Michael Palmer - The Society

Compared to the house in Ashford, the condo was quite modest. Even so, Will liked the hardwood floors and the view of the woods out back, and bit by bit, as the bookshelves filled and art-framed prints or the twins’ masterpieces-began to fill the walls, the place had become home. There was no evidence inside that the police had been there yet. Feeling numb and detached from his life, Will brewed a pot of tea, then sank onto the couch in the small den.

Who? Why? How? After a few minutes, the three burning questions were joined by a fourth: What now? He wanted to fight back- needed to fight back-but he knew things were only going to get worse. A lawyer? Probably that was the place to begin. He really didn’t know any who handled this sort of thing. Thanks to the no-drug clause, there was no chance his malpractice company would provide one, and the incompetent weasel who had handled his divorce would probably succeed in getting him the gas chamber. What sort of retainers did lawyers charge these days, anyhow? At a recent Society meeting he had heard of one insisting on $50,000 up front. Was that possible?

The divorce and ongoing settlement payments had hit his finances hard, as had increasingly restrictive managed-care policies. He had maybe ten thousand in the bank, fifty or so in his retirement fund, and perhaps thirty that he could wring out of the condo. Not much to show for seven years in surgical practice. Jim Katz knew a lot of well-placed people. Maybe he or one of the other two partners could recommend someone.

Will sipped at his tea and stared across at the dark screen of the TV.

Shit . What in the hell had just happened to his life?

The doorbell had rung several times before he became aware of it. Let the circus begin, he thought. The guest bathroom overlooked the parking lot. Rather than answer the door, he went upstairs, carefully opened that bathroom window, and peered down. Patty Moriarity, alone, paced back and forth across the front stoop. Faced with the vast emptiness of his condo and, in fact, his world, a visit even from her was welcome.

“I’ll be right there,” he called down.

“The Fredrickston PD called and told us what happened,” she said when he opened the door. “I checked with the ICU at the hospital and they told me you were about to sign yourself out. So I decided to see if I could catch up with you here.”

He motioned her into the living room. She was wearing black jeans and the leather jacket he had now come to associate with her, and aside from maybe a little lipstick, wore no makeup. There was no gun that he could see, but he imagined a shoulder holster or a pistol strapped to her ankle.

“It’s locked in the car,” she said before he could ask.

“Just wondered.”

Keeping her jacket on, she settled in at one end of the burgundy sofa Gordo had given him for his then-new place, while he took the recliner the people at the Open Hearth had chipped in to buy for him.

“So,” she said, “it sounds like you’ve had a time of it since we last spoke.”

“Calling it the day from hell wouldn’t do it justice.”

“I haven’t spoken to the DA yet, but the FPD guys tell me there’s a chance you’ll be arrested soon for the drugs they found in your locker. I suppose there’s a chance the DA could go for an attempted-manslaughter charge if the guy makes it, and maybe manslaughter if he doesn’t.”

“That’s great, just great. Sergeant Moriarity, I didn’t take any drugs. Someone did this to me.”

“The killer?”

“I have no idea. Why would he do something like that? He said I was going to be his buddy from now on-his spokesman.”

“You don’t take drugs of any kind?”

“I smoked dope from time to time in college and med school. That’s it. Now I don’t even take Tylenol.”

“Any idea how the drug got into you?”

“If I hadn’t passed out the way I did, I’d blame someone in the lab putting it in my specimens. I’m superstitious and I have a few rituals that a lot of people know about. Maybe someone put the drug in my juice at breakfast, or the doughnut I like to eat.”

“What kind is that?”

Will felt color rush to his cheeks.

“Jelly stick.”

“I’m a glazed-cruller person myself, but those Krispy Kremes are starting to win me over. Dr. Grant, the people in your hospital have a great deal of respect for you. They’ve told me you’re one of the best. Same goes for the people at the Open Hearth. I just came from speaking with Benois Beane. You’re like a god to some of them.”

“That’s nice to hear. So you believe me about the drugs?”

“At the moment I don’t know what to believe. You see, everyone I talked to says you’re a great surgeon and a terrific person but you work too hard-longer hours than anyone they’ve ever known. A couple of them don’t know how you do it. Now, all of a sudden, a serial murderer is calling you on your private line, you almost kill a man when you pass out in the operating room, and you’re found to be loaded with narcotics. Don’t you think it seems possible, even likely, that you are coming apart from all the hours you spend working?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. What are you going to do now?”

“Find a lawyer, I guess. I don’t intend to hand over my life without a goddamn good fight.”

The words were there, but they were belied by the dazed, vulnerable look in his eyes.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said.

“You just don’t expect this kind of stuff when you sign up.”

“Maybe not, but it’s all there in the fine print that nobody ever reads.”

For a time, Patty gazed across the room at nothing in particular. How much she wanted to believe him-that he didn’t create the mysterious phone call as a means of setting up a public platform for his views on managed care; that he didn’t accidentally overdose on a powerful narcotic; that he would never even consider killing anyone. She wanted to believe him because, at the moment, she needed him. Her first major case, and she was being shoved out the door. Unless she came up with something, and quick, she would be back to chasing down shoplifters full-time.

What would Tommy Moriarity think if he knew she was contemplating joining forces with their chief suspect in a series of vicious murders?. . What were all those women thinking the moment they opened the door to let in charming, handsome, vulnerable Ted Bundy?. . How much denial was she in about her attraction to this man?

“Dr. Grant,” she suddenly heard herself saying, “I need your help.”

“At the moment I can’t believe anyone needs my help for anything,” he said.

“Your career is on the line if you can’t prove you’re innocent of taking any drugs. Well, mine is on the line unless I get a break in this managed-care case, and soon. The truth is, it’s the first one of any consequence that I’ve gotten since I joined the force. A lot of people, including your friend Brasco, think that the only reason I’m still on the case is because my father is second in command of the state police.”

“How can I help?” Will asked.

“First, I want permission to tap your phones-here, your cell, even the one in your office.”

“If you think you need to.”

“For a while you won’t have much privacy.”

“When the media gets ahold of what happened this morning, I don’t suspect I’ll have much privacy anyway. Besides, if you’ve been investigating my life you must have learned that outside the hospital, my kids, and the soup kitchen, I don’t really have one. It’s been months since my last date.”

Good!

“I’ll give you my home number and my cell. If the killer calls, day or night, I need you to contact me immediately. If you have any ideas about who could be doing this or why, I need you to call me. If you can connect anyone to this drug business, anyone at all, that’s important, too. I’ll even take any theories that might come to you.”