Clark, Mary Higgins 03 - The Cradle Will Fall

"You don't want me to talk to anyone at Westlake Hospital?"

  "No. I don't want them to know we're checking on him."

  For some reason the younger woman seemed relieved. "I'll get

  right on it."

  "You'd be a good lawyer," Katie said, meaning it. "I'm surprised

  you didn't go to college."

  "I was insane enough to get engaged the summer I finished

  high school. My folks persuaded me to take a secretarial course

  before I got married so at least I'd have some kind of skill. How

  right they were. The engagement didn't stand the year's wait."

  She looked unhappy, and Katie decided she must have been

  pretty hurt about the breakup.

  Maureen went out of the room. The telephone rang. It was

  Richard. "Katie, I've just been talking to Dave Broad, the head of

  prenatal research at Mount Sinai. On a hunch, I sent him the fetus

  Vangie Lewis was carrying. My hunch was right. Vangie was not

  pregnant with Lewis' child. The baby was distinctly Oriental!"

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE funeral service for Vangie Lewis was held on Thursday

  morning in the chapel of a Minneapolis funeral home. Chris stood

  beside Vangie's parents, their muffled sobs assaulting him like

  hammerblows. They had been outraged to hear that Vangie could

  not be buried, that her body was to be shipped back east, then

  returned later for burial. "Why?"

  "I simply don't know." There was no use saying more—not now.

  He thought of Edna's call. Could she throw some light on Vangie's

  death? Before he left Minneapolis, he had to call Dr. Salem. What

  did he know about Vangie that had made him react with such

  shock last night? Why had Vangie wanted 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 had brought her home?

  The minister was saying the final prayer. "When every tear shall

  be dried . . ." Chris led Vangie's parents into the anteroom to accept

  the sympathy of their friends.

  When he was able to get away to a phone, Chris called Dr.

  Salem's office. "This is Vangie Lewis' husband," he said. "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! Can you tell me where he's staying, please?"

  The nurse hesitated. "I suppose it's all right. I know Dr. Salem

  intends to get in touch with you. He took your wife's medical

  records with him. You can reach him at the Essex House Hotel on

  Central Park South."

  SCOTT Myerson had called a noon meeting to discuss Vangie

  Lewis' death. When Katie arrived, Maureen was there with a pen

  and paper.

  "We're bringing sandwiches in," Scott said. "I'm due in court

  again at one thirty. We've got to move fast on Captain Lewis."

  As Katie had expected, Scott was zeroing in on Chris. She

  looked at Maureen. The girl had an aura of nervousness around

  her. "Any results on Dr. Fukhito?"

  "So far not much. He's not a member of the AMA or the Valley

  County Medical Society. But I have a call in to the University of

  Massachusetts. He attended medical school there."

  "Who told you that?" Katie asked.

  "I remember hearing it somewhere."

  Katie sensed that Maureen was being evasive.

  At that moment Richard, Charley and Phil came into the office.

  Quickly they gave Maureen their lunch choices. Scott began to

  speak. "By now you all know that the Lewis baby had Oriental

  characteristics. So that opens two possibilities. One: with the

  birth imminent, Vangie panicked and killed herself because she

  knew she could never pass the baby off as her husband's. Two:

  Chris Lewis found out that his wife had been having an affair and

  killed her. She could have been rushing home to Minneapolis because

  she was afraid of him. From what Katie tells us, the psychiatrist

  claims she ran out of his office nearly hysterical."

  "The Japanese psychiatrist," Katie said.

  "Are you suggesting there was something between him and

  Vangie?"

  "I'm not suggesting anything yet. Vangie could have known

  another Oriental man. But he was nervous when I spoke with

  him yesterday. He carefully chose every word he said to me, and

  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?"

  "It's possible that she fell. The alcohol level in her blood was

  point two five. She was blotto."

  "But it is possible she was murdered?" Scott persisted.

  "Absolutely."

  "And Edna was heard talking to Chris Lewis about Prince

  Charming." Katie thought of the handsome psychiatrist. Would

  Edna refer to him as Prince Charming?

  "Maybe Vangie told her something Monday night," Charley

  suggested. "Maybe she knew Chris and Vangie had quarreled and

  why they'd quarreled. Maybe she was 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 turned up at the Lewis house?"

  "Not much," said Charley. "There's a phone number with a 612

  area code scribbled on the pad beside the kitchen phone. We

  thought we'd call it from here. The other thing is that she tore her

  dress on a prong sticking out from a shelf in the garage."

  Scott picked up the message pad Charley had handed him and

  tossed it to Katie. "Why don't you try this number now?"

  Katie dialed the number and waited while the phone rang.

  "Dr. Salem's office."

  "Perhaps you can help me. I'm Kathleen DeMaio from the

  Valley County, New Jersey, prosecutor's office. We're conducting

  an inquiry into the death of Vangie Lewis last Monday. She had

  Dr. Salem's phone number on her pad."

  "Oh, that is a coincidence. I was just about to call your medical

  examiner. Dr. Salem wants to talk with him. The doctor is on

  his way to New York right now for the AMA convention. Can your

  medical examiner phone him around five p.m. at the Essex House

  Hotel on Central Park South?"

  "Yes. I'll give him the message." Then, on a chance, Katie added,

  "Do you know anything about Mrs. Lewis' call? Did she speak with

  the doctor?"

  "No. She spoke to me. She called Monday and was so disappointed

  that he wasn't going to be back till Wednesday. I made

  an emergency appointment for her for Wednesday."

  "One last question. What kind of doctor is Dr. Salem?"

  "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.

  There was a knock at the door and Maureen came in with

  coffee and sandwiches. "Katie," she said, "that call from Massa

  chusetts about Dr. Fukhito is just coming in. Want to take it?"
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  Katie nodded and picked up the phone. As she waited for the

  call to be switched, she became aware of a slow, persistent head

  ache. I'm not operating on all cylinders, she thought. So many

  things were teasing her mind. What was she trying to recall?

  The personnel director at the University of Massachusetts

  Medical School answered guardedly. "Yes, Dr. Fukhito graduated

  from U. Mass. He interned at Massachusetts General and later became

  affiliated with the hospital. He 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."

  There was a pause. "Dr. Fukhito was asked to resign. He was

  found guilty of unethical behavior after he unsuccessfully defended

  a malpractice suit."

  "What was the cause of the suit?" Katie asked.

  "A patient sued Dr. Fukhito for inducing her to have a personal

  relationship with him. She bore Dr. Fukhito's child."

  MOLLY bustled around her kitchen, rejoicing in the fact that

  all the children were back in school. Bill was not going into New

  York for another half hour. 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. "Now if Liz just doesn't

  spend the whole evening talking about the baby . . . When I

  phoned to invite her, she spent the first twenty minutes on Maryanne's

  latest trick . . . which is to blow her oatmeal all over the

  place. Isn't that cute?"

  "It is if it's your first baby and you waited fifteen years to have

  one," Bill commented.

  "Anyhow, even if Liz does rave about the baby tonight, maybe

  a little of it will sink in on Katie and Richard."

  Bill's eyebrows rose. "Molly, you're not very subtle. You'd better

  watch out or they'll start avoiding each other."

  "Haven't you noticed the way they act together? There's something

  smoldering there. And Richard called me last night and

  wanted to know if there was something the matter with Katie."

  "Did you tell him about the operation?"

  "No. Katie doesn't want me to. But the poor guy is so worried

  about her. I don't think it's fair to him."

  Bill got up and put his cup and saucer in the dishwasher. "If

  Katie doesn't want to tell Richard about this operation, don't fill

  him in. That's not fair to her. You've gotten them together. Now—"

  "Now bug off." Molly sighed.

  "Something like that. And tomorrow night when Katie goes

  into the hospital, you and I are going to the opera. You can be at

  the recovery room Saturday morning, but it won't hurt to have

  her wish she had someone with her Friday evening. Maybe she'll

  do a little thinking."

  "Let her go into the hospital by herself?" Molly protested.

  "By herself," Bill said firmly. "She's a big girl."

  The telephone rang. Molly picked it up. "Hello. . . . Liz, hi."

  She listened. "Oh, for heaven's sake, bring her along. She can

  sleep up in our room. . . . Great. See you at seven. By."

  She hung up. "Liz Berkeley's regular baby-sitter had to cancel,

  so she's bringing the baby along."

  "Fine." Bill looked at the clock. "I'd better go." He kissed Molly's

  cheek. "Will you quit worrying about your little sister?"

  Molly bit her lip. "I can't. I've got this creepy feeling about

  Katie, like something might happen to her."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN Richard returned to his office after the meeting with Scott

  and the others, he stood for a long time staring out the window.

  In the pocket-size park in front of the courthouse a flurry of snow

  pelted the already frozen grass.

  He glanced up at the sky. Vangie Lewis' body was being flown

  to Newark from Minneapolis on a two-thirty flight. It would be

  brought to the morgue, and tomorrow morning he'd reexamine

  it. There was something about her left foot or leg that he had

  noticed and dismissed as irrelevant. He pushed that thought aside.

  It was useless to speculate until he could reexamine the body.

  Sighing, he snapped on the intercom and asked Marge to bring in

  his phone messages.

  She hurried in with a sheaf of slips in her hand. "None of these

  are too important," she said. "But I got the statistics on the Westlake

  obstetrical patients. In the eight years of the Westlake Maternity

  Concept, sixteen patients have died either in childbirth or of

  toxic pregnancies."

  "Sixteen?"

  "Sixteen," Marge repeated with emphasis. "However, the practice

  is huge. And all the women who died had been warned by

  other doctors that they were high pregnancy risks."

  "I'll study the fatalities," Richard said. "Anything else?"

  "Maybe. Two people filed malpractice suits against Dr. High-

  ley. Both were dismissed. And a cousin of his wife's claimed that

  he didn't believe she'd died of a heart attack. The prosecutor's

  office contacted her physician, Dr. Alan Levine, and he said the

  cousin was crazy. The cousin had been the sole heir before Winifred

  Westlake married Dr. Highley."

  "I'll have a talk with Dr. Levine."

  "And these are the people who filed the malpractice suits."

  Richard looked down at the two names on the sheet of paper

  Marge handed him. Anthony Caldwell, Old Country Lane, Pea-

  pack, New Jersey, and Anna Horan, 415 Walnut Street, Ridgefield

  Park, New Jersey. "You do nice work, Marge," he said.

  She nodded. "I know."

  He phoned Dr. Levine and caught him as he was leaving his

  office. They agreed to meet at the Parkwood Country Club.

  Alan Levine was a Jimmy Stewart look-alike, which endeared

  him to his older patients. He and Richard enjoyed the easy cordiality

  of professionals who respected each other. At the club,

  Richard came directly to the point. "Winifred Westlake was your

  patient. Her cousin suggested that she did not die of a heart attack.

  What can you tell me about it?"

  Levine sipped his martini and glanced out the picture window at

  the snow-covered fairway. "I have to answer that question on a

  couple of levels. First: Winifred for years had all the classic

  symptoms of a duodenal ulcer, except it never showed up on

  X ray. When she'd experience pain, I'd prescribe an ulcer diet

  and she'd feel relief almost immediately. No great problem.

  "Then the year before she married Highley she had a severe

  attack of gastroenteritis, which actually altered her cardiogram.

  I put her in the hospital for a suspected heart attack. But after two

  days the cardiogram was well within the normal range."

  "So there might or might not have been a heart problem?"

  "I didn't think there was. But her mother died of a heart attack

  at fifty-eight, and Winifred was nearly fifty-two when she died.

  She was older than Highley by some ten years. Several years after

  her marriage she began to complain of frequent chest pains. The

  tests produced nothing
significant. I told her to watch her diet."

  "And then she had a fatal attack?" Richard asked.

  The other doctor nodded. "One evening, during dinner, she

  had a seizure. Highley had his service call me. When I got there,

  he was still trying to revive her. But it was hopeless. She died a

  few minutes after I arrived."

  "And you're satisfied it was heart failure?"

  There was a hint of hesitation. "I was satisfied at the time."

  "At the time." Richard underscored the words.

  "I suppose the cousin's absolute conviction that something was

  wrong about her death has troubled me these three years. I practically

  threw Glenn Nickerson out of my office when he came in

  and as much as accused me of falsifying records. But he is a family

  man, active in his church, on the town council; certainly not the

  kind to go off half-cocked at being disinherited. And he must have

  known that Winifred would leave her estate to her husband. She

  was crazy about Highley. Why, I never could see. But I've got to

  hand it to him. He's an excellent doctor."