Robin Cook - Fatal Cure

"Okay, okay," David said, trying to calm her. He had been afraid she'd make a scene like this. She had little tolerance for incompetence.

"The case needs a fresh look," Angela said, ignoring David. "I got a call today from the medical examiner confirming that the victim had skin from his attacker under his fingernails. That's the kind of struggle it was. Now all we need is a suspect. Forensics can do the rest."

"Thank you for this timely tip," Robertson said. "And thank you for being such a concerned citizen. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Robertson stepped over to the door and held it open. David practically had to yank Angela from the office. It was all he could do to keep her from saying more on her way out.

"Did you catch any of that?" Robertson asked when one of his deputies appeared.

"Some of it," the deputy said.

"I hate these big-shot city people," Robertson said. "Just because they went to Harvard or someplace like that they think they know how to do everything."

Robertson stepped back inside his office and closed the door. Picking up the phone, he pressed one of the automatic dial buttons.

"Sorry to bother you," Robertson said deferentially, "but I think we might have a problem."

"Don't you dare paint me as an hysterical female," Angela said as she got into the car.

"Baiting the local chief of police like that certainly isn't rational," David said. "Remember, this is a small town. We shouldn't be making enemies."

"A person was brutally murdered, the body dumped in our basement, and the police don't seem too interested in finding out who did it. You're willing to let it rest at that?"

"As deplorable as Hodges' death was," David said, "it doesn't involve us. It's a problem that should be left up to the authorities."

"What?" Angela cried. "The man was beaten to death in our house, in our kitchen. We're involved whether you want to admit it or not, and I want to find out who did it. I don't like the idea of the murderer walking around this town, and I'm going to do something about it. The first thing is we should learn more about Dennis Hodges."

"I think you're being overly dramatic and unreasonable," David said.

"You've already made that clear," Angela said. "I just don't agree with you."

Angela seethed with anger, mostly at Robertson but partly at David. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't the paragon of rationality and agreeableness that he thought he was. But she held her tongue.

They reached the hospital parking lot. The only space available was far from the entrance. They got out and started walking.

"We already have plenty to worry about," David said. "It's not as if we don't have enough problems at the moment."

"Then maybe we should hire somebody to do the investigating for us," Angela said.

"You can't be serious," David said, coming to a halt. "We don't have the money to throw away on such nonsense."

"In case you haven't been listening to me," Angela said, "I don't think it's nonsense. I repeat: there's a murderer loose in this town. Someone who has been in our house. Maybe we've already met him. It gives me the creeps."

"Please, Angela," David said as he started walking again. "We're not dealing with a serial killer. I don't think it's so strange that the killer hasn't been found. Haven't you read stories about murders in small towns where no one would come forward even though it was common knowledge who the killer was? It's a kind of down-home justice where the people think the victim got what he deserved. Apparently Hodges wasn't uniformly admired."

They reached the hospital and entered. Just inside the door they paused.

"I'm not willing to chalk this up to down-home justice," Angela said. "I think the issue here is one of basic social responsibility. We're a society of laws."

"You're too much," David said. Despite his aggravation, he smiled. "Now you're ready to give me a lecture on social responsibility. You can be such an idealist sometimes, it blows my mind. But I do love you." He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "We'll talk more later. For now, calm down! You've got enough problems with Wadley to keep you occupied without adding this."

With a final wave David strode off toward the professional building. Angela watched him until he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. She was touched by his sudden display of affection. Its unexpectedness mollified her for the moment.

But a few minutes later as she was sitting at her desk trying to concentrate, she replayed the conversation with Robertson in her mind and got furious all over again. She left her office to look for Paul Darnell. She found him where he always was: hunched over stacks of petri dishes filled with bacteria.

"Have you lived in Bartlet all your life?" Angela asked.

"All except four years of college, four of medical school, four of residency, and two in the navy."

"I'd say that makes you a local," Angela said.

"What makes me a local is the fact that Darnells have been living here for four generations."

Angela stepped into Paul's office and leaned against the desk. "I suppose you heard the gossip about the body found in my home," she said.

Paul nodded.

"It's really bothering me," Angela said. "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Not at all," Paul said.

"Did you know Dennis Hodges?"

"Of course."

"What was he like?"

"He was a feisty old codger few people miss. He had a penchant for making enemies."

"How did he get to be hospital administrator?" Angela asked.

"By default," Paul said. "He took over the hospital at a time when no other doctors wanted the responsibility. Everybody thought that running the hospital was below their physician status. So Hodges had a free hand, and he built the place like a feudal estate, associating with a medical school for prestige and billing the place as a regional medical center. He even sank some of his own money into it in a crisis. But Hodges was the world's worst diplomat, and he didn't care one iota about other people's interests when they collided with the hospital's."

"Like when the hospital took over pathology and radiology?" Angela asked.

"Exactly," Paul said. "It was a good move for the hospital, but it created a lot of ill will. I had to take an enormous cut in my income. But my family wanted to stay in Bartlet so I adjusted. Other people fought it and eventually had to move away. Obviously Hodges made a lot of enemies."

"Dr. Cantor stayed as well," Angela remarked.

"Yes, but that was because he talked Hodges into a joint venture between himself and the hospital to create a world-class imaging center. Cantor wound up doing well financially, but he was the exception."

"I just had a conversation with Wayne Robertson," Angela said. "I got the distinct impression that he's dragging his feet about investigating who killed Hodges."

"I'm not surprised," Paul said. "There's not a lot of pressure to solve the case. Hodges' wife has moved back to Boston, and she and Hodges weren't getting along at the time of his death. They'd essentially lived apart these last few years. On top of that, Robertson could have done it himself. Robertson always had it in for Hodges. He even had an altercation with him the night Hodges disappeared."

"Why was there animosity between those two?" Angela asked.

"Robertson blamed his wife's death on Hodges," Douglas said.

"Was Hodges Robertson's wife's physician?" Angela asked.

"No, Hodges' practice was minuscule by then. He was running the hospital full time. But as director he allowed Dr. Werner Van Slyke to practice even though most everybody knew Van Slyke had a drinking problem. Actually Hodges left the issue of Van Slyke's privileges up to the medical staff. Van Slyke bungled Robertson's wife's appendicitis case while under the influence. Afterward, Robertson blamed Hodges. It wasn't rational, but hate usually isn't."