Ed McBain - Eighty Million Eyes

“Are you a general practitioner, Dr. Nelson?” Meyer asked.

“Yes, I am.” Nelson smiled. “That’s a nasty cold you’ve got there, Detective Meyer. I hope you’re taking something for it.”

“I’m taking everything for it,” Meyer said.

“There’re a lot of viruses going around,” Nelson said.

“Yes,” Meyer agreed.

“Dr. Nelson,” Carella said, “I wonder if you’d mind telling us a little about yourself.”

“Not at all,” Nelson said. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, whatever you feel is pertinent.”

“About what? My life? My work? My aspirations?”

“Any of it, or all of it,” Carella said pleasantly.

Nelson smiled. “Well…” He paused, thinking. “I’m forty-three years old, a native of this city, attended Haworth University here. I was graduated with a BS in January 1944, and got drafted just in time for the assault on Cassino.”

“How old were you at the time, Dr. Nelson?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Was this Army?”

“Yes. The Medical Corps.”

“Were you an officer or an enlisted man?”

“I was a corporal. I was attached to a field hospital in Castelforte. Are you familiar with the country?”

“Vaguely,” Carella said.

“There was some fierce fighting,” Nelson said briefly. He sighed, dismissing the entire subject. “I was discharged in May 1946. I began medical school that fall.”

“What school was that, Dr. Nelson?”

“Georgetown University. In Washington, DC.”

“And then you came back here to begin practice, is that it?”

“Yes. I opened my own office in 1952.”

“This same office?”

“No, my first office was uptown. In Riverhead.”

“How long have you been at this location, doctor?”

“Since 1961.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“Yes. I was divorced seven years ago.”

“Is your former wife alive?”

“Yes.”

“Living in this City?”

“No. She lives in San Diego with her new husband. He’s an architect there.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No.”

“You said something about your aspirations, doctor. I wonder…”

“Oh.” Nelson smiled. “I hope to start a small rest home one day. For elderly people.”

“Where?”

“Most likely in Riverhead, where I began practice.”

“Now, Dr. Nelson,” Carella said, “it’s our understanding that you were at home last Wednesday night when Mr. Krantz called to tell you what had happened. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Were you home all night, Dr. Nelson?”

“Yes, I went home directly from here.”

“And what time did you leave here?”

“My usual evening hours are from five o’clock to eight o’clock. I left here last Wednesday night at about ten minutes past eight.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“Yes, Rhoda left with me. Miss Barnaby, my nurse; you just met her. We both left at the same time. You can ask her if you like.”

“Where did you go when you left the office?”

“Home. I already said I went directly home.”

“Where do you live, Dr. Nelson?”

“On South Fourteenth.”

“South Fourteenth, mmm, so it should have taken you, oh, fifteen minutes at the most to get from here to your house, is that right?”

“That’s right. I got home at about eight-thirty.”

“Was anyone there?”

“Just my housekeeper. Mrs. Irene Janlewski. She was preparing my dinner when the call came from the studio. Actually, I didn’t need the call.”

“Why not?”

“I’d seen Stan collapse.”

“What do you mean, Dr. Nelson?”

“I was watching the show. I turned it on the moment I got home.”

“At about eight-thirty, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s about when I got home.”

“What was happening when you turned on the show?” Meyer asked.

“Happening?”

“Yes, on the screen,” Meyer said. He had taken out his black notebook and a pencil and seemed to be taking notes as Nelson spoke. Actually, he was studying the page opposite the one on which he was writing. On that page, in his own hand, was the information George Cooper had given him last Wednesday night at the studio. The folk singers had gone off at 8:37, and Gifford had come on immediately afterward, staying on camera with his Hollywood guest for two minutes and twelve seconds. When the guest went off to change…

“Stan was doing a commercial when I turned the set on,” Nelson said. “A coffee commercial.”

“That would have been at about eight-forty,” Meyer said.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Actually, it would have been exactly eight-thirty-nine and twelve seconds,” Meyer said, just to be ornery.

“What?” Nelson asked.

“Which means you didn’t turn the set on the moment you got into the house. Not if you got home at eight-thirty.”

“Well, I suppose I talked with Mrs. Janlewski for a few minutes, asked if there were any calls, settled a few household problems, you know.”

“Yes,” Meyer said. “The important thing, in any case, is that you were watching Gifford when he got sick.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Which was at exactly eight-forty-four and seventeen seconds,” Meyer said, feeling a wild sense of giddy power.

“Yes,” Nelson agreed. “I suppose so.”

“What did you think when you saw him collapse?”

“I didn’t know what to think. I rushed to the closet for my hat and coat, and was starting out when the telephone rang.”

“Who was it?”

“David Krantz.”

“And he told you that Gifford was sick, is that right?”

“Right.”

“Which you already knew.”

“Yes, I already knew it.”

“But when you saw Gifford collapse, you didn’t know what was wrong with him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Later on, Dr. Nelson, when I spoke to you at the studio, you seemed certain he’d been poisoned.”

“That’s true. But that—”

“It was you, in fact, who suggested that we have an autopsy performed.”

“That’s correct. When I got to the studio, the symptoms were unmistakable. A first-year med student could have diagnosed acute poisoning.”

“You didn’t know what kind of poison, of course.”

“How could I?”

“Dr. Nelson,” Carella said, “did you ever argue with Stan Gifford?”

“Yes. All friends argue every now and then. It’s only acquaintances who never have any differences of opinion.”

“What did you argue about?”

“I’m sure I don’t remember. Everything. Stan was an alert and well-informed person, with a great many opinions on most things that would concern a thinking man.”

“I see. And so you argued about them.”

“We discussed them, might be a better way of putting it.”

“You discussed a wide variety of things, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“But you did not argue about these things?”

“Yes, we argued, too.”

“About matters of general concern.”

“Yes.”

“Never about anything specific. Never about anything you might consider personal.”

“We argued about personal matters, yes.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I can’t remember any offhand. But I know we argued about personal matters from time to time.”

“Try to remember, Dr. Nelson,” Carella said.

“Has Melanie told you?” Nelson asked suddenly. “Is that what this is about?”

“Told us what Dr. Nelson?”

“Are you looking for confirmation, is that it? I can assure you the entire incident was idiotic. Stan was drunk, otherwise he wouldn’t have lost his temper that way.”