Dr. Death

Bratz waited until I'd settled, then positioned himself so the two of them flanked me. I tried to look casual, thinking about the open file on the desk, trying not to think about what I'd just seen in Glendale.

"Nice house," said Bratz. "Bright."

"Thanks. May I ask what this is about?"

"Very nice," said Donovan. "Care to guess, Doctor?"

"Something to do with Agent Fusco."

"Something to do with Mr. Fusco."

"He's not with the FBI?"

"Not any longer," said Bratz. His voice was high, tentative, like that of a bashful kid asking for a date. "Mr. Fusco retired from the Bureau a while back-was asked to retire."

"Because of personal issues," said Donovan. She took a pad and a Sony minirecorder out of her bag, set them on the coffee table. "Mind if I record?"

"Record what?"

"Your impressions of Mr. Fusco, sir."

"You're saying he was mustered out because of personal issues?" I said. "Are we talking criminal issues? Is he dangerous?"

Donovan glanced at Bratz. "May I record, sir?"

"After you tell me what's going on, maybe."

Donovan's fingernails tapped the Sony. Surprisingly long nails. French tips. Her lipstick was subtle. Her expression wasn't. She had no use for civilians who didn't fall in line.

"Sir," she said. "It's in your best interests-"

"I need to know. Is Fusco a criminal suspect?" As in multiple murder.

"At this point, sir, we're simply trying to find him. To help him." Her index finger touched the Sony's REC button.

I shook my head.

"Sir, we could arrange for you to be questioned at Bureau headquarters."

"That would take time, paperwork, and something tells me time's of the essence," I said. "On the other hand, you could tell me what's going on and I could cooperate and we could all try to have something of a weekend."

She looked at Bratz. No signal for him that I saw, but she turned back to me and her expression had softened.

"Here's a summary, Doctor. All you need to know and more: Leimert Fusco was a highly admired member of the Bureau-I assume you've heard of the BSU? The original Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico? Mr. Fusco was a member of the freshman class. Actually, he's Dr. Fusco. Has a PhD in psychology, same as you."

"So he informed me. Why was he asked to leave the Bureau?"

Bratz leaned across and clicked on the recorder, said, "How'd you meet him, sir?"

"Sorry, I'm not comfortable with this," I said, sorry about a lot more. Moments ago, I'd been ready to focus on Michael Burke as the real Dr. Death. If Fusco had lied, what happened to that scenario?

"What's the problem, sir?" said Donovan.

"Talking to you, going on record, without knowing the full picture. I spent time with Fusco. I need to know who I was dealing with."

Another looked passed between them. Donovan's mouth turned up again and she crossed her legs, setting off little scratchy sounds. Short legs, but shapely. Ru

"Fair enough, sir," she said, suddenly su

"Very well," I said.

"Michael Burke," said Bratz. "He wanted you to believe in Dr. Michael Burke."

"Is Burke fiction?"

Bratz shrugged. "Let's just say Dr. Fusco's obsessed."

"With Burke."

"With the idea of Burke," said Donovan.

"Are you telling me he made Burke up?"

She glanced at the recorder. Switched it off. "Okay, here's the whole story, but we insist you keep it confidential. Agent Fusco had an honorable career with the Bureau. For several years, he was assigned to the Midtown Manhattan office as director of behavioral sciences. Five years ago, his wife died-breast cancer-and he was left sole parent of his child. A daughter, fourteen years old, named Victoria. What made Mrs. Fusco's death especially traumatic for Agent Fusco was that Victoria had also been diagnosed with cancer. Several years before, as a toddler. A bone tumor, she was treated at Sloan-Kettering, apparently cured. Shortly after his wife passed away, Fusco requested a transfer, said he wanted to raise Victoria in a quieter environment. An administrative position was found for him in the Buffalo office and he purchased a home near Lake Erie."

"Not a career move," I said. "He was devoted to the girl."

Donovan nodded. "Everything seemed fine for a couple of years, then the girl got sick again, at sixteen. Leukemia. Apparently the radiation she'd received for her bone tumor years ago had caused it."

"Secondary tumor," I said. Rare but tragic; I'd seen it at Western Peds.

"Exactly. Agent Fusco began bringing Victoria down to New York to be re-treated at Sloan-Kettering. She went into one remission, relapsed, received more chemo, achieved only a partial remission, started to weaken, tried some experimental drugs and got better but even weaker. Agent Fusco decided to continue her treatment closer to home, at a hospital in Buffalo. The goal was to increase her strength until she was able to tolerate a bone-marrow transplant back in New York. She improved for a while, then came down with pneumonia because chemotherapy had weakened her immune system. Her doctors hospitalized her and, unfortunately, she passed away."

"Was that expected?"

"From what we can gather, it wasn't unexpected but neither was it inevitable."

"One of those fifty-fifty situations," said Bratz.

"A hospital in Buffalo," I said. "Was she cared for by a respiratory tech named Roger Sharveneau?"

Donovan frowned. Looked at Bratz. He shook his head, but she said, "Possibly."

"Possibly?"

"Roger Sharveneau was on duty during Victoria's final hospitalization. Whether he was ever her therapist is unclear."

"Missing records?" I said.

"What's the difference?" said Bratz.

"Was Michael Burke also working there during that period?"

Bratz's eyes narrowed. Donovan said, "There's no record of Burke caring for her."

"But he was circulating through at the time- probably freelancing at the E.R.," I said.

Silence from both of them.

I went on: "When did Fusco become convinced that someone-Sharveneau or Burke, or both of them-had murdered his daughter?"

"Months later," said Donovan. "After Sharveneau began confessing. Fusco claimed he recognized him from the ward, had seen him in Victoria's room when he had no good reason to be there. He tried to interview Sharveneau in jail, was refused permission by the Buffalo police because the Bureau had no standing in the case and he certainly didn't-it was obviously a personal issue. Agent Fusco didn't react well to that. After Sharveneau was released, he persisted, harassing Sharveneau's lawyer. He became increasingly… irate. Even after Sharveneau committed suicide, he didn't cease."

"Was Fusco considered a suspect in Sharveneau's supposed suicide?" I said.

Second's hesitation. "No, never. Sharveneau had been in hiding, there's no evidence Fusco ever found him. Meanwhile, Agent Fusco's work product deteriorated and the Bureau sent him back to Quantico for several months. Had him teach seminars to begi