by Ian Fox
Steven looked at his watch. He had counted on being home in an hour at the latest. “What are you saying?”
“I’d like to change my statement. I heard on the radio that Carlo Vucci was dead.”
“Yes, but what’s that got to do with the death of your wife?”
“Let me explain.” He didn’t know how to start. “Christine Vucci and I …” He told them about his affair with her.
Everyone in the car was shocked. Steven remembered very well how beautiful Christine Vucci was. He hadn’t seen such an attractive woman for a long time, and wondered how she could possibly be a part of that bizarre tale.
“We met a few times. I’m embarrassed to tell you this, but it’s very important. She’ll confirm that I didn’t kill Helen, since I was with her that night.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, of course I’m serious. We couldn’t have told you before. We were afraid of her husband, who was a very dangerous man, but now …”
Steven looked at his watch again. “OK, we’ll take you to the station, then. You’ll call Mrs. Vucci and she’ll come and sign a statement confirming what you’ve just told us. It would be best, really, if your lawyer took care of it.”
“Why complicate things. This way, everything will be settled nice and quickly.”
At the police station, Simon was offered a telephone. He thanked them politely and took out his cell phone. He was looking forward to hearing Christine’s voice again and his heart was beating fast.
The answering machine picked up, so Simon hung up. “She’s not available,” he said to Steven. “I don’t understand. I’ve been calling her since yesterday and can’t get through. Maybe her phone isn’t working.”
Steven didn’t know what to do. He went to his boss’s office and told him the whole story.
“Unbelievable. It’s suddenly all getting complicated,” Richard Ross said. “It’ll be best if you go and visit Mrs. Vucci now.”
Steven nodded obediently and left Richard’s office. His anger of not being able to get home when planned was alleviated by the opportunity to see Christine Vucci.
Half an hour later, he was in front of the magnificent entrance, and the door was opened by Christine herself.
“Oh, the police again. How can I help?” she asked.
Steven shuffled awkwardly. For a moment he looked at her firm breasts, and then said, “Do you know Dr. Patterson?”
She looked at him with surprise. “Of course I do. He saved my husband’s life when he had a car accident.”
“Oh.” He tried to find the appropriate words. “Dr. Patterson said that he was with you the night his wife was murdered. Can you confirm that?”
Christine looked shocked. “That’s what he said?”
Steven nodded.
“This is what I’ll tell you,” Christine said. “I’ve seen Dr. Patterson only three times in my life. The first time, when he came to dinner, and then another two times when I went to see him because of the headaches I get, and that’s all.”
“So you weren’t with him that night?”
“Of course not,” she said angrily. “How could he have said something like that? I don’t understand.”
It became clear to Steven that Dr. Patterson had lied to him.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Vucci, for disturbing you. There’s obviously something very wrong with him. Thank you and good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
While Steven West was driving back to the police station, he thought about Dr. Patterson, who had looked so calm and relaxed. You’d never think he was capable of killing someone. But there is clearly something wrong in his head to be making up things like that.
Simon was overjoyed to see Steven. “So, did you talk to her?”
The special agent looked at him angrily.
“So I can go?”
Steven put his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere, Dr. Patterson. Mrs. Vucci said you’ve made it all up.”
“What? How …?” He felt as if someone had slapped his face. “I don’t understand. … She said what? How is that possible?”
Steven watched him. Unbelievable, if he’s acting, I have to admit he’s very good at it.
“Listen, are you sure that you spoke to the right Mrs. Vucci?” Simon asked him.
Steven gave a short description: “An exceptionally beautiful young woman with blond hair, about five foot nine, living in a splendid house on—”
“It’s her,” Simon had to admit. He was so stunned he had to sit down.
Steven said, “We’ll have to take you to prison. You can wait for trial there.”
As if he hadn’t heard him, Simon said, “Why did she say I made it up? It’s not true. She’s lying!” he said angrily. “I can prove it.”
Steven looked at him and felt a kind of remorse. Something said that perhaps he was telling the truth, but on the other hand Simon could be a typical example of a schizophrenic. Steven sighed irritably. “How can you prove it?”
Simon told him the name and address of the hotel where he and Christine had met. He also described the woman who had given them their room key. “She’ll confirm that we were there. Please, check it out!”
Steven looked at his watch. He should have been home long ago. It was nearing seven o’clock. “It’s impossible to do it today. We’ll go tomorrow.”
“I can’t spend the night in prison if I’m not guilty. Please, go and check it out. We were there three times and every time we were served by the same woman. Christine Vucci is lying and I have no idea why.”
Steven wavered. In a way, he felt sorry for Simon. “OK, I’ll go there. I hope you’re telling the truth.”
Forty minutes later, he was in the Eden Park Hotel.
A friendly older woman greeted him. “Would you like a room, young man?”
Steven pulled out his badge and showed it to her. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The woman bent down to look at the badge, squinting. “Of course, just ask. I’ll be glad to help.”
He described the girl Dr. Patterson was supposed to have seen. “I’d like to talk to her.”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure you’ve got the right address?”
“Why?” the agent asked.
“Because it’s only me, my husband, and occasionally our daughter working at the reception desk. And my daughter doesn’t even remotely look like the girl you’ve described. You said her hair was long and red. Our daughter has very short hair and it’s black. Would you like me to call her?”
“It won’t be necessary,” Steven said, trying not to show his outrage. “Sorry to have bothered you. Have a nice evening.”
“You can’t do this! Where are you taking me?”
“Where you belong. You’ve really made a fool of me,” Steven said.
Four police officers were pulling Simon along the corridor to the police station door.
“Did you go to Eden Park Hotel?”
“Yes, I did. They’ve never seen your receptionist.”
Simon waved his arms as if he had gone mad. “No, that can’t be true. I’m telling you the truth. Wait!”
The officers took no notice of him. They were pulling him along and he was resisting desperately. “You can’t have gone to the right hotel.”
“Listen, Dr. Patterson. I won’t listen to you anymore. I’ve already done far too much for you. I genuinely thought you were telling the truth, but now I know there’s something wrong in your head. You need a shrink.”
“No, no, I don’t want to go to prison. I didn’t kill Helen. I’m not the one. You can’t …”
Steven listened to Simon completely lose his composure. “Or are you just trying to make us think that you’re insane so that you might avoid prison? You won’t succeed, I can tell you that now. I’ll testify against you in court.”
When they got outside and they were pulling him toward the car, Dr. Patterson saw a white flash of light. He looked towa
rd it and there was another flash. Only a few yards away stood a young journalist.
That’s when Simon lost it completely. He tried to free himself from the grip of the officers and grab the camera from the journalist’s hands. But all he managed to do instead was to drag the two officers and himself to the ground.
The journalist didn’t let it bother her. She kept pressing the button on her camera which, because of the constant flashing, looked like a strobe.
Dr. Patterson lurched toward her again, but the officers restrained him. Then they forced him into the police car while he was still shouting like a madman.
The guards locked him into a specially protected room. They used this procedure for every prisoner who had not yet been convicted. Dr. Patterson sat down and was still, but kept saying that he was innocent and that they should let him out.
Simon waited, but when no one came to see him, he started going wild again. He shouted and beat his hands against the wall. Later he cried bitterly and, afterward he shook with horror. He kicked the door until his feet hurt too much to continue. At first the guards waited for him to calm down, but after he had tried their patience to the limit, they called a doctor.
Four men had to hold Simon while the doctor injected him with a tranquilizer. He was groaning as if he had already been sentenced to death.
Then he gradually calmed down and went to sleep.
Chapter 84
_______________________
The next day, Jerry Duncan had the morning off and was supposed to cover night duty. Shortly after he entered his small office, Dr. Lawson came to see him.
“I’ve been looking for you, where have you been?”
“I had a free morning. Has anything unusual happened?”
“No, no problems. I’ve been bored since no operations are on the schedule.”
Dr. Duncan said, “Yes, indeed. We’ll have to change the schedule. Now that there are two of us, things will go a lot faster, don’t you think?”
“That’s exactly what I was going to propose. I’m glad it was you who said it first.”
“Of course. Hang on, let me find it. Oh, here it is, among these papers. We can change it at once.”
An hour later they were already in the operating room. Anita Carter was in position, watching Dr. Lawson with a serious face. During the whole operation she was quiet. Dr. Lawson, in contrast, was talkative. This time, he was operating. While working on the patient’s brain, he kept talking. He told the staff how glad he was that he had come to Medford Central Hospital.
“At least you all know each other here,” he said. “Before, I had a feeling I was working in a huge factory. There were so many of us that I didn’t even know many of the staff. We rushed past each other along the corridors without as much as a hello. Really awful.”
Everybody was surprised at Dr. Lawson being able to talk so much while operating. It was as if his hands belonged to someone else and were doing their work while he was talking about his previous life. When the operation was finished, the others were looking at each other in amazement.
“Have we finished?” asked one of the instrument nurses. “It seems as if only five minutes have passed.”
Dr. Lawson looked at the clock. “The operation took one hour and forty-five minutes. I hope I didn’t bore you too much with my chatter.”
“Not at all,” the nurse said. “I’ve never seen anyone operate in such a relaxed manner.”
Jerry Duncan looked at the floor, annoyed. Dr. Lawson made him want to vomit.
In the late afternoon, on his way home, Dr. Lawson ran into Anita Carter in the parking lot.
“Oh, you’re leaving too? What a coincidence. You must be tired and can hardly wait to get home.”
She turned and put her hand on the roof of her car. “I’m not tired at all. And I’ve just been wondering what to do at home.” Her eyes had a mysterious glint in them.
“That’s odd. I’d gladly ask you to go for a drink, but I’m afraid you’d say no. You’ve been looking so severely at me all day today.”
“Me, severe? That can’t be true. Well, perhaps a little bit. But I could have a drink.”
Dr. Lawson was surprised. He hadn’t really meant the invitation. It was just a way of starting a conversation because he thought that Dr. Carter didn’t like him much.
“If that’s the case,” Dr. Lawson said, “I’ll leave the choice of where we go to you, considering I’m new in town.”
They went to the Artists’ Club, which was in a modern glass building frequented mainly by artsy types. They ordered their drinks and sat down in a dark corner at the end of the bar.
“How long have you been working at Medford Hospital?”
Anita Carter thought for a bit. “Much too long. But you get settled somehow.”
“Why too long? Don’t you like it?”
“I wouldn’t want to spoil your opinion of our hospital.”
“Oh, come on. Tell me what you think.”
“If you insist. … What I hate most is the overtime. We work much too much. The shortage of staff. Everything else I can take but ….”
He smiled confidently. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yes, of course. Why not?”
“It’s the same everywhere. I haven’t heard of a hospital where they had enough staff. It’s a perennial problem.”
“Is that so? I thought that in large cities—”
“Believe me, it’s no different. You come home tired but satisfied that you’ve done a good job. That’s my comfort. Whenever I get gloomy thoughts, I remember all the people I’ve helped and I immediately feel better.”
“If that’s how you feel, then you’re very welcome here.”
They didn’t say anything for a while. They both felt that the conversation wasn’t going smoothly. Dr. Lawson took a sip of his beer and Anita of her rum and Coke, which she always enjoyed.
“Which medical school did you go to?” he asked.
She told him her story.
“Very interesting,” he said encouragingly.
She took another sip, savoring the taste. She looked into his dark eyes. His irises were so dark they were almost black.
Dr. Lawson said, “So you say that you’re still single. How come?”
It seemed pointless to tell him about Jerry Duncan. “I feel best that way. Or perhaps I haven’t found the right guy.”
“That requires a toast.” He took his bottle and clinked it against her glass. “I have been with someone for a long time, which isn’t the most sensible thing to do either.”
“Are you saying you’re sorry?”
“Not at all, but you know how it is. You always have a feeling that you’re missing out. I was twenty when I got married, so you can imagine how it is.”
“Yes, you’re right, you were very young.”
The alcohol was beginning to take effect and before she knew it, an hour had passed. They were chatting like old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a long time. Anita laughed out loud when he recounted stories from his youth.
She said, “You should be an actor. You’re a good storyteller.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind. No one has ever said that to me before.”
“But it’s true.”
Dr. Lawson looked at the watch on his wrist.
“Do you have to go already? Is your wife waiting with your dinner?” Anita asked wickedly. She immediately regretted it.
“Not at all,” he said. “I go home when I want to. You know how it is in our profession, you never know.” He winked.
They laughed again and raised their glasses.
Anita put her hand on her forehead. “I haven’t laughed like this for a long time. It feels good.”
“Me too. I have to say you’re quite an extraordinary woman.”
Their eyes met for a moment, and then they immediately looked down.
Anita asked, “How many drinks have I had? The waiter keeps bringing them. I think it must be five alread
y.”
Dr. Lawson waved his hand dismissively. “Does it matter? I’ve had at least four, too.”
She searched his eyes again. They’re so very dark, she thought.
Anita was the first to get up. “We’d better leave. Otherwise we’ll feel it tomorrow.”
He paid and followed her.
At the exit, she said, “I’d ask you to my place for another drink, but you’d probably say no.” This was obviously a provocation.
He thought for a while, looking around. “Why not? Just to see where you live.”
Within ten minutes they were at the entrance to her apartment. She got annoyed with herself for not being able to put the key in the lock.
“Let me help you,” he said.
“It won’t be necessary.” She had succeeded. “Come in.”
When he looked around the apartment, he said, “It’s nice. Very cozy. It doesn’t feel like you live here on your own.”
Anita was hoping he wouldn’t notice something that would make it obvious she was living with Jerry. “Come in,” she said, and showed him to the dining room, where there was a large table. “I’ll get you another beer.”
He didn’t object, and kept looking around, surprised at the hominess of the place. “You have very good taste, I have to hand you that.”
She deliberately ignored this comment. Jerry had brought the various pictures, souvenirs, and other items.
She sat opposite him and purred like a cat. “I should go out more often. I really enjoyed myself.”
“Me too. Sometimes family life can get a bit monotonous.”
She wanted to ask if he had any kids, but changed her mind. She didn’t really care.
They went on talking and time went by.
Chapter 85
_______________________
“Damn night duty,” Jerry Duncan cursed. Bored, he stepped over to the office window and admired the twinkling stars. He opened the window and listened. There was no noise in the street, as it was evening and traffic was light. Jerry inhaled the fresh air and held it in his lungs for a while before exhaling. It really is a beautiful evening. How nice it would be to watch television with Anita right now. He was happiest when lying next to her, holding her hand. That’s when he was truly calm and content. I wonder what she’s doing.
