Dying to Remember

by Glen Apseloff

  “Sounds like something Denny would do.”

  Billings let forth a resonant laugh. “You got that right. Pencil us in for twelve o’clock . . . in your notes, and meet me in my office in the clinic building. I’ll be through seeing patients by then . . . And don’t be late. I don’t like waiting for people. You got that?”

  Barnes wrote it down. “Yeah. I’ll try to remember.”

  “You better.”

  “Are you going to bring your wife along?”

  “I don’t know. You think you’ll remember afterwards if I do?”

  “Probably not.”

  Billings shook his head. “Yeah, just you wait. She’s the prettiest woman you’ll ever meet. Except she’s not white.”

  “You think that matters to me?”

  “I’m not sure. I know . . . it matters to your friend. Houston.”

  “Yeah, well, he and I aren’t the same.”

  “I hope not,” said Billings. “Otherwise I’m making a big mistake.”

  Chapter 43

  After leaving the surgeons’ lounge, Barnes followed the instructions on his list. He went to his office, framed photograph in hand, and asked Kristine, “Did Denny’s secretary give me the files on the Jarrell Pharmaceuticals study?”

  “Yes,” she said, “this morning. They’re on your desk. Also, Marcie asked me to inform you that Dr. Houston called the patent attorneys to have your name added to the application.”

  “Thanks. Get the name of the attorney handling it, and ask for a copy ASAP. They’ll need my signature. Be sure to remind me to take care of that.”

  “Certainly.”

  He started for the office.

  “From your honeymoon?”

  “What?”

  “The photograph.”

  “Oh.” He looked at it. “Yeah.”

  “It’s a lovely picture.”

  “Thanks.” He placed it on the corner of his desk, in clear view from his chair. The files from Jarrell Pharmaceuticals sat in the center of the desk. For an hour he pored through the papers, taking notes, occasionally looking up at the picture of Elizabeth. Except for her, he didn’t like what he saw.

  He went out to talk to Kristine. “I need you to call the American Society of Cardiothoracic Surgeons. Here’s the number.” He handed her a memo. “Tell them I’d like to withdraw the abstract Denny sent to them. The data’s flawed.” He handed her a second sheet of paper. “This is a letter I drafted. They’ll want the request in writing, on letterhead, of course. Sign my name and fax it to them as soon as you finish typing it.”

  “Yes, Dr. Barnes.”

  “And don’t mention this to anyone.”

  “Of course not, Dr. Barnes.”

  “When Denny finds out, I want him to hear it from them, after the deadline for resubmission. There’s no way he’s going to present that data. And when you’re done with that, I need you to draft a letter to the office of technology transfer: ‘Dear So-and-So. This is to inform you that the patent filed on behalf of Dr. Houston, entitled blah blah blah, should list me as the principal inventor. Please instruct the patent attorneys to make the proper corrections.’ Something like that. Make sure I read it and sign it within the next day or two. Okay?”

  “Yes, Dr. Barnes.” She beamed, and he wondered whether she was happy to see him back at work or whether she just liked the idea of putting Houston in his place.

  Back in his office, Barnes called Claire and asked to meet her for lunch again at Mississippi’s. Having reread his notes, he was inclined not to see her, but she might be able to tell him more about Elizabeth.

  When he arrived at the deli, Claire was already seated at a table. He didn’t remember her from the day before, but something about her seemed familiar, and when she looked up at him, her eyes registered recognition and a warmth reserved for friends.

  She waved. He approached her and guessed by her flushed cheeks that she’d only just come in from the cold.

  They hugged. Then she asked whether he recognized her.

  “More or less,” he hedged. “I have to admit I don’t remember faces the way I used to. Or events.” He set his coat on the back of a chair opposite her. The restaurant didn’t look even remotely familiar.

  They walked to the counter to order and, a few minutes later, carried a tray of food to their table.

  “I’d like to apologize for the phone call you received from Darcia yesterday,” Claire said, unfolding a napkin in her lap.

  “What was it about?” He took out his notes.

  “She overreacts sometimes,” Claire explained. “She thought you were ungrateful for my help. But I know that isn’t the case.”

  Barnes found it in his notes. “Does she usually call people on your behalf?”

  “No, that’s really not her. She’s just sensitive about you and me.”

  “And Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. But I’ve spoken to her, and it won’t happen again.”

  “How well did she know Elizabeth?”

  “I think they met only once. Maybe twice. They really didn’t know each other.”

  Barnes jotted down the information. “Was she jealous of Elizabeth?”

  “She didn’t know her.”

  “Uh-huh.” Barnes took that as a yes.

  “Is that French?” Claire had leaned forward and was pointing to his notes.

  “Yeah. I do that so other people can’t read it, although with my handwriting, that’s probably not necessary. Do you speak French?”

  “No. I had a year in high school, but I’ve forgotten most of it.”

  So she said, but she didn’t take her eyes off the notes. He gathered the papers together.

  “How have you been getting along today?” she asked. “Any problems?”

  “None that I recall.” He forced a laugh. “I guess that’s one advantage of not being able to remember things.”

  She touched his hand. “Well, if you have any, let me know . . . What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t plan very far ahead.” He took a bite of his sandwich.

  “So you probably haven’t thought about Christmas.”

  “No. I guess I could visit Elizabeth’s parents, but without Elizabeth . . . I don’t know.” He wondered whether they knew about his affair in Toronto with Cheryl.

  “What about your parents?”

  “I’m not close to them. And they’re divorced. I talk to them once or twice a year; that’s it.”

  “That’s a shame. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “I have a sister. She’s married and they have a two-year-old. They invited me to visit this year, but they live in Los Angeles. That’s a little too far to go for just a few days. Besides, what’s Christmas without snow, or at least slush and freezing wind?”

  “Yeah. So you’ll be by yourself?”

  “I’ll be with Darcia. I’ve been seeing her for about three years off and on.”

  He wrote that down in French. “Did you spend Thanksgiving with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here in town?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  He didn’t want to tell her that he was trying to see whether Darcia had an alibi for the time when Elizabeth was killed. “No reason. I’m just asking. I was in a coma then, so I missed it.” He jotted a note that Darcia was in town then. Maybe he would pass that information along to the police, although how seriously would they investigate a judge when he had no facts to back up his gut feelings?

  “Um, about Christmas,” said Claire. “Darcia and I talked it over this morning, and we’d both like you to join us for part of the day if you haven’t made other plans.”

  “I appreciate the offer.” Barnes jotted that down, too. “You’re sure Darcia won’t mind having a man around?”

  “I’m certain she’d prefer it to another woman.” Claire blushed. “Forget I said that.”

  “Just wait a couple of minutes, and I wil
l.” In his notes he underlined jealous after Darcia’s name. “Let me know if you change your mind, if you decide it’s not convenient.”

  “I will,” she said, “but I’m certain it won’t be a problem.”

  He tried to imagine spending Christmas with Claire and her potentially hostile partner instead of with Elizabeth. Probably he would be better off alone. Or with Denny. But if he didn’t solve Elizabeth’s murder by then, it might be an opportunity to gather more information, assuming Darcia was still a suspect. Of course, Darcia could also have some ulterior motive in inviting him.

  He took a bite of his sandwich and thought about Christmas with Denny. That would be a first, despite their long friendship. But Denny probably had other plans. If he didn’t spend the holidays with family, he would probably find a nurse to take to bed. Or some woman at a bar. The more special the occasion, the less particular Houston became.

  Barnes suddenly realized he’d forgotten his conversation with Claire. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?”

  “The holidays. I invited you to spend Christmas with Darcia and me.”

  “Right. I’ll let you know. I’m not planning that far ahead now. I’m just trying to get through one day at a time.” One hour at a time, he thought. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that it was sometimes just one minute at a time.

  “If there’s anything that I can do to help,” said Claire, “please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  He looked at his notes again about Darcia. If push came to shove, Claire would almost certainly help her over him. He wondered whether someday soon she might be faced with that choice.

  Chapter 44

  Detective Wright walked to his partner’s desk. Gould’s was more Spartan than his—devoid of clutter and lacking any personal touches except for a small picture of Gloria and him in a plastic frame. The picture looked as though it had come from an automatic photo booth at a shopping mall—grainy with a white background. The two of them were sitting close together, almost pressed together, probably because the booth was intended for only one person. They were both grinning.

  He must be in love to be smiling in a photograph, thought Wright. To Gould, photographs of people were all mug shots.

  Gould was rifling through a report when Wright interrupted him.

  “What have you got there?” Wright asked.

  “Transcripts of the phone tap on Barnes.” Gould held out the papers. “Not much yet except he talks with Shirley Collins more than anyone else, and they get together at his place for dinner. Can’t say I blame him—she’s a looker.”

  “And the colleague of his dead wife. We need to rule out a love triangle.”

  “You think? Their conversations don’t sound lovey-dovey.”

  “Do any of his conversations?”

  “No. He’s not the warm-and-fuzzy type.”

  “No,” agreed Wright. “Do you feel like going for a ride?”

  “Yeah. I need a break. Where to?”

  “Houston.”

  “Kind of far, ain’t it?”

  “Not the city, the surgeon.”

  Gould stood up. “I’m a step ahead of you. Called his office an hour ago. Talked to Marcie someone.”

  “That makes two of us. Let’s see if Houston knows something we don’t.”

  They put on their coats.

  “What’s that I smell?” asked Wright, catching a strong whiff of musk.

  “Cologne. Gloria bought it for me. You like it?”

  Wright chose not to answer that.

  “Yeah, I’m still trying to get used to it myself.”

  They headed out of the station into the cold. “I gotta say I don’t see a motive for Houston murdering our vic,” said Gould, facing into the wind to look at his partner. “Why would he want to get rid of Barnes’s wife?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’re overlooking something.”

  “Tell me about it. You know, I keep thinking about the dog, it not being shot first.”

  Wright recalled his conversation about that with Karen. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  They walked faster, in a hurry to escape the wind.

  “Yeah, well, it makes me think the perp was somebody they knew. Makes me think again about that Collins chick. She is a hottie. I have to say, if I wasn’t seeing Gloria, I’d offer that woman some personal protection in a heartbeat.”

  “You’re probably not her type. I picture her with a professor in a cardigan.” They got into Wright’s car.

  “I could wear one of them.”

  “Please don’t, or I may have to look for a new partner.” Wright closed the door. “That cologne is bad enough.”

  Wright sat on a leather sofa in Denny Houston’s office, waiting for the surgeon to return from a meeting, while Gould, who couldn’t sit still that long, was examining a multicolored, multifaceted piece of glass from one of the bookshelves. The piece was the size of a soccer ball, and he’d picked it up and was turning it like a child with a new toy.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Houston. He had materialized at the door.

  Gould set the artwork back on the shelf. “Just looking.”

  “That piece of glass is worth more than the car you drive.”

  “So’s the watch you’re wearing. What’s your point?” Gould glared at him. “You wanna get in a pissing match with me?”

  Neither said anything, like two dogs about to go at each other. Wright wouldn’t have been surprised if one or both of them had started growling. He stood up next to his partner. “We won’t take up much of your time,” he said. “We have just a few questions to ask.”

  Houston strode to the chair behind his desk and took a seat. “You can have three minutes. I’ve got patients to see.” He took a Montblanc pen from the pocket of his white coat and jotted a note on a chart he’d brought in.

  “We want to know why you didn’t tell us about someone breaking into your house,” said Gould. He moved closer to the desk, reached over, and took a handful of jelly beans from a bowl on the corner.

  “I don’t remember offering those to you,” Houston said.

  Gould ate one. “Seems everybody’s got memory problems these days. Answer the question. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Houston moved the candy bowl away from the detective. “The police came and filed a report, so I figured you knew about it. I can’t help it if you all don’t communicate.”

  “What sort of research were you doing with Dr. Barnes?” asked Wright.

  “I don’t have time now to discuss my research.”

  “Your research?” said Gould. “I thought you and Barnes did it together.”

  “I’m not going to argue semantics. Talk to Dr. Barnes about it.”

  “You and he must be pretty close,” Wright said, “doing research together.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I was just wondering whether you do other business-related things together, like investments.”

  “We keep our finances separate.”

  “But you both lost big in the Zeiman Richter Fund. Separately.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “We’re just trying to figure out your relationship,” said Wright.

  “Probably the same as you two. We work together, and sometimes we socialize.”

  “So you would know if he was cheating on his wife?” Wright asked.

  “You’ll have to ask him that.”

  “But we’re asking you,” said Gould.

  “And I’m telling you to ask him,” Houston insisted.

  “Well, we already know the answer,” said Gould. “What we want to know from you is, who was it?”

  “You’ll have to ask him that.”

  “Do you know a Shirley Collins?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “What about Barnes’s wife?” asked Wright. “
You knew her, right?”

  “Of course I knew her.”

  “She was a looker,” said Gould, and he ate another jelly bean. “You ever do more than look?”

  “We’re done here,” said Houston. “Get out of my office.”

  “Actually we’re not quite through,” said Wright. “Do you own a 9mm handgun?”

  Houston scowled. “I own a Glock, and I have a license for it.”

  “A 9mm Glock?” asked Gould.

  “That’s right.”

  “We’ll need to see it,” said Wright. “Elizabeth Barnes was shot with a 9mm handgun.”

  “Yeah, and Ronald Reagan was shot with a .22-caliber revolver. I’ve got one of them, too. You wanna test that for ballistics?”

  “We’ll need to see the 9mm,” said Wright. “Today.”

  “And what am I supposed to use for protection after you take it?”

  “The .22,” said Gould.

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “We should be able to return the weapon to you in a day,” Wright assured him, “provided the ballistics tests don’t show a match.”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?” said Houston. “Do you think if I used that gun for anything illegal, I’d keep it? No wonder you can’t solve crimes. You don’t think.”

  “Just get us the gun,” said Gould.

  Under the threat of a search warrant, Houston made arrangements for them to pick up the weapon.

  “If you want to ask any more questions,” he said, “call my lawyer.”

  Gould ate another jelly bean.

  “Have a good day,” said Wright, and they left the office.

  Out of earshot, Wright turned to Gould. “I think Houston’s hiding something.”

  Gould popped the remaining jelly beans into his mouth. “Ain’t they all?”

  Chapter 45

  After his lunch with Claire, Barnes returned home and pored through his notes. He spread out the pieces of paper on the dining-room table and organized them, then rewrote them concisely. He’d already summarized and resummarized the notes as he’d gathered information over the past day, trying to condense everything into as little space as possible. That way he would be able to digest the maximum amount without forgetting what he’d just read. A number of facts disturbed him but none as much as the letter demanding $10,000. The other evidence suggested that someone close to him or Elizabeth may have been involved—Claire and Darcia, Shirley, Denny, or another colleague from the hospital—but the letter implicated him.