Shadow of Death

by Patricia Gussin

  Ignoring Connie’s chitchat, David hurriedly scanned the roster. The class was divided into four groups in order to rotate through four major medical areas: internal medicine, surgery, pediatrics, and obstetrics/gynecology. David took a breath when he saw Laura’s name on the second section list. That meant she would do surgery first. He felt his heart race as he realized that she would be in the operating suites every day. He no longer agonized about controlling his irrational feelings about her. He was helpless to do so.

  “Earth to Dr. Monroe,” Connie intruded. “Are you okay? No, of course not. Haven’t had your coffee. I’m on my way.”

  While waiting for Connie to return, David re-checked the roster. He still cringed at the memory of that remark, the one she’d made about dropping out of school. Thank God she had not. Even though she now had not two, but four young children and would be facing a grueling year with night call every third night. Last year he’d watched her from afar, and she seemed to be doing perfectly well without him. Honors in physiology, microbiology, and pathology, passes in everything else. How she did it, he’d never know. As usual, when David fantasized about Laura, he replayed that horrendous weekend back in March of ’68. Her twins would be a year and a half now. Walking, he assumed. Starting to talk. And the two little blonde boys, Mikey, so bright and chipper and Kevin, a cuddly baby the one time he’d seen him in the cafeteria.

  “Coffee,” Connie announced. “And a special treat. I made a stop at Dunkin’ Donuts.” Connie knew that Cynthia didn’t approve of junk food, but that never stopped Dr. Monroe from enjoying empty calories.

  “Thanks, Connie,” he said, biting into a raspberry filled donut. “I don’t have any surgery scheduled today, so I think I’ll go over to the labs and check on the head trauma research.”

  “That?” Connie grimaced. “You still throwing cadavers down elevator shafts? I think that’s the most ghoulish experiment I’ve ever heard of.”

  “How am I going to convince you?” David smiled. “It’s about saving lives. The results have already improved automobile safety.”

  “Remind me not to donate my body to science,” she said. “I’ve seen your tabulations of broken bones and ruptured organs.”

  In collaboration with the anatomy and pathology departments, Dr. Monroe was the lead investigator in a government-sponsored study on the effects of high impact, high velocity injuries. To simulate the impact of high-velocity accidents, the research team utilized materials that were easily accessible to them: cadavers and elevator shafts. The research took place in the med school basic science building on weekends when few students were around. Because of the study’s bizarre, rather ghoulish techniques, it was considered something of a secret project. The research itself, however, was well-designed and meticulously implemented.

  “Okay, Connie, but when seat belts are mandated in all cars, you’ll appreciate me more.”

  “Hey, you run along. I’ll keep things in shape here.” Connie paused, hesitating before going on. “And Dr. Monroe?”

  “What’s that?” he asked already stuffing papers in his brief case.

  “I’m glad to see you back.”

  He turned, an eyebrow raised.

  “I mean, you seem yourself again.”

  “Thanks, Connie, and thanks for hanging in there with me.”

  David gave Connie’s arm a squeeze as he walked by her desk. “After I’m finished over there, I’m going home to work on the New England Journal paper. The editor’s starting to badger me.”

  “Sounds good, Dr. Monroe.”

  It was almost noon when David finished going over the cadaver data with his research associate. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, he decided to head home, ask the housekeeper to fix him a sandwich, go directly to his study, put on some Mozart, and focus on that manuscript. He took a chance that Cynthia would be off doing the charity work that had swallowed up most of her time this past year. David was so grateful that she had found a vital, worthwhile interest. Together, Cynthia and Ruth had begun an entirely new charity devoted to the welfare of unwanted or abandoned children. Though he’d been surprised by Cynthia’s choice, it pleased David. Perhaps he’d been too hard on Cynthia.

  As he left the building and drove east on Jefferson Avenue, David felt a mellowness. Like a dark cloud had lifted. That maybe he’d be okay. Maybe not happy, but okay.

  Ruth’s white Cadillac sedan was parked beside the front door in the middle of the circle at the end of the long drive leading to the Monroe estate. David recognized the car immediately, somewhat annoyed. He’d hoped to avoid Cynthia, now he’d have to face them both.

  Inside, he wandered around the quiet, seemingly empty house for a bit. Cynthia and Ruth must have used the limo service. He looked around for the housekeeper. Maybe she was out shopping. He’d have to make his own lunch. No big deal. The Monroe refrigerator was never empty. Actually he enjoyed making his own lunch.

  But first he loped up the stairs, planning to change into some comfortable clothes. Thinking he heard noises from Cynthia’s suite, he realized that he’d been wrong, and she must be home. Opening her door, he cringed. The scene of six years ago flashed before him, the scene of Cynthia in bed, writhing in pain from a botched abortion. What he saw in front of him now was Cynthia in bed, but she was not alone. He saw two women, their naked bodies entwined. In the center of the bed, Ruth’s strong, lanky form partially covered his wife’s slim body, Cynthia’s hair cascading over the edge of the bed. He saw Ruth cradling Cynthia, stroking her breast, fondling her.

  David stared blindly at the tableau. Cynthia’s eyes were closed and neither woman heard David approach until he groaned. Cynthia opened her eyes slowly, languidly. With a sudden jerk, she saw David. Panic flashed across her face as she struggled with the sheets and the weight of Ruth’s body, trying to pull herself up to a sitting position.

  Ruth glanced up at Cynthia’s face, her hands still caressing until she looked in the direction of Cynthia’s awful stare. There was David, his face ashen and contorted. Cynthia had grabbed the sheet and was now sitting there pulling it around herself, staring at David.

  Naked, Ruth slipped off the bed and strolled insolently toward the chaise, where she reached calmly for her clothes. Folding them over one arm she strode toward the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Cynthia and David stared at each other. For a long time David stood planted like stone, utterly speechless.

  “Cynthia, I’m leaving now,” Ruth said matter-of-factly as she emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. “Call me when you have a chance.” Walking to the side of the bed, she reached toward Cynthia.

  “Get out of my house this instant,” David seethed. “This is all wrong.”

  “Your house? Wrong?” Ruth turned and faced David, her eyes wide with rage. “Oh, no. Cynthia’s house. And not wrong.”

  Ruth gestured toward Cynthia. “And to think that just last year she was hell-bent on having your baby, but you couldn’t be bothered. I’m the one who went to Aruba with her. She wanted to have your child, you asshole. She thought that’s what you wanted. But refusing her did prove one indisputable thing: I love her; you don’t.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Plaka Café on Monroe Street in Greektown, with its white façade, aqua trim, and inexpensive, tasty food, had long been a favorite lunch spot for med students. During the past two years, the foursome had always chosen it for occasional small celebrations. Today, the first Tuesday in October, the burly Greek owner seated them at a large table in the center of the room with a view of the street.

  “Well, here we are! We finally did it,” Rosie exclaimed. “Basic science is history. And we’re all still hanging in there.”

  “Hard to believe,” Susan said, “it’s already been six weeks since we started back. Doesn’t take long to get swallowed up in pediatrics. My little patients keep me up day and night.” She paused to sip her coffee. “At least the Tigers won’t be keeping me up. Remember last year? World Series: four to three ove
r the St. Louis Cards. Denny McClain with the Cy Young Award. Now why couldn’t we do that again?”

  Vicky yawned. “Such an impractical hour, girls. I just about rebelled when Laura left the message with my housekeeper,” she tried to sound indignant. “Breakfast indeed. Don’t you guys know I’m pregnant?”

  “It’s the first time I could find that we’re all free at once since the semester began,” Laura explained. “This night call is a killer. Besides, Vick, you said you weren’t having any morning sickness. You’re so lucky. I was always miserable.”

  “I’m not,” Vicky said, “but I’m as hungry as a horse. I’m going to gain a hundred pounds if I keep eating everything in sight. You won’t believe what I put away last night.”

  “Oh, can it, Vicky. We don’t need the details,” Rosie chided. “Cripes, Laura had twins and we didn’t even know she was pregnant, much less what she was eating.”

  “I just can’t believe you ordered eggs and corned beef hash. I could barely eat chicken broth when I was four months pregnant,” said Laura with an exaggerated grimace.

  “I remember. You did look awful,” Vicky replied. “We just didn’t know what was wrong with you. We were diagnosing you all the way from stress to leukemia. Pregnancy never even entered our minds. But then, you suddenly looked great, and we forgot all about it.”

  Their food arrived.

  “So Vicky,” Susan turned to Vicky between mouthfuls, “how’s internal medicine?”

  “Love it. Morning rounds. Drawing bloods. Putting in catheters. I never get home before nine, but that’s okay. Sometimes I’m even home before Raymond, sometimes not. He’s been ultrabusy at work since that partner of his took a combo of Valium and Seconal. Almost died. Supposedly, she checked herself into some psychiatric place and is being treated for depression. Raymond’s covering her practice on top of his own. The only good thing is that he doesn’t complain about my coming home so late.”

  “Valium and Seconal? Obviously trying to kill herself?” Rosie asked.

  “Who knows? Lawyers are inscrutable if you ask me. No matter what they say you know they’re really thinking something else. That’s the rule I go by,” Vicky said. “So Laura, what’s up with surgery?”

  Laura swallowed a bite of toast. “Well, I like it a lot. All I can say is, thank God I had such great anatomy partners.” She smiled broadly. “It’s all coming back to me, you know, the nerves and veins and muscles. Stuff we thought was so useless to learn. Actually, they’re letting me do a lot, more than I’d ever dreamed—”

  “For example?” Rosie asked.

  “For example, a resident talked me through an entire appendectomy yesterday. From the initial incision to the last suture placement. It was so neat.”

  “What’s it like being back in the trauma area where you were attacked?” Susan asked.

  “Doesn’t phase me a bit,” Laura said. “What happened to me there was just a bizarre thing. I guess if things had not turned out so well I would feel differently, but that whole episode is behind me now.”

  “And how’s your Prince Charming?” Rosie asked with feigned innocence.

  “Pardon me?” Laura paused, coffee mug in hand.

  “You know, Dr. Monroe,” Vicky prompted with a wink at Rosie. “You must see a lot of him now that you’re on the surgical service.”

  “No, not really,” Laura said. “I’ve scrubbed in on a couple of his procedures, but that’s about it.”

  “Incidentally,” Vicky said, “on a different, but related, subject. You know that partner of Raymond’s I just mentioned? Ruth Davis? She’s a good friend of Dr. Monroe’s bitchy wife. We’ve seen them together a few times, Mrs. Monroe and Ruth, I mean. They’re involved in some sort of charity.”

  Laura held her breath. The mention of David’s wife gave her a queasy feeling. She didn’t know why. To herself, she did have to admit that she thought about David a lot. How could she ever forget after what he’d done for her? Suddenly she realized that all three girls were staring at her. She jerked back into the moment. “Susan, tell us about pediatrics. Then we have to split.”

  “Yeah, and you haven’t said a word about Will the entire time we’ve been here,” Rosie teased. “Don’t tell me you’re single again?”

  Susan hesitated, stirring her coffee. “Not exactly. I really like him. He even wants to get married. After graduation, of course, but I don’t know. It’s times like this that I miss my mother. She’d understand.”

  “Yeah,” said Laura, thinking of how much she missed her own mother and how terrible that loss must be for Susan. She was an only child, and her mother had died of a blood clot when Susan was sixteen. “What does your dad think?”

  “He really likes Will. What’s not to like? Other than he doesn’t know beans about sports. Enough about me. Rosie let’s hear the latest. And I mean Tim Robinson.”

  “That jerk?” Rosie grinned. “Roller coaster as usual. He’s pissed at the moment. I blew him off for an anesthesia resident last Saturday night.”

  “You’ll never change,” sighed Laura. “Tim’s crazy about you.”

  “Yeah, and every other girl that catches his eye. Besides, I don’t want to get tied down,” Rosie grinned. “Simple as that.”

  “Take it from me,” Laura said with a sudden frown. “Don’t rush into anything.”

  “Vickie’s eyebrow shot up, “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that I got married my freshman year of college. That’s all.”

  Each year, the Department of Surgery selects the most promising third year student and three residents to attend the annual surgical meeting. This year the meeting was to be in Montreal in early January. The selection committee had proposed students in the order of their accomplishments. Laura Nelson was at the top of the list. In early December there was a brief discussion of logistics. Since the attack in the ER more than a year and a half ago, followed by the birth of the twins, Laura’s family responsibilities were public knowledge, and the committee hesitated to advance her name for that reason. This concern was brought to David’s attention. He told them to proceed with her selection and to leave it up to her whether to accept or not. It was a prestigious honor that she well deserved, and David was quite sure that she would not decline.

  As department chairman of one of the country’s largest medical schools, he knew his schedule at the meeting would be demanding. If Laura were there, however, he would plan to decline optional invitations and refuse unnecessary commitments, leaving himself as flexible as possible. He had already scheduled one luncheon meeting with great reluctance; the president of Stanford University was flying in to interview David for the position of dean at the medical school there. While appropriately flattered, David refused to let himself think about it seriously. Did he want to be a dean of a medical school? Yes, some day, and Stanford was certainly a prestigious school. Did he want to move away from Detroit? Of course he did, who wouldn’t? But the thought of leaving disturbed him terribly.

  What Cynthia thought was not an issue, not after he had discovered the nature of his wife’s relationship with Ruth Davis. She could go with him to carry on the sham of their marriage or stay in Detroit, he simply did not care. Admittedly, he was used to her management of the household affairs and arrangement of their social life. Perhaps she’d want that to continue. On the other hand, if she chose to stay behind he would simply be free of her.

  Ruth’s tirade about Cynthia’s decision to have a child finally clarified that remark Ed Barrone had made on the night Laura was attacked. Something like “sorry about Cynthia’s decision, old man.” Proof of the hopelessness of their communication. So after all these years — and the abortion of her first child — all that she’d needed from him had been a little support to start another. Maybe, maybe not. He couldn’t tell. He no longer cared, really.

  When Laura told Steve about the meeting in Montreal, he grudgingly agreed that she should attend even though he was scheduled at a conference in Chicago the second Saturday
and Sunday in January, and he needed to check in Friday evening. Laura’s travel plans, leaving Wednesday morning and returning Friday, would place her back in Detroit by 3:00 p.m. If Steve picked her up at the airport and then left immediately afterward, he could manage the four-hour drive to Chicago. If there were any problems, they could rely on their new, live-in babysitter, Mrs. Starke. She was an older widow with fifteen years experience taking care of kids, a fact that made Laura grateful and Steve resentful — he did not like the idea of a stranger living in their home.

  Since the birth of the little girls, Laura watched Steve distance himself from them. So unlike the doting father that he’d been to Mike and Kevin when they were babies and toddlers. While this disappointed Laura, she was too busy to pay it much attention. Despite a vague, free-floating anxiety about her marriage, Laura was pleased that they’d gotten through another difficult year. Only a year and a half to go, and she’d be a doctor. Every single day that passed without a phone call from Detective Reynolds or Detective Willard made her feel more and more secure. Each day she thought less about the scribbled warning on that cardboard box. But still, not a day went by that she didn’t think about Johnny Diggs and Anthony Diggs. And every day she said a prayer for their mother.

  Laura suspected that Steve might be secretly pleased that she’d be away for a couple of nights. Recently he seemed more and more apathetic. Maybe it was the demands of four active children. Maybe he’d become disillusioned at work. Maybe if he got that supervisory promotion that was opening up. At least it would get him out of the field every day. He was burned out, he said, by the hopeless problems of his Detroit clients, not enough staffing, and cutbacks in funding.