Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt Read online

  "I wouldn't know." Jason could feel himself begin to tremble. The horror

  of the episode was starting to affect him.

  The sound of the ambulance, ~ which had gotten progressively louder,

  trailed off outside the window. There was now a red flashing light in

  addition to the blue. Within a minute two uniformed emergency techs came

  into the room, one carrying a metal case that looked like a tackle box.

  They went directly over to Hayes.

  "This man's a doctor," Jeff Mario said, pointing at Jason with his

  pencil.

  "He says it's all over. He says the guy bled out from cancer."

  "I'm not sure it was cancer," Jason said. His voice was* higher than he

  intended. He was visibly trembling now, so he clasped his hands

  together.

  The EMTs examined Hayes briefly, then stood up.

  The one who'd been carrying the case told the other to go down and get

  the stretcher.

  "Okay, here's his address," said Jeff Mario, who had gone back to

  searching Hayes's wallet. He held up a card. "He lives over near Boston

  City Hospital." He copied the address down on his note pad. The younger

  policeman was taking down names and addresses, including Jason's.

  When they Were ready to leave, Jason asked if he could go along with the

  body. He felt bad sending Hayes to the morgue all alone. The cops said

  it was fine with them. As they emerged onto the square, Jason could see

  that a considerable crowd had formed. News like this traveled around the

  North End like wildfire, but the crowd was silent, awed by the presence

  of death.

  Jason's eye caught one nattily dressed man who seemed to melt backward

  into the crowd. He looked like a businessman-more Latin American or

  Spanish than Italian-particularly his clothing-and for a moment Jason

  wondered at himself for even noticing.

  Then one of the emergency techs said, "Want to ride with your friend?"

  Jason nodded and climbed into the back of the ambulance. Jason sat on a

  low seat across from Hayes, down near his feet. One of the EMTs sat on

  a similar seat closer to Hayes's head.,With a lurch, the ambulance

  moved.

  Through the back window Jason saw the restaurant and the crowd recede.

  As they turned onto Hanover Street, he had to hold on. The siren had not

  been turned on, but the flashing light was still functioning. Jason

  could see it reflected in the glass of the store windows.

  The trip was short; about five minutes. The EMT tried to make small

  talk, but Jason made it apparent he was preoccupied. Staring at the

  covered body of Hayes, Jason attempted to come to terms with the

  experience. He couldn't help but think that death was stalking him. It

  made him feel curiously responsible for Hayes, as if the man would still

  be alive if he'd not had the misfortune of meeting with Jason. Jason

  knew such thoughts were ridiculous on a rational level. But feelings

  didn't always rely on rationality.

  After a sharp turn to the left, the ambulance backed up, then stopped.

  When the rear door was opened, Jason recognized where they were. They'd

  arrived at the courtyard of the Massachusetts General Hospital. It was a

  familiar place for Jason. He'd done his internal medicine residency

  there years ago.

  Jason climbed out. The two EMTs unloaded Hayes efficiently and the

  wheels dropped down under the stretcher. Silently, they pushed the body

  into the emergency room, where a triage nurse directed them to an empty

  trauma room.

  Despite his being a physician, Jason did not know the protocol for

  handling a situation like Hayes's death. He was a bit surprised they'd

  even come to an emergency room, since Hayes was beyond care. But

  thinking about it, he realized Hayes had to be formally pronounced dead.

  He'd remembered doing it when he'd been a house officer.

  The trauma room was set up in the usual fashion, with all sorts of

  equipment ready for instant use. In a comer was a scrub sink. Jason

  washed Hayes's blood off his hands. A small mirror over the sink

  revealed a significant amount of dried blood that had splattered his

  face as well.

  After rinsing his face, he dried himself with paper towels. There was

  blood on his jacket and shirt front as well as his pants, but there was

  little he could do about that. As he was finishing washing, a house

  officer breezed into the room with a clipboard. He unceremoniously

  yanked back the sheet covering Hayes, then pulled his stethoscope from

  around his neck. Hayes's face looked eerily pale in the raw fluorescent

  light.

  "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 hortors 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 childivn, 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. "Areyou Dr.

  Jason Howard?"

  "That's cortect," 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."

  d, 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."

  "What were the symptoms?" asked the detective. He'd taken out a small

  pad.

  "Fatigue, stomach upset, joint discomfort. I thought he might have had a

  fever, but I couldn't be of sure.

  "What did you think about these symptoms?"

  "They worried me," Jason admitted. "I told him that it might be better

  if we met in my office so I could have run a few tests. But he insisted

  we meet away from the hospital."

  "And why was that?"

  "I'm not sure." Then Jason went on to describe what was probably Hayes's

  paranoia and his statements about having made a breakthrough.

  After writing all this down, Curran looked up. He seemed more alert.

  "What do you mean, 'paranoiat!

  "He said that someone was following him and wanted him and his son

  dead."

  "Did he say who?"

  "No." Jason said. "To be honest, I thought that he was delusional. He

  was acting strangely. I thought he was about to decompensate."

  "Decompensate?" Curran asked.

  "Nervous breakdown," Jason said.

  "I see," Curran said, returning to his note pad. Jason watched as he

  wrote.

  He had the curious habit of licking the end of his pencil at odd

  intervals.

  At that moment another figure appeared in the doorway. She walked around

  the table to Jason's right. Both Jason and the detective got to their

  feet.

  The newcomer was a diminutive woman barely five feet tall. She

  introduced herself as Dr. Margaret Danforth. In contrast to her size,

  her voice re sounded in the small room.

  "Sit down," she commanded, smiling at Curran, whom she obviously knew.

  Jason guessed the woman to be in her upper thirties. She had small,

  delicate features with highly arched eyebrows that gave her an innocent

  appeal. Her hair was short and very curly. She wore a dark, demure dress

  with a
lace collar. Jason had trouble associating her appearance with

  her position as one of the medical examiners of the city of Boston.

  "What's the problem?" she asked, getting right to business. There were

  dark circles under her eyes, and Jason guessed she'd been working since

  early that morning.

  Detective Curran tipped his chair back and teetered. "Sudden death of a

  physician in a North End restaurant. Apparently he vomited a large

  amount of blood ..."

  "Coughed up would be a better term," intertupted Jason.

  "How so?" Detective Cur-ran asked, coming forward with a thump. He

  licked the end of his pencil to make a correction.

  "Vomiting would mean it came from his digestive system," Jason said.

  "This blood obviously came from his lungs. It was bright red and

  frothy."

  "Frothy! I like that word," Curtan said. He bent over his pad, making a

  cortection.

  "I presume it was arterial blood," Dr. Danforth said.

  in believe so," Jason said.