Robin Cook - Mindbend

“Nothing,” croaked Adam. He cleared his throat.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” said the man, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“I could say the same for you,” said Adam.

The stranger reached over and grabbed Adam’s shirt front, almost lifting him off the couch. “I’m not in the mood for wisecracks,” he snarled.

Adam nodded.

As suddenly as he’d grabbed him, the man let him go. “OK,” said the stranger. “Let’s start again. What were you doing in this apartment?”

“I am a friend of Percy Harmon,” said Adam quickly. “Well, sort of a friend. I was starting work for Arolen Pharmaceuticals and he took me around to teach me the routine.”

The man nodded slightly, as if he accepted the story so far.

“Percy was supposed to call me,” Adam said. “He never did and he never answered his phone. So I came over to see if he was here.”

“That doesn’t explain why you broke into the apartment,” said the stranger.

“It was an impulse,” said Adam meekly. “I wanted to see if he was all right.”

The man didn’t say anything. The silence and the tension quickly began to wear on Adam. “I liked Percy,” he said. “I was worried about him. He was supposed to go to Puerto Rico for a training course, but he never got there.”

The man remained silent.

“That’s all I know,” said Adam. “I never saw him again.”

“I believe you,” said the man, after a pause.

“Thank you,” said Adam, relieved to the point he could have cried.

The man stubbed out his cigarette. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a card and extended it to Adam. It said “Robert Marlow, Private Investigator.” In the lower right-hand corner was a telephone number.

“About six weeks ago Percy Harmon left a Japanese restaurant in Fort Lee, New Jersey. He never got home. I’ve been hired by the family to see what I can find out. I’ve been watching the apartment. Aside from a couple of young ladies, you’re the only one to show up.”

“Do you have any idea of what could have happened to him?” asked Adam.

“Not the foggiest,” said Mr. Marlow. “But if you happen to hear anything, I’d appreciate a call.”

Adam still felt shell-shocked when he got back to his empty apartment. Jennifer’s absence irritated him. He was upset and he wanted to talk to her, but he guessed she was off with her mother again. He flung himself down on the bed and turned on the news. Slowly he began to unwind.

The next thing Adam knew, he heard the front door close and for a moment thought he was back in Harmon’s apartment.

“Well, well,” teased Jennifer. “Lying down on the job.”

Adam didn’t answer.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I suppose you’ve been to Englewood,” Adam snapped unreasonably.

Jennifer stared at him. She wasn’t up to one of Adam’s moods. She resented having to apologize for seeing her parents. Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “Yes, I did go home.”

“I guessed as much,” said Adam, turning to the television.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Jennifer.

“Nothing in particular,” said Adam.

“Look,” said Jennifer, sitting on the edge of the bed, “I had good reason to go home. Dr. Vandermer suggested I have amniocentesis. I went home to discuss whether or not to do it.”

“That’s nice,” said Adam sarcastically. “You discuss it with your parents even though it is our child.”

“I knew I couldn’t get hold of you during the day,” explained Jennifer, trying to be reasonable. “Of course I planned to discuss it with you. But I wanted to talk to my mother because she experienced the trauma of giving birth to a Down’s baby.”

“I still think the decision is ours alone,” said Adam.

He rolled over and put his feet on the floor, knowing he was being unfair. “Besides, I thought Vandermer said you didn’t need amniocentesis.”

“That’s true,” said Jennifer. “But today he told me that after checking the slides on my brother, he thinks I should have it.”

Adam got to his feet and stretched. From the little he knew about genetics, he didn’t think that Jennifer needed amniocentesis. “Maybe you should get a second opinion. When I initially asked around for an OB man, people also recommended Herbert Wickelman.”

Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t need to see anyone else. Another opinion would just confuse the issue further. I’m happy with Dr. Vandermer and I have confidence in him, particularly since his manner has improved so much.”

“What do you mean?” asked Adam.

“Since he returned from his medical conference, he seems to have more time and interest,” said Jennifer. “He isn’t so rushed.”

Adam forgot his anger. “Has he changed in any other way?” he asked.

“He says he’s tired of private practice,” said Jennifer, taking off her dress and heading into the bathroom. “He’s decided to go to the Julian Clinic, and I’m to see him there from now on.”

Adam slowly sank back on the bed.

“I never thought I’d go back to the Julian after Cheryl died,” Jennifer called out, “but Dr. Vandermer has convinced me of its excellence. And you know I was impressed by the staff.”

Adam heard the sound of water in the bathroom sink. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Jennifer about Percy Harmon’s disappearance or any of his other suspicions about Arolen, but now that it seemed as if Vandermer was involved, Adam knew he had to do something.

Adam walked to the bathroom, where Jennifer was washing her face. “I’m going to insist that you see Dr. Wickelman. I don’t like the idea of Vandermer going to the Julian Clinic.”

Jennifer looked up, surprised. There were times lately when Adam acted very strangely.

“I’m serious,” he began, but stopped in mid-sentence, glimpsing a familiar bottle on the edge of the sink.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, grabbing it.

Jennifer glanced from his face to the small bottle he held in his hand. Then she turned and silently hung up her towel.

“I asked you a question,” yelled Adam.

“I think the answer is obvious. It’s pregdolen. For my morning sickness. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She started for the bedroom. Adam grabbed her arm.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded, holding the bottle directly in front of her.

Jennifer pushed it away. “If you must know, from Dr. Vandermer.”

“That’s impossible,” said Adam. “Vandermer would never prescribe this stuff.”

Jennifer pulled her arm free. “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”

Adam returned to the bathroom and poured some of the blue-and-yellow capsules into his hand. It was pregdolen all right.

“Did you hear me?” demanded Jennifer.

“I don’t want you taking this drug,” he said. “Do you have any more of it?”

“I’m going to follow my doctor’s orders,” said Jennifer. “Since I started taking these pills, I’ve had the first nausea-free day in months. And remember, you are the one who sent me to Dr. Vandermer in the first place.”

“Well, you’re definitely not going back,” said Adam. He lifted Jennifer’s tote bag from the shelf above the toilet and looked inside. The additional packages of pregdolen were right on top.

Trying to grab the purse, Jennifer shouted, “I like Dr. Vandermer and I trust him. Give me my bag!”

Adam fished out the other samples before letting it go. “Listen!” he said. “I don’t want you taking this stuff. It’s dangerous.”

“Dr. Vandermer wouldn’t give it to me if it were dangerous,” said Jennifer. “And I intend to take it. After all, I’m the one who is suffering, not you. And I think that you should remember that you are not a doctor. In fact, all you are right now is a drug salesman.”