Thomas Perry - The Face-Changers

As Carey spoke, he was aware of each of the people in the room. Did the young woman’s squinted eyes and pursed lips mean she was trying to understand, or did she disbelieve something he was saying? How could she?

Folger was looking down at his notes. “Why were you the one to operate?”

Carey had not prepared for this question, and it astounded him that he had overlooked it. He constructed his response cautiously. “Dr. Leo Bortoni was the surgeon on duty at the time,” he said. “When the patient was brought into the emergency room, I was on my usual rounds, visiting my surgical patients. I knew Leo was in surgery at the time. The procedure is to phone one of the surgeons on call, but of course I was on that list, and was already there, so I stepped in.”

“And you met with the patient.”

“I went to the emergency room to examine him.”

“What was his condition?” Folger’s eyes weren’t on Carey’s. He seemed to be glancing at the man in the dark suit across the table. What was his name again?

Carey sensed that some kind of trap was being prepared. “He had a bullet wound in his left shoulder. As I said before.”

“Yes, but I was wondering if there was anything else. I mean, was he unconscious, delirious, anything like that?”

“He was weak, and in quite a lot of pain. The wound had bled profusely, but the E.R. doctors had it pretty well stopped by the time I arrived. He was conscious. He’s a surgeon, so he was acutely aware of his condition and knew already that he would need to undergo a surgical procedure.”

“What did you talk about?”

“That’s about it.”

“You were alone with him for a time, right? And you knew him personally. All of a sudden he shows up with a bullet wound. You didn’t ask him how that came about?” So there it was. They already knew.

“Well, no,” said Carey. “He told me that much. He said he had been wanted for murder and the police—one of the officers who brought him in—had shot him.” Carey thought about it, and decided that if there was a record being made, then there was no reason he could not use it to preserve Dahlman’s denial. “He said the whole thing was a terrible mistake. He had not killed anybody, and the person who had done it had framed him. I couldn’t imagine Richard Dahlman as a murderer.”

“Why?” This time Carey was sure. The captain was watching the man in the dark suit for a reaction, maybe for unspoken instructions of some kind.

“He’s a distinguished surgeon and teacher of other surgeons who has never in the past committed a crime and, as far as I know, never lied about anything. I admit I haven’t seen or heard any of the evidence against him. I assume it’s pretty compelling, or we wouldn’t all be here. But I think when you look into it, you’ll find he didn’t do it.”

The captain was watching the man in the suit throughout Carey’s answer. But who was he? Had Folger said “marshal”? Carey had a vague notion that marshals were the people who transported prisoners, or took them into formal custody in court or some such thing. But why would a police captain be deferring to somebody like that?

“Do you know this building well?”

Was he just giving Carey a chance to lie about something? “I ought to. I was born here,” said Carey. “When I finished my residency I came back. I’ve been here nearly every day for a couple of years.”

“Do you know how he got out of the building?”

Carey stared at the grain of the wood of the table. This was the question, he thought. It was best to ignore the implication, to pretend the word “know” had not been used. “If I were to guess, I would guess that he didn’t get out: that he hid somewhere in the building and found himself too weak to go on, or fell asleep.” It occurred to Carey that he might very well have made a terrible mistake. What if that had been Jane’s plan? It would explain why her car was still parked behind Carey’s office. It made perfect sense to put him in bed in another unoccupied room, slip a different bracelet on his wrist, and let him rest until the police had left the hospital. They had told him they’d searched, but why should they tell him the truth?

The captain shook his head. “No, that was what we thought too. But Mr. Pankowski’s staff took officers into every room, every broom closet and storeroom in the building. We even searched every laundry bin and garbage can big enough to hold a man. He has definitely left the building. It’s too bad you weren’t here when it happened. They were beeping you, but—”

Carey was ready for this one. “They were?” He took out his pager and looked at it. He flipped the switch off and on a few times. “I wonder how …”

The man in the dark suit leaned forward and held out his hand. “I’m pretty good with those. Can I see it?”

Carey slid it toward him. The man picked it up, worked the switch, examined the display, opened the little hatch at the end, and took the battery out. He put the battery back. “You had the battery in backwards, with the poles reversed.” He closed the hatch and flipped the switch with his thumb. The beeper went bee-beep, bee-beep, bee-beep . Carey watched him studying the display. He pressed the button twice more. Carey realized that he had been outsmarted again. The man was looking to see if other numbers besides the hospital’s appeared. Then the man looked up at Carey, and his eyes carried an unexpected message. They said, “I know.” But the eyes didn’t look triumphant or reproachful; what the man seemed to feel was sadness, a mixture of sympathy and regret.

Carey’s heart beat faster, and he tried to calm himself. The man had convicted Carey in his mind, but at least he was not writing a number down. That meant that Jane hadn’t called. She was safe. Carey accepted his pager. “Thanks, Mr.…” He frowned. “I’m sorry. Too many names at once.”

“Marshall. You’re welcome.”

Carey knew he had to say something. “What a dumb thing to do,” said Carey. “It must have been that way all day.” Then his mind scurried to see if he had made a mistake. They could probably check the paging service to see when he had answered his last beep.

But the policemen seemed to miss it. The captain said, “Where were you this evening after the operation?”

“I had dinner and went to a movie.”

“What restaurant?”

“I walked to Garibaldi’s on Merman Street.” He took out his wallet and read the credit card receipt. “It’s 597 Merman Street.”

“I know that place,” said the captain. “What was the movie?”

Carey said, “ Finally Dead . I guess the title should have warned me, right?” He smiled. “It wasn’t very good. I didn’t want to hang around the hospital getting badgered by newspeople, so I thought I’d waste some time. I got my wish.”

“What would have happened if something went wrong with the patient?”

“What are you referring to?”

“You know. The things you mentioned. Dahlman starts hemorrhaging and needs to be operated on again. That kind of thing.”

“After Leo Bortoni’s shift, Arthur Hicks was on duty. He’s a good surgeon, and there are always others on call. In my judgment, the best surgeon in an emergency would not be the one who’s been working for fourteen or fifteen hours.”

“But you wanted to be here. What for?”

“To check on him. It was my responsibility to ensure that my patient was responding well: to see for myself, in other words.”

Folger glanced down at his notebook and looked surprised. “I don’t think I have any more questions right now.” He looked directly at the man in the dark suit. “Do any of you?”

The man in the dark suit was silent and motionless.