Robin Cook - Godplayer

“Your father had asked me about this before the operation,” he said, watching Laura’s face. “I know that your mother passed away several years ago, and if this is an uncomfortable subject for you…”

“Not at all,” said Laura with a smile. “I am an adult.”

“Of course,” said Thomas, letting his eyes run over her dress. “That is very obvious.”

Laura smiled again and smoothed her long ponytail off her shoulder.

“A man like your father still has sexual needs,” said Thomas.

“As a physician I’m sure you know that better than most,” said Laura. She’d uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. It was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra under the sheer silk.

Thomas got up from his chair and came around in front of the desk. He was certain Laura hadn’t come to talk about her father. “I understand these needs all too well myself because I have a wife with a chronic, debilitating disease.”

Laura smiled. “As I said, I wish there was something I could do for you.” She stood up and leaned against Thomas. “Can you think of anything?”

Thomas led her into the dimly lit examining room. Slowly he helped her out of her dress and then stepped out of his own clothes, folding them neatly on a chair. When he turned back to face her, he was pleased to find himself fully erect.

“What do you think?” he asked, with his palms spread out to the sides.

“I love it,” said Laura huskily, reaching out for him.

After having worried about driving, Cassi was glad that her trip home was pleasantly uneventful. The most hazardous part had been the walk from the garage to the house. She’d forgotten how early night came now that it was December.

The house itself was ominously black, particularly the windows, which shone like pieces of polished onyx. Inside Cassi found a note from Harriet explaining how to heat up dinner. Whenever Harriet got the word that Thomas was not coming home, she left early. As contrary as Harriet could be, Cassi would have preferred not to be alone.

She went through the house snapping on lights hoping to make the place a bit more cheerful. She found the rambling old house with its cavernous spaces particularly chilling, her footsteps echoing down the empty halls. The heat was supposed to be turned to sixty-five degrees, but Cassi could see her breath.

Upstairs the morning room was considerably warmer, almost comfortable. In the master bath she had a supplementary quartz heater, which she turned on. After testing her blood sugar, Cassi went ahead with her usual insulin dose, then took a shower.

She tried not to think too much. Her emotional outburst had left her drained and had settled nothing. She knew Joan was right about her dependency, and it reminded Cassi of the identification she’d felt with Maureen Kavenaugh. Just like her patient, Cassi felt hopeless, timid, and fearful. She wondered if she too lacked the ability to influence her life even when she understood her problem. Then in a flash of sudden horror, Cassi became aware of the power of her denial. One of the reasons she’d suspected that Thomas was abusing drugs was because of his pupils. So often of late they had been mere pinpoints, but Dexedrine caused dilated pupils! Other drugs caused small pupils. Other drugs that Cassi did not want to think about.

Cassi could feel perspiration appear on her palms. She did not know if it was from sudden terror or from her insulin. Praying that her fears were groundless, she forced herself down the hall to Thomas’s study.

Flipping on the light, she stood there, her eyes recording all the details of the room. Against her will, she recalled the consequences of her previous visit, and she fought against the urge to flee.

The medicine cabinet in the bathroom was exactly as it had been two weeks earlier: a mess. It contained nothing that was suspicious. Getting down on her hands and knees, Cassi searched beneath the sink. Nothing. Then she went through the towel cabinets. Again nothing.

Feeling a modicum of relief, Cassi went back to the study itself. Besides the desk and burgundy reading chair, there was the sofa bed, bordered by two end tables with lamps, a hassock, an entire wall of bookshelves, a liquor cabinet, and an antique highboy with claw feet. The floor was covered with an enormous Tabriz carpet.

Cassi walked over to the desk. It was an imposing piece of furniture, which she knew had belonged to Thomas’s grandfather. As she reached out and touched the cool surface, she had the same naughty sensation she’d felt as a child, snooping in her parents’ bedroom. Shrugging her shoulders, she pulled out the center drawer. A plastic desk organizer was filled to overflowing with rubber bands, paper clips, and other odds and ends. She pulled the drawer out to its limit and carefully lifted the layers of papers toward the back. Nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied, Cassi was about to push it closed when she thought she heard a door slam. Peering through the window, she could see the lights in Patricia’s apartment over the garage. She hadn’t heard a car, but that wasn’t too surprising. With the storm windows down, sounds from the outside did not penetrate the house too easily. She could see the garage door was closed. Had she closed it? She couldn’t remember. A moment later there were footsteps in the hall. Panic knotted her stomach. Obviously Thomas had come home. If he caught her in his study after the episode with Patricia, he’d be furious. She looked around frantically, wondering if she could slip out through the spare room. But before she could move, the door opened.

It was Patricia. She was as surprised to find Cassi as Cassi her. The two women stared at each other in disbelief.

“What are you doing in here?” Patricia said finally.

“I was about to ask you the same question,” returned Cassi, standing behind the desk.

“I saw the light go on in here. Naturally, I thought Thomas had come home after all. As his mother I think I’m entitled to see him.”

Cassi unconsciously nodded as if she agreed. Actually it had been a constant source of irritation for her that Patricia had a key to the house and felt no compunction about entering whenever she wanted.

“That’s my excuse,” said Patricia. “What’s yours?”

Cassi knew she should have simply replied that it was her home and she could go into any room she pleased. But she didn’t. Her sense of guilt made it impossible.

“I suppose I can guess,” said Patricia disdainfully, “even though it upsets me. Snooping through his possessions like this when he’s in the hospital saving lives! What kind of a wife are you?”

Patricia’s question hung in the air like static electricity. Cassi didn’t try to answer. She’d begun to wonder herself what kind of a wife she was.

“I think you should leave this room at once,” rasped Patricia.

Cassi didn’t object. She walked past her mother-in-law with her head bowed. Patricia followed her out and closed the door. Without looking back, Cassi descended the stairs and headed for the kitchen. She heard the front door close and presumed Patricia had left. The woman would tell Thomas that Cassi had been in his study. It was inevitable.

She looked at the meal Harriet had left on the stove with distaste, but she knew that after taking her normal insulin dose she required a certain amount of calories. Forcing down the warmed-over food, she made up her mind to return to the study and finish her search. Having already been caught, she no longer had anything to fear except what she’d find.

There was still the chance Thomas could appear, but Cassi was prepared to listen for the sounds of the Porsche. In order to keep from having to face Patricia again, Cassi pulled the heavy drapes over the windows, and she used a flashlight, like a real burglar. She went directly to the desk and tried the side drawers, starting at the top and working her way down. She didn’t have far to go. In the back of the second drawer inside a stationery box, Cassi found a collection of plastic pill containers. Some were empty, but most were full. All of them had the same prescribing M.D., a Dr. Allan Baxter. The dates were all within the past three months.