Lethal Practice

by Peter Clement

I wanted these animals. That they could come even this near our unborn son unleashed in me a whole new aspect of fatherhood: I could and would kill anyone who threatened him.

  Somehow it was even more disturbing that nothing seemed to have been stolen. It would take a while before Janet could do a detailed check of her jewelry or we could sort the clutter enough to verify we hadn’t lost small valuables, but so far the destruction appeared senseless. Then I reached my office on the third floor and got a surprise. File drawers were open and papers were scattered all over, but there was no wanton slashing or destruction. The place looked as though it had been searched carefully, thoroughly. Not finding what he wanted, had the intruder gone berserk in the rooms below?

  As we returned downstairs, Janet was coldly silent, her own version of withdrawn fury. She paused by the wall outside the baby’s room, fingering the slash marks.

  One of the cops noticed and joined her. “Funny, eh? We saw they were peculiar. Too clean a cut for a knife. More like a razor blade. But to be wielded with that force, and in those big, sweeping arcs, it would have to be one of those old straight razors. You know, with a handle.”

  Janet took a step back and viewed the handiwork as if it were hanging in the Museum of Modern Art.

  She quietly offered her own critique. “Or a scalpel.”

  Chapter 10

  Bufort arrived resentful as hell. He obviously considered this latest interruption a continuation of my personal campaign to sabotage his investigation.

  Seated, silent, legs crossed, he listened to my tale and occasionally made notes in his pad. Once again I felt as if I were being given all the status of a suspect obstructing his speedy version of justice by perpetrating a hoax.

  As I laid out the details of the lone figure on the golf green with the Dobermans, the whispered warning by an anonymous caller, and the footprints at our cabin door, Janet was becoming livid all over again.

  Admittedly, hearing myself describe the extent of everything else I hadn’t told her was making me feel pretty sheepish—a “How could you be such an ass?” type of sheepish—if not outright deceitful.

  Janet’s silence screamed I’d damned well gone way too far into this business, and I’d done it behind her back.

  “It would appear. Dr. Garnet,” Bufort said coldly, “that you’ve attracted the interest and now the rage of a very dangerous person.”

  Janet was a little less subtle. “You idiot! You’ve been dabbling like some damn amateur detective and brought God knows what down on us.”

  I winced. Bufort smiled at my discomfort. Then he even tried coming to my rescue.

  “Now, Mrs. Garnet—” he began.

  Janet bristled. “My name, Detective, is Dr. Graceton,” she said icily.

  Bufort flinched.

  My turn to smile.

  Bufort sighed. “I was going to say, I doubt your husband even knows what he did to make such a nuisance of himself that he’d get killed for it.”

  Some rescue. His tone echoed Janet’s verdict perfectly. A bumbling fool. Man doesn’t know what he’s doing. “In fact”—he looked at me—”I suggest you write a complete account of all your movements, everything you’ve said and done in the last four days.” He leaned back, enjoyed my attempted protest, then quickly cut me off. “Everything, Doctor. Every step, every encounter, and—this is particularly important—log every word you have uttered and to whom.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! Come on. That would take hours, even days.”

  I turned to Janet, who was no help at all. She was busy suppressing a giggle.

  “Ah, c’mon. You can’t be serious. I’ve got a department in meltdown, and a practice, and I don’t see enough of either as it is.”

  No use. Janet was even nodding in agreement. I knew what they both liked best—that I’d be safely out of the way.

  I felt I was being sent to my room to write lines—like I should scuff my foot, say “Gee whiz, you guys aren’t fair,” then surrender to the inevitable and stomp off. Except I didn’t have a room. We didn’t even have a house at the moment.

  Bufort saw me waver and moved in with the clincher. “Listen, you’re in danger. Someone wants you dead, and your home and loved ones are obviously of no consequence to this killer. Look around you, for God’s sake! The mind behind this is frenzied, out of control. Your only job now is to help us. Until we catch whoever it is, you and your family have no life, no haven for business as usual. Accept that. Accept that and we’ve got a chance of keeping you safe.”

  Bastard. He leaned back, smug but right. Then Janet and I got fingerprinted.

  * * * *

  They had finally gone. Except Bufort. He hung back in the remnants of our kitchen while Janet and I were in the living room figuring out what to do. He had said he wanted to know our plans before he left.

  I reached over and took her hand. She squeezed back gently. The anger was gone, and now she just looked as scared as I felt.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked quietly.

  “I want to get this mess fixed, fast.”

  I smiled at her. She had resumed her role as a doctor, fixing the physical, but both of us knew it would take a long time to heal from the other damage done.

  “I’ll call Doug Perkins,” I said, and was relieved to see Janet smile at last. Doug was our contractor, an artist with wood, and he could mobilize a small army in less than twenty-four hours. His men were good, fast, and weren’t afraid to pick up a hammer or wrench to ward off goons of any kind. Doug himself was young, congenitally bald, and tough as a bull. Besides this, the man had taste.

  “You want me to tell him to meet you at any particular time?” I asked.

  “He knows what I like.” Janet shook her head. “No need for me to see him. Just tell Doug to get this place back the way it was. Give him carte blanche. The hell with our insurance company.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll live at the hospital and at my parents’ house.” She called to Bufort. “Am I right, Detective?”

  He took her question as a cue and entered the room.

  “Probably.”

  She continued. “Don’t get me wrong, either of you. I’m doing this to protect my baby. If I weren’t pregnant, we’d stay together and fight. Is that clear?”

  This time Bufort and I both nodded. She was absolutely clear.

  “Now that I’m taken care of, Detective,” she paused, “I want to know how you intend to protect my husband!”

  Her glare was like a spotlight in his eyes. He looked accused.

  “Uh, well, I hadn’t figured—”

  She abruptly waved him silent. “Whatever my spouse has gotten himself into, it is your responsibility to protect him. Is that clear, Detective? You will take all measures to protect my husband!”

  Bufort squirmed like an intern, sighed, and said the inevitable words. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Janet’s curt nod of dismissal indicated he’d given the right answer. She touched Bufort’s arm. “Let’s take a last, quick look around. I’ll tell you if anything’s missing that I didn’t notice before.”

  When they’d disappeared into the hallway, I called Doug and got him with a cacophony of hammers in the background. He explained he was on someone’s roof high in the mountains south of us.

  “A cellular phone doesn’t fit your image,” I teased.

  “With clients like you who want it yesterday, what choice have I got?”

  It was reassuring just having him around. He listened to my description of the damage. After asking some detailed questions, he lowered his voice. “Earl, are you okay? I mean, it doesn’t sound like a routine break-in.”

  I hesitated before answering. It wasn’t that I had any qualms about telling him. In fact, I intended to warn him. But it was just that it all sounded so damned strange.

  “Doug,” I finally said, “the person who did this probably used a scalpel and probably already killed at least one person at the hospital. Tell your guys to be careful
.”

  He answered with a whistle. Then he showed the class that had always made me like him. “Earl, if you’ve no objections, I’ll move a few of my guys in with you until this is over, as a precaution. You know, mutual interests.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  “Thanks, Doug.”

  “Hey, wait until you see my bill. I gotta protect customers like you to get the kids through college.”

  I told him he could pick up the keys from Mrs. Sharp. He said no problem, he was going to give us real locks this time, and hung up.

  Janet and Bufort had finished the tour, and Janet was still sure that nothing appeared to have been taken. Bufort urged us not to stay too long, assured us he’d get added police surveillance right away, then left.

  Janet started to compile a list of lamps, furniture, and electrical appliances that we’d need. Neither of us had time to shop, and since Doug had done two expansions on our home up north and some previous work on the city house, he’d come to expect to take on tasks for us that his other clients would do themselves. I think he secretly took pride in our complete trust.

  I told Janet of Doug’s offer of protection, which made her look relieved. Bufort’s cops might be okay, but with Doug’s men around we knew we’d have the safest house in Buffalo.

  The phone rang. I thought it would be the vet and braced myself. Instead, it was Carole. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Ambulance telegraph.”

  I should have guessed. At least they’d think it was an accident.

  “Are we going to see you today?” she asked.

  I glanced at my watch. Only eleven. Less than four and a half hours since I’d stepped out the door, blissfully ignorant of what was in motion.

  “Yeah, soon. Anything big on my desk?”

  She didn’t answer. I suddenly felt a twinge of fear again. “Carole, what’s happened?” I snapped. “Tell me!”

  She took a breath, then answered, “Your office here was broken into sometime last night. They smashed the window and came in from the parking lot, and made a hell of a mess, tossing around our files and drawers. Only one thing seems to be missing, though—our backup computer disks.”

  I couldn’t talk. My throat had gone dry again. I had to try a couple of times before I could swallow. Janet, watching my reaction, started to look alarmed. She must have thought it was bad news about Muffy. “It’s my office,” I mouthed at her. Then I found my voice. “Carole, what was on those disks?”

  “That’s the good news. Nothing I can’t replace. Only the backup of some minutes and ER lectures that are already on our hard drive. And they didn’t get at that.”

  After repeated thefts, hospital security had mounted all computer terminals on sliding trays in heavy wall units that could be closed and locked at the end of the day. Anyone trying to break in would need a crowbar and a lot of time, and have to suffer the consequences of making quite a racket.

  “Did security see anything?” I asked.

  “No. After breaking the glass I guess the thief was in and out pretty quickly, probably afraid the noise would attract attention.”

  “Did anyone in the ER hear anything?”

  “It’s too closed off. I wouldn’t expect them to. But it was Dr. Kradic who discovered the break-in.”

  “What!”

  “Yeah, he was out in the parking lot this morning around six-thirty to get some fresh air and saw your broken window. That’s when he reported it to security.”

  I was unable to speak again.

  “Dr. Garnet?” said Carole, obviously puzzled by my silence. But my mind was racing to the earlier doubts I’d had about Kradic back in Sophie’s waiting room.

  That explained why I couldn’t reach him earlier this morning. A lot of ER doctors, myself included, went out in the parking lot at that time, especially if we’d been up all night. By then it was too late to go to bed, and the cool air made it easier to stay awake while waiting for the new shift to arrive. But Kradic could also have been out there doing the break-in and then reported it to take suspicion off himself. And not getting what he was after in the office, did he come after me in the alley?

  “Dr. Garnet? Are you there?” asked Carole again.

  I hesitated, not sure how much to tell her. She had to know at least enough to be careful. “Carole, my office at home—in fact all of my home—was ransacked this morning as well. They probably didn’t find what they wanted here either, because nothing seems to be missing, but I want you to keep our office there locked even if you step out for a minute. They may try again.”

  “My God!” she gasped. “Who’s doing it?”

  “I’ve no idea, but you also should warn security to be extra careful on their rounds. Nobody is to get in unless we say so, not even housekeeping. And I want you to make sure Detective Bufort knows about the break-in there. He left here a few minutes ago and should be back at the hospital pretty soon doing those interviews. If he isn’t, track him down.”

  “Of course,” she said quickly, probably puzzled why someone from homicide had been at my house for a break-in, but she didn’t question it.

  “Anything else important?” I asked, trying to control my fears while forcing my attention onto routine business.

  “No, the usual,” Carole answered. “Did you forget you asked me to get the staff together again for tonight at five?”

  Forget? Hell, it sounded like someone else’s agenda. “Let’s just say it hasn’t been in the front of my mind this morning, Carole. I’ll be there. Anything else?”

  “Nothing much. Voyzchek wants our copy of last summer’s psych coverage. Can I give it to her?”

  Funny. Voyzchek was in charge of emergency for psychiatry, but Gil Fernandez drew up their schedule. I knew they didn’t get along, though it would have been easier just to ask him.

  “Sure,” I agreed, wondering why she’d want a five-month-old roster. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, Hurst’s called a staff meeting with Bufort for tomorrow morning.”

  After what I’d been through, it’d be anticlimactic. “That’s it?”

  “Want to know the place is a mess?”

  “Not really. Tell Susanne I’ll be there in an hour.”

  I hung up thinking of Muff. She had to be out of surgery by now, or dead. While I was on the phone with Carole, Janet had gone upstairs. I guessed she was packing some things for the stay at her parents’ place in Lackawanna, a small town nearby. When she finally came back down, I measured her optimism by the size of the bag. It was a bit too big for my liking.

  “You looked upset by your phone call,” she commented without asking outright what was wrong now.

  Oh, God, I thought, I don’t want to tell her, not after all this. “Just office crap,” I lied, and immediately felt like an adulterer for keeping stuff from her again.

  We were in what was left of our kitchen. She stood by the counter picking at an edge of raised linoleum and readying herself for the news as I dialed Sophie’s number.

  “Hi. It’s Dr. Garnet calling about my dog Muff?”

  “Oh, yes. Dr. Garnet, Dr. Sophie was trying to reach you. I’ll get her.” Silence, absurd Muzak on hold. It was bad. Otherwise, the receptionist surely would have said Muffy was all right. Then I remembered the surly treatment from her earlier. Maybe the woman was cruelly perverse. No, I thought, they reserved the bad news for Sophie to give herself. Just like it was in my job.

  “I’m on hold,” I told Janet. She turned to stare out the back window. She was unknowingly looking at where it had happened.

  The phone clicked off hold. “She’s alive but gone septic.” Sophie got right to the point. She knew the agony of not knowing. “Low blood pressure, lousy urine output, and fever. Same picture as with two-legged sickies, and the same lousy outcome.”

  Eighty percent mortality in humans. Muff was in bad trouble. “What antibiotics are you using?”

>   “Usual triple therapy. Amp and Genta, with metronidazole for the chance of anaerobes. The only good news is when we explored her gut, there were no gross perforations we could see.”

  Again, left unsaid was the possibility of a microscopic hole. The lethality of bacteria from feces was the fear of even modern medicine. Their names raised the specter of horrific Greek gods. Proteus, Clostridium, Pseudomonas. Vengeful creatures. If allowed outside the confines of tough intestinal walls, they would marshal their armies and sweep through the bloodstream to infest heart, lungs, kidneys, and brain.

  The antibiotics Sophie had chosen were correct but, by human standards, outmoded. They would guarantee the eighty percent mortality.

  “Do you want me to get some Triaxone?” This was a new fourth-generation cephalosporin that killed everything with little side effects except to the wallet. The residents called it “gorillacillin.”

  “It would be a good idea—but it’ll be on your card. My patients don’t rate that stuff.” What Sophie meant was Triaxone had been tested and found to be safe for humans but was unproven for dogs. A bizarre reaction was always possible, and she was merely letting me know the risk was mine.

  “I’ll send it over.”

  I hung up, then realized I hadn’t thanked her.

  Janet knew from my end of the conversation what Muff was up against. She came up, put her arms around me, and kissed me fiercely on the lips. A flash of longing, completely sudden and out of place, surged up and then had to be put down in each of us. Being near death always made me want to make love. We held each other, letting the mutual hunger ebb. Janet put her mouth close to my ear. “Save that for me, and you take care!” she whispered.

  * * * *

  I called the pharmacist next door to my private office.

  “Carlo, I need a favor. My dog got hit by a car. She’s alive but septic, and I want to get Triaxone for her.”

  “For your dog?”

  “Yeah. She’s in bad shape.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry. Listen, the best way is I list it to your office, then what you do with it is your business. Where do I send it?”

  I gave him Sophie’s address and the daily dose calculated on Muffy’s weight, then phoned Mrs. Sharp to warn her that Doug’s crew would show up soon, and asked her please to give them the spare key I always left with her. She’d be miffed not to be kept up-to-date anyway. I figured her life was sniffing out neighborhood news and secrets, so why ruin her day?