Робин Кук - Mortal Fear

“You related?” asked the resident casually as he listened to Hayes’s chest.

When the resident took the stethoscope from his ears, Jason spoke. “No, I’m a colleague. We worked together at Good Health.”

“You an MD?” the resident asked, sounding a degree more deferential.

Jason nodded.

“What happened to your friend?” He shined a penlight into Hayes’s eyes.

“He exsanguinated at the dinner table,” Jason said, being deliberately blunt, mildly offended at the callous attitude of the resident.

“No kidding. Far out! Well, he sure is dead.” He pulled the sheet back over Hayes’s head.

It took all of Jason’s self-control not to tell the resident what he thought of his insensitivity, but he knew it would be a waste of time. Instead, he wandered out into the hallway and watched the bustle of the emergency room, remembering his own days as a resident. It seemed a long time ago, but nothing had really changed.

Thirty minutes later, Hayes’s body was wheeled back out to the ambulance. Jason followed and watched as it was reloaded.

“Do you mind if I still tag along?” he asked, uncertain as to his motives, realizing he was probably acting out of shock.

“We’re just going to the morgue,” the driver said, “but be my guest.”

As they pulled out of the courtyard, Jason was suddenly surprised to see what looked like the same sharply dressed businessman he’d spotted outside the restaurant. Then he shrugged. That would be too much of a coincidence. Odd, though, the man’s face had the same Hispanic cast.

Jason had never been to the city morgue. As they wheeled Hayes’s body through scarred and battered swinging doors and entered the storage room, he wished he had not come on this occasion. The atmosphere was as unpleasant as his imagination had suggested it would be. The storage room was large and lined on both sides with square, refrigerator-like doors that had once been white. The walls and floor were surfaced with old, stained, and cracked tiles. There were a number of gurneys, some occupied by corpses covered with sheets, a few of which were bloody. The room reeked with an antiseptic, fishy smell that made Jason reluctant to breathe. A heavyset, florid man wearing a rubber apron and gloves came over to Hayes and helped transfer the corpse to one of the morgue’s ancient and stained gurneys. Then they all disappeared to attend to the necessary paperwork.

For a few moments Jason stood in the body room and thought about the sudden end to Hayes’s distinguished life. Then, pursued by a vivid image of his trip to the hospital after Danielle’s death, he walked after the emergency technicians.

At the time the Boston City Morgue had been built a half century ago, it had been considered a state-of-the-art facility. As Jason mounted the wide steps leading up to the offices, he noticed some architectural detail work with ancient Egyptian motifs. But the building had suffered over the years. Now it was dark, dirty, and inadequate. What horrors it had seen was beyond Jason’s imagination.

In a shabby office he found the two EMTs and the florid morgue worker. They had finished the paperwork and were laughing about something, completely oblivious to the oppressive atmosphere of death.

Jason interrupted their conversation to ask if any of the medical examiners were there at the moment.

“Yup,” said the attendant. “Dr. Danforth’s finishing up an emergency case in the autopsy room.”

“Is there someplace I can wait for her?” Jason asked. He was in no condition to visit the autopsy room.

“There’s a library upstairs,” the attendant said. “Right next to Dr. Danforth’s office.”

The library was a dark, musty place with large bound volumes of autopsy reports that dated back to the eighteenth century. In the center of the room was a large oak table with six captain’s chairs. More important, there was a telephone. After some thought, Jason decided to call Shirley. He knew she was in the middle of entertaining, but he thought she would want to know.

“Jason!” she exclaimed. “Are you coming over?”

“Unfortunately, no. There’s been some trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“This is going to be a shock,” Jason warned. “I hope you’re sitting down.”

“Stop teasing me,” Shirley said. The concern in her voice rose a notch.

“Alvin Hayes is dead.”

There was a pause. Inappropriate-sounding laughter could be heard in the background.

“What happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Jason said, wanting to shield her from the horrible details. “Some kind of internal medical catastrophe.”

“Like a heart attack?”

“Something like that,” Jason said evasively.

“My God! The poor man.”

“Do you know anything about his family? They’ve asked me, but I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know much either. He’s divorced. He has children, but I believe the wife has custody. She lives somewhere near Manhattan and that’s about all I know. The man was very private about his personal life.”

“I’m sorry to bother you about this now.”

“Don’t be silly. Where are you?”

“At the morgue.”

“How did you get there?”

“I rode in the ambulance with Hayes’s body.”

“I’ll come and pick you up.”

“No need,” Jason said. “I’ll get a cab after I talk to the medical examiner.”

“How are you feeling?” Shirley asked. “It must have been an awful experience.”

“Well,” Jason admitted, “I’ve been better.”

“That settles it. I’m coming to pick you up.”

“What about your guests?” Jason protested halfheartedly. He felt guilty ruining her party, but not guilty enough to refuse her offer. He knew he wasn’t ready to be alone with tonight’s memory.

“They can take care of themselves,” Shirley said. “Where are you exactly?”

Jason gave her directions, then hung up. He let his head sink into his hands and closed his eyes.

“Excuse me,” said a deep voice softened by a slight brogue. “Are you Dr. Jason Howard?”

“That’s correct,” Jason said, sitting up with a start.

A heavyset figure advanced into the room. The man had a broad face with lidded eyes, wide nose, and square teeth. His hair was dark with glints of red. “I’m Detective Michael Curran, Homicide.” He stuck out a broad, callused hand.

Jason shook it, flustered by the sudden appearance of the plainclothes detective. He realized he was being evaluated as the detective’s eyes went from his face to his feet and back again.

“Officer Mario reported that you were with the victim,” Detective Curran said, taking a chair.

“Are you investigating Hayes’s death?”

“Just routine,” Curran said. “Rather a dramatic scene, according to Officer Mario’s description. I don’t want my detective sergeant on my back if there’s any questions later on.”

“Oh, I see,” Jason said. In truth, Detective Curran’s appearance made him remember Hayes’s insistence that someone was trying to kill him. Though the man’s death seemed a natural disaster rather than murder, Jason realized Hayes’s fear in part had motivated Jason to come to the morgue to check the cause of death.

“Anyway,” Detective Curran said, “I got to ask the usual questions. In your opinion, was Dr. Hayes’s death expected? I mean, was he ill?”

“Not that I know of,” Jason said, “though when I saw him this afternoon and then again this evening, I did have the feeling he wasn’t well.”

Detective Curran’s heavy eyelids lifted slightly. “What do you mean?”

“He looked terrible. And when I mentioned the fact to him, he admitted he wasn’t feeling well.”