The Todd Dossier

by Robert Bloch

  Don’t look now Natalie but your needle’s stuck again. Natalie Everett, girl wolf-crier. Very funny. Only it isn’t, because there is. Something wrong.

  Charlie just phoned from the hospital. I asked him how he felt and he said good and I asked him how things were going and he said fine and I could tell from his voice he’s still a million miles away.

  Something’s going to happen. I know it. Something’s going to happen.

  I’m cold all over.

  Continued Extract From the Statement of Charles Everett, M.D.

  . . . I expected to have some trouble locating the boat but as soon as I pulled up alongside the dock I knew. There must have been half a dozen police cars, and they’d roped off the end of the dock to keep the crowd back. I told a cop I was a doctor, showed him my I.D., and he let me through. It was like a madhouse, everyone milling around, searchlights playing over the water, sirens going on the fire patrol boat offshore. I could see the Sombrero, or what was left of it. The hull was black and it was still smoking. The water was full of floating debris. They’d already hauled the bodies out and put them under blankets on the dock. I didn’t have to go through the motions of an examination. They were both dead, Sandoz and his wife. I talked to a Lieutenant Nelson, asked him what happened. He said as near as they could figure, there was a leak in the propane tank leading to the heater. One or the other of them turned it on and that was it. Explosion.

  Q. Couldn’t they smell it?

  A. That’s what I asked Nelson. And he said no, they were flying. He showed me Mrs. Sandoz’ purse. One compartment was stuffed with heroin caps.

  Q. Anything else?

  A. Yes. A hypodermic syringe. Brand new, apparently never used. Nelson said if they were taking the stuff orally, then why the needle? He couldn’t figure it out. But I knew.

  Continued Extract From the Statement of Melvin De Toledano

  It was really a festive occasion. Of course we provided the amphitheater itself but Mr. McCullen or some of the other people on Mr. Todd’s staff made all the actual arrangements. A catering service, a buffet, flowers—it was truly a going-away party in every sense of the word. Somehow Mr. Todd had managed to get a list of the names of everyone even remotely connected with his case, everyone who might conceivably have rendered him some service during his stay at the hospital. He had a gift wrapped and waiting for each one, and he sat there on the dais in his wheelchair handing them out as our people came up to say good-bye. And he thanked everyone personally. You could tell he wasn’t just making a grand gesture, he truly appreciated what had been done for him. Not that any of us expect gratitude—I always say we get our own thanks from the knowledge of a job well done.

  I certainly was taken by surprise when I heard my own name called out and Mr. Todd showed me the envelope. He made a little joke about it. How much did I think a new heart was worth—one million, two million? He kept pulling the envelope back, pretending I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it. It was so like Mr. Todd to inject a touch of humor into the situation, to make light of his own generosity. I don’t mind telling you I was thunderstruck when he finally did hand me the envelope and I opened it. I suppose you know the amount of the check. It was five million dollars. Well, I just couldn’t say anything.

  Q. Was Dr. Geiger present on this occasion?

  A. Indeed he was. And Mr. Todd said something about him I’ve never forgotten. He said that thanks to Dr. Geiger he was leaving the hospital a better man than when he came into it—he was leaving with the heart of a better man beating inside him. And that while it was easy for him to express his gratitude with a checkbook, there was no way of indicating how much he felt he owed Dr. Geiger, who had given him the gift of life itself.

  Q. Did Mr. Todd say anything to Dr. Everett?

  A. He most certainly intended to. But Dr. Everett had already left.

  Q. He had been present, though?

  A. Only at the beginning. I saw him standing near the door, watching while the gifts were being handed out. He didn’t speak to anyone. And just as I went up to the dais, I noticed him turn and go out.

  Continued Extract From the Statement of Charles Everett, M.D.

  Why did I leave the party? Because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was supposed to be dead. I knew it when I saw that needle in Elsie Sandoz’ purse. Everything fell into place. McCullen knew I was getting close, so he sent for the Sandozes again. I don’t suppose he discussed ways and means—when you call in the exterminators you let them handle the job themselves, all you want is to get rid of the termites. I think he expected them to proceed cautiously, certainly to wait at least until after Todd had left. He must have felt he could trust them because they were professionals. What he didn’t know, apparently, was that they were also addicts. And whatever he’d paid for the first job, the Polanski murder, had supplied them with enough heroin to keep them high ever since. I don’t have to tell you about the effects. Euphoria is one of them. Everything seems very easy. I can imagine them hitting on this idea and then deciding why bother to wait, do it now and collect the payoff. It must have looked very simple to them. Rent the boat as a base, hide out there, and then drive in and locate me at the hospital. My office would be an ideal place. Sandoz could stand down the hall and act as lookout in case anyone was coming. Meanwhile Elsie would go in. Remember, I’d never seen her, I wouldn’t recognize the woman. She probably had some story prepared, just enough to keep me interested while she waited for a chance to open her purse. Then one quick jab and that would be it.

  Q. I’m not sure I’m following you, Doctor—

  A. Have you ever heard of an air aneurism? An empty hypodermic syringe expels an air bubble. It’s simple, painless and practically instantaneous. And it doesn’t leave any evidence.

  Q. That is your interpretation of why a needle was found in Mrs. Sandoz’ purse?

  A. That and what I heard about her coming in on the attendant, Darnell London, and mistaking him for me. He said something about her purse being open, and how she snapped it shut again when she found out she had the wrong man. She must have been flying then, she and Sandoz, or else they wouldn’t have risked going up to Todd’s suite. Maybe they were looking for me, I don’t know. The point is, Crosby McCullen found them and realized their condition, what had happened. He knew he couldn’t trust them, not after that performance. So he followed them to San Pedro and that was it.

  Q. You did not suggest any of this as a possible explanation to Lieutenant Nelson or other police officials?

  A. I did not.

  Q. In spite of the fact that you were thoroughly convinced?

  A. That’s right. What you’re getting at is why I didn’t. Geiger already answered that question for you. Because I’m a doctor, not a detective. Because what I thought, what I believed, still didn’t prove anything. In the last analysis, it was still guesswork, and even then there were loose ends. For example, did McCullen follow the Sandozes to the boat or did he floor the accelerator on that Continental and get there ahead of them? Did he sneak onto the Sombrero and gimmick the propane tank before they returned and then clear out, knowing they’d be sure to turn on the heater when they arrived? The Sandozes couldn’t testify to that, and knowing McCullen, you could be certain he’d have some alibi to account for his whereabouts between the time he left the hospital and the time of the explosion. So it was an accident, just like Polanski’s death was an accident. The Sandozes wouldn’t be testifying about that, either. Everything was wrapped up now, along with their bodies in those blankets.

  Oh, I thought about saying something, don’t get me wrong on that score. I had plenty of time to think it over, even when I was driving back into town in the early morning traffic. I went over the whole thing again in my mind, right from the beginning. But it was all conjecture, suspicion—if, and maybe, and perhaps. No witnesses, no real evidence. And no matter what I thought, I could still be wrong.

  When I got to the hospital these big street-washing machines were going along
the block. Washing away last night’s dirt, leaving everything fresh and clean. All right, maybe it was a sort of omen. Yesterday was gone, forget it. In a few hours Hollis Todd would be gone, too, and the traces of his presence would vanish with him.

  I checked in. I had some coffee. I called Natalie and told her she could probably expect me around noon, just as soon as Todd left. She knew about the reception, of course—I’d mentioned it to her last night. She asked me if I was going to attend. I said I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  Q. You did attend the reception?

  A. I looked in on it. I stood at the back of the amphitheater and watched Hollis Todd in his moment of triumph. Sitting up there on the platform like a department-store Santa Claus, handing out the goodies. Gold bracelets to the special nurses. Gold cigarette cases and lighters to interns. He was loving every minute of it. Then he gave De Toledano a check. A nice, big fat check, the payoff. I couldn’t be sure De Toledano knew that, but it was still a payoff. And I started to feel a little sick. De Toledano did everything but kiss Todd’s hand and that made it worse. Then Walter Geiger was up there, and one thing I was sure of, Walter didn’t know. He shook hands with Todd and listened to him being ever so humble and grateful, and he didn’t know. That was the worst part, for me, Walter being involved in this—this filth—and not knowing. And all the other innocent people who would never know, while Todd went on his way. That’s when I realized I couldn’t take any more. And I left.

  Extract From the Statement of Velma Carter, R.N.

  . . . It was one of those things you never forget. I’ll swear half of the people there had tears in their eyes, and that includes some of the surgical team—and I do mean doctors—who like to think of themselves as very hard-nosed. But you couldn’t help but realize how much this moment meant to Mr. Todd, how thankful he was to be going out of here alive. It was a wonderful feeling, and somehow he managed to make us all share it with him.

  After he’d given out the gifts they started in serving the food again, but Mr. McCullen looked at his watch and said it was getting late and there were still the final forms to sign before leaving. So he and I took Mr. Todd back to his room. I was a little surprised when we got there because Dr. Everett was waiting for us. He said he’d just be a few minutes and he’d call me. I left him alone with Mr. McCullen and Mr. Todd.

  Continued Extract From the Statement of Charles Everett, M.D.

  “I’m glad you came to say good-bye,” Todd said. “We missed you at the party.” He gave me a big smile and stuck out his hand. And there it was. My cue. Good-bye and God bless you Mr. Todd. You go your way, I’ll go mine, and we’ll all live happily ever after. So easy, and I’d promised I wouldn’t do anything foolish.

  McCullen was watching me. He knew I wouldn’t get out of line. I didn’t look at him. I looked at Todd. And I didn’t have any way of saying it, no way at all, so I just told him what I thought. I told him he had a peculiar set of ethics. He held out his money and people took it, and the way he figured, that let him off the hook. “It’s your money that does the corrupting, isn’t it, Mr. Todd?” I said. “Not you, never you. The best accidents money can buy, you set them up. But you don’t think you’re responsible. You’re wrong, Mr. Todd. You’re a murderer.”

  He sat there and he was just as cold and quiet as ice. I can see now how he made all those millions. This was a tough man, a side of him I’d never seen. And he said, “It’s just possible, Doctor, that you could be charged with attempted murder.” I didn’t know what to say. “Your operation obviously took,” he said. “A weak heart wouldn’t have been able to withstand this sordid little accusation. Tell me, if my new heart had given out just now, would you consider yourself an accessory to manslaughter?”

  All at once I was the guilty one, I was in the dock and he was the prosecutor. I didn’t have an answer and his instinct told him that. So there was no point in detailing my suspicions about Polanski because he realized that’s all they were, suspicions. There was nothing I could prove or else I’d be going to the police, not coming to him. He knew my accusation meant I wasn’t certain, I was grasping at straws, hoping he’d break. But Todd didn’t break. He sat there and snatched the straws away from me. I can remember his exact words.

  “Have you considered the penalty for being wrong?” Todd said. “If my heart had failed? It would have been a landmark court decision. You have a strange interpretation of the Hippocratic oath, Doctor. You don’t protect life, you take it.”

  McCullen didn’t say anything just watched me. He didn’t have to say anything, he knew Todd had the upper hand now. “I think you’re insane, Doctor,” Todd said. “I think you regard medicine as a license to kill. And if you went into court, I think a jury would agree.” He was right, of course. I had to admit it. I told him I wasn’t going into court. I might have if I’d been able to get to the Sandozes, I might have done it and risked the consequences. But not now, since the Sandozes were so conveniently dead.

  “What are you talking about?” Todd said.

  “I’m talking about the Sandozes,” I told him. “Don’t play games, it’s not necessary. I’m talking about the ‘accident’ on their boat last night.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on Todd’s face. He just stared at me. Then he stared at McCullen. McCullen started to say something, then stopped. His hands came up and his shoulders began to shake. And Todd just stared at him. It was the most terrible look I have ever seen on any man’s face.

  Continued Extract From the Statement of Georgia Rosen, R.N.

  . . . It was one big hullabaloo outside the hospital, I can tell you that. Crowds, reporters, television cameras, and the cops trying to hold everybody back from the ramp and the doorway. You would’ve thought we had Queen Elizabeth and Sinatra and the Beatles all rolled up into one, leaving the hospital that morning. I tell you it was something. Mr. Todd was very quiet. I thought maybe he was almost a little sorry to leave. Mrs. Veillier was happy, though, not strained. Sometimes she looked tired but that morning she looked like a picture in a magazine. Dr. Mantle and Mr. McCullen were the same as ever, trying to run the show. “What’s holding it up,” Mr. McCullen kept saying. “What’s all the delay.” Well, I just let him stew in his juice for a while, I didn’t bother to tell him that there are certain procedures to be followed before a patient leaves Los Angeles General, I don’t care who that patient is. But finally it was time and the police got the photographers away from the car ramp and I wheeled Mr. Todd out to the limousine. I got in some of the shots, you may have seen me in the Times. When we got to the limousine Mr. Todd just shook Dr. Geiger’s hand. “Now it’s up to me,” he said. And off they went. I watched the limousine turn off and go down the street and when it got to the corner, sure enough, it hit a green light. I’ll bet there wasn’t one red light all the way to the airport. That’s the way it is when you’re rich, not that I want to be, I’ve got my health. But it must be nice, all green lights.

  Q. Was Dr. Everett there, when Mr. Todd left the hospital?

  A. Dr. Everett was in the solarium.

  Q. What was he doing in the solarium?

  A. Just looking out the window. Standing there looking out. I saw him there just before Mr. Todd left. “Aren’t you going to get in on the party, Doctor?” I asked him. And he didn’t answer. Just kept looking out the window, looking out.

  Continued Extract From the Statement of Eva Veillier

  . . . Hollis didn’t speak in the car. He seemed abstracted, far away, he worried me. And after the plane took off he asked Dr. Mantle to help him to his cabin. He said he wanted to rest. Crosby asked him if he wanted to see some papers and he didn’t answer. Simply didn’t answer. He looked at Crosby and then he looked at me. “I’ll see you later,” he said to me. “You look cold. Why don’t you have a drink?” I said it was only noon, I usually don’t drink that early in the day. “Maybe you better have one anyway,” he said. And he told the steward to bring me a Scotch. Then he went to his cabin
with Dr. Mantle. Crosby went up to talk to the pilot and I just wrapped my coat around me and sat by the window. I watched the clouds and waited. I think I never felt so cold, never in my life. Something was wrong and I didn’t know what. I drank two Scotches neat before Dr. Mantle came back and said Hollis wanted to see me, but I was still cold.

  True Copy of a Letter From Charles Everett, M.D. to Walter Geiger, M.D.

  Under Dateline December 8

  Dear Walter:

  As of this date I would like to tender my resignation from your staff. I don’t think I have to go into reasons. I think we both know why. Medicine has been my life all these years and now that life is in question. I want to go away with Natalie and sort things out, to find out who was right and who was wrong, not just about us, but about everything.

  As ever, Charlie

  Continued Extract From the Statement of Charles Everett, M.D.

  . . . I watched Todd leave from the solarium. I think once he caught my eye but I’m not sure. I knew that by now Walter had my letter and that I’d have to see him. I didn’t much want to see him, but you don’t say good-bye to Walter Geiger with a scrap of paper. Then I heard myself being paged to Surgery B. It was the kind of touch that Walter would use—if we were going to talk about it, we were going to talk about it there in the room where it all started. I guess you’ve probably never seen an operating chamber that’s not in use, but take my word, it’s cold. Lonely.

  Walter was waiting for me, standing by the instrument table holding a scalpel that somebody had forgotten to replace. “I think I’ll have to put out a memo about the sterilizing procedures in this hospital,” Walter said. He had the letter, open, on the operating table. He pointed at it with the scalpel. “I won’t accept it, Charlie,” he said. “You can’t resign. You can take a leave of absence. At best.”