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CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER leaving Dr. Fukhito, Katie went to the east wing of the hospital for the transfusion. She had a long wait, and didn't leave the hospital until nearly six o'clock. She was hungry, and the idea of going home did not appeal to her. She thought she had learned to cope with loneliness. The feeling of emptiness that had been coming over her lately was something new.
She passed the restaurant where she and Richard had eaten the night before, and on impulse swung into the parking area. Maybe in the warm, intimate atmosphere she'd be able to think.
The proprietor recognized her, beamed with pleasure and led her to a table near the one she had shared with Richard.
Nodding at the suggestion of a glass of Burgundy, Katie leaned back. Now if she could just sort out the impressions she'd received talking with Dr. Highley and Dr. Fukhito.
Taking out her notebook, she began to scan what she had jotted down during the interviews. Dr. Highley. He'd explained that Vangie Lewis was in serious trouble with her pregnancy. What he told Katie was completely reasonable. What then? What more did she want of Dr. Highley? He'd expressed regret over Vangie's death, but certainly not sorrow. Of course, a doctor had to stay objective, as she'd heard both Bill and Richard say.
Richard. Her eyes slid over to the table where they'd sat together. Was it possible that it could happen twice in a lifetime, that from the very begi
When she and Richard were leaving Molly's after lunch yesterday, Molly had asked them both to di
Again she looked down at her notes. Dr. Fukhito. Something was wrong there, the way he'd weighed every word when he'd discussed Vangie's Monday-night visit. It had been like watching someone walk step by step through a minefield. What was he afraid of? He had said Vangie left by his private entrance.
No one had seen her go.
Suppose she hadn't left? Suppose he'd gone with her or followed her home. Suppose he'd realized that she was suicidal, that he was responsible in some way…
The waiter arrived to take her order. She made one final entry in her notebook: "Investigate Fukhito's background."
EVEN before he crossed the George Washington Bridge, Richard knew that he should have canceled the date with Clovis. He was preoccupied with Vangie Lewis' death. He had missed something in the autopsy. What was it?
And he was worried about Katie. She had looked so thin and pale last night. She wasn't well. That accident. Was it possible that she'd been hurt more than anyone realized? The thought haunted Richard as he turned into East Fifty-fourth Street and headed for Clovis' apartment.
Clovis had a pitcher of martinis waiting, and a plate of crab-meat puffs fresh from the oven. With her flawless skin and Viking coloring, she reminded Richard of a young Ingrid Bergman. Until recently he'd thought they might end up together. But as he returned her kiss, he was acutely aware that he'd never worry about Clovis the way he was now worrying about Katie.
He realized Clovis was talking to him as she filled two glasses. "… and I just got home. So I fixed the drinks and figured you could relax while I get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me?"
Richard accepted the drink and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. Do you mind if I make some calls while you get ready?" "Go ahead and dial away," She picked up her glass and started toward the hall that led into the bedroom and bath. Richard took out his credit card and dialed the operator. He gave his account number and the call went through. The phone rang a dozen times before he gave up. Katie wasn't home.
Next he tried Molly's house. But Molly had not spoken to Katie today. "She'll probably call me later. But I wish she was home by now. She should take it easy."
It was the opening he needed. "Molly, what's the matter with Katie? There is something wrong physically, isn't there? Besides the accident, I mean?"
Molly hesitated. "You'd better talk to Katie about that."
Cold fear washed over him. "What's the matter with her?'
"Oh, not much. I promise you that. But it's nothing she wants discussed. See you tomorrow night. Don't forget." The co
Scott did not waste time on preliminaries. "The body of a woman was found in an apartment in Edgeriver. She was the receptionist Katie wanted to talk to at Westlake. Name's Edna Burns. We're heading over there, and we need you."
"Give me the address," Bichard said.
He wrote it quickly and hung up the phone. Vangie Lewis and now Edna Burns. He knocked on Clovis' bedroom door. Wrapped in a terry-cloth robe, she opened it. "Hey, what's the hurry?"
"Clo, I'm sorry." Quickly he explained. He was frantic to get away. She was clearly disappointed. "Oh, of course I understand. Go, but let's have di
ON THE way home from the restaurant, Katie thought about the conversation she'd had with Edna Burns on her first visit to Dr. Highley. Edna was a bom listener. How much had Vangie told her? And how much did Edna know about Dr. Fukhito?
Katie pulled up in front of her house and decided not to put the car away yet. Suppose she phoned Edna and suggested driving over to see her? If Katie was any judge, Edna Burns would love a chance to have a cup of tea and gossip about Vangie Lewis.
Inside, Katie looked up Edna's number in the telephone book and quickly dialed it. The phone rang once and was picked up.
A man said, "Yes." The short word was delivered in a clipped, familiar voice. It belonged to Charley Nugent from the prosecutor's office.
"Charley? It's Katie. What are you doing in Edna's apartment?"
"She's dead. Fell-or was pushed-into the radiator. Split her head open." His voice became a whisper. "Get this, Katie. She was last seen alive around eight o'clock last night. A neighbor was with her. The neighbor heard her on the phone with Chris Lewis. Edna Burns told Lewis that she was going to talk to the police about Vangie's death. You better come right down."
AFTER he finished a second Scotch, Highley went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He had told Hilda not to prepare anything for him tonight, but had given her a shopping list: lamb chops, fresh asparagus, and watercress for a salad.
Emotional exhaustion always compelled him to eat. After Winifred's death, he'd left her relatives and friends at the grave site, refusing invitations to join them for di
A week later Alan Levine, the doctor who'd treated Winifred, indignantly told him that Gle