Michael Palmer - Extreme Measures

"The natives are restless, Tony," he said.

"Goddam cannibals," Medeiros muttered. "Brian, just don't let 'em in here."

"Who are they?" Eric asked.

Medeiros looked up at him.

"Reporters," he said. "A couple of them were at the station when the call came in about this Delacroix woman and your voodoo ceremony.

One of them recognized your name."

"Mine?"

That's right. Apparently the Herald is about to hit the streets with an article about you and a missing body of some sort."

"Oh, Jesus," Eric said, remembering the stern faces of the selection committee as they discussed the hospital's campaign against negative publicity. "What about Anna?"

"Twelve Sproul Court in Allston- That the address of the store you went to?"

"That's right. Benet's. It's like a hardware store."

"You sure this man-this Titus Memmilard-was the owner?"

"Of course I'm sure. He said it, and his niece said it.

Eric felt confusion and a tearing emptiness beginning to set in.

"Well, Doctor, number Twelve Sproul Court is a hardware store named Benet's all right. But the Benets, who live upstairs, and who we woke up and scared half to death, have owned that store for more than five years. And they've never even heard of anyone named Titus Memmilard-or, for that matter, Anna Delacroix either."

"That's… that's impossible."

But even as he said the words, Eric knew he was hearing the truth.

"And that other place," Medeiros went on wearily, glancing at his notes,

"the place three doors down where you claim you and this Delacroix woman were taken at knife point and allegedly poisoned."

"Yes?" Eric felt ill.

"You said it was a boarded-up empty store that had been turned into some sort of voodoo temple."

"That's right."

"Well, Doctor, I don't know how to tell you this, but there're no boarded-up stores on that whole street.

On the first floor of the building three doors down is a candle shop."

"Are you sure you were on Sproul Court?"

Eric could tell now by the way the two officers were looking at him that they felt certain he was quite mad.

"Oh, we were on Sproul all right," Medeiros said.

"Were you?"

"Of course I was. Officer, contrary to what you're thinking, I'm not crazy. Everything happened exactly the way I said it did. Did you go inside the candle shop?"

"No. After what we encountered down the street, we weren't too excited about trying to get someone to let us in. But there's a whole window filled with candles and a bunch of other little knickknacks, and we could see inside perfectly well. Not a headless chicken in sight, Doc.

Not one."

Eric sank back in his chair, desperately trying to sort out what he was hearing.

"This is insane," he said.

"Now there we're in agreement."

"What about the woman?"

"What about her?"

"Officer Medeiros, you've got to believe me. I met Anna Delacroix in the county Medical Library.

She's a grad student at B.U. She asked me to meet her on SProul Court, and we were abducted by two men at knife point and poisoned in a very frightening ritual."

"You know what we think, Doc? % think you were Pledging some sort of fraternity or club and the whole thing got carried away."

"That's ridiculous."

"You take any drugs tonight?"

"Only the one that was put on my skin. There's a toxicologist in there right now. After you hear what he has to say, maybe you'll believe me."

As if on cue, the door to the laboratory slammed open, and Ivor Blunt stalked into the room, his expression a strange mix of anger and bemusement.

"Talcum powder," he said.

The two officers exchanged smiles. Eric could not even speak.

"Plus a little dirt, a little lint, and a smidgen of oil of some sort,"

Blunt went on. "Maybe olive oil. Dr. Najarian, you are one crazy son of a bitch, and at this moment I wish you nothing but ill."

"Don't you see," Eric pleaded, looking from one of the men to the next,

"the whole thing was a setup to discredit me-to make you all think-exactly what YOu're thinking. I'm telling you, it all happened just like I said it did."

"I'm going home," Blunt said. "If you get poisoned again, please don't call."

He stormed back into his lab.

"I don't think he believes you," Officer Medeiros said in pointed understatement. "Dr. Najarian, you've caused a lot of people a lot of trouble tonight."

Eric couldn't remember the last time he had broken down and cried, but he knew that if he tried to speak, that was precisely what would happen.

He had been had-maneuvered step by step by Anna Delacroix into an abyss of humiliation and discreditation from which he would never recover. He bit at his swollen lower lip and slowed his breathing until it seemed safe to stand and confront the policemen.

"Listen," he said, "my lip, these cuts on my wrist-I'm not making these up."

"Hey, split lips and slashed wrists we see all the time. We don't doubt for a moment that you've gotten yourself messed up in something tonight.

But we're just as certain that something isn't what you've been telling us."

"Then what?"

Medeiros shrugged. "Drugs, women, some other kind of sex. Doc, look, we're really not bad guys, and we do have feelings. But we're also cops. We listened to you, we checked your story out, and we found nothing. Nothing. Believe me, you are far from the first M. D. we've dealt with who got himself into a jam.

Shit, just a few months ago there was that guy from your emergency room who got arrested for-"

"I know, I know. But this is not like that.

Believe me it isn't."

"Doc, the people upstairs in the E.R. tell me you're a damn good doctor-one of the best, they say.

But they also tell me you've been pushing yourself real hard lately.

Now, I don't know you, but until something comes along to convince me otherwise, I have to think you got big problems, and that maybe you ought to get some help before you get hurt any worse than you already are."

"I don't need any help except to find someone who can recognize the truth when he hears it."

"Hey, suit yourself. You want a ride home?"

"No, thank you. I can manageh, shit."

"What?"

"Whoever did t)us to me took my keys, my wallet, everything. I can't even get into my own place."

"Anyone else got a set?"

"Yes, but I don't know where she is. In fact, if You want to know the truth, with everything that's happened to me, I'm getting damn concerned about her. I may need your help in finding her, but I can't do a thing until I get into my apartment.

" Medeiros looked at-his partner. "Do you think we should help him out?"

The other man shrugged and then nodded.

"We don't like People to know this, but we got ways of getting into places," eiros said. "Come on.

And as for your girl," he added,4 unless you have evidence of foul play, we'd suggest you wait forty-eight hours before filing a report. In your case, better make that seventy-two hours."

He put his hand on Eric's shoulder and guided him through the door. In the hallway five reporters crowded up to them. One of them, begging Eric to wait until her camera crew arrived, shoved the microphone of a, portable recorder in his face. All of them were firing questions.

"Doc, tell us about the voodoo priest"

"Are you dying?"

"How does it feel?"

"Who is this mystery woman? Why isn't she registered as a student at B.U.?"

"What did the analysis of the poison show?"

"Are you going to be hospitalized?"

"Do You want to talk to them?" Medeiros whispered.

Eric shook his head.

"Out of the way," the policeman ordered. "Brian, run interference."

"Hey, be fair," someone yelled. "Doc, tell us about the missing body-the one who got autopsied alive."