Chalmers' eyes hardened. 'I'll back my secretary up anytime...' His face reddened as his words came back to him. 'Now see here, Lieutenant. You won't avoid your responsibility with an exhibition like this! Your job was to keep him safe. Nobody could have known who and where he was!'
Clancy nodded, completely unimpressed. 'That's fine. Pretty soon you'll convince me he wasn't even shot. Well, answer me. Who else could have known about this?'
Chalmers opened his mouth to retort and then changed his mind. He swung about to the young nurse, very much on his dignity. 'Nurse, my name is Chalmers. I'm one of the Assistant District Attorneys of this county. I want to see the doctor handling this case.'
'I'm afraid he's still in surgery.'
'How long until he's through?'
The girl studied him calmly. 'I'm sure I couldn't say.'
Chalmers looked down at his wrist-watch. 'Well, tell him I want to see him just as soon as he's finished.'
The nurse continued to study him with cool gray eyes. Then she nodded, reached for the telephone, and spoke into it quietly. In the silence of the small lobby the unintelligible rasping from the other end could be clearly heard. She set the telephone back in place.
'The nurse in the surgery office says she was just in there and thinks they may be finished soon. She'll advise the doctor. It shouldn't be too long before he comes down.'
Chalmers nodded. 'Good. Who is he, by the way?'
For the first time the young nurse seemed uncomfortable. 'His name is Dr. Willard. He's -' She brought herself back under control. 'He's an intern here.'
'An intern? An intern?' The angry eyes of the Assistant District Attorney swung to the slender man at his side. 'Did you hear that, Clancy? Did you know that?' He turned back to the nurse. 'Why is an intern handling this? Why isn't a doctor - a regular surgeon handling it? Do you know who that patient is?'
The nurse returned his angry look, her pretty gray eyes growing stormy. 'This isn't a regular hospital, Mr. Chalmers. This is a private hospital; more a nursing home, actually, than anything else. We don't have the staff that a large hospital like Bellevue has; nor the facilities. But Dr. Willard is an excellent doctor. He'll do the best he can.'
'The best he can? An intern? An intern?' Chalmers swung to Clancy. 'Lieutenant, this is one more thing you're going to have to answer for. If anything should happen to my witness ...' He stamped over to one of the upholstered couches along the wall and practically flung himself into it. 'I'm going to clear this up. I'm waiting right here until I can talk to that…that…that intern!'
Clancy stared at Chalmers coldly. Your witness, he thought; you don't know why or what, but he's your witness. Your stepping stone, you mean. He turned from the seated man, leaning on the railing beside the desk; the nurse seated there bent her head over papers, hiding tears. The wall-clock ticked on. Twice Chalmers reached for magazines and then retreated, as if determined not to be swayed from his purpose by diversionary attacks from entertaining sources. Silence fell over the room; Clancy almost fell asleep leaning on his own hand.
Finally the door to the self-service elevator slid back and a slim young doctor stepped wearily into the lobby. His surgical mask was still dangling about his neck. He reached up, stripping his cloth skullcap from his head; unruly blond hair tumbled free.
'Cathy? You say somebody wanted to see me?' His tone indicated clearly that he would much prefer to clean up and rest rather than engage in conversation at that hour.
Chalmers was on his feet in an instant. He hurried over, interposing himself between the young doctor and the paper- strewn desk. 'Are you Dr. Willard?'
'That's right.'
'I'm Assistant District Attorney Chalmers, and this is Lieutenant Clancy of the 52nd Precinct. How's that gunshot wound doing? The one that you've been working on?'
The doctor turned to the nurse with a veiled question in his eyes; she nodded slightly and then looked down at her desk, hiding her face. The young intern's eyes came back to the two men facing him; his eyebrows raised slightly.
'As well as could be expected. He caught a lot of shot in his chest and neck; some of it in his face.'
‘Is he going to live?'
The young doctor hesitated. 'I hope so.'
'You hope so?' Chalmers snorted. 'Well, let me tell you this, mister; he'd better live! You'd better see to it that he does! Do you know who that man is you've been operating on? He's Johnny Rossi -'
Clancy caught his breath and then looked ceiling-wards in disgust. Good God! This man ought to be used during newspaper strikes - he'd get the word around. Secrecy! The young doctor blanched.
'Johnny Rossi? You mean the gangster?'
'That's right! And he happens to be a very important witness for me. He happens to be - oh hell! It's got nothing to do with you. I want a decent doctor to look at him. And I want him transferred to a decent hospital ...'
The young intern's face tightened at these insults. He swallowed, holding his temper. 'He can't be moved yet. If you want another doctor to look at him, that's your privilege. But he can't be moved at this moment; he's still under anesthesia.'
'Then I'll have someone here in the morning!' Chalmers turned around to face Clancy. 'And I want a man at his door every minute until we can get him out of here.'
Clancy faced him quietly. 'There's a man with him now; one of my men. He'll stay right there.'
Chalmers jammed his hat viciously onto his head. 'Well, I suppose that's something, anyway. Even though it's a bit like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen.'
Clancy started to retort and then kept quiet. Chalmers moved to the lobby doors, pausing with his hand on the glass. 'I'll see to it that a reliable doctor is here in the morning. I don't have to tell you people how important this is.' The pale eyes sought out the young intern. 'By the way, what's your full name?'
The young doctor whitened. 'William Willard.'
Chalmers nodded. 'I'll remember it. I'm holding you responsible for that man's life. I have a certain influence in this town, Doctor. Poor medical practice in this county can be fatal to more than the patient. Don't forget that!'
He pushed through the door, disappearing into the night. The intern turned to Clancy, his face flushed, his eyes blinking.
'Why does he talk to me like that? As if I shot the man, or something?'
Clancy straightened up, his face tired. 'Don't pay any attention to him, son. His bark is worse than his bite.' And that's a lot of bunk, and you know it, he added to himself.
'But he talks as if it were my fault! As if I were responsible! I did the best I could ...' His tone was bitter. 'Why did you send him to this hospital, anyway? Why didn't you send him to Bellevue, where he belonged?'
'Why?' Clancy smiled sourly. 'I could give you a thousand "whys." Why did the bastard come to New York in the first place?' He dug into a pocket, coming up with a cigarette. He started to light it and then paused; the match burned itself out as he stood there, frowning.
'Yeah,' he said softly. 'That's a very good "why." Why did the bastard come to New York in the first place?'
CHAPTER THREE
Saturday - 7:05 a.m.
Clancy came down the steps of the 52nd Precinct followed by Kaproski. They got into the car, made a U-turn, and headed in the direction of the Uptown Private Hospital. Early-morning traffic slowed them down. For a city with the best public transportation in the world, Clancy thought morosely, it seemed like more people used automobiles every day. Or trucks. Or bicycles; or motorcycles. He couldn't imagine where they parked them - even with his police sticker he had trouble.
Kaproski glanced at the drawn face at his side. 'You don't look like you got much sleep, Lieutenant.'
'I didn't,' Clancy said shortly, it was almost four-thirty before I got out of the hospital. I came back here and tried to take a nap in my chair, but I can't sleep in a damn chair.'
'Yeah. Me neither.' Kaproski changed the subject, approaching the new one a bit warily. 'How's Rossi
, Lieutenant?'
Clancy yawned. 'All right, I guess. At least nobody called me since I left the hospital.'
'You think he'll pull through?'
'He'd better. Anyway, that's what we're going to find out right now.' Clancy waited until a traffic-light turned green and then patiently followed a large waddling truck through the crowded intersection. 'I just want to stop in and check at the hospital a minute. Then we're going over to the Farnsworth Hotel and put the manager through the wringer.'
He glanced over at the big detective beside him. 'Did you find anything last night?'
Kaproski shook his head. 'Not a thing. I sealed the room; then I went through all the linen closets and broom closets and out in the service areas and down in the basement; I even checked out all the junk they got in that stinky elevator out in back. Nothing.'
'How about the other guests?'
'Nobody new checked in within a week. Hell, half the hotel is empty; the other half, they been living there since the year one.'
'Did you see the manager?'
'Sure.' Kaproski seemed a bit uncomfortable. 'Lieutenant - I don't think he had anything to do with it.'
'No?' Clancy glanced at him curiously. 'If Chalmers is telling the truth, the hotel manager is the only one who could have seen and recognized him. And I don't think Chalmers is lying. His trouble isn't stupidity - you don't get to his job in the D.A.'s office by being stupid - his trouble is ambition. And the manager is also the only one who could have known the room number. What makes you think he's clean?'
Kaproski stared out of the window. 'You got to see him in person to know what I mean.'
'Well,' Clancy said, 'we'll see him in a few minutes.'
He pulled up before the hospital, forced to double-park, and turned off the ignition. He stared at the solid row of cars parked on both sides of the street as far as eye could see.
‘A NO PARKING sign sure seems to impress the people in these swank neighborhoods,' he said with disgust. 'You stay with the car; if somebody pulls out, you park it. I'll be back in a minute. I just want to check on Rossi and see how he's doing.’
‘Sure, Lieutenant.' Kaproski slid over behind the wheel.
Clancy moved from the car with a shake of his head and walked into the hospital lobby. He came across the tile floor, advancing on the desk. The same pretty nurse was on duty; Clancy's eyebrows raised.
'Hello, nurse. What do you do - work twenty-four hours?'
'Good morning, Lieutenant. No; I'm on from midnight until eight in the morning.' She smiled at him sympathetically, it's been less than four hours since - since you were here last night, you know.'
Clancy grinned, running his hand over his face.
'I lose track of time,' he said. He walked to the small elevator and then paused. 'That young intern - doctor, that is. Willard. Is he still on duty, too?'
'Yes, he is. The doctors' offices are on the fifth floor. Do you want me to call him?'
'No, that's all right. I'll see him after I check on our boy. What room did they put him in, do you know?'
She nodded. 'Six-fourteen.'
He got in the elevator, smiling his thanks, pushed a button, and rose smoothly to the sixth floor. The doors of the elevator opened automatically; he stepped out, walked down the bright corridor and turned a corner. Barnett was sitting firmly in a chair outside the door of the room, trying his best to appear inconspicuous. He looked up a bit unhappily as Clancy approached, and then came to his feet.
'Hi, Lieutenant.' The large patrolman looked around, shaking his head. 'Jesus, what a duty!'
Clancy looked at him sharply. 'What's the matter? Any trouble?'
'Naw. It's just that this ain't like Bellevue. I guess nobody in this joint ever seen a cop in a hospital before. They look at a guy like he was some kind of a freak.'
'Well, it's another job, Frank,' Clancy said easily. 'We have to keep an eye on this character for the time being. They'll be along to move him, though, as soon as they can. Probably this morning. And out of the precinct, I hope.'
'You and me both,' Barnett said fervently, and then remembered to add, 'Lieutenant.'
Clancy smiled. 'How's he doing?'
Barnett shook his head. 'I haven't the faintest. The only one's been in to see him was the doctor a couple times.'
'And?'
Barnett shrugged. 'He didn't say nothing to me.'
'I'll talk to the doctor later,' Clancy said.
He opened the door silently and entered, closing it softly behind him. The Venetian blinds were drawn, leaving the room in deep shadows. The man in the bed was a dim lump under the sheets across the room. Clancy walked quietly to the side of the bed and looked down; the bandaged face was turned slightly in the direction of the wall, the mouth open grotesquely. For one second Clancy stared at the head on the pillow; then his face darkened and he swiftly laid a pair of fingers across the thick, open lips. He froze. Oh Jesus! he thought. Oh Christ!
In an instant he was at the window, tugging the cord that opened the blinds. Light flooded the room. He returned to the bed, studying the sheets bunched unevenly over the body there; he flicked them back with a muttered curse. Bright sunlight lit the room, revealing a kitchen knife sticking from the chest of the twisted body. The light touched the copper rivets that held the wooden handle; glinted from the small amount of blade between the handle and the body. With an oath Clancy went to the door, swinging it wide.
'Barnett!'
'Yes, Lieutenant?' The chair in the hallway came down with a thump; Barnett stuck his head in at the door. The sight of the body on the bed brought him further into the room. His eyes widened, fastening on the knife in astonishment.
'Who ...?'
Clancy swung the door shut savagely. 'That's right! Who? Who came into this room?'
'Nobody, Lieutenant! I swear it! Nobody!'
Clancy stamped to the windows, glared at the curved latch still locked in place. He came back to the bed, forcing his voice lower. 'Barnett,' he said quietly, dangerously. 'What did you do? Go out for coffee?'
'Honest to God, Lieutenant!' The big patrolman's face was ashen. 'I swear it! On my mother's grave! I didn't move from here from the time they wheeled him in. Not even to go to the john!'
'Barnett,' Clancy said almost viciously, 'somebody came into this room and stabbed Rossi. Who?'
'I told you, Lieutenant. Nobody came in except the doctor a couple of times. And you.'
Clancy gritted his teeth. 'And how do you know it was the doctor that came in?'
'He had on a white uniform,' Barnett said desperately. 'And a mask and gloves and all that TV jazz.'
'That makes him a doctor,' Clancy said bitterly. His eyes were burning as he glared at the frightened patrolman. 'Was it the same doctor both times? Well, was it?'
Barnett was stumped. He stared at the floor, avoiding the other's eyes. 'Jesus, I think so, Lieutenant. It's hard to say. They all look alike in them white clothes.'
'And when was the last time this doctor was in here?'
'Not very long ago,' Barnett said, desperately trying to remember. 'I'd say less than a half-hour ago. I didn't check the time.'
Clancy took a deep breath to bring himself back under control. 'You stay here. He's dead and you didn't stop that. See if you can keep somebody from stealing the body until I get back!'
He went down the corridor fast; his feet beat a rapid tattoo on the veined marble of the stairway leading down to the fifth floor. At the foot of the steps his eyes moved in both directions impatiently; a small electric sign, bright even against the blinding brilliance of the corridor walls, angled out, marking the doctors' offices. He walked over and pushed through the door brusquely; Dr. Willard, feet on a desk and coffee-container in hand, looked up.
'Hello, Lieutenant. You're up early. Want some coffee?' His hand went out tentatively to a thermos on the desk.
'No, thanks.' Clancy stared about the office. His eyes, expressionless, came back to the intern's face. 'How's our patient?
'
'All right. Pretty good, as a matter of fact. The last time I looked in on him he was coming along fine. His pulse and respiration were all that you could expect.'
'And how long ago was that?'
The young doctor glanced at his wrist-watch. 'Oh, about an hour or so ago, I'd say.' He took another sip of coffee, and then looked up. 'Want to go up and take a look at him?'
‘If you don't mind.'
'Not at all.' The young doctor finished his coffee, set the cup down on his desk, and swung his feet to the floor. He dug a stethoscope from a drawer, slung it around his neck, and got to his feet. 'He's coming along all right, especially considering the shape he was in, but between you and me, I'll be happy when they take him someplace else.'
Clancy didn't answer. He led the doctor down the deserted corridor; they mounted the steps side by side, the young intern silent in his rubber-soled shoes. At the top of the steps they turned in the direction of Room 614; as they came around the corner leading to the room the doctor's eyebrows went up.
'Where's the guard?'
‘Inside the room.'
Dr. Willard stared at the man beside him with an odd expression; he increased his stride, pushing through the door with Clancy immediately behind him. He caught his breath audibly at the sight that greeted him, and then hurried forward, staring down. His fingers automatically reached for and lifted an eyelid; he released it and felt for the wrist. He dropped the flaccid arm and started to reach for the knife; then his hand stopped and wiped itself against his white trouser leg.
'He's dead ...'
'That's right.'
'But he was doing so well. He was…’ His eyes were fixed on the knife-handle, his mouth slightly open.
'Yeah.' Clancy reached down, drawing the sheet back over the knife, carrying it on up until it also covered the tortured face. He stepped back, unconsciously wiping his fingertips together. 'How many doctors are there in the hospital?'
'Doctors? How many -?' The eyes of the young intern finally came away from the knife; they showed surprise at the question.
Mute Witness Page 4