said. 'DoraGonsalves was okay about it, but Mrs. Silverman was upset. She called just afew minutes ago to ask that her family's records be sent over to Dr. Lorello.'

'Marv's a good guy. He'll take good careof them.'

'You're not upset?'

'Of course I'm upset, Mary. But what am Isupposed to do?'

'I don't know. Oh, Lord, I'm sorry, Dr. C.I guess this is all starting to get to me.'

'Me, too.'

'It's terrible about Andy Barlow.'

Harry crumpled a blank intake form andclenched his fist around it.

'The bastard who killed him is going topay,' he said. 'I swear he is.' He threw the balled paper at the waste-basketand missed by two feet. 'I had to call Andy's folks at Delaware and tell them.I hate that part of the job anytime, but I hate having to do it over the phonethe most.'

Mary stood up and embraced her boss. Herfamily had seen more than its share of tragedy over the years, and she knew howto comfort and console. There was a special warmth in her wide girth thatreminded Harry of his own mother before her recurrent strokes and weight lossof seventy or eighty pounds. He prolonged the hug for a few extra seconds.

'I'm afraid I have another piece of badnews,' she said as he drew away. 'Sara quit.'

Harry felt himself sink. His nursepractitioner had been part of the office for over four years. She was bright,anxious to learn, and quite willing to handle most medical problems the way hewould have. His patients loved her, and she actually generated a bit more moneyfor the office than her salary. He glanced down the hall, but could tell thather office was dark.

'What happened?' he asked.

'All this stuff has been really getting toher. I think her husband's been putting pressure on her, too. She went homesick today, but she said she'll finish the week — two if you really want.'

'One will be okay,' Harry said,distracted. 'I'll talk to her tomorrow.' Another casualty. 'Mary, didyou reschedule that man Walter Concepcion?'

'Next week. Wednesday, I think. He triedexplaining to me what he overheard from your end of that call from. . fromthat man. I think he was embarrassed and upset about not just turning aroundand walking away.'

'I'm actually glad he didn't. Do we haveany phone number for him?'

'We do. He didn't put one on hisquestionnaire, but he left one later. I think the phone's in the hallway of arooming house of some kind.'

'Copy it and his address for me, will youplease? I might try and get in touch with him.'

At that moment, the private line in theback office began ringing. Harry tensed.

'Quick, Mary,' he said, whisperingalthough there was no one around to hear, 'follow me in case it's him.'

They hurried down the hall to the office.He motioned her to a spot where they could share the receiver. The phone was inits fourth ring when he snatched it up.

'Dr. Corbett,' he said.

'Harry, hey, I'm glad I found you. It'sDoug.'

Harry covered the mouthpiece.

'It's Doug Atwater,' he said, obviouslydisappointed. 'The killer hasn't made any mistakes yet. I guess it was wishfulthinking, expecting him to make one now.' He waited until Mary had left, thentook his hand off the mouthpiece. 'Hi, Doug,' he said.

Atwater was just about the only personaffiliated with the hospital that he could deal with hearing from at thispoint.

'Harry, I just got a call from Owenwanting to know if I had heard from you. He told me about that poor guy onAlexander Five. It's terrible. Just terrible. And I know you aren't responsiblein any way.'

'Doug, there's a madman loose in thehospital. He killed Evie, and now he's trying to hurt me any way he can.'

'Owen told me that's what you believe isgoing on.'

'That is what's going on.'

'Hey, there's no need to bite my head off.This is the first time you've said a thing to me about any madman in thehospital.'

'Sorry.'

'Harry, the nursing service has beenbugging Owen that you were supposed to have called and taken yourself off thestaff. Is that so?'

'No, it's not. Doug, I've spent twentyyears establishing myself as a doctor. I'm not going to just chuck it now.Besides, if I don't hang in there and fight, they're never going to find theguy who's doing this. As things stand, finding him is my only chance.'

Hang in there and fight. Harry thought back to themorning just a few weeks ago when he complained to Phil that he didn't have anychallenges in life.

'You coming in to talk with Owen aboutthis?' Atwater asked.

'Yes. I was going to do it a couple ofhours ago, but I've been tied up with one of the detectives. Oh, you know theguy — Dickinson, that same one from when Evie died.'

'Oh, no. That guy's an idiot. Does hethink you're responsible for this man's death, too?'

'Of course.'

'Oh, shit, Harry. I'm sorry. Listen, isthere anything I can do?'

'I wish there were.'

'You don't have any idea who's doing thisto you?'

'Not a clue.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'You know, Harry,' Atwater said finally,'maybe you should consider taking a little time off from the hospital.At least until this business cools down — until the dust settles. I've beenbehind you one hundred percent in this thing, you know I have. But with thenurses on the warpath, and Owen having a meltdown, it's getting hot, damn hot.'

'You don't believe me either, do you. Ican tell from your tone of voice.'

'Harry, you've got to be reasonable. Thereare other sides to this thing.'

'Thanks for calling, Doug. Every singleone of you might vote to throw me out, but I'm not quitting.'

Harry set the receiver down withoutwaiting for a reply and sank into his chair. His long-standing friend andpossibly his last ally at the hospital had just bailed out. Atwater lacked theauthority to get him lifted from the staff at the hospital, but he couldsuspend him as a provider for the Manhattan Health HMO. Manhattan Healthpatients probably represented 40 or 50 percent of his practice. Without them,it was doubtful he could stay in business for long.

Mary Tobin returned to his office doorwayand announced that she had done as much as she could and was leaving for theday to run some errands. Harry thanked her, told her with too little convictionnot to worry, and watched as she left the office. Tomorrow he would share thenews of the body blow that Atwater seemed poised to deliver. He had no desireto heap more worry on her today than he had already.

He scanned his desk and the floor aroundit for any charts that needed dictating. There were none. He dialed Maura'sapartment number and then his own, but got answering machines in both places.

Harry told each machine that he would behome by four. Then he called Owen Erdman and set up yet another appointment todiscuss his future at Manhattan Medical Center. Finally, he straightened hisdesk, set his feet up on one corner, closed his eyes, and tried desperately tothink of something, anything, he could do to cut through the insanity that wassmothering him. The ringing phone nearly startled him out of the chair. Onceagain, it was his private line. He lifted the receiver, but said nothing. Inthe brief silence that followed, Harry knew. The killer was back. Back togloat.

'The autopsy on your patient will benegative,' the unmistakable voice said.

'How do you know?'

'I have access to a neurotoxin so powerfuland so shortlived that by the time it kills, it has already begun disappearingfrom the body. The final metabolism of the poison actually occurs after death.And here we have the temerity to call the Indians in the Amazon basin savages.I tell you, when it comes to killing, they are virtuosos.'

Harry could feel the killer's arroganceand enormous ego. Having witnessed the unspeakable consequences of angeringhim, he chose his words carefully.

'What do you want from me?'

'Closure. That's all. Same as before. I'dprefer you did it with a note — ideally with a note admitting to theill-advised administration of — what was it you used? — oh, yes, Aramine. Theill-advised administration of Aramine to your wife. You will at last be atpeace. And I will have my closure.'

'I'm no threat to you at all,' Harrycountered. 'No one is. I can't even get anyone to believe that you exist.'

Can't even get anyone tobelieve that you exist. .

Harry's thoughts were suddenly racing. Theman was insane, true, but he was also smart. Why was he taking a chance likethis, calling Harry in the office when anyone might overhear his confession?All Harry needed was one reliable ally with firsthand knowledge, just one. Heknew about the private line, and apparently, he also knew there was no wayHarry could signal one of his office staff to pick up an extension. But howcould he know that someone wasn't standing by, listening as Mary Tobin had whenDoug Atwater called? He was bold and arrogant, but he was certainly notcareless. Why would he chance it? Harry struggled to understand. Thensuddenly he knew. The bastard was watching the office! Right now, somewherenearby, watching! No other explanation made sense.

'Listen, a delivery man just came downfrom one of the upstairs offices,' Harry said. 'I just have to give him apackage. If you have anything further to say to me, stay on. I'll be rightback.'

He set the receiver on his desk andsprinted down the hall to the front door. There was a pay phone on the otherside of the street, two buildings down. His tormentor had to be there!

Harry charged from the building into thelate afternoon glare, narrowly avoiding a yellow cab as he raced across thestreet. The half kiosk housing the pay phone was deserted. But it hadn't been.The receiver dangled down, swinging to and fro like a pendulum. The white handkerchiefresting on the small metal counter promised that there would be nofingerprints. Harry raced to Fifth Avenue, the nearest corner. Pedestriantraffic was heavy. He scanned the street, searching for someone who looked outof place or interested in him. Nothing. Carla Dejesus, the elderly proprietorof a small variety store, stopped sweeping the sidewalk by her shop and waved.Harry waved back, walked over, and asked if she had seen anyone unusual oranyone running down the street. She had seen no one.

He wanted to scream — to lash out and hitsomething, anything. But his sanity was already in doubt in too many quarters.

'I'm going to find you, you bastard,' hemurmured as he continued straining to see anything out of the ordinary.'Whatever it takes, I'm going to find you.'

He returned to lock up the office. Onimpulse, he tried calling his apartment again. Maura answered on the firstring. It wasn't until he heard her voice that he fully realized how worried hehad been about her.

'Maura, hi, it's Harry,' he said.

'How're you doing, Mr. Doctor?'

Her speech was too fluid, too singsong.His spirits, already low, sunk even further.

'Maura, are you drinking?' he said.

The ensuing pause was answer enough.

'Not enough to matter,' she said flatly.

'Maura, please,' he said, battling to keepboth his fear for her and his anger in check. 'Please stop. Stop now. I needyou. Evie's killer thinks I paid to have someone follow us last night. Hethinks I'm responsible for the death of his man. To pay me back, a few hoursago he killed one of my patients — a thirty-three-year-old guy. He just waltzedinto his room and killed him. Then he called here to boast about it. He …'Harry had to stop speaking to compose himself. Maura said nothing. 'Listen,' hefinally managed. 'You're. . you're the only friend I have right now. I don'teven know what to do. The bastard said he wasn't going to stop hurting me or mypatients until I … until I kill myself

For another ten seconds the line wasquiet.

'Harry, why don't you come on home,' shesaid.

'What are you going to do?'

'Well, for starters, I'm going to take ashower.'

Harry gave a silent prayer of thanks.

'Heavy on the cold,' he said.