Robin Cook - Fatal Cure

"Don't you yell at me," Robertson said. "Your good wife has already admitted that your darling daughter blew out the window, not the purported intruder. And let me tell you something else: there's an ordinance against discharging a shotgun within the town limits unless it's done at the range by the dump."

"Get the hell out of my house," David raged.

"I'll be happy to," Robertson said. He motioned for Hobson to precede him. At the door, Robertson paused. "Let me offer you people some advice. You're not a popular family in this town, and it could get a whole lot worse if you shoot at some innocent child coming by for candy. God help you if you actually hit some kid."

David rushed to the door and slammed it behind Robertson as soon as the oaf was out the door.

"Bastard!" David fumed. "Well, we no longer have any illusions about the local police. We can't expect any help from them."

Angela hugged herself and fought off a new batch of tears. "What a mess," she said, shaking her head. David stepped over and comforted her. He also had to calm Nikki who was shocked by the sharp exchange between her father and the chief of police.

"Do you think we should stay here tonight?"

"Where can we go at this hour?" David said. "I think we should stay. We can make sure we have no more visitors."

"I suppose you're right," Angela said with a sigh. "I know I'm not thinking straight. I've never been this upset."

"Are you hungry?" David asked.

Angela shrugged. "Not really," she said. "But I'd started getting dinner ready before all this happened."

"Well, I'm starved," David said. "I didn't eat lunch."

"Okay," Angela said. "Nikki and I will put something together."

David called the phone company and reported that their phone was out of order. When he mentioned he was a doctor they agreed to send a repairman as soon as possible. Next, David went out to the barn and found some additional outdoor lighting. When he was finished, the entire outside of the house was brilliantly illuminated.

The phone repairman arrived while they were eating. He quickly determined the problem was outside; the phone line had been cut where it entered the house. While the repairman worked, the Wilsons continued their dinner.

"I hate Halloween," the repairman said when he came to the door to announce that the phone was fixed. David thanked him for coming out on a Sunday night.

After dinner David tended to additional security measures. First he boarded up a portion of the bay window in the living room. Then he went around and made sure all the doors and windows were locked.

Although the visit by the police had been exasperating, it did have one beneficial effect. After the police had been there the pesky teenagers gave up their harassment campaign. Apparently seeing the cruiser had been enough to scare them off. By nine o'clock the Wilsons had gathered in Nikki's room for her respiratory therapy.

After Nikki went to sleep, David and Angela retired to the family room to go over the material David had brought back from Boston. As an additional security aid David encouraged Rusty to leave Nikki's room where he customarily slept and stay with them in the family room. David wanted to take advantage of the dog's sensitive hearing. David also kept the shotgun close at hand.

"You know what I think," Angela said as David opened the envelope that contained the medical records. "I think the man who came in here tonight is the same person who's behind the euthanasia and Hodges' murder. I'm convinced of it. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"I agree with you," David said. "And I think our best candidate is Clyde Devonshire. Read this."

David handed Devonshire's medical record to Angela. She quickly scanned it. "Oh my," she said as she came near to the end. "He's HIV positive."

David nodded. "It means he's got a potentially terminal illness himself. I think we have a serious suspect here, especially when you combine his HIV status with the other facts like his having been arrested outside of Jack Kevorkian's house. He obviously has a strong interest in assisted suicides. Who knows? That interest could extend to euthanasia. He's a trained nurse so he has the medical expertise and he worked in the hospital so he has access, and if that isn't enough, he has a history of rape. He might be the ski-masked rapist."

Angela nodded, but she was troubled. "The only problem with all this is that it's completely circumstantial," she said. Then she asked: "Would you know Clyde Devonshire by sight?"

"No," David admitted.

"I wonder if I'd be able to identify him by his height or the sound of his voice," Angela said. "I kind of doubt it. I'd never be absolutely sure."

"Well, let's move on," David said. "The next best candidate is Werner Van Slyke. Take a look at his history." David handed Van Slyke's record to Angela. It was considerably thicker than Devonshire's.

"Good grief," Angela said as she came to the end. "What you don't know about people."

"What do you think of him as a suspect?" David asked.

"It's an interesting psychiatric history," Angela agreed. "But I don't think he's the one. Schizo-affective disorder with mania and paranoia is not the same thing as an antisocial psychotic."

"But you don't have to be antisocial to have misguided ideas about euthanasia," David said.

"That's true," Angela said. "But just because someone is mentally ill doesn't mean they're criminal. If Van Slyke had an extensive criminal history or a history of violent behavior, that would be different. But since he doesn't, I don't think he rates too high as a suspect. Besides, he may know about nuclear submarines, but he doesn't have a sophisticated knowledge of medicine. How could he be killing a bunch of patients employing a method even you can't detect if he didn't have specialized health-related training?"

"I agree," David said. "But look at this material I got from Robert today."

David handed Angela the sheet of paper listing Van Slyke's various bank accounts in Albany and Boston.

"Where on earth is he getting this money?" Angela asked. "Do you think it has anything to do with our concerns?"

David shrugged. "That's a good question," he said. "Robert didn't think so. He suggested that Van Slyke was dealing drugs. We do know there's marijuana in town, so it's possible."

Angela nodded.

"If it's not drugs it would be ominous," David said.

"Why?" Angela asked.

"Let's suppose Van Slyke is the one killing these people," David said. "If he's not selling drugs, he could be getting paid for each death."

"What an awful idea," Angela said. "But if that were the case we'd be back to square one. We still wouldn't know who was behind it. Who would be paying him and why?"

"I'd still guess it's some misguided mercy killer," David said. "All the victims had potentially fatal illnesses."

"I think we're getting too speculative," Angela said. "We've got too much information and we're straining to put it all into the same theory. Most of this information probably isn't related."

"You're probably right," David said. "But I just had an idea. If we were to determine Van Slyke was the culprit, then his psychiatric problems could work in our favor."

"What do you mean?" Angela asked.

"Van Slyke had a psychotic break under the stress of a submarine patrol. I don't find that all that surprising. I might have had one, too. Anyway, when he had his psychotic break, he had paranoid symptoms and turned against his authority figures. His history indicates he'd done that before. If we confronted him I'm sure he'd get stressed out. Then we could evoke his paranoia toward whoever is paying him. All we'd have to say is that this, quote, 'authority figure' is planning on letting Van Slyke take the blame if anything goes wrong. And since we're talking with him, obviously things are going wrong."