by Robin Cook
They drove toward Kelly’s Brookline home in silence. When they got close, Jeffrey said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. That fellow really scared me. I hate to think what he would have done to me if he’d caught me.”
“My nerves are a bit raw, too,” Kelly admitted. “I was terrified when I saw him go in the building, especially after I realized I couldn’t warn you. I felt so helpless. Then when I saw you struggling on the fire escape, I was beside myself. How did you manage to get away?”
“Luck,” Jeffrey said, realizing how much danger he’d been in. He shuddered as he tried to ban from his mind the image of Trent coming at him with the claw hammer in his hand.
As they turned onto Kelly’s street, Jeffrey remembered his other problem: Devlin. He thought about climbing into the backseat, but there wasn’t time. Instead, he slid down so that his knees were against the dash.
Kelly saw him out of the corner of her eye. “Now what?”
“I almost forgot about Devlin,” Jeffrey explained as Kelly pulled into her driveway. She pressed her automatic garage door opener, and as soon as she’d pulled in, she pressed it again. The door closed behind them.
“All I need at this point is for Devlin to lunge out of nowhere,” Jeffrey said as he got out of the car. He didn’t know whom he feared more, Trent or Devlin. They went into the house together.
“How about some herbal tea?” Kelly suggested. “Maybe it will settle us both down.”
“I think I need about 10 mgs of intravenous Valium,” Jeffrey said. “But I’ll settle for tea. It would be nice, actually. Maybe we could put a little shot of cognac in it. That might help.”
Kicking off his shoes, Jeffrey slumped onto the family room couch. Kelly put the water on to boil.
“We’ve got to come up with some other way of finding out if Trent Harding is the culprit or not,” Jeffrey said. “The problem is that I don’t have a lot of time. Devlin’s going to find me one of these days. Probably sooner than later.”
“There’s always the police,” Kelly said. As soon as Jeffrey started to protest, she added: “I know, I know. We can’t go to the police, et cetera, et cetera. But remember, you’re a fugitive, I’m not. Maybe they would listen to me.”
Jeffrey ignored her. If she didn’t understand by this time, he wasn’t going to try to explain it to her again. Until there was some concrete evidence, it was ridiculous to go to the authorities. He was that much of a realist.
Lifting his feet to the top of the coffee table, Jeffrey settled back into the depths of the couch. He was still shaking from his experience with Trent Harding. The vision of the man coming at him with the hammer would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Jeffrey tried to review where he was in his investigation. Although he had no proof of a contaminant in the Marcaine, his instincts told him it had been there. There was no other explanation for the array of symptoms all those patients evidenced. He didn’t have high hopes of Dr. Seibert’s finding anything, but his conversation with the man had made Jeffrey feel relatively certain that some kind of toxin, maybe batrachotoxin, was involved. And at least Dr. Seibert was interested enough to be looking for one.
Jeffrey was also pretty certain that Harding was the murderer. His working at all five of the involved hospitals was too much of a coincidence. But Jeffrey had to be sure. If it was just coincidence, then he’d have to get busy on getting the staff lists for the remaining two hospitals.
“Maybe you should just call him up,” Kelly said from the kitchen.
“Call who?” Jeffrey asked.
“Harding.”
“Oh, sure!” Jeffrey said, rolling his eyes. “And say what? Hey, Trent! Are you the guy who’s been putting poison in the Marcaine?”
“It’s no more stupid than you going up to his apartment,” Kelly said, taking the kettle from the stove.
Jeffrey turned to look at Kelly to make sure she was serious. She raised her eyebrows at him as if to challenge him to disagree with her last statement. Jeffrey faced around again and stared out at the garden. In his mind he played a hypothetical telephone conversation with Trent Harding. Maybe Kelly’s suggestion wasn’t so stupid after all.
“Obviously you couldn’t ask him directly,” Kelly said, coming around the couch with the tea. “But maybe you could just be suggestive and see if he implicates himself.”
Jeffrey nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, Kelly might have hit on something. “I did find something in the drawer of his nightstand that might be significant in this regard,” Jeffrey said.
“And what was that?”
“A bunch of kinky Polaroids. Nudie pictures.”
“Of whom?”
“Himself,” Jeffrey said. “There were other things in his apartment—handcuffs, lingerie, violent porn videos—that make me think that in addition to being a serial killer, Nurse Harding has a gender-identity problem and some serious sexual hangups. I took some of the Polaroids with me on a hunch. Maybe we can use them as leverage.”
“How so?”
“I’m not sure,” Jeffrey said. “But I can’t imagine he’d want too many people seeing them. He’s probably pretty vain.”
“You think he is gay?” Kelly asked.
“I think there is a chance,” Jeffrey said. “But I have the feeling he’s not at all sure, like he’s confused and fighting it. It could be the problem that’s driving him to do crazy things. That is, if he’s doing them.”
“He sounds charming,” Kelly said.
“The kind of son only a mother could love,” Jeffrey said. He reached into his pockets, searching for the three Polaroids. Finding them, he extended them toward Kelly. “Take a gander,” he said.
Kelly took the photos. She took one look and gave them back to Jeffrey. “Ugh!” she said.
“Now the only question is whether a tape recording would be admissible in court if we happen to get lucky. Maybe it’s time I give old Randolph a call.”
“Who’s Randolph?” Kelly asked. She checked to see if the tea had adequately steeped, then poured two cups.
“My lawyer.”
Jeffrey went into the kitchen and called Randolph’s office. After identifying himself, he was put on hold. Kelly brought a cup of tea over to him and put it on the counter. He took a sip. It was very hot.
When Randolph came on the line he was not particularly friendly. “Where are you, Jeffrey?” he asked abruptly.
“Still in Boston.”
“The court is aware of your attempted flight to South America,” Randolph said. “You’re about to forfeit your bail. I cannot urge you more strenuously to give yourself up.”
“Randolph, I have other things on my mind right now.”
“I’m not sure you understand the gravity of your situation,” Randolph said. “There is a formal warrant out for your apprehension and arrest.”
“Shut up for a minute, will you, Randolph!” Jeffrey yelled. “And let me tell you something. I’ve had a full appreciation of the seriousness of this affair from day one. If anyone has erred in that regard it is you, not I. You lawyers think of this as all a game, all in a day’s work. Well, let me tell you something: it’s my life that’s in the balance. And let me tell you something else. I’m not running around on Ipanema Beach having a good time these days. I think I’m onto something that can potentially negate my conviction. At the moment all I want to do is ask you a legal question and maybe get something for all the money I’ve thrown at you.”
There was a momentary silence. Jeffrey was afraid the man had hung up on him.
“Are you still there, Randolph?”
“What is your question?”
“Is a tape recording admissible as evidence in court?” Jeffrey asked.
“Does the person know he is being tape-recorded?” Randolph asked.
“No,” Jeffrey said. “He doesn’t.”
“Then it would not be admissible,” Randolph said.
“Why the hell not?”
“It has to do with the ri
ght to privacy,” Randolph said, starting to explain the law to Jeffrey.
Disgusted, Jeffrey hung up on the man. “Still batting zero,” he told Kelly. Jeffrey carried his tea over to the couch and sat down next to her.
“I can’t believe that man,” Jeffrey said. “You’d think he’d be able to come through on one thing.”
“He didn’t make the law.”
“I’m not so sure,” Jeffrey said. “Seems to me most of the lawmakers are lawyers. It’s like a private club. They make their own rules and thumb their noses at the rest of us.”
“So what if you can’t tape-record?” Kelly said. “I can listen on the extension. I’m no tape recorder, but I certainly could be introduced as evidence. I could be a witness.”
Jeffrey studied her face with admiration. “That’s right—I never thought of that. Now all we have to think about is what I’ll say to Trent Harding.”
13
FRIDAY,
MAY 19, 1989
7:46 P.M.
Devlin was jolted out of his indecision by his car phone. He was still sitting in his car two doors down from Kelly Everson’s house. Twenty-five minutes earlier he’d seen the car pull into the drive and disappear into the garage. He’d caught a glimpse of the driver: a cute brunette with long hair. He’d guessed she was Kelly.
Earlier he’d gone up to the house and rung the bell, but no one had come to the door. The place seemed empty. He hadn’t heard so much as a pin drop, not like he had on his first visit. Devlin had retired to the car to wait. But now that Kelly had come home, he didn’t know whether to go right up there and talk to her or sit tight for a while to see if she had any visitors or went anyplace. Unable to decide, he sat some more, which he knew was a decision in itself. One thing for sure was that she’d not opened any of the drawn drapes. That didn’t seem normal at all.
It was Mosconi on the phone. Devlin had to hold the phone at arm’s length while Michael carried on. The bond was about to be forfeited.
“Why haven’t you found the doctor yet?” Mosconi demanded after his hysterical monologue had run out of steam.
Devlin told him that his week still wasn’t up, but the reminder fell on deaf ears.
“I’ve put in calls to some other bounty hunters.”
“Now why did you do that?” Devlin asked. “I told you I’d get him, and I will. I’ve made some progress, so when those calls come back, tell the men they’re not needed.”
“Can you promise me something in the next twenty-four hours?”
“I have a good lead. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing the doctor tonight.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Michael said. “I want some results in twenty-four hours. Otherwise I’m out of business.”
“All right,” Devlin said. “Twenty-four hours.”
“You’re not giving me a load of crap just to humor me, are you, Devlin?”
“Would I ever do that?”
“All the time,” Michael said. “But this time I’m going to hold you to it. Understand?”
“Have you found out anything else about the doctor’s trial?” Devlin asked. Mosconi had already told Devlin the essentials of the case earlier that afternoon. When Devlin had heard more of the story, he felt something close to sympathy for Rhodes. To have made a mistake once with something like morphine and then to get over it only to have it kicked in your face at the first wrong turn seemed unfair. Knowing what kind of “murderer” Rhodes was, Devlin even felt guilty about having shot at him back at the Essex. Part of the reason Devlin had played such hardball had been because he thought he’d been dealing with a real criminal—a bona fide bad guy of the white-collar variety Devlin always had it in for. But knowing more about the nature of the crime made Devlin feel like he was just another hit of the bad luck already plaguing the guy.
But Devlin wasn’t about to let his empathy get out of control. He would be professional about this, he reminded himself. He had to be. He’d bring in Dr. Jeffrey Rhodes all right, but he’d be sure to bring him in alive, not dead.
“Quit worrying about the man’s conviction,” Mosconi snapped. “Just bring the bastard in or I’m getting somebody else. You hear me?”
Devlin hung up his car phone. Sometimes Mosconi could get on his nerves and this was one of them. Devlin certainly didn’t want to lose the reward on this case, and he disliked being threatened with the possibility. He also hated to have been forced into a promise that he might not be able to deliver on. He’d try his best. But now he didn’t have the luxury of waiting for things to happen. He had to make them happen. He started his car and drove into Kelly’s driveway. Getting out, he went to the front door and rang the bell.
* * *
Jeffrey had been deep in thought when the doorbell rang and it startled him. Kelly got up and started for the door. Jeffrey leaned over the back of the couch and said, “Make sure who it is.”
Kelly stopped at the door to the dining room. “I always make sure who it is,” she said with an edge to her voice.
Jeffrey nodded. He was sorry both their nerves were getting so frayed. Maybe he should do Kelly the favor of moving to a hotel after all. The situation was fraught with more tension than he could expect her to endure. For the moment, he turned his thoughts back to Trent Harding and what he might say to him on the telephone. There had to be a way to bait the guy. If he could only get him talking . . .
Just then Kelly tiptoed back into the room. “At the door,” she whispered. “It’s not anyone I know. I think it might be that Devlin character. Ponytail, denim clothes, Maltese cross earring. I think you should come see.”
“Oh, no!” Jeffrey said as he lifted himself from the couch and followed Kelly through the dining room and into the foyer. He wasn’t up to another confrontation. Just as they arrived at the door, its chimes were rung again several times in rapid succession. Jeffrey warily advanced and gingerly put his eye to the peephole.
Jeffrey’s blood ran cold. It was Devlin, all right! Jeffrey ducked away from the door and motioned Kelly to follow him into the dining room.
“It’s Devlin, all right,” he whispered. “Maybe if we stay quiet he’ll think no one is at home and go away like he did last time.”
“But we just drove in,” Kelly said. “If he’d seen the car, he’d know someone is home. Then if we pretend otherwise, he’ll guess you are here.”
Jeffrey looked at her with renewed admiration. “Why do I have the feeling you’re better at this stuff than I am?” he asked.
“We can’t let him get suspicious,” Kelly said. She started back toward the door. “You hide. I’ll talk to him, but I won’t let him in.”
Jeffrey nodded. What else could he do? Kelly was right. Devlin had probably been watching the house. Jeffrey only hoped he’d crouched low enough in the car so Devlin hadn’t seen him.
Frantically, he searched for a place to hide. He didn’t want to go back to the pantry. Instead, he slipped into the hall closet built under the stairs and pushed in behind the coats.
Kelly went to the door and called out: “Who is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” Devlin called through the door. “I’m working for law enforcement and I’m looking for a dangerous man, a convicted felon. I would like to talk to you for a moment.”
“I’m afraid this is a bad time,” Kelly said. “I’ve just come from the shower and I’m all alone. I don’t like to open the door to strangers. I hope you understand.”
“I can understand,” Devlin said. “Especially the way I look. The man I’m looking for is named Jeffrey Rhodes, although he has used aliases. The reason I want to talk to you is because someone specifically told me that you were recently seen with this man.”
“Oh!” Kelly said, nonplussed that someone had told that to Devlin. “Who told you such a thing?” she stammered. Kelly quickly tried to guess who Devlin possibly could have been talking with. A neighbor? Polly Arnsdorf?
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Devlin said. “But th
e fact is that you know him, isn’t that true?”
Kelly quickly regained her composure, realizing that Devlin had been fishing, trying to get her to commit herself just as she and Jeffrey had thought of trying to do to Trent Harding.
“I’ve heard the name,” Kelly said. “Some years ago, before my husband died, I believe he did some research with a Jeffrey Rhodes. But I haven’t seen the man since my husband’s funeral.”
“In that case, I’m sorry to bother you,” Devlin said. “Perhaps my contact isn’t reliable. I tell you what. I’ll slip a telephone number under the door. If you see or hear from Jeffrey Rhodes, give me a call.”
Kelly looked down as a card came under the door.
“Did you get it?” Devlin asked.
“I did, and I’ll be sure to call if I see him.” Kelly pulled aside the lace curtain over the sidelight of the door and watched Devlin descend the few steps in front of her house. He disappeared from view. Then she heard a car start. A black Buick Regal backed into the street and accelerated away. Kelly waited a moment, then went out the door and peeked around the corner of the house. She watched the car disappear toward Boston. Running back into the house, she closed and locked the front door. Then she opened the door to the front closet. Jeffrey was way in under the stair. He blinked when he emerged into the light.
* * *
Devlin had to smile. Sometimes even smart people could be so dumb. He could tell Kelly had been thrown the minute he’d told her she’d been seen with Jeffrey Rhodes. She’d recovered, but too late. Devlin knew she’d been lying, which meant she was trying to hide something. Besides, he’d seen her peeking around the side of her house as he’d driven away.
As soon as he was well out of sight of Kelly’s house, he pulled a quick U-turn. Then he maneuvered through the small side streets until he approached her house from the opposite direction. Devlin pulled into the crushed-gravel drive of a nearby home that looked deserted and killed his engine. He had a good view of Kelly’s house through a stand of birch trees.
