Robin Cook - Fatal Cure

Angela walked out into the front hall and brought the shotgun back into the family room. She took the shell out of the chamber and showed Nikki how to tell there were no more inside.

Angela spent the next half hour going over the gun with Nikki, allowing Nikki to pump it, pull the trigger, and even load and unload it. When they were finished with the instruction, they went outside behind the barn and each fired a shell. Nikki said she didn't like firing it because it hurt her shoulder.

Returning to the house, Angela told Nikki that she wasn't to touch the gun. Nikki told her not to worry, she didn't want to have anything to do with it.

Since the weather was warm and sunny, Nikki wanted to ride her bike to school. Angela watched as she started off toward town. Angela was pleased she was doing so well; at least Bartlet was good for Nikki.

Shortly after Nikki left, Angela did the same. After parking in the reserved area, Angela couldn't resist the temptation to examine the spot where she'd been attacked. She retraced her steps into the stand of trees that separated the parking lots and found her own footprints in the muddy earth. With the help of the footprints she found the spot where she'd fallen. Then she discovered the deep cut left in the earth by the man's club.

The cleft was about four inches deep. Angela put her fingers in it and shuddered. She could still vividly recall the sight and sound of that club whizzing by her ear. She even could vaguely recall the glint of a flash of metal streaking by.

Suddenly, Angela realized something she hadn't focused on before: the man had not hesitated. If she had not rolled out of the way, she would have been struck. The man hadn't been trying to rape her, he'd wanted to hurt her, maybe kill her.

Angela thought back to the injuries to Hodges' skull she'd examined during the autopsy. Hodges had been hit with a metal rod. Her head could have looked just like Hodges'!

Against her better judgment, Angela put in a call to Robertson.

"I know what you're calling about," Robertson said irritably, "and you can just forget it. I ain't sending this brick up to the state police lab for fingerprints. They'd laugh me out of the goddamn state."

"I'm not calling about the brick," Angela said. Instead, she conveyed her idea that her assault had been attempted murder, not attempted rape.

When Angela was finished, Robertson was so quiet, she was afraid that he'd hung up. "Hello?" she asked at last.

"I'm still here," Robertson said. "I'm thinking."

There was another pause.

"Nah, I don't buy it," Robertson said finally. "This guy is a rapist, not a murderer. He's had opportunity to kill in the past, but he didn't. Hell, he didn't even hurt the ones he did rape."

Angela wondered if the rape victims didn't feel hurt, but she wasn't about to argue the issue with Robertson. She merely thanked him for his time and hung up.

"What a flake!" Angela said out loud. She was a fool to have thought Robertson would give any credence to her theory. Yet the more she thought about the attack, the more sure she became that rape hadn't been the goal. And if it had been an attempted murder, then it had to be related to her interest in Hodges' murder. Maybe the man was Hodges' murderer!

Angela shivered. If she was right, then she'd been stalked. The idea terrified her. Whatever she did, she'd have to be sure to make it seem as if she were giving up on the affair.

Angela wondered if she should tell David her latest suspicions. She was indecisive. On the one hand, she never wanted there to be any secrets between them. On the other, she knew he'd only use it as more reason for her to give up her probe of Hodges' murder. For the time being, Angela decided that she'd only tell Phil Calhoun-if and when he contacted her.

"I'll have a little more coffee," Traynor said as he pointed toward his cup with the handle of his gavel for the waitress's benefit. As was their habit, Traynor, Sherwood, Beaton, and Caldwell were having a breakfast meeting in advance of the monthly hospital executive board meeting scheduled for the following Monday night. They were seated at Traynor's favorite table at the Iron Horse Inn.

"I'm encouraged," Beaton said. "The preliminary figures for the second half of October are better than those of the first half. We're not out of the woods yet, but they are significantly better than September's."

"We get one crisis under control and then have to face another," Traynor said. "It's never-ending. What's the story about a doctor being assaulted last night?"

"It was just after midnight," Caldwell said. "It was the new female pathologist, Angela Wilson. She'd been working late."

"Where in the parking lot did it take place?" Traynor asked. He began his nervous habit of hitting his palm with his gavel.

"In the pathway between the lots," Caldwell said.

"Have lights been put in there?" Traynor asked.

Caldwell looked at Beaton.

"I don't know," Beaton admitted. "But we'll check as soon as we get back. You ordered lights to be put there, but whether it got done or not I'm not sure."

"They'd better be," Traynor said. He hit his palm particularly hard and the sound carried around the room. "I've had no luck lobbying the Selectmen about the parking garage. There's no way it can even get on the ballot now until spring."

"I checked with the Bartlet Sun," Beaton said. "They have agreed to keep the rape attempt out of the paper."

"At least they're on our side," Traynor said.

"I think their loyalty is inspired by the ads we run," Beaton said.

"Any new business to be brought up at the board meeting?" Sherwood asked.

"There's a new battle fomenting in the clinical arena," Beaton said. "The radiologists and the neurologists are squaring off for a bloody fight over which group is officially designated to read MRIs of the skull."

"You've got to be kidding," Traynor said.

"Honest," Beaton said. "If we gave them weapons it would be a fight to the death. It involves dollars and ego, a tough combination."

"Damn doctors," Traynor said with disgust. "They can't work together on anything. They're a bunch of lone rangers, if you ask me."

"Which brings me to M.D. 91," Beaton said. "He's planning on suing the hospital over his privileges."

"Let him sue," Traynor said. "I'm even tired of the medical staffs insistence that we call these 'compromised physicians' by code numbers. Hell, 'compromised physician' is a euphemism in itself."

"That's all the new business," Beaton said.

Traynor looked around the table. "Anything else?"

"I had a curious visit yesterday afternoon," Sherwood said. "The caller was a PI by the name of Phil Calhoun."

"He came to see me too," Traynor said.

"He makes me nervous," Sherwood said. "He asked a lot of questions about Hodges."

"Likewise," Traynor said.

"The problem was that he already seemed to know a fair amount," Sherwood said. "I was reluctant to give him any information, but I didn't want to appear to be stonewalling either."

"My feelings exactly," Traynor said.

"He hasn't come to see me," Beaton said.

"Who do you think retained him?" Sherwood asked.

"I asked him," Traynor said. "He implied that the family had. I assumed he meant Clara, so I called her. She said she didn't know anything about Phil Calhoun. Next I called Wayne Robertson. Calhoun had already been to see him. Wayne thought that the most likely candidate is Angela Wilson, our new pathologist."

"That makes sense," Sherwood said. "She came to see me about Hodges. She was very upset about his body being discovered in her house."

"That's a curious coincidence," Beaton said. "She's certainly having her troubles: first finding a body in her house and then experiencing a rape attempt."