by Robin Cook
Seibert was about to return the bag to its place in Henry Noble’s body when a voice said, “What the hell is going on here?”
Along with everybody else, Jeffrey looked up in the direction the voice had come from. A man stepped into the circle of light. He was dressed in dark slacks, white shirt, sweater, and dark windbreaker. In his hand was a gun.
“My God!” Frank said with revulsion. He was transfixed by the gruesome sight of the open grave. The nausea he’d suffered earlier returned with a vengeance.
Jeffrey recognized the man instantly from the Esplanade and the doors of the Church of the Advent. How had he tracked them? And what did he want?
Jeffrey wished he had a weapon, any means of defending himself. Last time they’d gone to extraordinary lengths to drug him.
Frank retched from the horrid sight and offensive smell. He clasped his free hand to his mouth and turned to face Kelly, Chester, and Martin. With a wave of his gun he ordered Jeffrey and Seibert out of the grave.
Seibert scrambled out of the vault, wondering if this intruder was related to Henry Noble. “I’m the Medical Examiner,” he said, hoping to sound official and take charge of the situation. Seibert had dealt with irate family members before. Nobody was keen on autopsies, especially relatives. He stepped between Frank and the others.
Jeffrey had noticed Frank’s reaction to having seen Henry Noble and he saw him turn his head. Reaching forward, he grasped the plastic bag containing Noble’s organs. It had to weigh thirty-five to forty pounds. Climbing out of the vault and up onto the grass, he held the bag to his side and slightly behind.
“I’m not interested in you,” Frank said to Warren, giving him a rough shove to the side. “Get over here, Dr. Rhodes.”
Frank put his gun into his other hand, then dug in his pocket until he came up with the syringe. “Turn around!” he ordered Jeffrey. “Vinnie, you cover . . .”
Jeffrey swung the plastic bag with both hands, bringing it over his head and down on top of Frank’s with as much force as he could muster. The bag burst on impact, knocking Frank to his hands and knees. The syringe flipped into the pile of dirt; the gun skidded into the grave, falling with a clank into the vault and landing in the coffin.
At first Frank was dazed and unsure of what had hit him. Then he looked with horror at what was smeared over him and all around him on the ground. Recognizing the brain and the blackened loops of intestines, he threw up wildly. In between retching fits, he tried to brush the gore off his shoulders and head.
Jeffrey was still holding the empty plastic bag when Vinnie dashed forward into the sphere of light from the darkened periphery. Tense and nervous, he was holding his gun with both hands. “Nobody move!” he shouted. “Anybody moves, they’re dead!” He rotated his gun in jerky arcs from one person to the other.
Jeffrey hadn’t seen Frank’s accomplice. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have risked hitting Frank.
Keeping his gun trained on the group, Vinnie stepped over to Frank, who had gotten shakily to his feet. He was standing with his arms outstretched, shaking fluid from his hands.
“You all right, Frank?” Vinnie asked.
“Where the hell’s my gun?” was all Frank said by way of an answer.
“It went into the grave,” Vinnie said.
“Get it!” Frank ordered. He unzipped his jacket and carefully pulled it off, then threw it on the ground.
Vinnie stepped over to the grave and nervously peered down, trying to spot the gun. It was in plain view, between the corpse’s knees. Henry Noble seemed to be looking up at him.
“I’ve never been in a grave before,” Vinnie said.
“Get the gun!” Frank shouted. He glared at Jeffrey and said: “You bastard. You think I’m going to let you get away with that little trick?”
“Nobody move,” Vinnie said. He stepped down to the edge of the grave. Looking away for just a moment, he jumped down. Instantly he looked back. His head was still above the level of the ground. Vinnie’s gun was pointed directly at Chester, who stood weak-kneed between Kelly and Martin. Harvey was to Martin’s left. Jeffrey was closer to Frank, and Seibert was between Frank and the others.
When Vinnie bent down to grab the gun, Jeffrey gambled on two things: one, that he could get away into the darkness fast enough to evade Vinnie, and two, since he was the one they were really after, both would come after him and leave the others alone. He was right only on the first count.
As Jeffrey ran along the cemetery road into the darkness, he heard Frank yell, “Toss me the gun, you ass!”
Leaving the circle of light, Jeffrey was immediately enveloped in darkness. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he realized it wasn’t quite as dark as he’d believed. Reflections from the lights of the surrounding town shimmered off the moist grass. The silhouettes of tombstones served as an eerie reminder that this was the home of the dead.
A parked, dark car suddenly loomed in front of Jeffrey. He paused long enough to check for keys in the ignition, but none were there. Looking back toward the point of light over Henry Noble’s grave, Jeffrey could make out Frank’s lumbering bulk heading in his direction. Vinnie remained behind, keeping watch on the others.
Jeffrey sprinted past the car, heading into the night. He remembered that Frank’s girth was deceptive and that he was surprisingly agile and fast. Jeffrey was not confident that he could merely outrun Frank. He had to think of something. A plan. Could he make it to the center of town? On a Saturday night Edgartown should have some activity, even though it was not yet tourist season.
Behind him, Jeffrey heard the deadly crack of a gunshot. Frank had fired at him. Jeffrey heard a bullet hiss by his head. He veered in the other direction, to the left and off the cemetery road.
Crouching low to the ground, Jeffrey began to weave among the headstones. He did not want to be an easy target. He had the sickening feeling that Frank was no longer so concerned about taking him alive. Now that he was off the road, the footing wasn’t as sure. Rocks and flat grave markers slowed Jeffrey’s progress. He tripped at one point and staggered. He stayed on his feet only by grabbing a granite obelisk in a bear hug. The obelisk teetered on its plinth, threatening to topple. That was when Frank fired the second time.
The bullet struck the side of the obelisk just below Jeffrey’s arm. Jeffrey backed up a step. Looking in the direction of the muzzle flash, he could just make out Frank coming in his direction. He was gaining on him!
Jeffrey raced on, his panic increasing. He was breathing heavily and felt a stitch in his side. He was lost among the graves. He didn’t know in which direction he should head. He wasn’t sure that he was still heading for town.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey saw the silhouettes of a cluster of single-story buildings which he guessed were mausoleums. He decided to head there. Veering in their direction, he stumbled onto another of the cemetery’s several gravel roads. Once he reached the row of mausoleums, Jeffrey ducked between the first two. Edging behind them, he moved down the row, then turned back toward the road. Peering around a corner, he looked for Frank.
The man wasn’t fifty feet away. He’d pulled up short in front of the first mausoleum. He hesitated a moment, then started walking in Jeffrey’s direction. Jeffrey was about to turn when Frank suddenly stepped between two of the tombs and disappeared from Jeffrey’s line of sight.
Jeffrey tried to think what to do. One wrong move and he would be at Frank’s mercy. Remembering Frank’s expression after he’d hit him with the bag of decomposing organs, Jeffrey didn’t think Frank would have much mercy.
Directly across from where Jeffrey was standing was a marble mausoleum that appeared older than the others. Even in the darkness, Jeffrey could tell that its iron door was slightly ajar.
After checking the road again for any sign of Frank, Jeffrey dashed to the open door. He pushed it open enough to slip into the mausoleum’s cool interior. He tried to close it behind him, but when he pushed, the door
grated on the floor. Jeffrey stopped immediately. He wouldn’t risk making any more noise. The door was still open about three inches, slightly less than it had been when Jeffrey first spotted it.
Surveying the interior of his narrow cell, Jeffrey saw that the only light came from a small, elliptical window set high in the mausoleum’s rear wall.
Jeffrey groped toward the window’s dim light, inching ahead with his right foot and bringing his left up with each step. He could feel square depressions in the wall and realized they were for coffins.
When he reached the back wall, he squatted in the corner. As his eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness, he was able to make out the thin strip of vertical light that came in through the open door.
He waited. There wasn’t a sound. After what he guessed was five minutes, he began to think about how long he would wait until venturing back out.
Then, with an agonizing screech of metal scraping rock, the ancient door to the mausoleum was shoved open. It clanged against the stone wall. Jeffrey leaped to his feet.
A cigarette lighter flared and illuminated Frank’s fleshy face. He held the light out at arm’s length. Jeffrey could see Frank squint, then smile. “Well, well,” Frank said. “Isn’t this convenient? You’re already in a crypt.” His shirt was stained and his hair was matted from the embalming fluid. Frank’s sardonic smile changed to a sneer. He sauntered into the mausoleum, gun in one hand, cigarette lighter in the other.
When he was about six feet away, Frank stopped. He aimed his gun at Jeffrey’s face. In the light of the small flame, Frank’s features were grotesque. His deep eye sockets looked empty. His teeth appeared yellow.
“I was supposed to send you to St. Louis alive,” Frank snarled, “but your hitting me with that stinking slop changed that. You’re going to St. Louis, all right, but in a pine box, my friend.”
For the second time in his life and in so many days, Jeffrey was forced to helplessly watch the end of a gun move forward and jiggle slightly as pressure was applied to the trigger.
“Frank!” a harsh voice called. The name echoed in the small chamber.
Frank spun away from Jeffrey, whipping his gun around. A blast rocked the tiny chamber. Then a second blast reverberated within the mausoleum. Jeffrey hit the ground. Frank’s lighter went out. A ringing silence and utter blackness descended.
Jeffrey stayed perfectly still with his hands over his head and face pressed to the cold stone floor. Then he heard the sound of a flint being struck.
Jeffrey slowly raised his head, terrified at what he might see. Frank was just in front of him, sprawled out on the floor, facedown. His gun was on the floor in front of him, just beyond his reach. Beyond Frank was a pair of legs. Raising his head further, Jeffrey looked up into the face of Devlin O’Shea.
“What a surprise,” Devlin said. “If it isn’t my favorite doctor.” He was holding a lit cigarette lighter in one hand and a gun in the other, just as Frank had.
Jeffrey struggled to his feet. Devlin went to Frank and rolled him over. Squatting, he felt for a carotid pulse. “Damn,” he said. “I got too good an aim. I really didn’t want to kill him. At least I think I didn’t want to kill him.” Devlin straightened up and stepped over to Jeffrey. “No poison darts, now,” he warned.
Jeffrey backed up against the wall. Devlin looked worse than Frank.
“Like my new hairstyle?” Devlin asked, aware of Jeffrey’s reaction. “It’s thanks to that goon on the floor.” Devlin gestured toward Frank. “Listen, Doc,” he said, “I got good news for you and I got bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”
Jeffrey shrugged. He knew it was all over now. He was only sorry that Devlin had to step in now when they were so close to getting their much-needed proof.
“Come on,” Devlin warned. “We don’t have all night. There’s still a young hoodlum out there holding your friends at gunpoint. Now do you want to hear the good news or bad?”
“The bad news,” Jeffrey said. He wondered if Devlin would respond by shooting him point-blank. The good news, which he’d never live to hear, would be that at least he’d be killed quickly.
“And I would have bet good money you would have wanted the good news first. Considering what you’ve been going through, I think you need some. However, the bad news is that I’m going to take you to jail. I want to collect that reward money from Mosconi. But let me tell you the good news. I’ve uncovered some information that will probably get your conviction overturned.”
“What are you talking about?” Jeffrey asked, dazed by this revelation.
“I don’t think this is the time or place for a friendly chat,” Devlin said. “There’s still wiseass Vinnie D’Agostino out there with a firearm. Now I’m going to make a deal with you. I want you to cooperate with me. That means no running away, no sticking me with needles, or hitting me with briefcases. I’ll take care of Vinnie so no one gets hurt if you would be so good as to create a little diversion. After I get Vinnie’s gun, I’ll handcuff him to that vault lid that’s sitting on the ground. Then we’ll call the Edgartown police. This will be more excitement than they’ve seen since all those rubbers washed up on the beach at Chappaquiddick Island. Then we’ll all go and have some dinner. What do you say?”
Jeffrey could hardly answer, he was so dumbfounded and confused.
“Come on, Doc!” Devlin said. “We don’t have all night. Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
“Yes,” Jeffrey said. “It’s a deal.”
The Charlotte Inn had a charming restaurant overlooking a tiny inner courtyard with a fountain. The tables were covered with white tablecloths and the chairs were comfortable. A team of attentive waiters and waitresses responded to the diners’ every need.
If someone had described the scene that Jeffrey was now enjoying to him at some earlier time, he would have laughed it off as an impossibility. There were four people at the table. To Jeffrey’s right was Kelly. She was obviously still anxious, but she looked radiant. To Jeffrey’s left was Seibert. He wasn’t particularly calm either, worried about the forged exhumation documents and the fact that the episode at the graveyard would be investigated. Across from Jeffrey was Devlin, who was the only one at the table who appeared completely relaxed. Instead of wine he was drinking beer, and he was already on his fourth.
“Doc!” Devlin said to Jeffrey. “You’re one patient man. You still haven’t asked me about the liberating information I mentioned back at the mausoleum.”
“I’ve been afraid to,” Jeffrey answered honestly. “I’ve been afraid to break the spell that I’ve been under since we walked out of there.”
Everything had happened as Devlin had said it would. Jeffrey had made a commotion as if he and Frank were having a knockdown drag-out fight near the rental car. When Vinnie moved closer to see if he could help his boss, Devlin had walked up behind and disarmed him in the blink of an eye. Then on went the cuffs.
The only departure from the original plan had been that Devlin had not handcuffed Vinnie to the vault lid. Instead, he cuffed him directly to one of the handles of the casket. “You and Henry can keep each other company,” he’d said to the terrified kid.
Then the rest of them had gone back to the Charlotte Inn, where, true to his word, Devlin called the Edgartown police. Although they’d been invited to stay for dinner, Chester, Martin, and Harvey politely declined, each preferring to unwind in their respective homes after the cemetery ordeal.
“Then I’m going to tell you whether you ask me or not,” Devlin said. “But let me preface what I’m about to say with a few comments. First, I’d like to apologize for shooting at you in that fleabag hotel. At the time, I was pissed and I thought you were a real criminal. A kind I’d learned to hate. But as time went on, I learned more about your case, bit by bit. Mosconi wasn’t all that helpful, so it wasn’t easy. Anyway, I knew something was up when you stopped acting like the usual bail-jumper. Then, when Frank entered the picture, I really knew that something strange was happening, espec
ially when I got the word that he was supposed to get seventy-five grand for shipping you to St. Louis. That didn’t make any sense at all until I found out that the people who had hired Frank were interested in interrogating you for something you’d learned.
“At that point I decided to find out who these big out-of-town spenders were. I figured with the kind of money involved it had something to do with drugs. But then I found out it didn’t. Here’s the part I discovered that you’ll find interesting. What would you think if I told you that the guy who hired Frank Feranno is a guy by the name of Matt Davidson? A Matt Davidson of St. Louis?”
Jeffrey let his spoon drop to the table. He looked at Kelly. “The Matt in Harding’s address book,” she said.
“More than that,” Jeffrey said. He reached under the table for his duffel bag. He fished inside for some papers and came up with two copies from the defendant/plaintiff book he’d made at the courthouse. He set them on the table so everyone could see.
Jeffrey pointed to Matthew Davidson’s name where it appeared as the plaintiff attorney for the malpractice case at Suffolk General Hospital. “Matthew Davidson was also the plaintiff attorney on my case,” Jeffrey told them.
Kelly snapped up the other paper, containing the information on the Commonwealth suit. “The plaintiff attorney on this case, Sheldon Faber, was the same as on my husband’s,” she said. “Now that I think of it, he was from St. Louis.”
“Let me check something,” Jeffrey said, pushing back from the table. To Devlin he added, “Stay put, I’ll be right back.” Devlin had started to follow. Jeffrey left the group to go to the public phone. Calling information in St. Louis, he asked for the business phone numbers for each of the two attorneys. The numbers were the same!
Jeffrey came back to the table. “Davidson and Faber are partners. Trent Harding had been working for them. Kelly, you were right. It was a conspiracy. This whole mess was being run by the plaintiff attorneys, creating their own demand and their own cases!”
