Эд Макбейн - Lady, Lady, I Did It!

The Admissions nurse was charmed to pieces by Meyer’s dazzling dental display, and she told them how to reach the ward where Claire Townsend had worked. The intern on duty wasn’t quite as thrilled by Meyer’s smile. He was underpaid and overworked, and he didn’t need a comic vaudeville team lousing up his nice quiet ward on a nice quiet Sunday morning. He was ready to give the itinerant flatfoots a fast brush, but he didn’t know he was dealing with Detective Meyer Meyer, scourge of the underworld and the medical profession, the most patient cop and man in the city, if not in the entire United States.

“We’re terribly sorry to intrude on your valuable time, Dr. McElroy,” Meyer said, “but—”

McElroy, who was a bit of a sharpshooter himself, quickly said, “Well, I’m glad you understand, gentlemen. If you’ll kindly leave, then, we can all get back to—”

“Yes, we understand,” Meyer sniped, “and of course you have patients to examine and sedatives to distribute and—”

“You’re oversimplifying an intern’s work,” McElroy said.

“Naturally I am, and I apologize, because I know how very busy you are, Dr. McElroy. But we’re dealing with a homicide here—”

“I’m dealing with sick people here,” McElroy interrupted.

“And your job is to keep them from dying. But our job is to find out who killed the ones who are already dead. Anything you can tell us about—”

“I have specific orders from the chief of staff,” McElroy said, “and it’s my job to carry them out in his absence. A hospital works by the clock, Detective... Meyer, was it?”

“Yes, and I understand—”

“—and I simply haven’t the time to answer a lot of questions — not this morning, I haven’t. Why don’t you wait until Staff comes in, and you can ask—”

“But you worked with Claire Townsend, didn’t you?”

“Claire worked with me, and with all the other doctors on this ward, and also with Staff. Look, Detective Meyer—”

“Did you get along well with her?”

“I don’t intend to answer any questions, Detective Meyer.”

“I guess he didn’t get along with her, Steve,” Meyer said.

“Of course I got along with her. Everyone did. Claire was a... look, Detective Meyer, you’re not going to trick me into a long discussion about Claire. Really! I have work to do. I have patients.”

“I have patience, too,” Meyer said, and he grinned beautifully. “You were saying about Claire?”

McElroy glared at Meyer silently.

“I guess we could subpoena him,” Carella said.

“Subpoena me? What in hell...? Look,” McElroy said patiently, “I have to make my rounds at eleven o’clock. Then I have to order medication. Then I have two—”

“Yes, we know you’re busy,” Meyer said.

“I have two spinal taps and some intravenouses, not to mention new admissions and personal histories and—”

“Let’s go get a warrant,” Carella said.

McElroy’s shoulders slumped. “Why’d I ever become a doctor?” he asked no one in particular.

“How long did you know Claire?”

“About six months,” McElroy said tiredly.

“Did you like working with her?”

“Everyone did. Medical social workers are very valuable to us, and Claire was an unusually conscientious and able person. I was sorry to read about... about what happened. Claire was a nice girl. And a good worker.”

“Did she ever have any trouble with anyone on the ward?”

“No.”

“Doctors? Nurses? Patients?”

“No.”

“Now, come on, Dr. McElroy,” Meyer said. “This girl wasn’t a saint.”

“Maybe she wasn’t a saint,” McElroy said, “but she was a damn good social worker. And a good social worker doesn’t get involved in petty squabbles.”

“Are there petty squabbles on this ward?”

“There are petty squabbles everywhere.”

“But Claire never got involved in any of them.”

“Not to my knowledge,” McElroy said.

“How about her patients? You can’t tell us all of her patients were ideal, well-adjusted individuals who—”

“No, many of them were quite disturbed.”

“Then, surely, all of them didn’t readily accept what she was trying to—”

“That’s true. Not all of them accepted her at first.”

“Then there were problems.”

“At first. But Claire had a wonderful way with people, and she almost always gained a patient’s complete confidence.”

“Almost always?”

“Yes.”

“When didn’t she?” Carella asked.

“What?”

“Almost isn’t always, Dr. McElroy. Did she have trouble with any of the patients?”

“Nothing serious. Nothing she couldn’t work out. I’m trying to tell you that Claire was an unusually dedicated person who had a wonderful way of dealing with her patients. To be quite frank about it, some medical social workers are a severe pain in the ass. But not Claire. Claire was gentle and patient and kind and understanding and... She was good, period. She knew her job, and she loved her job. She was good at it. That’s all I can tell you. Why, she even... Her work extended beyond this ward. She took a personal interest in the patients’ families. She visited homes, helped relatives to make adjustments. She was an unusual person, believe me.”

“Which homes did she visit?”

“What?”

“Which homes did she—”

“Oh, I’m not sure. Several. I can’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Really...”

“Try.”

“Oh, let me see. There was a man in, several months back, had broken his leg on the job. Claire took an interest in his family, visited the home, helped the children. Or the beginning of last month, for example. We had a woman in with a ruptured appendix. Quite a mess, believe me. Peritonitis, subdiaphragmatic abscess, the works. She was here quite a while — just released last week, as a matter of fact. Claire got very friendly with her young daughter, a girl of about sixteen. Even kept up her interest after the woman was discharged.”

“What do you mean?”

“She called her.”

“The young girl? She called her from here? From the ward?”

“Yes.”

“What did she talk about?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I’m not in the habit of listening to other people’s—”

“How often did she call her?”

“Well... quite frequently this past week.” McElroy paused. “In fact, the girl called her once. Right here.”

“She did, huh? What’s the girl’s name?”

“I don’t know. I can get you the mother’s name. That would be in our records.”

“Yes, would you please?” Carella said.

“This is a little unusual, isn’t it?” Meyer asked. “Keeping up contact with a woman’s daughter after the woman’s been released?”

“No, not terribly unusual. Most social workers do a followup. And as I said, Claire was a very conscientious—”

“But would you say there was a personal involvement with this young girl?”

“All of Claire’s involvements—”

“Please, Dr. McElroy, I think you know what I mean. Was Claire Townsend’s interest in this young girl more than the interest she usually expressed in a patient or the family of a patient?”

McElroy thought this one over for a few minutes. Then he said, “Yes, I would say so.”

“Good. May we look at those records now, please?”

Back at the squad, Detective Hal Willis was studying a necropsy report made on the dead body of Anthony La Scala. The report informed him that the cause of death had been three .45-caliber bullets in the lungs and heart and that death had most probably been instantaneous. But the report also mentioned the fact that both of La Scala’s arms were scarred around the superficial veins on the flexor surface of the forearm and the bend of the elbow. These scars appeared to be short ropelike thickenings of the dermis from three-eighths of an inch to one inch in length and about three-sixteenths of an inch wide. It was the opinion of the medical examiner, strongly bolstered by a large amount of heroin found in La Scala’s blood stream, that the marks on his arms were mainline scars, that La Scala had injected the drug intravenously, and that he had undoubtedly been addicted to the drug for a good long time, judging from the number of scars and the tiny dots arranged seriatim on the thickened areas.