Silent Treatment

'A copy of it, yes. Miss Hughes hadtrouble recalling some of the details of the man's face, so we went to see ahypnotist.'

'That would be Dr. Pavel Nemec?'

The murmur around the room suggested thatThe Hungarian was known to most of those present.

'I'm not sure he's a doctor,' Harry said.'But yes. He had no trouble helping her reconnect with her memories. Onesession, about fifteen or twenty minutes, was all it took.'

'Mr. Rennick,' Wetstone said. 'Here is anotarized affidavit from Pavel Nemec attesting to his certainty that thedrawing you are about to see represents the face remembered by Maura Hughes — the man who came into room nine twenty-eight after Dr. Corbett left to get hiswife a milk shake.' He waited until everyone that mattered had a copy before hecontinued. 'Dr. Corbett, have you ever seen the man depicted in Ms. Hughesdrawing?'

'I have. He was dressed as a hospitalmaintenance man, buffing the floors outside room nine twenty-eight when Iarrived. When I left for the milk shakes, he was still there. When I came backwith them he was gone.'

'You're sure of this?'

'Positive. It's an extremely good likenessof him. Maura Hughes has an incredible eye for detail. She says she suspectsthat the tie was a clip-on because the knot was just too perfect.'

Several people laughed out loud.

'This is ridiculous,' Caspar Sidonismuttered, though loudly enough for everyone to hear.

'So what you're telling us, Dr. Corbett,'Wetstone said, 'is that this man-' He waved the drawing for emphasis. 'This manwaited for an opportune moment, put on a doctor's clinic coat taken from withinthe casing of his floor buffer, walked boldly into room nine twenty-eight, andinjected your wife with a killing dose of Aramine.'

'I believe that is exactly what he did.'

Many of the faces around the room wereexpressionless. But Harry's unofficial visual poll said that the majority stillhad strong doubts about him.

Without comment, Wetstone motioned that hewas done. Since the burden of proof was, in theory at least, on the hospital,Harry would not be cross-examined by the hospital attorney. It was one ofseveral procedural points Wetstone had won.

Sam Rennick next introduced the man in theill-fitting blue suit, Willard McDevitt, the head of maintenance for thehospital. McDevitt, in his fifties with a ruddy complexion and a nose thatappeared to have been broken more than once or twice, spoke with the force ofone convinced he was incapable of being wrong about anything. He reminded Harryof Bumpy Giannetti, the hulking bully who had stalked him after school andbeaten him up with biological regularity from grades seven through ten. Hewondered in passing if Bumpy would respect him now that he was the chiefsuspect in two murders.

'Mr. McDevitt, is the man in that drawinganyone you recognize?' Rennick asked, after establishing the man's credentials.

'Absolutely not. I never saw him before inmy life.' He looked haughtily over at Harry.

'And what about that industrial floorbuffer — the one Dr. Corbett claims the killer used that night?'

'Well, first of all let me say that ifthere was a buffer on Alexander Nine that night, it was one of mine. And if itwas one of mine, one of my men was runnin' it.'

'Could someone have brought one into thehospital?'

'Anything's possible. But those babiesweigh close to a quarter ton and are bigger 'n a clothes dryer. It's hard toimagine someone sneakin' one into the hospital without being noticed.'

'Could they have stolen one from yourdepartment?'

'Not unless it was at gunpoint. We have asign-out system I designed myself to prevent any unauthorized person from usin'any of our equipment. Even a wrench has to be accounted for. I don't think we'dexactly misplace a five-hundred-pound buffer.'

'Thank you, Mr. McDevitt.'

Rennick nodded toward Wetstone withoutactually looking at him. Harry saw the gesture and reflected cynically on thefoolishness of a profession in which sub-rosa byplay was an accepted, evenrehearsed, part of the practice. Then he noticed Caspar Sidonis exchangingwhispered comments with the trustee seated next to him, motioning towards Harryat the same time. The byplay in medicine might be more subtle than in law, butit was no less nasty.

'Mr. McDevitt,' Mel began, 'where are thefloor buffers kept?'

'Locked in a room in the subbasement — double-locked as a matter of fact. Only me an' Gus Gustavson, my head of floormaintenance, have the key. Every one of them buffers that's taken from thatroom has to be signed out by him or me.'

'I understand, Mr. McDevitt, I'd like toask you again whether you believe there is any way a man who was not in youremploy could get at one of those buffers?'

'Absolutely none.'

That look again. Harry met the man's gaze in away he had never faced up to Bumpy Giannetti, held it, and even managed a weaksmile. Had Mel Wetstone shared with him the next part of his strategy, hissmile would have been much broader. Wetstone stood, walked to the door, openedit, and stepped back. A curious silence held for several seconds, then wasshattered by a machinery hum. A tall blond man dressed in a tan MMC maintenancejumpsuit entered the room. He wore a standard hospital photo identificationbadge and was polishing the tile surrounding the plus Oriental rug with an industrialbuffer. PROPERTY OF MMC was stenciled in red on the side.

'What in the hell?' Willard McDevittexclaimed.

Wetstone nodded toward the buffer man andthe machine was shut off.

'Mr. McDevitt, do you know this man?'

'I do not.'

'Mr. Crawford, where did you get thatcontraption?'

'From the room marked Floor Maintenancein the subbasement.'

'And was it difficult for you to get?'

The blond man grinned.

'Piece of cake,' he said. 'I'll return itnow if that's okay.'

He spun the machine round and wheeled itout. Instantly, it seemed as if everyone was talking and gesturing at once.Harry noticed that several members of the medical staff were laughing. WillardMcDevitt looked as if he was going to charge Mel Wetstone. Instead, he listenedto some whispered words from the hospital attorney, shoved his chair back, andstalked out. For his part, Wetstone carefully avoided appearing smug, or evenpleased. He sat placidly, allowing his theatrics to hold sway. For the firsttime, Harry felt that the emotion in the room might be turning in his favor. IfRennick and his witness could be so wrong about the floor buffer, people had tobe thinking, maybe they could be wrong about other things as well.

'Now just a minute. Just one damn minute!'

Caspar Sidonis had clearly taken as muchas he could. He stood and strode to the head of the table. Owen Erdman, thehospital president, moved his chair aside for him.

'This man is a huckster,' Sidonis said,motioning toward Wetstone. 'A snake oil salesman. He's using misdirection andtricks to keep you from focusing on the important points in this case. And Sam,I'm afraid all you've done is make it that much easier for him. This isn't acourtroom, it's a hospital. We're not here to debate fine points of law. We'rehere to see to it that our thousands and thousands of patients — patients whocould take their business to any number of facilities — have the confidence inthe Manhattan Medical Center to continue coming here. We're meeting here todayto prevent our hospital from becoming the laughingstock of the city. We're hereto ensure that the medical school graduates, with every hospital in the countryto choose from, think enough of this place to apply for residency here.'

The man was good, damn good, Harryacknowledged. This was revenge for Evie and payback for the humiliation of theamphitheater all rolled into one. And most important, his force andeffectiveness sprang from his hatred of Harry and his consuming belief inHarry's guilt. Harry took another silent poll of the room. Already thingsdidn't look as promising as they had. Mel Wetstone seemed on the point ofrising to object to Sidonis's tirade, but he thought better of it and sank backin his chair. Trying to stop the powerful chief of cardiac surgery fromexpressing his opinion could only hurt them.