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"Certainly not. Should I recognize it?"
"Your patient Vangie Lewis wore this shoe for weeks. Didn't you ever notice?"
"Mrs. Lewis wore a pair of rather shabby shoes. I certainly would not recognize one particular shoe." "Did you ever hear of a Dr. Emmet Salem?" "The name seems familiar. I'd have to check my records." "Wasn't he on staff with you at Christ Hospital in Devon?" "Of course. Yes. He was visiting staff. Indeed, I do remember him." How much did they know about Christ Hospital?
"Were you aware Mrs. Lewis was carrying an Oriental baby?"
So that was it. He said, "That explains why Mrs. Lewis was becoming terrified of giving birth. She knew that she could never make anyone believe her husband was the father." Now they were asking about A
"Those two young women are typical of many who demand abortions and then blame the physician when they experience emotional reactions."
Richard listened bleakly. Highley was so composed, so sure. Unless they could prove wrongful death in the maternity cases, it would be impossible to charge him with anything and make it stick. He felt certain they'd never find anything incriminating in Highley's records. He was far too clever for that.
Scott was asking about the Berkeley baby. "Doctor, you are aware that Elizabeth Berkeley gave birth to a baby who has green eyes. Isn't that a medical improbability when both parents and all four grandparents have brown eyes?"
"Clearly Mr. Berkeley is not the baby's father," Highley said.
Neither Scott nor Richard had expected the admission. "I don't know who the father is," Highley continued smoothly, "but it is hardly the obstetrician's business to delve into such matters."
A shame, he thought. He would have to defer fame a little longer. He'd never be able to admit the success of the Berkeley baby now.
Scott looked at Richard, sighed and stood up. "Dr. Highley, when you go to your office, you will learn that we have seized your records. We are concerned at the number of maternity deaths at Westlake, and that matter is under intensive investigation."
He was on safe ground. "I invite minute scrutiny of my patients' records. I can assure you that the death ratio is remarkably low in consideration of the kinds of cases we handle."
The smell of the fondue was filling the house. Unless it was stirred, it would surely burn. Just a few minutes more.
The phone rang. Undoubtedly it would be the hospital saying that Mrs. DeMaio had not yet returned home and her sister was frantic. He picked up the phone. "Dr. Highley here."
"Doctor, this is Lieutenant Weingarden of the Seventeenth Precinct in New York. We've just arrested a man who answers the description of the person who stole a bag from the trunk of your car last night."
The bag. "Has it been recovered?" Something in his voice was giving him away. Scott Myerson stalked over to the desk and reached for the extension.
"Yes. And several items in it may lead to far more serious charges than theft Doctor, will you describe the contents of your bag?"
"Some medicine-a few basic drugs. An emergency kit." "What about a patient's file from the office of a Dr. Emmet Salem, a bloodstained paperweight and an old shoe?" Highley closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was remarkably controlled. "Are you joking?"
"I thought you'd say that, sir. We're cooperating with the Valley County prosecutor's office concerning the suspicious death of Dr. Salem. I'll call the prosecutor now. It looks as though the suspect might have killed Dr. Salem during a theft. Thank you, sir."
He heard Scott Myerson say on the extension, "Don't hang up!"
Slowly Highley replaced the receiver. It was all over.
Dr. Carroll was looking at him curiously. Somehow Edgar High-ley was sure that Richard Carroll was the man who had become suspicious of him. But he had his revenge. Katie DeMaio's death was his revenge on Richard Carroll. Highley smiled. "I have just remembered that I do have some medical records that might interest you," he said. He walked over to the bookcase, released the spring. The panel swung out. Mechanically he opened the wall safe. Let them know his genius. Let them mourn it.
He lifted out the files, stacked them on the desk. The prosecutor had hung up the phone. They were all staring at him now.
"Oh, there is another case you'll want to have." He reached for his drink and sipped it casually as he walked over to the safe. The vial was there, right in the back. He'd put it away Monday night for possible future use. The future was now.
At the safe, he quickly flipped the vial open and dumped the cyanide crystals into his glass. As understanding swept over Richard's face, Highley held up the glass in a mocking toast.
Richard leaped across the room as Highley raised the glass to his lips and gulped down the contents. Richard knocked the glass away as Highley fell, but it was too late. The four men watched helplessly as Highley's screams and groans died into silence.
The younger detective bolted from the room, his face green.
Richard bent over the body. Highley's face was contorted; the protruding gray eyes were open and staring. "Why'd he do it?" the other detective asked. "He knew he couldn't murder his way out anymore," Scott said.
Straightening up, Richard went over to the desk and sca
"There's medical history here," Richard said quietly, and thought, He could have done so much good. Scott was standing over the body. "And when you think that this nut was Katie's doctor," he muttered.
Richard looked up. "What? Highley was treating Katie?"
"She happened to mention it when-" The phone interrupted him. Scott picked it up. "Yes," he said, then, Tm sorry, this is not Dr. Highley. Who is calling?" His expression changed. "Molly! This is Scott Myerson. What's the matter?" He listened, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Highley admitted Katie to Westlake tonight and she's missing."
Richard yanked the phone from him. "Molly, what do you mean she's missing?" He listened. "Come on, Molly. Katie would never walk out of a hospital. You know that. Wait."
Dropping the phone, he frantically scattered the files on the desk. Near the bottom of the pile he found the one he dreaded: DeMaio, Kathleen. He raced through it, his face paling as he read. He came to the last paragraph. He picked up the phone. "Molly, put Bill on," he ordered. "Bill, Katie is hemorrhaging somewhere in Westlake Hospital. Call the lab. We'll need to hang a bottle of O negative the minute we find her. Have them ready to analyze a blood sample and cross-match for four units of whole blood. Tell them to have an operating room ready. I'll meet you there." He broke the co
"Come on, Richard," Scott snapped.
Richard grabbed Katie's file. "We have to know what he's done to her." They'd been seconds too late preventing Edgar Highley's death. Would they be too late for Katie?
With Scott, he hunched in the back of the squad car as it raced through the night. Katie, he thought, why didn't you tell me? If you'd only trusted me, told me you were seeing Highley. I'd never have let you go near him. Katie, don't die. Let me find you. Katie, hang on…
They were at the hospital. Squad cars were roaring into the parking lot. Scott and Richard dashed up the stairs into the lobby. Phil, his face drawn, was commanding the search.