by Mortal Fear
“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 children, 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. “Are you Dr. Jason Howard?”
“That’s correct,” 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.”
“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 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, ‘paranoia’?”
“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 resounded 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,” interrupted Jason.
“How so?” Detective Curran 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,” Curran said. He bent over his pad, making a correction.
“I presume it was arterial blood,” Dr. Danforth said.
“I believe so,” Jason said.
“Which means … ?” Curran questioned.
“Probably a rupture of the aorta,” Danforth answered. She had her hands folded in her lap as if she were at a tea party. “The aorta is the main vessel that leaves the heart,” she added for Curran’s benefit. “It carries oxygenated blood out to the body.”
“Thank you,” Curran said.
“Sounds like either lung cancer or aneurysm,” Danforth added. “An aneurysm is an abnormal out-pocketing of the blood vessel.”
“Thank you again, Curran said. ”It’s so handy when people know I’m ignorant.”
Jason had a momentary flash of Peter Falk playing Detective Columbo. He was quite sure that Curran was anything but ignorant.
“Would you agree, doctor?” Danforth asked, looking directly at Jason.
“I’d vote for lung cancer,” Jason said. “Hayes was a prodigious smoker.”
“That does raise the probability.”
“Any possibility of foul play?” Curran asked, looking at the medical examiner from under his heavy lids.
Dr. Danforth gave a short laugh. “If the diagnosis is what I think it is, the only foul play involved would have been perpetrated by his Maker—or the tobacco industry.”
“That’s what I thought,” Curran said, flipping his
notebook closed and pocketing his pencil.
“Are you going to do an autopsy now?” Jason asked.
“Heavens no,” Dr. Danforth said. “If there were some pressing reason, we could. But there isn’t. We’ll get to it first thing in the morning. We should have some answers by ten-thirty or so, if you’d like to call about then.”
Curran put his hands on the table as if he were about to stand. Instead, he said, “Dr. Howard has alleged that the victim thought someone was trying to kill him. Am I right, doctor?”
Jason nodded.
“So …” Curran said. “Could you keep that in mind when you do the autopsy?”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Danforth said. “We keep an open mind in all cases we do. That’s our job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get home. I haven’t even had a chance to eat dinner.”
Jason felt a mild wave of nausea. He wondered how Margaret Danforth could feel hungry after spending her day cutting up corpses. Curran actually said as much to Jason as they descended to the first floor. He offered Jason a lift, but Jason told him he was expecting a friend. No sooner had he said it than the street door opened and Shirley walked in. “Some friend,” Curran whispered with a wink as he left.
Once again Shirley stood out like a mirage. For entertaining she’d dressed in a red, fitted, silk shirt-dress, cinched with a wide black leather belt. Her appearance bespoke so strongly of life and vitality that her presence in the dirty morgue was a collision of opposites. Jason had the unnatural urge to get her out of there as soon as possible, lest some evil force touch her. But she was resistant to his urging. She’d thrown her arms around him and pressed his head against hers in a genuine show of sympathy. Jason melted. His response surprised him. He found himself fighting back tears like an adolescent. It was embarrassing.
She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. He managed a crooked smile. “What a day,” he said.
“What a day!” she agreed. “Any reason you have to stay here?”
Jason shook his head.
“Come on, I’m taking you home,” she said, hurrying him outside to where her BMW was parked in a no-parking zone. They got in and the car roared to life.
“Are you okay?” Shirley asked as they headed toward Massachusetts Avenue.
“I’m much better now.” Jason looked at Shirley’s profile as the city lights illuminated it in flashes. “I’m just overwhelmed by all the deaths. As if I should be doing something better.”
“You’re too hard on yourself. You can’t take responsibility for everyone. Besides, Hayes wasn’t your patient.”
“I know.”
They drove for a while in silence. Then Shirley said, “It is a tragedy about Hayes. He was pretty close to a genius, and he couldn’t have been more than forty-five.”
“He was my age,” Jason said. “He was in my class in medical school.”
“I didn’t know that,” Shirley said. “He looked a lot older.”
“Especially lately,” Jason said. They passed Symphony Hall. Some affair was just getting out, and men in black tie were emerging on the front steps.
“What did the medical examiner have to say?” Shirley asked.
“Probably cancer. But they aren’t going to do the autopsy until morning.”
“Autopsy? Who gave the authorization?”
“No need if the medical examiner thinks there is some question about the death.”
“But what kind of question? You said the man had a heart attack.”
“I didn’t say it was a heart attack. I said it was something like that. At any rate, it’s apparently protocol for them to do a postmortem on any unexpected death. A detective actually questioned me.”
“Seems like a waste of taxpayers’ money,” Shirley said as they turned left on Beacon Street.
“Where are we going?” Jason asked suddenly.
“I’m taking you home with me. My guests will still be there. It will be good for you.”
“No way,” Jason said. “I’m in no shape to be social.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you brooding. These people will undentand.”
“Please,” Jason said. “I’m not strong enough to argue. I just need to sleep. Besides, look at me, I’m a wreck.”
“Okay, if you put it that way,” Shirley said. She turned left on the next block, then left again on Commonwealth Avenue, heading back to Beacon Hill. After a period of silence, she said, “I’m afraid Hayes’s death is going to be a big blow to GHP. We were counting on him to produce some exciting results. The fallout is going to be especially tough for me, since I was responsible for his being hired.”
“Then take some of your own advice,” Jason said. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for his medical condition.”
“I know. But try telling that to the board.”
“In that case I guess I should tell you. There’s more bad news,” Jason said. “Apparently Hayes believed he’d made a real scientific breakthrough. Something extraordinary. Do you know anything about it?”
“Not a thing,” Shirley said with alarm. “Did he tell you what it was?”
“Unfortunately no,” Jason said. “And I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. He was acting rather bizarre, to say the least, claiming someone wanted him dead.”
“Do you think he was having a nervous breakdown?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“The poor man. If he did make some sort of discovery, then GHP is going to have a double loss.”
“But if he had made some dramatic discovery, wouldn’t you be able to find out what it was?”
“Obviously you didn’t know Dr. Hayes,” Shirley said. “He was an extraordinarily private man, personally and professionally. Half of what he knew he carried around in his head.”
They skirted the Boston Garden, then navigated the roundabout route to get into Beacon Hill, a residential enclave of brick-fronted townhouses in the center of Boston, whose one-way streets made driving a nightmare.
After crossing Charles Street, Shirley drove up Mt. Vernon Street and turned into the cobblestoned Louisburg Square. When he’d decided to give up suburban living and try the city, Jason had been lucky enough to find a one-bedroom apartment overlooking the square. It was in a large townhouse whose owner had a unit in the building, but was rarely there. It was a perfect location for Jason, since the apartment came with a true urban prize: a parking place.
Jason got out of the car and leaned in the open window. “Thanks for picking me up. It meant a lot.” He reached in and gave Shirley’s shoulder a squeeze.
Shirley suddenly reached out and grabbed Jason by the tie, pulling his head down to her. She gave him a hard kiss, gunned the motor, and was off.
Jason stood at the curb in a pool of light from the gas lamp and watched her disappear down Pinckney Street. Turning to his door, he fumbled for his keys. He was pleased she had come into his life, and for the first time considered the possibility of a real relationship.
3.
It had not been a good night. Every time Jason had closed his eyes, he’d seen Hayes’s quizzical expression just before the catastrophe and re-experienced the awful feeling of helplessness as he watched Hayes’s lifeblood pump out of his mouth.
The scene haunted him as he drove to work, and he remembered something he’d forgotten to tell either Curran or Shirley. Hayes had said his discovery was no longer a secret and it was being used. Whatever that meant. Jason planned to call the detective when he reached GHP, but the moment he entered he was paged to come directly to the coronary care unit.
Brian Lennox was much worse. After a brief examination, Jason realized there was little he could do. Even the cardiac consult he’d requested the day before was not optimistic, though Harry Sarnoff had scheduled an emergency coronary study for that morning. The only hope was if immediate surgery might have something to offer.
Outside Brian’s cubicle the nurse asked, “If he arrests, do you want to code him? Even his kidneys seem to b
e failing.”
Jason hated such decisions, but said firmly that he wanted the man resuscitated at least until they had the results from the coronary study.
The remainder of Jason’s rounds were equally as depressing. His diabetes cases, all of whom had multisystem involvement, were doing very poorly. Two of them were in kidney failure and the third was threatening. The depressing part was that they had not entered the hospital for that reason. The kidney failure had developed while Jason was treating them for other problems.
Jason’s two leukemia patients were also not responding to treatment as he’d expected. Both had developed significant heart conditions even though they had been admitted for respiratory symptoms. And his two AIDS sufferers had made very distinct turns for the worse. The only patients doing well were two young girls with hepatitis. The last patient was a thirty-five-year-old man in for an evaluation of his heart valves. He’d had rheumatic fever as a child. Thankfully he was unchanged.
Arriving at his office, Jason had to be firm with Claudia. News of Hayes’s death had already permeated the entire GHP complex, and Claudia was beside herself with curiosity. Jason told her that he wasn’t going to talk about it. She insisted. He ordered her out of his office. Later he apologized and gave her an abridged version of the event. By ten-thirty he got a call from Henry Sarnoff with depressing news. Brian Lennox’s coronary arteries were much worse but without focal blockage. In other words, they were uniformly filling up with atherosclerosis at a rapid rate, and there was no chance for surgery. Sarnoff said he’d never seen such rapid progression and asked Jason’s permission to write it up. Jason said it was fine with him.
After Sarnoff’s call, Jason kept himself locked in his office for a few minutes. When he felt emotionally prepared, he called the coronary care unit and asked for the nurse taking care of Brian Lennox. When she came on the line, he discussed with her the results of the coronary artery study. Then he told her that Brian Lennox should be a no-code. Without hope, the man’s suffering had to be curtailed. She agreed. After he’d hung up, he stared at the phone. It was moments like that that made him wonder why he’d gone into medicine in the first place.
