The Conspiracy Club

23

Tumor board was canceled for the week. The following session, Arthur was back at the lectern, running the show.

Jeremy arrived late and had to sit at the rear. The room was dark- slides, always slides- and it stayed that way for most of the hour. The old man’s sonorous baritone rhapsodizing about mediastinal teratomas.

But when the lights went on, Arthur was gone, and Dr. Singh had taken his place, explaining, “Dr. Chess had to leave early for a prior engagement. Let us proceed.”

The final ten minutes were taken up by a spirited debate about cell permeability. Jeremy had trouble staying awake, managed to do so by scolding himself:

At least this is science, not some randomized process where the so-called expert doesn’t have a clue.

The next day, the third envelope arrived. Jeremy had nearly finished a rough draft of his chapter and was feeling pretty flush. The sight of “Otolaryngology” in the sender slot froze his fingers on the keyboard.

He thought about throwing it out unopened. Couldn’t resist temptation and tore the flap so hard the little metal clasp flew off.

No medical reprint inside. Instead, Jeremy extracted a newspaper clipping, crumbling at the edges and browned with age. No identifying marks- the article had been trimmed well below the upper margin- but the tone and the locale suggested a British tabloid.

Vanished Bridget’s Chum Found Murdered

Two years ago pretty Bridget Sapsted left a pub in Broadstairs, Kent, after a night of serving pints only to vanish. Despite extensive police inquiries, the fate of the lovely lass was never discovered. Now a close friend of the pretty brunette has been murdered brutally, and efforts are being made to learn if the fate of one girl is connected to that of the other.

The case took a grisly twist when, early this morning, the body of 23 yr old Suzie Clevington was found by a man walking to work on the outskirts of Broadstairs. Suzie and the vivacious Bridget had been classmates at Belvington School, Branchwillow, Kent, and the two girls had remained fast friends. With aspirations as a dancer, Suzie had spent some time in London and on the Continent, but had returned home recently to seek employment opportunities.

“At this point,” said the principal investigator, Det Insp Nigel Langdon, “we are treating these as independent incidents. However, should the facts warrant, we will pursue them as related.”

In response to rumours that the body had undergone horrible mutilation, Det Insp Langdon would say only that the police could not reveal all the details of the case in the interest of an “efficient investigation.”

Suzie Clevington was described by friends and family as an out-going, friendly-

And there the article ended, cut off in midsentence.

Laser scalpels, female surgery, a dead girl. Mutilation.

A Humpty-Dumpty situation.

This was not a postal screwup.

Someone in the hospital, wanting Jeremy to know.

Who could it be, other than Arthur?

He called Arthur’s office. No answer. Was the old man still caught up in yesterday’s “prior engagement”? The exigent circumstance that had caused the pathologist to flee Tumor Board before the meeting had ended?

Jeremy realized something: All three envelopes had arrived during periods when Arthur had been impossible to reach. What was that, an alibi?

For what?

Slipping on his white coat, he walked to the faculty office and lied to the secretary- an exceptionally cheerful woman named Anna Colon with whom he’d always gotten along- about having bought a gift for Dr. Chess and needing a home address.

“I didn’t know you two were friends,” Anna said, as she handed over the black-bound Medical Staff binder. Not thinking to ask: If so, why don’t you know his address? Some people were blessed with a trusting nature. Jeremy often woke up in the middle of the night, mistrusting his own existence.

He said, “We’re more like pupil and student. Dr. Chess has taught me a lot, and I wanted to repay the favor.”

“Well, that’s nice. Here you go.”