Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt

by Mortal Fear (lit)

  traffic. At, four A. M., Sunday morning, the city was deserted. Shirley

  had tried to get him to stay, arguing that there was nothing for Jason

  to do if the man had died and the family was not available. As true as

  this was, Jason felt an obligation to his patient that he could not

  dismiss. Besides, he knew he'd not be able to get back to sleep. Not

  with yet another death on his conscience.

  The GHP parking lot was mostly empty. Jason was able to park close to

  the hospital entrance rather than under the outpatient building where he

  usually parked. As he stepped out of his car, preoccupied with thoughts

  of Matthew Cowen, he didn't notice a darkened figure hunched over at the

  side of the hospital door. Rounding the front of his car, the figure

  lunged at Jason. Caught completely unaware, Jason screamed. But the

  figure turned out to be one of the drunken street people who frequented

  the GHP emergency room, asking for spare change. With a shaking hand,

  Jason gave him a dollar, hoping he'd at least buy himself a little food.

  Shirley had been right. There was nothing for Jason to do but write a

  final note in Matthew Cowen's chart. He went in and viewed his body. At

  least Matthew's face looked calm, and as Shirley suggested, he was now

  spared further suffering. Silently, Jason apologized to the dead man.

  Paging the resident on * call, Jason instructed him to ask the family

  for an autopsy. Jason explained he might not be immediately available.

  Then, feeling as ineffectual as ever, after these deaths, he left the

  hospital and returned to his apartment. He lay for some time, staring

  at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He wondered what kind of job he could

  get in the pharmaceutical industry.

  Cedric Harring, Brian Lennox, Holly Jennings, Gerald Farr, and now

  Matthew Cowen. Jason had never lost so many patients in such a short

  period of time.

  All night the parade of their faces had interrupted his dreams, and when

  he awakened about eleven he was as exhausted as though he'd never slept

  at all.

  He forced himself to do his regular Sunday six miles, then showered and

  dressed carefully in a pale yellow shirt with white collar and cuffs,

  dark brown pants, and a muted brown plaid jacket of linen and silk. He

  was glad he had the meeting with Carol to distract him.

  The Hampshire House was on Beacon Street, overlooking the Boston Public

  Gardens. In contrast to Saturday's rain, the sky was filled with bright

  sunshine and scudding clouds. The American flag flying over the

  Hampshire entrance snapped in the late autumn breeze. Jason arrived

  early and asked for a table in the fi-ont room on the first floor. A

  fire crackled comfortably and a piano player kept up a stream of old

  favorites.

  Jason regarded the people around him. They were all respectably dressed

  and were engaged in lively conversation, obviously unaware of whatever

  new medical horror was sweeping their city ... Then Jason warned himself

  not to let his imagination run wild. Half a dozen deaths didn't mean an

  epidemic.

  Besides, he wasn't even sure it was infectious. Still, he couldn't get

  the fatalities out of his mind.

  Carol arrived at five minutes after two. Jason stood up, waving to get

  her attention. She was appealingly dressed in a white silk blouse with

  black wool pants. Her fresh, young innocent appearance away from the

  club always amazed Jason. Noticing him, she smiled broadly and made her

  way over to the table. She acted mildly out of breath.

  "Sorry I'm late," she said, arranging her things, which included a suede

  jacket, a canvas bag full of papers, and a shoulder handbag. As she did

  so, she glanced frequently at the entrance.

  "Are you expecting someone?" Jason asked.

  "I certainly hope not. But I have this crazy boss who insists on being

  overprotective. Especially since Alvin died. He's keeping someone with

  me most of the time, supposedly for my protection. At night I don't

  mind, but during the day I don't like it. Mr. Muscle showed up this

  morning, but I sent him on his way. He may have followed me anyway."

  Jason wondered if he should mention he'd met Bruno, but decided against

  it.

  It was only after they had been served without glimpsing Bruno's hulk

  that they both began to relax a bit.

  "I probably should be more grateful to my boss," Carol said. "He's been

  so good to me. Right now I'm living in one of his apartments on Beacon

  Street.

  I don't even pay rent."

  Jason didn't want to consider all the reasons for which Carol's boss

  might want her to have a nice apartment. Embarrassed, he turned his

  attention to his omelette.

  "So ..." Carol said, brandishing her fork. "What else did you want to

  ask me?" She took a sizable bite of her French toast.

  "Have you remembered anything else about Alvin Hayes's discovery?"

  "Nope," Carol said, swallowing. "Besides, even when he used to discuss

  his work with me, I found it incomprehensible. He always forgot that not

  every one is a nuclear physicist." Carol laughed, her eyes sparkling

  attractively.

  "I've been told that Alvin free-lanced for another -bioengineering

  company," Jason said. "Did you know anything about that?"

  "I guess you're referring to Gene, Inc." Carol paused, her smile fading.

  "That was supposed to be a big secret." She cocked her head to the side.

  "But now that he's gone, I guess it doesn't matter. He'd worked for them

  for about a year."

  "Do you know what he did for them?"

  "Not really. Something with growth hormone. But lately they'd gotten

  into a row. Something to do with finances. I don't know the details ..."

  Jason realized that he'd been right after all.

  Helene had been holding back. If Hayes had been feuding with Gene, Inc.,

  she must have known.

  "What do you know about Helene Brennquivist?"

  "She's a nice lady." Carol put down her fork. "Well ... that's not quite

  sincere. She's probably okay. But to tell you the truth, Helene is the

  reason Alvin and I stopped being lovers. Because they worked together so

  much, she started coming over to the apartment. Then I found out they

  were having an affair., That I couldn't handle. It irked me she'd been

  so secret about it, especially right under my nose in my own house."

  Jason was amazed. He'd guessed that Helene was withholding information,

  but it had never dawned on him that she was sleeping with Hayes. Jason

  studied Carol's face. He could see that mentioning the affair had

  brought back unpleasant feelings. Jason wondered if Carol had been as

  angry with Hayes as she was with Helene. "What about Hayes's family?" he

  asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  "I don't know much about them. I spoke to his ex-wife on the phone once

  or twice, but never in person. They'd been divorced for five years or

  so."

  "Did Hayes have a son?"

  "Two. Two boys and a girl."

  "Do you know where they lived?"

  "A small town in New Jersey. Leonia or something like that. I remember

  the street though-Park
Avenue. I remembered that because it sounded so

  pre tentious."

  "Did he ever say anything about one of his sons being sick?"

  Carol shook her head. Motioning to a waitress, Carol indicated she

  wanted more coffee. They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the food

  and the atmosphere.

  When Jason's beeper went off, it startled them both. Luckily, it was

  just his service saying Cowen's family had finally arrived from

  Minneapolis and hoped to meet him at the hospital around four.

  Returning from the phone, Jason suggested they take advantage of the

  nice weather and walk in the garden. After they'd crossed Beacon Street,

  she surprised him by taking his arm. He surprised himself by enjoying

  it.

  Despite her somewhat dubious profession, Jason had to admit he enjoyed

  her company immensely. Aside from her wholesome good looks, her vitality

  was infectious.

  They skirted the swan boat pond, passed under the mounted bronze statue

  of Washington, then crossed the bridge spanning the central neck of the

  waterway. The swan boats had been retired for the season. Finding an

  empty bench under a now naked willow tree, Jason turned the conversation

  back to Hayes.

  "Did he do anything out of the ordinary over the last three months?

  Anything unexpected ... out of character?"

  Carol picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water. "That's a hard

  question," she said. "One of the things I liked about Alvin was his

  impulsiveness.

  We would do a lot of things on the spur of the moment, like taking

  trips."

  "Had he done much traveling recently?"

  "Oh, yes," Carol said, searching for another stone. "Last May he went to

  Australia."

  "Did you go?"

  "No. He didn't take me. He said it was strictly business-and that he

  needed Helene to help him with various tests. At the time I believed

  him, chump that I was."

  "Did you ever find out what his business was?"

  "Something involving Australian mice. I remember him saying they had

  peculiar habits. But that's all I knew. He had lots of mice and rats in

  his lab."

  "I know," Jason said, vividly picturing the revolting dead animals.

  Jason had asked if Hayes had been behaving oddly. A sudden trip to

  Australia might be considered bizarre, but without knowing his current

  studies it was hard to be sure. He'd have to take the issue up with

  Helene.

  "Any other trips?"

  "I got to go to Seattle."

  "When was that?"

  "In the middle of July. Apparently old Helene wasn't feeling up to par,

  and Alvin needed a driver."

  "A driver?"

  "That was another weird thing about Alvin," Carol said. "He couldn't

  drive.

  He said he'd never learned gnd never would."

  Jason recalled the police commenting the night he died that Hayes had no

  driver's license.

  "What happened in Seattle?"

  "Not a lot. We were only in the city a couple of days. We did visit the

  University of Washington. Then we headed up into the Cascades. Now,

  that's beautiful country, but if you think it rains a lot in Boston,

  wait until you visit the Pacific Northwest. Have you?"

  "No." Jason said absently. He tried to imagine a discovery that would

  involve trips to Seattle and Australia.

  "How long were you away?"

  "Which time?"

  "You went more than once?"

  "Twice," Carol said. "The first trip was for five days. We visited the

  University of Washington and saw the sights. On the second trip, which

  was several weeks later, we only stayed two nights."

  "Did you do the same things both times?"

  Carol shook her head. "The second trip we bypassed Seattle and went

  directly into the Cascades."

  "What on earth did you do?"

  "I just hung out, relaxed. We went to a lodge. It was gorgeous."

  "What about Alvin? What did he do?"

  "About the same. But he was interested in the ecology and all that

  stuff.

  You know, always the scientist."

  "So it was like a vacation?" Jason asked, thoroughly perplexed.

  "I suppose." She tossed another stone.

  "What did Alvin do at the University of Washington?" Jason asked.

  "He saw an old friend. Can't think of his name. Someone he trained with

  at Columbia."

  "A molecular geneticist like Alvin?"

  "I believe so. But we weren't there very long. I visited the Psychology

  Department while they were talking."

  "That must have been interesting." Jason smiled, thinking the Psychology

  Department would have enjoyed getting their academic hands on the likes

  of Carol Donner.

  "Damn," she said, suddenly checking her watch. "I've got to run. I have

  another appointment."

  Jason stood up, taking her hand. He was impressed by the delicacy with

  which Carol described her work. "An appointment" sounded so

  professional.

  They walked to the edge of the park.

  Refusing a ride, Carol said good-bye and started up Beacon Street. Jason

  watched as her figure receded in the distance. She seemed so carefree

  and happy. What a tragedy, he thought. Time, which seems boundless to

  her youthful mind, will soon catch up with her. What kind of life was

  topless dancing and dates with men? He didn't like to think about it.

  Turning in the opposite direction, Jason walked to De Luca's Market and

  bought the makings for a simple supper: barbecued chicken and salad

  greens. All the while he went over his conversation with Carol. He had a

  lot more information, but it provided more questions than conclusions.

  Still, he was now sure of two things. One, Hayes had definitely made a

  discovery, and two, the key was Helene Brenfiquivist.

  In less than twenty-four hours, Juan had the whole scenario planned out.

  Since this was not supposed to look like a traditional hit, it required

  more thought. The usual ploy was to nail the victim in a crowd, putting

  a low-caliber pistol to the head, and pow, it was all over. That kind of

  operation needed little planning, only the right circumstances. The

  whole performance relied on the peculiar mentality of crowds. After any

  shocking event, everyone was so intent on the victim that the

  perpetrator could melt away unnoticed, even pretending to be one of the

  curious onlookers. All he had to do was drop the gun.

  But the instructions on this job were different. The hit was to be

  staged as a rape, Juan's specialty. He smiled to himself, amazed that he

  could get paid for something he used to do as a sport. The United States

  was a strange and wonderful place, where the law often gave the felon

  more consideration than the victim. I This time Juan realized he'd have

  to get his victim alone. That was what made it a challenge. It was also

  what made ' it fun, because without witnesses he could do what he liked

  with the woman, as long as when he left she was dead.

  Juan decided to follow the victim and accost her in the foyer of her

  building. The threat of immediate bodily injury made in a soft,

  reasonable voice should be enough to per
suade her to take him up to her

  apartment. Once inside, it would be all fun and games.

  He followed the mark on a short shopping excursion in Harvard Square.

  She bought a magazine at a comer kiosk, then headed for a grocery store

  called Sages. Juan lingered across the street, examining the window of a

  bookstore, surprised the place was open on Sunday. The mark came out of

  the grocery store with a plastic shopping bag, cut diagonally across the

  street, and disappeared into a bakery cam. Juan followed-coffee sounded

  good, even if it was the American kind. He preferred Cuban coffee:

  thick, sweet ' and rich.

  While he sipped the watery brew, he stared at his victim. He was

  astounded at his good luck. The woman was beautiful. He guessed

  mid-twenties. What a deal, he thought. He could already feel himself

  getting hard. He wouldn't have to fake this one.

  Half an hour later, the mark finished, paid, and walked out of the cam.

  Juan tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. He felt generous. After all,

  he'd be five thousand richer when he got back to Miami.

  To his delight, the woman continued up Brattle Street. Juan slowed his