Peter Clement - Mortal Remains

“This is a sensitive matter, but I know you’re used to dealing with confidences.”

“Of course.”

“It has to do with Kelly McShane’s murder.”

Alarm flickered through Lena, and she reflexively glanced toward her own office.

“You’re one of the best informed people in the hospital,” Melanie said, “and probably no one knows as many of the secrets in this place as you do-”

“Now really, Dr. Collins,” she interrupted, feeling most uncomfortable.

“But you are. And I’ve been deeply troubled by something these last few days that I hoped you’d help me with.”

Lena’s curiosity won out over discretion. “Oh?” she said, reclining in her secretary’s chair. Its spring-loaded back and coaster wheels caught her by surprise, nearly tipping her over.

“It has to do with Dr. Earl Garnet,” Collins went on. “He probably was already down here, helping Mark Roper out with his investigation.”

Lena simply nodded.

“Well, I’m convinced Kelly had a lover – you know how we women can intuit that kind of thing – and I told Mark Roper as much, figuring he had to know as investigating coroner, if he is to have any hope of figuring out who killed Kelly.”

Lena’s gaze once more flicked toward the adjoining door. Even with soundproofing it was definitely not the time for this conversation. “Uh, Dr. Collins, you’re talking about things way beyond my purview-”

“Oh, I know it is, Lena, but please hear me out. I’m asking because of your instincts as a woman.”

“Well, I’m very flattered, but-”

“Here’s my point. Dr. Garnet’s talked with me several times about Kelly. You know we were all friends back then?”

“Of course, but-”

“Yet he never once asked who I thought Kelly’s lover had been, although I’m sure Mark told him that I thought she was having an affair.”

“Really? You mean-” She immediately stopped herself. “Dr. Collins, this is not a conversation I feel comfortable with at the moment,” she said instead, standing to end their meeting. “Perhaps at a later time.”

Melanie seemed astounded. “But I thought you would be able to help me decide what to do. I’ve racked my brains wondering if I should go to the police or not. I mean, do you think Kelly’s lover could have been Dr. Garnet? Did you ever hear anything to that effect?”

Lena would normally have jumped at the chance to be the confidante of someone with such a juicy secret. She’d have savored poring over the story, dissecting it piece by piece, adding whatever salacious bits of corroboration she might be able to pull from her memories of Kelly McShane and Earl Garnet. Yet having him right next door, soundproofing or not, made her extremely nervous. “I’m sorry, Dr. Collins, but really, I’ve nothing to say either way. I have no knowledge of an affair between those two, and whether you act on your suspicions is a matter between you and your conscience.”

Melanie gave her an are-you-feeling-all-right look. “Of course,” she said, clearly puzzled by Lena’s refusal to discuss the matter. Getting to her feet, she shook Lena’s hand. “And I appreciate your having seen me.” With a parting smile, she left.

Lena let out a long sigh and, staring at her office, wondered whether she should say anything. He couldn’t have overheard what they’d said; of that she had no doubt. She herself never heard her secretary on the phone. And what to tell him? Anything she came up with would only embarrass him. No, better she let him hear this piece of gossip from someone else. As for her own demeanor, should Dr. Collins’s visit ever come to his notice, she’d acted impeccably. He couldn’t fault her on that.

An hour later Charles Braden Senior asked Lena to join him in her own office. “Thank you, Lena,” he said when they were seated, returning Bessie McDonald’s charts to her. He’d been reviewing them since his arrival around ten that morning. “I’ll want to look at the microfilmed case now, then I’ll be catching an afternoon train back to the country. Chaz is ill, and I’ve got guests up for Thanksgiving.”

“I’ll help you get the microfilm set up, if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely. I’m all thumbs with those things.”

“Shall we go? I’ll get the key.”

By one-thirty he was back at her door. “One more thing, Lena. Before you leave today, I’d like these charts collected and left in your office so that I can come in over the holidays to have a look at them.” He handed her a folded paper.

She opened it and read:

All the Morbidity/Mortality reviews of patients under Melanie Collins’s care for the last twenty-five years.

Lena gaped at the note, astonished.

“Is there a problem?” Braden asked.

“No, sir. Not at all. Except there could be a hundred, maybe two hundred charts involved here.”

“That’s right. And again, I appreciate your discretion about this. Gossip is such a terrible thing.”

She knew an order to keep her mouth shut when she heard one.

Later that same afternoon, Wednesday, November, 21,

2:15 P.M.

The Plaza Hotel

Earl slammed back in the leather seat as Tommy accelerated away from the snarled traffic of Madison Avenue and headed east on Sixty-second Street. He caught the green at Park, only to hit the brakes for a red at Lexington. “I know what you’re thinking, Earl. Kind of a waste, my driving a Jag in New York. All that power, and I only get to make like it’s a drag strip a block at a time.”

“Uh-huh,” Earl said. He wasn’t one to get carsick, but neither did he appreciate having his stomach sloshed against his spine, then slung forward against the lap strap of his seat belt. “If you don’t want me to upchuck on your calfskin interiors or polished mahogany dash, you better slow down.” He tried looking at the horizon, but had to settle on a restricted view of the elevated FDR Drive and a glimpse of the East River beyond. It didn’t help much. And the brilliance of the sky, a bleached polar blue, made his eyes hurt.

Tommy looked at him askance. “You’re, kidding right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He looked relieved. “But don’t you just love the sound of that motor?”

Insecure Tommy, still needing everyone’s approval. Earl swallowed hard to keep his lunch down.

The last thing he wanted was to go beer drinking with Leannis. It wasn’t just the prospect of listening to the man’s bravado and usual litany of worries that deterred him. After having worked the phones for the past few hours talking to more of the former students, interns, and residents who were involved with the digoxin toxicity cases, yet finding zilch, he’d nearly run out of reasons to remain in New York at all. Maybe he should go up to Hampton Junction and help out with the legwork. Unfortunately, the locals there probably wouldn’t talk any more frankly to an outsider than the physicians here would have opened up to Mark.

The idea of squeezing out of this whole grungy mess for a few days to spend Thanksgiving with Janet and Brendan instantly became irresistible. He’d try to get a reservation as soon as he got free of Tommy, then tell Mark he could be back in a heartbeat, if needed.

He wouldn’t even have had to be stuck with Tommy if he’d been quick enough when the call came through.

“Hey, Earl. Can I buy you a beer?” Leannis had said as soon as Earl picked up the phone.

He’d sounded pretty happy for the prince of worry. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, I know an Irish joint that’s about a five-minute drive from those pretentious digs you’re in. I’ll pick you up outside the hotel.”