Pursing his lips, he laid down the pen. It was easy to imagine how he would complete this report.
Patient entered the hospital at 6:00 P.M. Friday, February 19, complaining of dizziness and general weakness. At 9:00 P.M. this physician, accompanied by Nurse Renge, found the patient hemorrhaging. Blood pressure was falling rapidly. With whole blood hanging, emergency surgery was performed at 9:45 P. M.
The patient, Kathleen Noel DeMaio, expired at 10:00 P. M.
He smiled in anticipation of completing this troublesome case. Every detail was perfectly planned, even to assigning Nurse Renge to floor duty Friday night. She was young, inexperienced and terrified of him.
After putting the file in the temporary hiding place in the top desk drawer, he went upstairs to bed and slept soundly until six in the morning.
Three hours later he delivered a healthy baby boy by cesarean section to Mrs. Delano Aldrich and accepted as his due the tearful gratitude of the patient and her husband.
♦31♦
The funeral service for Vangie was held on Thursday morning at ten o’clock in the chapel of a Minneapolis funeral home. His heart aching with pity for Vangie’s parents, Chris stood beside them, their muffled sobs assaulting him like hammer blows. Could he have done things differently? If he had not at first tried to placate Vangie, would she be lying here now? If he’d insisted that she go with him to a marriage counselor years ago, would it have helped their marriage? He had suggested that to her. But she had refused. “I don’t need any counseling,” she’d said. “And don’t you suggest anytime I get upset about anything that there’s something the matter with me. It’s the other way around. You never get upset about anything; you don’t care about anything or anybody. You’re the problem, not me.”
Oh, Vangie. Vangie. Was truth somewhere in the middle? He had stopped caring very early in their marriage.
Her parents had been outraged to hear that Vangie could not be buried, that her body was to be shipped back east. “Why?”
“I simply don’t know.” There was no use in answering beyond that—not now.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.” The soloist’s soprano voice filled the chapel. “I once was lost but now am found.”
Months ago, last summer, he’d felt life was bleak and hopeless. Then he’d gone to that party in Hawaii. And Joan had been there. He could remember the precise moment he’d seen her. She was on the terrace in a group of people. Whatever she’d said made them all laugh, and she’d laughed too, her eyes crinkling, her lips parting, her head tilting back. He’d gotten a drink and joined that group. And he hadn’t left Joan’s side again that evening.
“ . . . was blind and now I see.” The Medical Examiner would not have released Vangie’s body Tuesday night if he’d suspected foul play. What had happened to change his mind?
He thought of Edna’s call. How much talking had she done to other people? Could she throw some light on Vangie’s death? Before he left Minneapolis, he had to call Dr. Salem. He had to find out what he knew about Vangie that had made him react with such shock last night. Why had Vangie made an appointment to see him?
There had been someone else in Vangie’s life. He was sure of it now. Suppose Vangie had killed herself in front of someone and that person brought her home? God knew she’d have had plenty of opportunity to be involved with another man. He was away from home at least half the month. Maybe she had met someone after they moved to New Jersey.
But would Vangie have caused herself pain?
Never!
The minister was saying the final prayer. “ . . . when every tear shall be dried . . .” Chris led Vangie’s parents into the anteroom and accepted the expressions of sympathy from the friends who had attended the service. Vangie’s parents were going to stay with relatives. They had agreed that the body should be cremated in New Jersey and the urn returned to be buried in the family plot.
Finally Chris was able to get away. It was just after eleven o’clock when he arrived at the Athletic Club in downtown Minneapolis and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. There in the solarium he ordered a Bloody Mary and took it to a phone.
When he reached Dr. Salem’s office, he said, “This is Vangie Lewis’ husband. It’s urgent I speak with the doctor immediately.”
“I’m sorry,” the nurse told him. “Dr. Salem left a short time ago for the American Medical Association convention in New York. He will not be back until next week.”
“New York.” Chris digested the information. “Can you tell me where he’s staying, please? It may be necessary for me to contact him there.”
The nurse hesitated. “I suppose it’s all right to tell you that. I’m sure Dr. Salem intends to get in touch with you. He asked me to look up your New Jersey phone number, and I know he took your wife’s medical records with him. But just in case he misses you, you can reach him at the Essex House on Central Park South in New York City. His extension there is 3219.”
Chris had pulled out the small notebook that he kept in a compartment of his wallet. Repeating the information, he wrote it down quickly.
The top of the page was already filled. On it were Edna Burns’s address and the directions to her apartment in Edgeriver.
♦32♦
Scott called a noon meeting in his office with the same four people who had been present at the meeting a day and a half earlier to discuss Vangie Lewis’ death.
This meeting was different. Katie could feel the heightened atmosphere as she went into the office. Scott had Maureen waiting with a pen and paper.
“We’re bringing sandwiches in here,” he said. “I’m due in court again at one thirty and we’ve got to move fast on Captain Lewis.”
It was as she’d expected, Katie thought. Scott is zeroing in on Chris. She looked at Maureen. The girl had an aura of nervousness around her that was almost visible. It started when I gave her that assignment this morning, Katie thought.
Maureen caught her glance and half-smiled. Katie nodded, “Uh-huh. The usual.” Then added, “Did you have any luck with the phoning?”
Maureen looked at Scott, but he was scanning a file and ignoring them. “So far not much. Dr. Fukhito’s not a member of the AMA or the Valley Medical Society. He donates a lot of his time to disturbed children at Valley Pines Psychiatric Clinic. I have a call in to the University of Massachusetts. He attended medical school there.”
“Who told you that?” Katie asked.
Maureen hesitated. “I remember hearing it somewhere.”
Katie had a feeling of evasiveness in the answer, but before she could probe further, Richard, Charley and Phil came into the office together. Quickly they gave their lunch choices to Maureen, and Richard pulled a chair next to Katie’s. He tossed his arm over her chair and touched the back of her head. His fingers were warm and strong as for an instant he massaged her neck muscle. “Boy, are you tense,” he said.
Scott looked up, grunted, and began to speak. “All right, by now you all know that the baby Vangie Lewis was carrying had Oriental characteristics. So that opens two possibilities. One: with the birth imminent it’s possible she panicked and killed herself. She must have been frantic knowing she could never pass the baby off as her husband’s. The second possibility is that Christopher Lewis found out that his wife had been having an affair and killed her. Let’s try this. Suppose he went home unexpectedly Monday evening. They quarreled. Why was she rushing home to Minneapolis? Was it because she was afraid of him? Don’t forget, he never admitted she was going home and she expected to be gone before he returned from his trip. From what Katie tells us, the psychiatrist claims she ran out of his office nearly hysterical.”
“The Japanese psychiatrist,” Katie said. “I have Maureen checking on him right now.”
Scott looked at her. “Are you suggesting that you think there was something between him and Vangie?”
“I’m not suggesting anything yet,” Katie replied. “The fact that he’s Oriental certainly doesn’t say that Van
gie didn’t know another Oriental man. But I can tell you this. He was nervous when I spoke with him yesterday, and he was carefully choosing every word he said to me. I certainly did not get the whole truth from him.”
“Which brings us to Edna Burns,” Scott said. “What about it, Richard? Did she fall or was she pushed?”
Richard shrugged. “It is not impossible that she fell. The alcohol level in her blood was point two five. She was blotto. She was heavy.”
“What about that business of drunks and babies’ being able to fall without getting hurt?” Katie asked. Richard shook his head. “That may be true about breaking bones, but not when your skull cracks into a sharp metal object. I would say that unless someone admits killing Edna, we’ll never be able to prove it.”
“But it is possible she was murdered?” Scott persisted.
He shrugged. “Absolutely.”
“And Edna was heard talking to Chris Lewis about Prince Charming.” Katie spoke slowly. She thought of the handsome psychiatrist. Would someone like Edna refer to him as Prince Charming? Would she have called Chris after Vangie’s death to tell him she suspected an affair? “I don’t believe that,” she said.
The men looked at her curiously. “What don’t you believe?” Scott asked.
“I don’t believe that Edna was vicious. I know she wasn’t. I don’t think she ever would have called Chris Lewis after Vangie died to hurt him by telling him about an affair Vangie was having.”
“She may have felt sorry enough for him that she didn’t want him to consider himself a bereaved husband,” Richard said.
“Or she may have been looking for a few bucks,” Charley suggested. “Maybe Vangie told her something Monday night. Maybe she knew Chris and Vangie had quarreled and why they’d quarreled. She had nothing. Apparently she was still paying off medical bills for her parents, and they’ve been dead a couple of years. Maybe she didn’t think there was any harm in putting the arm on Lewis. She did threaten to go to the police.”
“She said she had something to tell the police,” Katie objected. “That’s the way the super’s wife put it.”
“All right,” Scott said. “What about the Lewis house? What did you turn up?”
Charley shrugged. “So far, not much. There’s a phone number with a 621 area code scribbled on the pad beside the kitchen phone. It’s not Vangie’s parents’ number, we know that. We thought we’d call it from here. Maybe Vangie was talking to a friend, gave some of her plans. The other thing is that she tore that dress she was wearing on a prong sticking out from the shelf in the garage.”
“What do you mean the dress she was wearing?” Scott demanded.
“The dress she was found in. You couldn’t miss it. It was a long job with one of those madras print designs.”
“Where are the clothes she was wearing?” Scott asked Richard.
“The lab probably still has them,” Richard said. “We were going over them on a routine check.”
Scott picked up the message pad Charley had handed him and tossed it to Katie. “Why don’t you dial this now? If it’s a woman, you might get more out of her.”
Katie dialed the number. There was a pause and then a phone began ringing. “Dr. Salem’s office.”
“It’s a doctor’s office,” she whispered, her hand over the phone. To the person on the other end she said, “Perhaps you can help me. I’m Kathleen DeMaio from the Valley County, New Jersey, Prosecutor’s office. We’re conducting a routine inquiry into the death of Mrs. Vangie Lewis last Monday, and she had the doctor’s phone number on her pad.”
She was interrupted: “Oh, that is a coincidence. I just hung up with Captain Lewis. He’s trying to reach the doctor too. As I explained to him, Dr. Salem is on his way to New York right now to the AMA convention. You can reach him later in the day at the Essex House Hotel on Central Park South.”
“Fine. We’ll do that.” On a chance, Katie added, “Do you know anything about Mrs. Lewis’ call? Did she speak with the doctor?”
“No. She did not. She spoke to me. She called Monday and was so disappointed that he wasn’t going to be back in his office till Wednesday. I made an emergency appointment for her on Wednesday because he was going right out again. She said she had to see him.”
“One last question,” Katie said: “What kind of doctor is Dr. Salem?”
The woman’s tone became proud. “Oh, he’s a prominent obstetrician and gynecologist.”
“I see. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Katie hung up the phone and reported the conversation to the others.
“And Chris Lewis knew about the appointment,” Scott said, “and he wants to talk to the doctor now. I can’t wait to get at him tonight. We’ll have a lot of questions for him.”
There was a knock at the door and Maureen came in without waiting for a response. She was carrying a cardboard tray with inserts for coffee cups and a bag of sandwiches. “Katie,” she said, “that call from Boston about Dr. Fukhito is just coming in. Do you want to take it?”
Katie nodded. Richard reached over and picked up the phone, holding it out to her. As she waited for the call to be switched, Katie became aware of a slow, persistent headache. That rap against the steering wheel hadn’t been hard enough for a concussion, but she realized that her head had been bothering her the last few days. I just am not operating on all cylinders, she thought. So many things were teasing her mind. What was she trying to recall? Something. Some impression.
When she explained her credentials, she was quickly switched to the head of personnel at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. The man’s voice was guarded. “Yes, Dr. Fukhito graduated from U Mass in the first third of his class. He interned at Massachusetts General and later became affiliated with the hospital and also had a private practice. He left the hospital seven years ago.”
“Why did he leave?” Katie asked. “You must understand this is a police investigation. All information will be kept confidential, but we must know if there are any factors in Dr. Fukhito’s past that we should be aware of.”
There was a pause; then the informant said, “Dr. Fukhito was asked to resign seven years ago, and his Massachusetts license was suspended for a period of one year. He was found guilty of unethical behavior after he unsuccessfully defended a malpractice suit.”
“What was the cause of the suit?” Katie asked.
“A former patient sued Dr. Fukhito for inducing her to have a personal relationship with him when she was under psychiatric treatment. She had recently been divorced and was in great emotional difficulty. As a result of that relationship she bore Dr. Fukhito’s child.”
♦33♦
Molly bustled around her kitchen rejoicing in the fact that all the children were back in school. Even twelve-year-old Jennifer had been well enough to go this morning; in fact, had pleaded to go. “You’re just like Katie,” Molly had scolded, “when you set your head to anything. Well, all right, but you can’t walk. It’s too cold. I’ll drive you.”
Bill was not going into New York until the afternoon. He was planning to attend one of the seminars at the AMA convention. They were enjoying a rare chance to chat in peace as Bill sat at the table sipping coffee and Molly sliced vegetables. “I’m sure Katie and Richard and the Berkeleys will enjoy each other,” Molly was saying. “Jim Berkeley is bright and he’s a lot of fun. Why is it that most people in advertising really are so interesting?”
“Because their stock in trade is words,” Bill suggested. “Although I must say I’ve met some that I wouldn’t spend time looking up again.”
“Oh, sure,” Molly agreed absently. “Now, if Liz just doesn’t spend the whole evening talking about the baby . . . Although I must say she’s getting better about that. When I phoned to invite her the other day she only spent the first twenty minutes on Maryanne’s latest trick . . . which, incidentally, is to blow her oatmeal all over the place as she’s being fed. Isn’t that cute?”
“It is if it’s your first baby and you
waited fifteen years to have one,” Bill commented. “I seem to remember every time Jennifer blinked you recorded it in her baby book.”
Molly began slicing celery. “Remember your aunt gave me a baby book to keep for the twins. I don’t think I ever got the wrapping paper off it . . . Anyhow, it should be fun. And even if Liz does rave about the baby, maybe a little of it will sink in on Katie and Richard.”
Bill’s eyebrows rose. “Molly, you’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer. You’d better watch out or they’ll start avoiding each other completely.”
“Nonsense. Don’t you see the way they look at each other? There’s something smoldering—better than smoldering—there. My God, Richard called me last night to see if Katie was here and then wanted to know if there was something the matter with her. You should have heard how worried he sounded. I tell you he’s crazy about her, but just is smart enough not to show it and scare her off.”
“Did you tell him about the operation?”
“No. Katie gave me hell the other morning when I asked if she had told him. Honest to God, the way most people let everything hang out these days . . . Look, why can’t she just say to Richard,’ I’ve got this problem, it’s a nuisance, Mother had it and had to have a D-and-C every couple of years, and it looks like I’m built like her? Instead, the poor guy is obviously worried that it’s something serious. I don’t think it’s fair to him.”
Bill got up, walked over to the sink, rinsed out his cup and saucer and put them in the dishwasher. “I don’t think you have ever realized that Katie has been desperately hurt by losing the two men she loved and counted on . . . your father when she was eight, and then John when she was twenty-four. She reminds me of the last scene in Gone With the Wind when Rhett says to Scarlett, ‘I gave my heart to you and you broke it. Then I gave it to Bonnie and she broke it. I’ll not risk it a third time.’ That’s something of Katie’s problem. But frankly, I think she’s got to work it out herself. Your hovering over her like a mother hawk isn’t helping her. I’d like nothing better than to see her get together with Richard Carroll. He’d be good for her.”