Peter Clement - Mortal Remains

Obviously Victor was off on some wild-goose chase, probably as a way to avoid dwelling on his own firing. “And how would all that make someone freak at my visit to the lab?” Mark asked, attempting to nudge him back to the reality of their current problem.

“I don’t know. But if it were the case, would you want me to find out more about it?” he continued, sounding as eager for approval as a fawning puppy. “Tomorrow, when everybody is back to work from the holiday, I can call some additional contacts and try to get specifics on what’s up, if anything, that might have spooked one of these organizations. If you like, I could even reach a few other people at home today, where they might feel freer to talk.”

“Why not?” Mark said, thinking the whole thing was light-years removed from any connection to Kelly’s murder or Chaz Braden, but even following up leads doomed to go nowhere could be the best thing for Victor right now. Despite his obvious capacity to enjoy good company and be the life of a party, he was so very solitary out here.

“And while I was going through all those records, I found a handful of doctors in New York who had a small account with us much like the one I arranged for you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You know, puny bits of business from a few private office patients – they stand out amongst our usual giant-sized contracts. What’s really unusual, the master record of all test results ordered by this group isn’t stored here. The system’s flagged to forward them to another terminal, presumably back in New York. The point is, someone high up made the arrangements. That’s head office territory – not like out here, where a guy like me has a certain amount of leeway to pull off what you and I had going, at least, until yesterday. I was thinking you could phone some of these doctors and ask, physician to physician, who they’d made their special deal with in order to set themselves up that way. It might get us closer to the actual owner of the place.”

Not likely, Mark thought as he took down the names. He recognized some of them – a surgeon, a few internists, a gynecologist, and three very prominent family physicians who had taught him at NYCH during his residency. These were top drawer people. Yes, they would have professional ties with Chaz through the hospital, but he couldn’t imagine why they’d need to make a private arrangement with an out-of-the-way facility. Their use of Nucleus Laboratories, even if it turned out Chaz owned the place, would likely be for mundane reasons, probably having to do with the patients’ insurance companies insisting they use a specific testing center. “That’s a fabulous idea, Victor,” he said, continuing to hide his skepticism that any of it would pan out. “I’ll try and contact them tomorrow. Thank you for coming up with it. Believe me, I’m grateful for everything you’re doing.”

As he hung up, Mark made a mental note to call the phone company. The clicks on his line, a recurrent joy of country living, had become annoying.

5:35 P.M.

Snowflakes the size of cotton balls floated onto Lucy’s black hair, where they sparkled like points of a tiara before vanishing. “Battle stations,” she said to Mark under her frosty breath, a gleam in her eye as they climbed the freshly shoveled steps to where Charles Braden stood just behind his butler, who’d swung open front door.

“Lock and load,” Mark muttered back at her.

In seconds they were shaking hands with their host, and the butler took their coats.

Lucy looked stunning in a floor-length, black, body-hugging sweater. “Good evening, Dr. Braden,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me along.”

“Lucy O’Connor. Why, I had no idea you were the beauty the whole town’s been talking about. What a pleasure to see you again.”

“You already know each other?” Mark asked.

“Yes,” Braden said quickly. “I had the pleasure of chatting with Lucy shortly after her arrival at NYCH. A year ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.”

“My, how time flies. Now come on in, and meet my other guests.” He took her arm and led her into the living room.

Mark followed, surprised at the exchange and wanting a chance to ask why she hadn’t mentioned meeting Braden Senior before. At the same time he was overwhelmed by the memories of arriving here as a small child, with Kelly greeting them at the door and leading them in to meet the guests.

“I didn’t think my having met Braden was important,” Lucy whispered, apparently reading the puzzlement on Mark’s face.

They entered a massive room full of young and middle-aged men. Braden introduced them to the nearest group and beckoned to one of the numerous waiters circulating through the room.

Lucy requested champagne.

Mark asked for a beer.

Within moments they had their drinks in hand and Lucy was receiving the lion’s share of attention from the men around them. She acted fascinated with every single one.

Mark recognized the names of at least four or five heads of the Fortune 500 whose firms were headquartered in New York. The ingrained resentment he’d always had for the silver-spoon set stirred deep within him.

Other men walked over to introduce themselves. He barely paid attention, until:

“… Freddy Lawler II, and this is my boy Ronald…”

Mark started at this name, and found himself staring at a small-statured man with delicate features and short-cropped blond hair. He reappraised his audio impression of the kid’s mother, downsizing his mental image by about 50 percent. But he wasn’t curious enough to go over and ask Ronnie if he carried a picture of the woman to be sure. He did wonder if this well-heeled son ever visited Diane Whigston in her trailer park, and if he drove up to her front door in whichever fancy car parked outside was his, or arrived in a taxi to save them both embarrassment at the difference in their economic stations.

He slipped away from where Lucy continued to hold court and parked himself beside a table of hors d’oeuvres, making it a point to be alone and accessible.

He and Lucy suspected Braden wanted a private word with Mark, perhaps to suggest subtly that it would be wise to leave Chaz alone during the investigation. But while Mark went one-on-one with Charles, she would work the crowd, and perhaps succeed at prompting somebody to make a slip about Chaz’s real whereabouts at the time of the ambush. Judging by how readily they fell under her spell, Mark figured she just might pull it off.

At least that had been their plan.

“And you all hunt, do you?” Lucy asked the men arrayed around her. “I have a huge weak spot for venison. My four brothers used to bring in enough to feed our entire family for a winter, and nothing, but nothing, could surpass the taste of that meat prepared in my mother’s marinade…”

Her enthusiasm was so convincing that Mark figured her every word to be true. In any case she had her audience eating out of her hand.

“… so if any of you gentleman are willing to share some of your catch with me, I’d be pleased to remunerate-”

“Love to, Doc!”

“How much do you want?”

“I’ve got a dozen steaks in the freezer with your name on it – my gift to you…”

Mark chuckled at how she’d captivated these weekend hunters.

“… why, thank you gentlemen,” Lucy continued. “But which of you has bagged the most? I wouldn’t want to deprive someone of their sole catch?”

“We could show you later.”

“Yeah, it’s all down in the meat locker.”

“Just at the foot of the back steps.”

“Really? It isn’t bloody, is it? I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“Oh, of course not,” reassured a very earnest young man with blow-dried black hair. Chipper he’d said his name was. “It’s all been cut into steaks, just like at the meat market-”