The elevator grated open on the third floor. Juan graciously motioned for her to proceed. With her keys in her shaking hand, she walked toward her door and opened it. Juan immediately put his foot over the threshold, just as he’d done downstairs. After they’d both entered, he closed the door and locked it, using all three latches. Helene stood dumbly in the small entrance hall, unable to move.
“Please,” Juan said, politely motioning for her to enter the living room. To his surprise, a plump blonde was sitting on the sofa. Juan had been told Helene lived alone. Never mind, he thought. “What is that saying you people have?” he murmured. “When it rains, it pours. This party is going to be twice as good as I expected.”
He brandished his weapon, motioning for Helene to sit opposite her roommate. The women exchanged anxious looks. Then Juan yanked the telephone line from the wall, leaving the three color-coded wires to dangle nakedly in the air. He went over to Helene’s stereo and turned on the tuner. A classical station came on. Figuring out the digital controls, he switched to a hard-rock station and turned up the volume.
“What kind of party is it without some music?” he shouted as he took some thin rope out of his pocket.
CHAPTER 10
Jason got to the hospital early Monday morning and suffered through rounds. No one was doing well. After he got to his office, he began calling Helene at every spare moment. She never answered. At midmorning he even ran up to the sixth floor lab only to find it dark and deserted. Returning to his office, Jason was irritated. He felt that Helene had been obstructive from the start, and now by not making herself available, she was compounding the problem.
Jason picked up the telephone, called personnel, and got Helene’s home address and phone number. He called immediately. After the phone rang about ten times, he slammed the receiver down in frustration. He then called personnel and asked to speak to the director, Jean Clarkson. When she came on the line, Jason inquired about Helene Brennquivist: “Has she called in sick? I’ve been trying to reach her all morning.”
“I’m surprised,” Ms. Clarkson said. “We haven’t heard from her, and she’s always been dependable. I don’t think she’s missed a day in a year and a half.”
“But if she were ill,” Jason asked, “you would expect her to call?”
“Absolutely.”
Jason hung up the phone. His irritation changed to concern. He had a bad feeling about Helene’s absence.
His office door opened and Claudia stuck her head in. “Dr. Danforth’s on line two. Do you want to talk with her?”
Jason nodded.
“Do you need someone’s chart?”
“No, thanks,” Jason said as he lifted the phone.
Dr. Danforth’s resonant voice came over the line: “I’d say Good Health had better start screening their patients. I’ve never seen corpses in such bad shape. Gerald Farr is as bad as the rest. He didn’t have an organ that appeared less than one hundred years old!”
Jason didn’t answer.
“Hello?” Margaret said.
“I’m here,” Jason said. Once again he was embarrassed to tell Margaret that a month ago he’d done a complete physical on Farr and found nothing wrong despite the man’s unhealthy lifestyle.
“I’m surprised he didn’t have a stroke several years ago,” Margaret said. “All his vessels were atheromatous. The carotids were barely open.”
“What about Roger Wanamaker’s patient?” Jason asked.
“What was the name?” “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The man died on Friday of a stroke. Roger said you were getting the case.”
“Oh, yes. He also presented almost total degeneration. I thought health plans were supposed to provide largely preventive medicine. You people aren’t going to make much money if you sign up such sick patients.” Margaret laughed. “Kidding aside, it was another case of multisystem disease.”
“Do you people do routine toxicology?” Jason asked suddenly.
“Sure. Especially nowadays. We test for cocaine, that sort of stuff.”
“What about doing more toxicology on Gerald Farr? Would that be possible?”
“I think we still have blood and urine,” Margaret said. “What do you want us to look for?”
“Just about everything. I’m fishing, but I have no idea what’s going on here.”
“I’ll be happy to run a battery of tests,” Margaret said, “but Gerald Farr wasn’t poisoned, I can tell you that. He just ran out of time. It was as if he were thirty years older than his actual age. I know that doesn’t sound very scientific, but it’s the truth.”
“I’d appreciate the toxicology tests just the same.” “Will do,” Margaret said. “And we’ll be sending some specimens for your people to process. I’m sorry it takes us so long to do our microscopics.”
Jason hung up and went back to work, vacillating between self-doubt and the discomfiting sense that something was going on that was beyond his comprehension. Every time he got a moment, he dialed Hayes’s lab. There was still no answer. He called Jean Clarkson again, who said that she’d call if she heard from Miss Brennquivist and to please stop bothering her. Then she slammed down the phone. Nostalgically Jason remembered those days when he got more respect from the hospital staff.
After seeing the last morning patient, Jason sat at his desk nervously drumming his fingers. All at once a wave of certainty spread through him, telling him that Helene’s absence was not only significant, it was serious. In fact, he was convinced that it was so serious that he should inform the police immediately.
Jason traded his white coat for his suit jacket, and went to his car. He decided he’d better see Detective Curran in person. After their last encounter, he didn’t think Curran would take him seriously over the phone.
Jason remembered the way to Curran’s office without difficulty. Glancing into the sparsely furnished room, he saw the detective working over a form at his metal desk, his large fist gripping his pencil as if it were a prisoner trying to escape.
“Curran,” Jason said, hoping the man would be in a better mood than he’d been the other night.
Curran glared up. “Oh, no!” he exclaimed, tossing his pencil onto the uncompleted form. “My favorite doctor!” He made an exaggerated expression of exasperation, then waved Jason into his office.
Jason pulled a metal-backed chair over to Curran’s desk. The detective eyed him with obvious misgiving.
“There’s been a new development,” Jason said. “I thought you should know.”
“I thought you were going back to doctoring.”
Ignoring the cut, Jason went on. “Helene Brennquivist hasn’t been at work all day.”
“Maybe she’s sick. Maybe she’s tired. Maybe she’s been sick and tired of you and all your questions.”
Jason tried to hold on to his temper. “Personnel says she’s extremely reliable. She’d never take a day off without calling. And when I tried her apartment, there was no answer.”
Detective Curran gave Jason a disdainful look. “Have you considered the possibility that the attractive young lady might have taken a long weekend with a boyfriend?”
“I don’t think so. Since I saw you I’ve learned she was having an affair with Hayes.”
Curran sat up and for the first time gave Jason his full attention.
“I always felt she was covering for Hayes,” Jason continued. “Now I know why. And I also believe she knows a lot more about his work than she’s saying, and why his places were searched. I think Hayes made a major breakthrough and someone is after his notes—”