Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt

by Mortal Fear (lit)

  just slipped out."

  "I think it would be best if you stayed with doctoring," Shirley said,

  her voice softening a degree.

  "That's what Curran said," sighed Jason.

  "Well," Shirley said, reaching out and touching Jason's arm, "at least

  you didn't do it on purpose. For a while there I was wondering whose

  side you were on. I tell you, this Hayes affair has a life of its own.

  Every time I think the problem is contained, something else breaks."

  "I'm sorry," Jason said sincerely. "I didn't mean to make things worse."

  "It's okay. But remember-Hayes's death is already hurting this

  institution.

  Let's not compound our difficulties." She gave Jason's hand a squeeie,

  then walked to the door.

  Jason went back to his patients, determined to leave the investigation

  to the police. It was nearly four when Claudia interrupted again.

  "You have a call," she whispered.

  "Who is it?" Jason asked nervously. The usual modus operandi was for

  Claudia to take messages and for Jason to return the calls at the end of

  the day. Unless, of course, it was an emergency. But Claudia didn't

  whisper when it was an emergency.

  "Carol Donner," she said, Jason hesitated, then said he'd take it in his

  office. Claudia followed, still whispering.

  "Is that the Carol Donner?"

  "Who is the Carol Donner?"

  "The dancer in the Combat Zone," Claudia said.

  "I wouldn't know," Jason said, entering his office. He closed the door

  on Claudia and picked up the phone. "Dr. Howard," he said.

  "Jason, this is Carol Donner. I'm sorry to bother you.

  "No bother." Her voice br-ought back the pleasant image of her sitting

  across Erom him at the Hampshire House. He heard a click. "Just a

  moment, Carol." He put the phone down, opened the door, and looked

  across the room at Claudia. With an ix-ritated expression, he motioned

  for her to hang up.

  "Sorry," Jason said, returning to the phone.

  "I wouldn't call you unless I thought it might be important," Carol

  said.

  "But I came across a package in my locker at work. I'm a dancer at the

  Club Cabaret, by the way ..."Oh," Jason said vaguely.

  "Anyway," Carol said, "I had to go in to the club today and I found it.

  Alvin had asked me to put it in my locker several weeks ago and I'd

  forgotten all about it."

  "What's in it?"

  "Bound ledgers, papers and correspondence. That type of stuff. There

  were no drugs, if that's what you were wondering."

  "No," Jason said, "that's not what I was wondering. But I'm glad you

  called. The books might be important. I'd like to see them."

  "Okay," Car-of said. "I'll be at the club tonight. I'll have to think of

  some way to get them to you. My boss is giving me a lot of trouble about

  protection. Something weird is going on, which they won't tell me about,

  but I'm stuck with this goon following me around. I'd just as soon not

  involve you in that."

  "Maybe I could come and pick it up?"

  "No, I don't think that would be a good idea. I'll tell you what. if you

  give me your number, I'll call when I get home tonight."

  Jason gave her the number.

  "One other thing," Carol said. "Last night I realized there was

  something else I didn't tell you. About a month ago, Alvin said he was

  going to break up with Helene. He said he wanted her to concentrate on

  their work."

  "Do you think he told her?"

  "Haven't the slightest idea."

  "Helene hasn't shown up for work today."

  "No kidding!" Carol said. "That's strange. From what I'd heard, she was

  compulsive about work. Maybe she's the reason my boss is acting so

  crazy."

  "How would your boss know about Helene Brennquivist?"

  "He has a great informational network. He knows what's going on in the

  whole city." I Hanging up, Jason pondered the confusing inconsistencies

  between Carol's job and her intellectual sophistication. "Informational

  network" was a computer-age term-unexpected from an exotic dancer.

  Going back to his patients, Jason studiously avoided Claudia's

  questioning gaze. He knew she was overwhelmingly curious, but he wasn't

  about to give her any satisfaction.

  Toward the very end of the afternoon, Dr. Jerome Washington, a burly

  black physician who specialized in gastrointestinal disorders,

  interrupted Jason, asking for a quick consult..

  "Sure," Jason said, taking him back to his office.

  "Roger Wanamaker suggested I speak to you about this case." He took a

  bulky chart from under his arm and put it on the desk. "A few more like

  this and I'm going into the aluminum siding business."

  Jason opened the chart. The patient was male, sixty years old.

  "I did a physical on Mr. Lamborn twenty-three days ago," Jerome said.

  "The guy was a little overweight, but aren't we all? Otherwise I thought

  he was okay and told him SO. Then, a week ago, he comes in looking like

  death warmed over. He'd dropped twenty pounds. I put him in the

  hospital, thinking he had a malignancy I'd missed. I gave him every test

  in the book.

  Nothing. Then three days ago he died. I put a lot of pressure on the

  family for an autopsy. And what did it show?"

  "No malignancy."

  "Right," Jerome said. "No malignancy-but every organ he had was totally

  degenerated. I told Roger and he said to see you, that you'd

  commiserate."

  "Well, I've had some similar problems," Jason said. "So has Roger. To be

  truthful, I'm worried we're on the brink of some unknown medical disas

  pt ter.

  "What are we going to do?" Jerome asked. "I can't take too much of this

  kind of emotional abuse."

  "I agree. With all the deaths I've had lately, I've been thinking of

  changing professions too. And I don't understand why we're not picking

  up symptoms on our physicals. I told Roger I'd call a meeting next week,

  but now I think we can't afford to wait." An image of Hayes's blood

  pumping over the dinner table flashed through Jason's mind. "Let's get

  together tomorrow afternoon. I'll have Claudia set it up, and I'll tell

  the secretaries to put together a list of all the physicals we've done

  over the last year and see what's happened to the patients."

  "sounds good to me," Jerome said. "Cases like this don't do much for a

  man's confidence."

  After Jerome left, Jason went out to the central desk to make plans for

  the staff conference. He knew that a few people would have to put in

  some over time, and he thanked providence for providing computers. There

  were a few groans when he explained what was needed, including rebooking

  all the afternoon patients, but Claudia took it on herself to be the

  ringleader.

  Jason was confident things would get done as well as the short time

  would permit.

  At five-thirty, after seeing his last patient, Jason tried Helene's home

  number. Still no answer. Impulsively, he decided to stop by her

  apartment on his way home. He looked at the address he'd gotten from

  personnel and noted she lived in Cambridge on Concord Aven ' ue. Then he
<
br />   recognized the address. It was the Craigie Arms apartment building.

  What a coincidence, he thought. Before meeting Danielle he'd dated a

  girl at the Craigie Arms.

  Descending to his car, Jason headed over to Cambridge. The traffic was

  terrible, but thanks to his familiarity with the area he had no trouble

  lo - eating the address. He parked his car and went into the familiar

  lobby. Scanning the names, he found Brennquivist and pressed the buzzer.

  There was always the outside chance Helene wasn't picking up her phone,

  but would respond to the door. There was no answer. Jason looked at the

  tenant list, but Lucy Hagen's name was gone. After all, it had been

  fifteen years.

  Instead, he reached for the supers buzzer and pressed it. A small

  speaker above. the door buzzers crackled to life, and the gruff voice of

  Mr. Gratz grated out into the tiled foyer.

  "There's no soliciting."

  Jason quickly identified himself, admitting that Mr. Gratz might not

  remember him since it had been a few years. He said he was concerned

  about a colleague who was a tenant. Mr. Gratz didn"t say anything, but

  the door buzzed open. Jason had to run a few steps to get it. Inside,

  Jason confronted the unmistakable odor, which he'd remembered for

  fifteen years.

  It was the smell of grilled onions. A metal door opened down the tiled

  hall and Mr. Gratz appeared dressed, as always, in a tank-top

  undershirt and soiled jeans. He sported a two-day growth of beard. He

  studied Jason's face, demanded his name again, then asked, "Didn't you

  used to date the Hagen girl in 2-J?"

  Jason was impressed. The man certainly wouldn't win any beauty contests,

  but he apparently had a memory like a steel trap. Jason had gotten to

  know him because Lucy had chronic problems with her dr-ains and Larry

  Gratz was in and out of her apartment.

  "What can I do for you?" Larry asked.

  Jason explained that Helene Brennquivist hadn't shown up for work and

  wasn't answering her phone. Jason said he was worried.

  "I can't let you in her apartment."

  "Oh, I understand," Jason said. "I just want to make sure everything is

  okay."

  Gratz regarded him for a moment, grunted, then started toward the

  elevator.

  He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket that looked adequate enough

  to open half the doors in Cambridge. They rode the elevator without

  speaking.

  Helene's apartment was at the end of a long hall. Even before they got

  to the door, they could hear loud rock and roll.

  I "Sounds like she's having a party," Gratz said. He rang the bell for a

  full minute, but there was no response. Gratz put his ear to the door

  and rang again. "Can't even hear the door chimes," he said.

  "Wonder no one's complained about the music."

  Lifting a hairy fist, he pounded on the door. Finally he selected a key

  and turned the lock. As the door opened, the volume of the music

  increased dramatically. "Shit," Gratz said. Then he yelled,

  Vello!".There was no answer.

  The apartment had a small foyer with an arched opening to the left, but

  even from where he stood Jason recognized the unmistakable smell of

  death.

  He started to speak, but Gratz stopped him.

  "You better wait here," Gratz said over the pounding music as he

  advanced toward the living room.

  "Oh, Ch? 1st!" he shouted a second later. His eyes opened wide as his

  face contorted with horror. Jason looked between the arch and Larry's

  body. The room was a nightmare.

  The super ran for the kitchen, his hand clasped over his mouth. Even

  with his medical training, Jason felt his own stomach turn over. Helene

  and another woman were side by side on the couch, naked, with their

  hands tied behind their back. Their bodies had been unspeakably

  mutilated. A large, stained kitchen knife was jammed into the coffee

  table.

  Jason turned and looked into the kitchen. Larry was bent over the

  kitchen sink, heaving. Jason's first response was to help him, but he

  thought better of it. Instead, he went to the door to the hall and

  opened it, thanv41 for the fi-esh air. In a few minutes Larry stumbled

  past him.

  "Why don't you go call the police," Jason said, allowing the door to

  close behind him. The relative quiet was refreshing. His nausea abated.

  Thankful for something to do, Larry ran down the stairs. Jason leaned

  against the wall and tried not to think. He was trembling.

  Two policemen arrived in short order. They were young and turned several

  shades of green when they looked into the living room. But they set

  about sealing off the scene and carefully questioning Jason and Gratz.

  With care not to disturb anything else, they finally pulled the plug on

  the stereo.

  More police arrived, including plainclothes detectives. Jason suggested

  Detective Curran might be interested in the case and someone called him.

  A police photographer arrived and began snapping shot after shot of the

  devastated apartment. Then the Cambridge medical examiner arrived.

  Jason was waiting in the hall when Curran came lumbering toward Helene's

  apartment.

  Seeing Jason, he paused only to shout, "What the hell are you doing

  here?"

  Jason held his tongue, and Curran turned to the policeman standing by

  the door. "Where's the detective in charge?" he snapped, flashing his

  badge.

  The policeman jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room.

  Curran went in, leaving Jason in the hall.

  The press appeared with their usual tangle of cameras and spiral

  notebooks.

  They tried to enter Helene's apartment, but the uniformed policeman at

  the door restrained them.

  That reduced them to interviewing anybody in the area, including Jason.

  Jason told them he knew nothing, and they eventually left him alone.

  After a while Curran reappeared. Even he looked a little green. He came

  over to Jason. He took a cigarette out of a crumpled pack and made a

  production out of finding a match. Finally, he looked at Jason.

  "Don't tell me 'I told you so," he said.

  "It wasn't just a rape murder, was it?" Jason asked quietly.

  "That's not for me to say. Sure, it was a rape. What makes you think it

  was more?"

  "The mutilation was done after death."

  "Oh? Why do you say that, doctor?"

  "Lack of blood., If the women had been alive, there would have been a

  lot of bleeding."

  "I'm impressed," Curran said. "And while I hate to admit it, we don't

  think it was your ordinary loony. There's evidence I can't discuss but

  it looks like a professional job. A small-caliber weapon was involved."

  "Then you agree Hele death is tied to Hayes."

  "Possibly," Curran said . "IThey told me you discovered the bodies."

  "With the help of the superintendent."

  "What brought you over here, doctor?"

  Jason didn't answer immediately. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "As I

  told you, I had an uncomfort- able feeling when Helene didn't show up

  for work." Curran scratched his head, letting hi
s attention wander

  around the hallway. He took a long drag on his cigarette, letting the

  smoke out through his nose. There was a crowd of police, reporters, and

  curious tenants. Two gurneys were lined up against the wall, waiting to

  take the bodies away.

  "Maybe I won't turn the case over to Vice", Curran said at last. Then he

  wandered off.

  Jason approached the policeman standing guard at the door to Helene's

  apartment. "I was wondering if I could go now."

  "Hey, Rosati!" yelled the cop. The detective in charge, a thin,

  hollow-faced man with a shock of dark, unruly hair, appeared almost

  immediately.

  "He wants to leave," said the cop, nodding at Jason.

  "We got your name and 'address?" Rosati asked.

  ."Name, address, phone, social security, driver's license-everything."

  "I suppose it's okay," Rosati said. "We'll be in touch."

  Jason nodded, then walked down the hallway on shaky legs. When he

  emerged outside on Concord Avenue, he was surprised it had already

  gotten dark. The cold evening air was heavy with exhaust fumes. As one