Robin Cook - Fatal Cure

"Wayne around?" he asked the duty officer.

The duty officer merely pointed down the hall. He was reading a copy of the Bartlet Sun.

Calhoun walked down and knocked on Robertson's open door. Robertson looked up, smiled, and invited Phil to take a load off his feet.

Robertson tipped back in his chair and accepted an Antonio y Cleopatra from Calhoun.

"Working late on a Saturday," Calhoun said. "Must be a lot going on here in Bartlet."

"Goddamned paperwork," Robertson said. "It sucks. And it gets worse every year."

Calhoun nodded. "I read in the paper that old Doc Hodges turned up," he said.

"Yeah," Robertson said. "Caused a little stir, but it's already died down. Good riddance. The man was a pain in the ass."

"How so?" Calhoun asked.

Robertson's face became red as he aired yet again his litany against Dr. Dennis Hodges. He admitted that there had been numerous times he'd almost decked the man.

"I gather Hodges wasn't the most popular man in town," Calhoun said.

Robertson gave a short, caustic laugh.

"Much action on the case?" Calhoun asked casually, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling.

"Nah," Robertson said. "We spun our wheels a bit back when Hodges disappeared, but it was mostly going through the motions. Nobody cared much, not even his wife. Practically ex-wife. She'd just about moved back to Boston even before Hodges disappeared."

"What about now?" Calhoun asked. "The Boston Globe said the state police were investigating."

"They were just going through the motions, too," Robertson said. "The medical examiner called the state's attorney. State's attorney sent some junior assistant to check it out. This assistant called in the state police who then sent some crime-scene investigators to the site. But after that a state police lieutenant called me. I told him it wasn't worth his time and that we'd handle it. And as you know better than most people, the state police take their cue from us local guys on a case of this sort unless there's pressure from someplace like the state attorney's office or from some politician. Hell, the state police have more pressing cases to attend to. Same with us. Besides, it's been eight months. The trail's stone cold."

"What are you guys working on these days?" Calhoun asked.

"We've had a series of rapes and attacks up in the hospital parking lot," Robertson said.

"Any luck snagging the perpetrator?" Calhoun asked.

"Not yet," Robertson said.

After leaving the police station, Calhoun wandered down Main Street and stopped in the local bookstore. The proprietor, Jane Weincoop, had been a friend of Calhoun's wife. Calhoun's wife had been a big reader, especially the last year of her life when she'd been confined to bed.

Jane took Calhoun into her office, which was only a tiny desk stuck in the corner of the stock room. Calhoun said he was just passing through and after a bit of chitchat and catching up, he managed to steer the conversation to Dennis Hodges.

"The discovery of his body was certainly news in Bartlet," Jane admitted.

"I understand he wasn't a popular man," Calhoun said. "Who all had it in for him?"

Jane gave Calhoun a look. "Is this a professional or personal visit?" she asked with a wry smile.

"Just curiosity," Calhoun said with a wink. "But I'd still appreciate it if you'd keep my question to yourself."

Half an hour later Calhoun wandered back out into the fading afternoon sunlight clutching a list of over twenty people who had disliked Hodges. The list included the president of the bank, the owner of the Mobil station near the interstate, the town's retarded handyman, the chief of police whom Calhoun already knew about, a handful of merchants and store owners, and a half dozen doctors.

Calhoun was surprised by the length of the list but not unhappy. After all, the longer the list, the more billable hours he'd be logging in.

Continuing his trek up Main Street, Calhoun stopped into Harrison's Pharmacy. The pharmacist, Harley Strombell, was the brother of one of Calhoun's fellow troopers, Wendell Strombell.

Harley wasn't fooled any more than Jane had been about the nature of Calhoun's inquiries, but he promised to be discreet. He even added to Calhoun's list by offering his own name as well as those of Ned Banks, the owner of the New England Coat Hanger Company, Harold Traynor, and Helen Beaton, the new hospital administrator.

"Why did you dislike the man?" Calhoun asked.

"It was a personal thing," Harley said. "Hodges lacked even the rudimentary social graces." Harley explained that he'd had a small branch pharmacy up at the hospital until one day without explanation or warning, Hodges just kicked him out.

"I mean it was natural for the expanding hospital to have its own outpatient pharmacy," Harley said. "I understood that. But it was handled very badly, thanks to Dennis Hodges."

Calhoun left the pharmacy wondering how long his list would get before he could start whittling it down to serious suspects. He had close to twenty-five names and there were still a few more contacts in Bartlet he could check out before he considered the list complete.

Since most of the shops were closing for the night, Calhoun crossed the street and headed for the Iron Horse Inn. It was an establishment that held many pleasant memories for him. It had been his wife's favorite restaurant for special-occasion dinners, like celebrating anniversaries and birthdays.

Carleton Harris, the bartender, recognized Calhoun from across the room. By the time Calhoun got to the bar a glass of Wild Turkey neat was waiting for him. Carleton even drew half a mug's worth of draft beer for himself so they could clink glasses in a toast.

"Working on anything interesting these days?" Carleton asked after downing his spot of beer.

"I think so," Calhoun said. He leaned in toward the bar and Carleton instinctively did the same.

Angela didn't say a word to David and avoided eye contact as they got ready for bed. David guessed that Angela was still irritated about the basement prank with the Halloween masks. He disliked moodiness and wanted to clear the air.

"I'm getting the message you're still upset about Nikki and me scaring you," he said. "Can't we talk about it?"

"What makes you say I'm angry?" Angela asked innocently.

"Come on, Angela," David said. "You've been giving me the silent treatment ever since Nikki went to bed."

"I suppose I'm disappointed you'd do such a thing when you know how upset I am about that body. I would have thought you'd have been more sensitive."

"I said I was sorry," David said. "I still can't believe you just didn't laugh the second you saw us. It never occurred to me you'd get as frightened as you did. Besides, it wasn't just an idle prank. I did it for Nikki's benefit."

"What do you mean?" Angela asked skeptically.

"With the nightmares she's been having, I thought it would help to treat the subject with humor. It was a ruse to get her in the basement without being afraid. And it worked: she was so focused on surprising you, she didn't think about her fears."

"You could have at least warned me."

"I didn't think I had to. Like I said, I never thought you'd be fooled. And the conspiratorial nature of the activity is what got Nikki so involved."

Angela eyed her husband. She could tell he was remorseful as well as sincere. Suddenly she felt more embarrassed she'd fallen for the trick than angry. She put down her toothbrush and went over to David and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry I got so mad," she said. "I guess I'm stressed out. I love you."

"I love you, too," David echoed. "I should have told you what we were doing. You could have pretended not to know. I just didn't think. I've been so distracted lately. I feel so stressed out, too. Mary Ann Schiller is no better. She's going to die. I just know it."