Страница 30 из 34
Richard absorbed what he had heard. His hunch had been right. A question came into his mind-a long shot. "Sir, do you by any chance know a Dr. Emmet Salem?"
The voice warmed. "Of course. A good friend. Dr. Salem was visiting staff here at the time of the Highley scandal."
SILENTLY KATIE RAN DOWN THE STATUS to the main floor. Desperately she grasped the knob, tried to open the door. But it was locked. Upstairs the footsteps had paused. He was trying the second-floor knob, making sure that she had not escaped him. The footsteps started again. He was coming down. Through these heavy doors no one would hear her if she screamed.
She felt dull pain in her pelvic area. Whatever he had given her had started the hemorrhaging. She was dizzy. But she had to get away. Wildly she began rushing down the staircase. One more flight. It probably led to the basement. He'd have to explain how and why she'd gotten there. The farther she got, the more questions would be asked. She stumbled on the last stair. Don't fall. Don't make it look like an accident.
But she'd be trapped down here. Another door. This one would be locked too. She tried the knob. He was coming. Dark as it was, she could sense a presence rushing down at her.
The door opened. The corridor was dimly lighted. She was in the basement. She saw rooms ahead. The door snapped closed behind her. Could she hide somewhere? Help me. Help me. There was a switch on the wall. She turned it off. The corridor disappeared into blackness. Then, a few feet behind her, the door from the stairwell burst open.
HIGHLEY was suspected of causing his first wife's death. Winifred Westlake's cousin believed he had caused Winifred's death. Highley was a brilliant researcher. Highley may have been experimenting on some of his patients. Highley may have injected Vangie Lewis with the semen of an Oriental male. But why? Would he try to accuse Fukhito? Or had Vangie been involved with Fukhito? Was Highley's possible experimentation only incidental to Vangie's pregnancy?
Richard could not find the answers. He sat at Katie's desk twirling her pen. He wished he knew where she was. He wanted to talk to her.
There was a soft knock on the door and Maureen looked in.
Her eyes were emerald green, large and oval. Beautiful eyes.
"Dr. Carroll.''
"Maureen, I'm sorry I asked you to stay. I thought Mrs. Horan would be here long ago."
"She phoned. She's on her way. Something came up at work and they needed her. But there are two women here. They're friends of Edna Burns. They wanted to see Katie. One of them, Mrs. Fitzgerald, said she met you the other night at the Burns apartment."
"Right. Tell them to come on in. If it's anything much, we'll make them wait to talk to Scott."
They entered the office together, Gana's eyes snapping with excitement. Gertrude was carrying the moccasin in a paper bag. Her gray hair was neatly in place. She leaned forward, shook the bag, and the shabby moccasin fell onto Katie's desk. Primly she began to explain. "That shoe is the reason we are here."
SHE zigzagged down the corridor. Would he know where the light switch was? He knew this hospital. Where would she go? There had been a door at the end of the hall. If she ran straight, she'd get to it. Maybe she could lock herself in there somehow. Maybe he'd try the other doors first.
He was standing still. He was listening for her. Her outstretched hand touched a cold wall, then a doorframe. Her hand found a knob. She turned it. A heavy formaldehyde smell filled her nostrils. From behind her she heard rushing feet. She stepped inside and tried to push the door closed, but she was so dizzy. She stumbled and fell. She reached out. Her hand touched a pant leg.
"It's all over, Katie," Dr. Highley said.
"ARE you sure this is your wife's shoe?" Scott demanded.
Wearily Chris nodded. "I am absolutely certain. This is the one that was so loose on her… the left one." "When Edna Burns phoned you, did she tell you she had this?" "No. She said she had something to tell the police and that she wanted to talk to me."
"All right. Your statement will be typed immediately. Read it carefully, sign it if you find it accurate, and then you can go home. We'll want to talk with you again tomorrow morning."
For the first time Chris felt as though the prosecutor had begun to believe him. He got up to go. "Where is Joan?"
"She's completed a statement. She can go with you. Oh, one thing. What impression do you have of Dr. Highley?"
"I never met him."
"Did you read this article?" Scott held up a copy of Newsmaker magazine.
Chris looked at the picture of Dr. Highley. "I saw this yesterday on the plane into New York." Memory jogged. "That's it. That's what I couldn't place. He's the man who got off the elevator at the Essex House last night when I was trying to reach Dr. Salem."
HE SWITCHED on a light and stood staring down at her, his sandy hair falling untidily on his forehead.
She managed to stumble to her feet. She was in a small area like a waiting room. It was so cold. A thick steel door was behind her. She shrank back against it.
"You've made it so easy for me, Mrs. DeMaio." Now he was smiling at her. "Everyone knows about your fear of hospitals. When Nurse Renge and I make rounds in a few minutes, we'll assume you left the hospital. Certainly no one will dream of looking for you in the morgue.
"An old man died in the emergency room tonight. He's in one of those vaults. Tomorrow, when the undertaker comes for his body, you'll be found on the floor. What happened will be obvious. You were hemorrhaging; you became disoriented. Tragically, you wandered down here and bled to death."
"No." His face was blurring. She was dizzy, swaying.
He opened the steel door, pushed her through it, held her as she slid down. She had fainted. Kneeling beside her, he injected the last shot of heparin. She probably wouldn't regain consciousness. Even if she did, she couldn't get out. From this side the door was locked. He closed it and turned out the light. At last he was finished with Katie DeMaio.
Cautiously he opened the door into the corridor and hurried out into the parking lot by the fire exit through which he'd entered fifteen minutes before.
Moments later he was drinking lukewarm cappuccino, waving away the offer of the waitress to bring him a hot cup. "My calls took a bit longer than I expected," he explained. "And now I must hurry back to the hospital. There's a patient there about whom I'm quite concerned."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"GOOD night, Dr. Fukhito. I feel much better. Thank you." The boy managed a smile.
"I'm glad. Sleep well tonight, Tom." Jiro Fukhito got up slowly from his desk at the Valley Pines Psychiatric Clinic, where he did volunteer work. This young man had been in deep depression for weeks, nearly suicidal. He'd been doing eighty miles an hour in a car that crashed. His younger brother had been killed.
Fukhito knew he had helped the boy get through it. The work he did here with disturbed children was so satisfying, he reflected, as he walked toward the elevator. And now he'd been asked to join the staff. He wanted to accept that offer.
Should he start the investigation that would destroy him? Edgar Highley would instantly reveal the Massachusetts case if he found that Fukhito had taken his suspicions to the police.
He got into his car, sat there thinking. Vangie Lewis did not commit suicide. She absolutely did not willingly drink cyanide. She had gotten on the subject of the Jones cult during one of their sessions. "Those cults, they're all crazy. Remember all those people who killed themselves because they were told to? Did you hear the tape of them screaming after they drank that stuff? I had nightmares about it. And they looked so ugly."