“Was there any way around the requirement?”
“None that I could see. I pushed every button I could, but to no avail. I was distraught. And then Seamus Dent showed up in my office. This was just before the trial. I knew he was a witness against François. I was shocked to see him. But he told me he had something to say.”
“What did he tell you, Whit?”
“A strange, fabulous tale of a dentist who had this wonderful ability to help people in need.”
“Pfeffer.”
“Yes. He told me how Dr. Pfeffer had worked on his teeth and in the process how he was recruited by this doctor to help in his causes. And one night Dr. Pfeffer had given him the mission to help Leesa Dubé. There was a key and a videotape. His job was to enter her apartment, leave the tape in the VCR, program it to start playing in the morning, and quietly leave. She was supposed to be dead asleep, it was supposed to be so easy. But the woman awoke and was so frightened at the intrusion that she came at him with a gun. And he reacted badly. There was a struggle, there was a shot, and the bullet went through her neck. He said it was a hurricane of blood. He ran away and called Dr. Pfeffer, who said he’d take care of it, and he did.”
“And when he told you this, Whit, what did you do?”
“I went to see the mysterious Dr. Pfeffer. I wanted to confront him, to learn the truth. But in the course of our conversation, the doctor mentioned that he knew of my daughter’s condition and that he could help. He said he had contacts, he said he had a way to get her in the study. He told me he would take care of it, and he did. She was the last patient admitted. Dr. Pfeffer gave her a chance at life.”
“And for that you ignored Seamus’s confession.”
“I did what I had to do. I convinced the boy his statement wouldn’t do any good, that no one would believe him. He would get in trouble, yes, but my client wouldn’t have been helped. The best thing, I told him, the only way to keep himself out of trouble, was to repeat in court what he had already told the police.”
“So you betrayed your client.”
“You have no children, Victor, so you might not understand the great fear that comes upon you at the moment of birth. There is the love, yes, such a sweet, thrilling emotion, but there is the fear, too. The fear that somehow you will fail them. It never leaves you, the awesome and terrifying responsibility you hold for their welfare. Would you have done anything differently if it had been your daughter lying there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who did she have but me? My whole life I had fought for my clients. This time I sided with my child.”
“And how did it turn out, Whit?”
“You can see for yourself. The procedure didn’t work. Her condition deteriorated, her muscles are in constant, irregular spasm. It is all I can do to care for her. It isn’t easy, it killed my wife, the strain, and it has drained me completely. But Dr. Pfeffer continues to help. He found me the nurse, he keeps the doctors on their toes, he convinced the insurance company to allow me to care for my princess in my home.”
“Maybe it would have been better if you had left it alone.”
“She deserved a chance.”
“So did the person whose admittance to the study your daughter edged out.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“He’s an amateur at it.”
“At what?”
“Playing God,” I said. “You’ll testify for François.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“I don’t think so.” I pulled out a small, minicassette recorder. “They make them so small now, quite ingenious.”
“What Seamus told me is hearsay. It is not admissible.”
“Seamus’s statement was against his penal interest.”
“You need circumstantial evidence of the statement’s trustworthiness.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Where?”
“From our dentist’s past.”
“I see you’ve done your homework. It’s almost a pity that he won’t let you present it all to the jury.”
“He’ll try to stop me.”
“And he’ll succeed. He’s very clever.”
“Not clever enough. And the proof is, sadly, right here in this room. Tell me, Whit: You gave up everything you worked for your entire life, every ounce of meaning in your career, for a chance that failed. Would you do it again?”
“Every day, forever and again.”
“Now who’s the hollow man?” I said. “I’ll see you in court.”
When I left the room, he was still leaning over the bed, brushing again his hand against his daughter’s cheek, oblivious to anything other than her trembling body, her lifeless, roaming eyes.
I made my way through the pale, sad dining room to the center hallway, where she was waiting for me. Of course she was. Nurse MacDhubshith, standing before the front door, her hands behind her back. Dr. Bob’s first line of defense.
“I’ll be having the tape recorder now, Mr. Carl,” she said.
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s impolite to eavesdrop?”
“We built an intercom into the room so I can monitor her wherever I be. Sometimes there is much distress.”
“I’ll bet.”
“That tape, then.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“You didn’t believe we’d let you bring it all come crashing down, did you?”
“We all do what we must.”
“That we do,” she said as she took her right hand from behind her back. She was gripping the handle of an absurdly large cleaver.
“Tell me this, Nurse MacDhubshith. What did he do for you?”
“He fixed me overbite and saved me brother’s life.”
“And for that you’d hack me to death?”
“Don’t be daft. I’m not out to kill you, Mr. Carl. The knife is only to slice you a bit, maybe cut off an ear.” She smiled as she took her left hand from behind her back. “And this is to stop you from leaving with the tape.”
In her left hand was a syringe, an old Gothic appliance with round metal loops for her fingers and a long metal needle dripping with some vile fluid.
She took a step toward me, the needle outstretched.
I faked left, went right, pushed her aside as I tried to rush by her toward the door.
The cleaver swung through the air with a flash of light. I jumped back. The blade just missed my stomach, piercing my jacket before burying itself in the wood-paneled wall.
I fought to pull away, but my jacket was pinned to the wall. I tried to spin out of the jacket, but I failed.
Nurse MacDhubshith came at me with the syringe.
I lifted my leg and kicked her away, hard.
As she sprawled on the floor with a shriek and a groan, I grabbed the handle of the cleaver and levered it back and forth until it released from the wall and freed my jacket
I tossed the cleaver to the floor, lunged for the door, when something grabbed hold of me. I tried to shake her off, I tried to push her away, the nurse was so thin it should have been nothing to get her off my back. But it wasn’t nothing, and it wasn’t the nurse.
“Be a good boy now, bucko,” said Tilda’s heavy German accent, “and take your medicine, ja.”
Next thing I knew, there was a pinching in my neck and something cold slipped through my collarbone, racing down and across my chest, into my very heart.
I flailed out with my arm and caught Tilda with my elbow in the same spot I had slammed her before. The force of it freed me for a moment. I took a step toward the door, then a stagger. The room shifted on its axis. The floor slid noisily beneath my foot as I lost my balance. I looked down. My foot had slipped on a flat piece of metal. I bent over, grabbed the metal blade by the handle, tried to stand up straight. The room shifted again.
I reached for the doorknob and missed, smacking my head on the wood. I recovered, reached again, felt the cool brass in my overheated hand. I turned the knob, pulled the door toward me, staggered back.