"Remember me?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "What do you want?"
"I have just a few more questions," he said.
The question in her mind was should she confront him with what she knew or should she pretend not to know he wasn't a BCI investigator? If she did the latter, would he come at her? Would he come at her anyway?
Sometimes, being a doctor, especially a family physician who confronted not only the patient, but the parents of the patient or the children of the patient, required her to utilize psychological skills as much as medical. It was important to relieve anxiety, calm people down -- in short, have a good bedside manner. That was still a raging debate in medical schooclass="underline" How important was it to treat the patient as a person, treat the whole person, and not just the ailment? Mental turmoil could prevent healing or complicate it. Doing this required her to be a little bit of a liar at times or at minimum having a convincingly confident demeanor without crossing the line into what Hyman called medical arrogance.
"Oh," she said struggling to give off a sense of relaxation. "Detective Clark Kent. I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you in the poor lighting." He stared at her without softening his lips into a friendly smile.
"Yes, well, I'm sorry about that. I called your office and was told you were at the hospital. I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought it was more convenient if I met you out here and left you to your duties and responsibilities in there. I'm sure you had enough to capture your full attention and concentration with your patients' problems."
"No question about that," she said, holding her smile and moving slowly toward her car. "So? What brings you to see me so urgently? I really don't have any more information about Paige Thorndyke than anyone else, especially the police."
"I'm not here to talk about Paige. I wanted to ask you about Kristin Martin."
"Oh?"
She stood at her driver's side door. Her left hand was in her bag, fumbling for the key. When she found it, she held it.
"What a remarkable and yet unfortunate coincidence that you had to confront another, shall we say, unusual fatality involving a young woman," he said smiling now.
"Please, don't remind me. Even doctors get nightmares," she said and inserted the car key into the door.
He stepped closer, close enough to prevent her from opening the door and getting into the car. It was a very subtle threatening gesture.
"What I really wanted to know is, did the young woman say anything to you?" he asked. "Was she able to describe what happened to her, give you any information at all?" he added, his normally calm sounding, friendly voice turning impatient.
She started to shake her head.
"A name of a man, anything?"
"No, you don't understand," she said. "By the time I had arrived, she was too far gone. She was barely conscious."
"So she was conscious," he said leaping on her words.
"Yes, but..."
He moved closer.
"It's important you tell me everything, very important. I might be the only one who can prevent this from happening to anyone else," he said, his voice now full of desperation.
"Oh?" She battled the panic that was trying to take hold inside her. "Well, why is that, Detective? You weren't even sure any crime had been committed in relation to Paige Thorndyke."
He stared coldly at her.
"Another death complicates the matter," he said.
"Surely there are more investigators on this then."
"I'm the most familiar with the M.O.," he said. "Who else have you spoken to about it?"
He's going to find out I know he's not who he says he is, she thought.
"Actually," she said now opening her car door and forcing him to step back, "I was surprised that no one has contacted me. I couldn't do much for the poor woman and I gave as much medical information as I had to the paramedics, but she was gone by the time they arrived. My first concern was I hadn't correctly diagnosed a serious reaction to bee stings. Many people are highly allergic to that, you know."
He studied her.
He knows I'm fudging it, she thought.
"I see. What did you learn about the cause of death?"
"I didn't learn everything. As I said, I merely happened onto the scene and..."
"You're a very intelligent woman, a scientist. You know this is far from an ordinary medical situation. I'm a specialist in these matters, too. If you confide in me
"I told you. I don't know anything more."
"This is a mistake. It's not being handled correctly. You're going to regret it," he said. "Let's begin with..."
A car came into the parking lot, its headlights washing over them. To her surprise and delight, she recognized it to be Curt. He pulled up right behind her.
"Oh, my fiance," she declared, seeing the concerned, truly angry look in the man's face. "I'm afraid he's having a hard time adjusting to a doctor's schedule," she added to lighten the moment.
Curt got out of his car.
"Terri?"
"Yes, I'm here," she said.
"I'll catch you another time," the so-called Detective Clark Kent said. "Think about what I said to you and how important all this could be," he added and moved quickly to his own vehicle as Curt came around the front of his car and approached Terri. He watched the man get in and start his engine.
"Who's that?"
Everything Will Dennis had told her earlier came rushing back in like a dam that had collapsed. As a doctor she was used to making decisions on the instant, of course, and it didn't escape her that this one could be just as life or death.
"A state police detective," she decided to say. Something told her to keep Curt as away from all this as she could.
Clark Kent, as it were, backed out and pulled away quickly, his tires squealing.
"He's in a hurry. What did you tell him?"
"Actually nothing he probably didn't already know," she replied, the possible irony of that answer not lost on her. "What are you doing here?" she asked Curt. He smirked and leaned against her car.
"I thought we might go somewhere and have a drink," he said.
"Oh. Well, why didn't you just call or page me?"
"I was nearby," he said, "and took a chance I might catch you coming out of the hospital. I knew you were coming out about now. See, I do pay attention to your horrific work schedule," he added.
She smiled.
"Okay."
"First, I have something to ask."
"Oh?"
"When you and I spoke this morning and you told me about Kristin Martin, you already knew she had died of some bizarre vitamin deficiency, just like Paige Thorndyke, didn't you? You knew it wasn't just a heart attack," he followed with a cross-examiner's speed and intensity.
"I don't understand, Curt. What if I did? Why are you so upset?"
"Why am I so upset? The whole world knows something weird is going on and my fiancee, who is right in the middle of it, doesn't tell me. I have to learn it from that schmuck Bill Kleckner. I told you how he's been looking over my shoulder, gloating over every one of his successes or any one of my failures."
"That's what this is about?" she said, astonished. "Competition with your partner?"
"No, that's not what it's about, Terri. It's about trust, about confiding in each other."
"First," she said, "I wasn't sure about this diagnosis, Curt. There are other tests that have to be run. Even as of now, I don't know the full extent of the woman's illness. I knew she had died of heart failure. That was certain, but there are a number of possible causes for it. Besides, I have to have some concern about patient confidentiality. You do for your clients, don't you?"
"Some confidentiality. Bill Kleckner gets to know it all before I do." He sounded like a little boy whining, and after what she had just experienced and the things she had seen in the hospital during her rounds, she had little patience for it.