Terminal Therapy

by Daniel Reinharth

  “Thanks,” I said. Judith was beginning to annoy me, but I put on a smile of gratitude. “I really appreciate it. You never know.”

  Judith's nostrils flared for a moment, but then relaxed. “Have you made any progress on the investigation?” she asked Paula.

  “I was derailed by my accident this morning. But we'll get back on it.”

  “Definitely,” I said.

  “I really appreciate it,” Judith said, echoing me, and nodding at each of us. “Please keep me informed,” she added.

  That seemed to be everyone's refrain. I didn't want to promise any such thing, so I looked at Paula.

  Paula looked at her watch. “David and I have to get back to the conference.”

  “You're right,” Judith replied. “And I should go back to the hospital.”

  “I'm sure we'll see you there,” I said.

  “Thanks. Should I drive you back to the hotel door?”

  Paula touched her side. “No. It's not critical, but it's probably best if we're not seen together. And I'd like to try walking.”

  I said good-bye to Judith, jumped out of the car, and ran to the opposite side to extricate Paula. As I stooped she placed her hands on my shoulders. I placed my hands around her waist, and she stepped out of the car with a grunt.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  All eyes turned to Paula when the two of us entered the conference room in the middle of the last talk of the day. Were they curious, and sympathetic about her broken rib? Or was it her clingy black workout Tee and sweat shorts? Paula had said that she wanted to go straight to the conference. She'd missed enough of it, and she'd change her clothes at lunch-time. Seemed to make sense at the time.

  When the conference ended for the day Paula and I were the first to leave. My plan was an intimate lunch and heavy conversation. But we'd barely stepped outside, into the pool room, when Paula was mobbed by well-wishers and curiosity-seekers. I wanted to escape, but Paula seemed to relish the attention. And I couldn't blame her. These were her colleagues. She deserved their sympathy, and networking was an important part of her conference week agenda.

  I raised my wrist to look at my watch, when a hairy, sinewy hand locked on my arm from behind.

  “Hey, Doc. Chill out. It's just me.”

  He let my arm go. I turned around and saw Tom Haydock. His smile looked crooked, awkward, as if he didn't employ it very often. What did he want with me? Was I in danger?

  No, of course not. We were in public. And when I looked at him again, I saw a different Tom Haydock. He was clean-shaven. His white short-sleeved shirt showed off his muscles, but it was dress, not Tee. His khaki-colored slacks were rumpled, but they were clean, and they weren't jeans. I recognized his hiking boots--maybe he didn't own dress shoes--but they, too, looked clean.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said. “Can you spare a few minutes?”

  As I balanced concern with curiosity I glanced at Paula. She was engaged in her own conversation. “Sorry to interrupt,” I told her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Uh, OK,” she nodded.

  “A few minutes should be all right,” I said to Haydock, then began to scan the pool area, seeking an empty table.

  “No, not here,” Haydock said. “I've got my car. Let's go for a ride.”

  My brief feeling of reassurance was replaced by a shiver. Alone in a car with Haydock didn't seem prudent. “How about the lobby?”

  “Well, I don't know. Let's take a look.”

  We walked to the lobby, where people were cheery and numerous. Haydock shook his head. “This is no good. Let’s go outside, where we can hear each other talk.”

  Think, David. “I can't take too long. I have to meet Paula for lunch.”

  “I won't keep you.” He grabbed my arm again, but without constricting my circulation. “Come on.”

  Think again, David. You're running out of time--and, as we walked out the door, out of allies. The bench and water fountain were straight ahead. No, he didn't seem that type. He was pulling me along, doubtlessly toward his car. I stiffened in place. One last try. “It's a beautiful day. How about if we take a walk?”

  He stopped walking, let my arm go, and scratched his neck. “I could go for that,” he said. “In fact, the seashore is only a couple of miles from here. Behind the hotel.” He smiled and beckoned. “Follow me.”

  I watched his back and sighed. My victory, avoiding the ride in his car, didn't seem total anymore. A long, lonely walk through the woods with Haydock wasn’t prudent, either. I'd never allow Paula to take such a risk.

  He turned around. “Ya comin', Doc?”

  I joined him. If I came out alive--or even if I didn't--I hoped that Paula would appreciate my devotion to the case.

  We walked to the back of the parking lot, an area I thought I knew--but apparently not. He took us to an opening in the trees, which led to a path through the woods. We plunged ahead, my misgivings suppressed for the moment. The path was scraggly and unimpressive, but within a hundred feet we broke through to a clearing on the other side of the woods. We continued our walk toward the shore on a dirt path. A paved, one-lane road was on our right, with more of the woods to our left.

  After about twenty feet of walking in the open Haydock broke the silence. “There was really one main thing I wanted to say.” He fell silent again for about ten paces. “I'm not used to saying this, but thanks. Thanks for saving my life.”

  Now I got it. I guessed that I wasn't in any danger from Haydock after all. “Your tests confirmed that you have hemochromatosis?” I asked. While we walked we alternated looking at each other and looking ahead.

  “Right,” he said. “I decided to listen to another person for a change-“

  “And your iron levels were high?”

  “Yeah. Very high.”

  “You’ll need other tests to confirm your condition-“

  “That’s what my doctor told me,” he said.

  “And remember, it's not just you. Since it's a genetic condition, your blood relatives should be checked, too.”

  “I know. You told me, and my own doctor told me, too. That's why I owe you more thanks than you can imagine. You have no idea. I drink a little, but my whole family has a false reputation for being lushes. Three of them died from liver cirrhosis. People assumed it was from drink, even when I told them it wasn't true. I admit that I haven't done much to earn people's trust.”

  We continued to walk toward the out-of-sight seashore. Sun overhead, dirt and stones underfoot. I could even imagine the sounds of surf. Had Haydock been Paula, the scene would have been idyllic. Nevertheless, I felt pretty good about being a doctor.

  “So, anyway,” he resumed. “Now maybe they'll believe me. You've saved not only my life, but my family's reputation. Thanks.”

  “You're welcome.”

  “Wait a minute. Thanks isn't enough. I wasn't even nice to you before. What can I do to repay you?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Now that was an interesting offer. I wish I'd been forewarned, so I could have composed a list for him. One thing sprang to my mind. “Pay a visit to the national Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C.”

  “What? Oh, that.”

  I felt emboldened. “Oh, that? You're an anti-Semite. You need to be educated.”

  “If you say so. I just think I'm honest, and sometimes my honesty gets me into trouble.”

  Now I was angry. “Honesty isn't much of a virtue when it's dead wrong, and hurts people.”

  He stopped walking, and looked at me. I kept walking a few paces until I realized that he'd stopped. I turned around to face him. Both of us were scowling. Had I pushed him too far?

  He eased his expression and snorted. “Nobody gets to talk to me that way. But what can I say? You're just being honest, right?”

  A car drove by, slowing as it passed us, maybe wondering if we were lost. I felt slightly reassured, that we weren't completely alone, but decided not to press Haydock again. “Let's head back to
the hotel. It's time for me to meet Paula.”

  “OK.”

  As we turned around I cooled off enough to remember the Jonathan Singer investigation. I might not have another opportunity to question Haydock while he was in a cooperative, or at least quasi-cooperative, mood. So I talked while we walked. “Why did you run away when you saw me last night?”

  “What?” He laughed. “This time you got me. I ran away because I didn't feel like answering any stupid questions.”

  “Like what you were doing there?”

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  “So what were you doing there?”

  “Explaining my position to those outsiders.”

  “By getting in their faces?”

  “Yeah, well. That's just my way. I can't help it if people back down from me.”

  “I'll bet you like that.”

  He laughed again, then wagged his finger at me. “No, Doc. You're not my shrink.”

  “So why are you working for the wind turbine company?”

  “I'm just a hired gun. I'll work for anyone if the price is right.”

  “Maybe. But I'm guessing that the environment is something you care about, too.”

  “True.”

  “So maybe you think the wind turbines are good for the environment.”

  “I guess so. But also, they paid in cash.”

  That didn't sound like a practice an honorable business would use. Maybe I'm just naïve. “But you also care about the Cape. I sensed that when you mentioned the seashore.”

  “So?”

  “So, do you really want those monstrosities in the Cape's waters?”

  He laughed again. “Boy, I like talking to you, Doc.” He stopped walking. I did the same. He inclined his head toward mine. “I'll tell you a secret. This whole wind turbine thing is a farce. It'll never happen. The company is lying about their costs.”

  “Doesn't everybody?”

  “Now you're catching on. So the only reason they're doing it is to drive their stock prices up for a quick killing. And the only reason the Board picked them is that money passed under the table.”

  “Pretty depressing.”

  “You bet. So I might as well cut myself in for a few bucks before the whole hocus-pocus blows away.”

  We resumed walking. I felt very sad for my parents, and for their fellow Green Panthers. I should break the truth to them as soon as possible. “So spell it out for me. They hired you to transport the Green Panthers, and then to intimidate the demonstrators.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Did they also hire you to kill Jonathan Singer?”

  There I went again. I couldn't help it. Maybe I wasn’t afraid because I didn't believe anymore that Haydock was a murderer. In addition, his love for the environment proved, once again, one of my simple, obvious, but all-too-neglected principles: people are multidimensional. Bigot but environmentalist. On the other hand, the same principle said that he might still be a murderer. Keep walking.

  “You've got balls. I'll give you that.” Where was Paula to hear that? “No, I wasn't hired to kill him. And I didn't kill him. If you knew me at all, you'd know that despite all our differences Singer and I are both Codders. We stick together. I don't understand what he says or does, but I'm proud of him.”

  His last was definitely a line to remember. “You're the one who fingered my father.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn't know you then. Might as well pin it on an outsider.”

  “And a Jew.” I really was out of control. But-

  “Maybe you have me pegged, after all.” Which was his way of saying “touché.” “But I'll make it right. I'll talk to Hansen.”

  He was a little late, but: “Thanks.”

  We arrived back in the parking lot. “It's been interesting,” I said.

  “Wait up. One more thing.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me. Who would have guessed that he had a business card? “I meant it, Doc. I owe you big time. Call me if you need anything. Maybe you'd like a free ride on my boat.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Haydock.”

  I left him at his car and walked toward the hotel entrance. He called out to my back: “My boat doesn't compare to Dr. Singer's, but I've had parties on it. Maybe you'd like to use it with your little lady for a wedding party.”

  I nodded and waved my hand in the air in acknowledgment. Other than the “little lady” thing, his proposal sounded good to me.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Speaking of Paula, finding and sweeping her away were my priorities. I returned to the courtyard with the pool where I'd left her. Splish-splash yes, Paula no. After peeking into empty conference and snack rooms I gave in to the obvious: I should telephone her. Paula's refrain resurfaced in my head: “get a cell phone before the century ends!” All right, I give up. Maybe.

  Finding a telephone to call her would be an annoying task, so I decided to make one last direct approach. I went to her hotel room, pressed the buzzer...and was rewarded for being old-fashioned.

  “Perfect,” she said, as she opened the door a crack. “I'm so glad you're here.” Good start, but “everything hurts,” she continued.

  “Stand back,” I said. “The door's heavy. I'll open it.”

  She stepped back and didn't argue. When I was inside, with the door closed, she led me to the bed. Jeans and a loose brown top were laid out.

  “The pain medication must be wearing off,” she said. “You can help me get dressed.” Under other circumstances that would have been quite an invitation. “But don't get any ideas,” she concluded.

  “Who, me?” I asked, but then saw her grimace. “Do you want another dose of medication?” I added.

  “No. I don't like to feel groggy.” She raised her arms. Even that simple movement resulted in a wince. I pulled her exercise Tee up and over her, her Tee catching briefly on her chin.

  “Ow,” she said. A big gauze dressing on her right side caught my attention.

  “D'you mind if I take a look?” I asked.

  “If you want. Just be sure to replace the dressing properly.”

  Good point. I, like many (most?) doctors, am no more than an educated amateur in first-aid techniques. On my own I'd never be able to duplicate the neat bandaging applied by the ER nurse.

  Paula sat on the bed. She pulled her right arm forward and across her body, giving me access to her wound. I sat next to her, on her right side, and slowly peeled the tape on one side until I could flip the dressing back. There was a big black-and-blue area underneath. No point probing for areas of tenderness as I would if she were my patient (never tell doctors where something hurts, I've kidded countless patients, because they'll immediately push on it). I re-closed the dressing.

  “That must really hurt,” I said. She half-nodded, half-shrugged, but didn't speak. “Tell me how it happened,” I added.

  “We were all just fooling around. Exercising, I mean. Everyone was there-”

  “Who?”

  “Everyone. Well, not Mitchell.” She raised her hands again, and I helped her put her top on. “Tracey, Rafy. Even Stephanie was there--although she did do more posing than exercising.”

  I laughed. “And Judith told us she wasn’t there,” I segued.

  “Right,” Paula nodded.

  “I understand that the accident happened with the barbell,” I moved on.

  “Yes.”

  “Who used it before you?”

  “I'm not sure,” she said. “I wasn't watching. You know how it works in a gym...or maybe you don't. We all went from one piece of equipment to the next. I assume that we all used the barbell, even some of the other people in the room whom I didn't know. What are you getting at?”

  “Who used it just before you did?”

  “You think that's how it was done? By loosening the screw holding the extra weights on?” She shook her head, but the movement didn't seem emphatic to me. “I know Judith thinks it was intentional. By Stephanie. But I'm not sure that it was even
possible.”

  “I just don't like coincidences. We're working on Jonathan Singer's case and you get hurt. Whoever's guilty would love to knock you out of commission.”

  Paula stood up, picked up her jeans from the bed, and motioned for me to pull down her sweatpants--so I did. I interpreted her silence as tacit agreement with my logic.

  “I really don't know who used it immediately before me,” she said. “Seems like a chancy thing. How could anyone be sure that I'd use it next?”

  She sat again so I could pull her jeans over her feet. She then stood again to pull the jeans to her waist, then sat yet again to slip on her shoes.

  I almost cracked a joke about dressing her, but then saw that even that minimal exertion had winded her. I sat next to her on the bed and squeezed her hand.

  “I get your point about the barbell,” I said. “But I think it could be done. If you used the barbell next, great. If someone else picked it up next, whoever did it could intervene in some way. Or maybe even just let it happen to someone else.”

  “I suppose so. If you think someone did it, who do you think it was?”

  “I don't know. But it's another clue to add to our list. If my theory that someone hurt you deliberately is true, it puts Rafy, Tracey, and Stephanie in the picture. And excludes Mitchell, Judith, and Haydock.”

  “If.”

  I smiled and stood up, trying to project my own tacit agreement. “Let's do lunch.”

  Paula stood up as well, and went to her night-table. She returned to me, dangling her car keys. “From now on, until my pain lessens, you're the designated driver.”

  When we were in the corridor she spoke again, looking straight ahead. “Whoever did this to me, if someone did, doesn't know me at all. It would take a lot more than pain to stop me from investigating.”

  That's for sure, I thought. I took her hand and squeezed it again.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Paula and I walked to her car. I helped her ease into the passenger seat, then slid in myself on the driver’s side. She waited in silence.

  I took her bait. “So where are we going to eat?” I asked.