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A Perilous Conception

Page 23

by Larry Karp


  It took him seventeen seconds to open the door. He looked like a comic book character in his red and white striped pajamas. His hair was all over the place, and his flamboyant PJs didn’t do much to disguise his ample midsection. “What in the name of anything holy is so important that you have to ring my bell at this hour?” he bellowed.

  “I’ll come in and tell you about it.” I stepped past him onto the slate vestibule. “I hope I didn’t disturb your wife.”

  “Hmmph. Nice to know you have some consideration. No, my wife takes sleeping pills. She wouldn’t hear the end of the world.”

  I pointed toward the living room. “Can we sit down?”

  He humphed again, then said, “Would my study suit you?”

  He led me down the hall, past walls covered with paintings that looked like they’d been done by kindergarteners, all in thousand-dollar frames. I thought I might sink into the carpet up to my ankles.

  Camnitz’s study fit the profile and then some. More Emperor’s-Clothing artwork on two walls, the others taken up by in-built bookcases. State-of-the-art stereo system in the recess adjacent to the huge glass-covered mahogany desk. Camnitz shuffled behind the desk, started toward the chair, but detoured to open the window. “Hot as hell in here,” he muttered, then sank into his chair, and motioned me to sit opposite him.

  My butt said a nice thank-you for the thick padding on the chair.

  Camnitz tilted his head back, adjusted his glasses, all the better to look down his snoot at his unwelcome visitor. “Let’s get this over with, Mr. Baumgartner. What is it that couldn’t wait until morning?”

  You don’t rush your moves in a chess game. “Well, Doctor, it starts with what we talked about in your office. You were in a certain relationship—”

  “Shh.” Finger to lips, he glanced toward the door. “I don’t want my wife to hear this.”

  “But she’s asleep, you said. Wouldn’t hear the end of the world.”

  He frowned. “Are you here to blackmail me?”

  “No. That’s the one thing you don’t have to worry about.”

  “Well, come on, man. Get to the point.”

  “I’m getting there,” I said. “You and Ms. Wanego had a nice trip to Norway. Then, a few days after you got back, she disappeared—”

  “One thing had nothing to do with the other. I have no idea why she left or where she went.”

  “No, the trip and the disappearance weren’t related. But you do know why Ms. Wanego left. You also know where she went.”

  He’d been twitchy all along; now he steepled his fingers to try to cover a tremor that was getting worse by the moment. “I said I have no idea, and I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. Was Ms. Wanego turning up the heat on you? Tightening the screws more than you could hold still for? What I’d really like to know is how, after you killed her, you got Dr. Hearn to help you bury the body in that grove of trees, out on Mrs. Hearn’s mother’s farm.”

  He looked like one of those old-time circus clowns, calcimined face, blazing nose, red-striped pajamas. “Right,” I said. “Too bad for you that Dr. Hearn was so wrapped up in her work, she forgot when her mother was coming back from her cruise. Dr. Hearn introduced you as Dr. Sanford, but Mom’s going to take one look at you in a lineup, and point straight at you. What’ll you have to say then?”

  He cleared his throat, swallowed air, worked his tongue around his mouth. Finally, he managed, “Does this really have to come out?”

  “Well, no, of course not. This is just a party game, Pin the Murder on the Killer, and now that we’ve done that, let’s go have some ice cream and cake.”

  “I can make it worth your while,” Camnitz said. “I’ll give you more than you’d make in five years of work. No, ten years.” He gave me what he thought would pass for a chummy smile. “How does that sound?”

  “Tempting. But I’ve come this far, and I’m not going to spend the rest of my life wondering what really went down with the three of you.” I wiped my face on my sleeve. “Tell me the story. The real story.”

  He looked twenty years older than when we’d walked into the room. His shoulders slumped, loose skin below his cheeks. “I had nothing to do with Alma’s death,” he said. “Giselle Hearn came into my office late one afternoon. She said she’d tried to talk to Alma about her behavior as lab supervisor, but it didn’t go well. The talking became yelling, and then things, you might say, got out of hand. They started to fight, and…well, Giselle was a big woman. She said Alma suddenly went limp, and Giselle realized she’d strangled her. She wanted my help getting rid of the body.”

  “And out of the goodness of your heart, you helped the person who murdered your mistress to bury her. Dr. Camnitz, please.”

  “Giselle told me she knew about Alma and me, and if I didn’t help her, she’d tell my wife.”

  “So what? She didn’t have any proof, did she? Would your wife really have believed Dr. Hearn, once you’d turned her in for murder and attempted blackmail?”

  Even with the open window, the room was a blast furnace. My head felt light. “Look, I don’t have all night. You’ve swung and missed, Strike One and Strike Two. Here comes the next pitch. One more swing, and that’s the old ball game.”

  He held out his hands like a street beggar. “It was an accident. It really was. I shouldn’t ever have made Alma the supervisor of that lab. I knew there’d be trouble, but she insisted, and I thought I could handle it. Earlier that day, Giselle made an appointment to see me. She told my secretary it was urgent, but she was in the middle of an experiment, and couldn’t come by till after five. I said all right, I’d stay.”

  He shook his head. “When she came in, she was in a rage, absolutely frothing at the mouth. She said the situation in the lab had become impossible, that her whole staff was going to quit, and if I didn’t fire Alma, she’d tell my wife about how every time I was at a medical meeting lately, Alma was gone, too. Giselle insisted on getting it settled right then, once and for all, and stormed out.

  “When she sailed back in with Alma, I asked Alma if she couldn’t be a little more patient with the lab staff, but it was like tossing a can of gas onto a fire. She told me it was Giselle or her, and I could decide which one of them would talk to my wife. ‘Use your head, Gerry,’ she said. ‘Tell that cow she’s got till morning to get her stuff out of the lab. If she does say anything to your wife, I’ll deny it. Look in the mirror. Do you really think your wife would believe I’d have an affair with you?’”

  Camnitz looked like a little boy, his mother took away the cookie he’d pinched out of the jar. “The next thing I knew, Giselle ran over and gave Alma a smack in the face that knocked her across my desk. I tried to pull Alma away, and then both Giselle and I were tugging at her. She was screaming like a siren on an ambulance, and when I put my hands over her mouth, she bit me. Giselle had her arms around Alma’s neck, and then, just like that, Alma went limp. Giselle had broken her neck. It was an accident.”

  No, it wasn’t, I thought. It was Hearn’s hypothetical ace in the hole.

  Now that he’d gotten started, Camnitz babbled right along. “When we realized what had happened, Giselle said she knew where we could get rid of the body. So I called my wife, told her I was supervising the residents on a difficult case, and wasn’t sure when I’d get home. Giselle and I waited till late in the evening, then I went over to the hospital, got a wheelchair, and we pushed Alma out to my car in the parking garage. No one was around. We put Alma into the trunk, drove up to Giselle’s mother’s place, got shovels out of the garden shed, and buried the body. Afterward, we went into the house to have a drink, but Giselle was a week off on when her mother was coming back from a cruise, and she caught us. Giselle introduced me as Sanford, and made up a cock and bull story about a celebration over a lab success. That’s the truth. You’ve got to believe me.”
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br />   “Actually, I do.” My mouth was so dry, I could hardly say the words.

  Camnitz seemed to relax. “You can see, can’t you? It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill her. I would never have killed her.”

  “You loved her.”

  He didn’t hear the sarcasm. “Well, yes. I really did. She was such a strong woman, she made me feel strong. Made me feel like I could take on any problem.”

  I sighed. “She can’t help you with this one.”

  Message received. He looked like a beagle who’d gotten an unprovoked kick from its owner. “Mr. Baumgartner…I told you, I’d make it worth your while, didn’t I? Alma’s death was an accident, and it wasn’t even me who broke her neck. What’s the point of ruining my life?”

  “I’m going to break into tears.” I stood, wobbled a bit, recovered. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Down to the station. Some other people would love to hear your story and put it on tape.”

  “You want me to go like this? In my pajamas and bathrobe?”

  “They’ll give you their own brand. You’ll feel right at home. Come on, Camnitz. Up.”

  As he got to his feet, he whipped a hand into the pocket of his robe, and came out with a small handgun. “No,” he said, like a two-year-old. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off that gun. Son of a bitch. I rubbed my pounding ass.

  “Why couldn’t you have been reasonable?” he whined. “We both could’ve come out of this all right.” He leveled the gun.

  I tried to figure what to do. This time, he stood just across a desk from me, not thirty yards down the street, and I didn’t see any way to get at him before he could pull the trigger. If I made a move toward my gun, he’d shoot before I was halfway there. Bad game, trying to dodge a bullet, but I thought maybe a little rapid motion might get him nervous enough that he’d panic and shoot wildly. I dodged to the right.

  He swung his arm around. “Stand still,” he growled. If I hadn’t been so damn scared, I’d have laughed.

  Then, as I ducked left, I saw motion behind Camnitz. The partly-opened window flew all the way up, and a man jumped up on the sill and into the room, behind Camnitz. “Am I breaking up an important meeting?” Sanford asked.

  Camnitz didn’t know whether to spit, shit, fish, or cut bait. As he gawked at Sanford, I made a move toward him, but the desk was in the way, and he turned the gun back on me.

  “The man’s got a problem,” I said to Sanford. “There’s somebody on both sides of him. He may shoot one of us, but no way he’s fast enough to get us both. The second guy is going to nail him.”

  Sanford pointed at me. “Shoot him,” he said. “Kill me, what’s going to happen to my patients?” He took a step toward Camnitz.

  I moved around the edge of the desk. “No, shoot him. Kill me, who’s going to protect the citizens of Emerald from scum like you?”

  “We’d better watch out,” Sanford said. “If his hands are as fast as his mouth, he could reload and get the two of us before we knew what hit us.”

  Camnitz’s eyes flicked right, left, right, again. His hand wavered. Sanford was about five steps away from him. I was a little closer, but the corner of the desk was in my way. Grab for my gun now? No, Sanford and I had a good thing going. Push too hard, Camnitz might decide it’d be worth taking one of us along, most likely, I guessed, me. But who knew what his feelings were toward Sanford? One of the first things I learned from Mel Richmond was that it’s dangerous to expect a cornered rat to think like a philosophy professor.

  Camnitz’s jaw tightened. His body stiffened. No choice now. I nodded toward Sanford. We both sprang. If we’d been a little closer, it would’ve been perfect, but Camnitz had just enough time to whip the gun up against his right temple. I had my hand on his elbow when he pulled the trigger. Maybe he was bluffing, hoping we’d back off and give him more wiggle room, but it was a bad move to bluff off the hand he was holding.

  For a moment, Sanford and I stood over him, then we each went for a carotid. Neither of us found one. Sanford looked at the left side of the corpse’s head, then up at me. “Where’d the bullet go?”

  “A twenty-two short doesn’t have much oomph,” I said. “Which is why it’s probably the best weapon for what he just did. The bullet bounces off the inside of the skull, then goes ricocheting around inside. All that’s left in there now is a bowl of raspberry Jell-O.”

  It was New Orleans on Labor Day in that room. I perched carefully on the edge of the desk and shook my head back and forth, trying to clear the fog. “Sanford, what the hell were you doing out there?”

  “You’re not the only one who thought Camnitz owed him.”

  “But I told you not to—”

  “I came anyway. After you dropped me off, I looked up Camnitz’s address in the County Medical Directory, then drove right on over. You still had to take Iggy home, so I actually beat you here. I parked a couple of houses down, and waited for you. When you went inside, I watched to see where a light went on, then ran around outside and ducked under the sill to listen. Figured I could be a witness, if you needed one. But then I saw I’d better do a little more than that.”

  “The way you came through that window…oh. Judo.”

  “Couple of yards off the ground? Piece of cake.”

  “Why didn’t you stay out there? You could’ve watched him shoot me, then turned him in, and you’d have been home free. Nothing to stop you calling the newsies in the morning.”

  He started to laugh. “Do that, and the hypothetical Good Deed Fairy would never give me Giselle’s log.”

  I felt weary like never before. “I should’ve figured.”

  He gave me a long, hard squint. “Baumgartner?”

  It seemed to take all my effort to say, “What?”

  “You look like hell. You’ve looked like hell all evening. I thought you were just in a snit about this case, but…” He put a hand to my forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up. You must have a hundred-three, at least.” He fingered my pulse. “One-thirty-two.”

  “I think I’ve got an infection,” I said.

  “Fair bet. Any idea where?”

  “I know where.” I waved a hand toward Camnitz. “I had a meeting with that gun yesterday afternoon. I must’ve made him nervous enough that he snuck up behind me down the block from the hospital, took a shot, then ducked into an alley. He nailed me in the butt. I didn’t want to go to an ER and have to answer questions that’d put me on the carpet in front of the chief to explain…damn it, Sanford, I had a friend dig out the bullet for me. Now, it hurts like hell, and it’s getting worse every minute.”

  “Let’s see.”

  I hesitated, then got to my feet and dropped my pants and boxers. Sanford whistled. “What the hell—masking tape?”

  “It’s all we had to hold the edges together.”

  “And keep the crud inside. Hold on.”

  He pulled, and I thought I’d die. I wished I’d die. My body was just one big holding tank for pain. As it began to ease off, I heard Sanford say, “…probably a strep. Looks as bad as I guess it feels.”

  “Strep, huh? The guy who got the bullet out was coughing all over me. But he cleaned it out with peroxide, double-strength peroxide, in fact. Like they use for hair coloring.”

  “Double-strength…Baumgartner, that was one of the worst things you could’ve done. Double-strength peroxide damages tissue, and then you closed it all off, which kept the dead material in there. Like spreading a banquet for bacteria and inviting them to bring all their friends and neighbors. Listen, this is serious. You’ve got red streaks over your buttock and down your leg, and they’re spreading practically while I watch them. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “I can’t do that. I’ve got this mess here to
deal with. And besides, how would I explain—”

  “You wait much longer, you’re not going to have to explain anything, because you’ll be dead. Let that infection get into your bloodstream, you’re a goner. You need big-time antibiotics and drainage. Pull up your pants. I’ll get you down to Puget Community, and start treatment.”

  “You? Start treatment? You’re an OBGYN.”

  “So what? I’ll have you admitted to the House Service on Male Medicine as a pelvic infection. I treat pelvic infections all the time, and a lot of them are strep. I can tell the resident you’re a friend who’s in a little bit of an embarrassing situation. Then, when he takes your history, you say you were walking down the street yesterday, and some kid shot you in the backside and ran away. You figured the bullet wasn’t far in, you could get it out yourself.”

  “And he’s going to believe that?”

  “Of course not. Before he talks to you, he’ll know I’m taking charge of your care to keep it quiet. No resident would ever screw over one of my patients.”

  Sanford pulled a handkerchief, carefully wiped the armrests of my chair and the edge of the desk where I’d settled down. “Come on, would you. Get your pants on, and let’s go.”

  I glanced over at Camnitz, on the floor. “And just leave him lying there?” I winced as my trousers came up over my rear end. “Fat fuck!”

  “Sure, leave him there. What’s anyone going to think when they find a corpulent copulant in his pajamas in his study, a gun next to his hand, and a hole in his head?”

  I started to laugh, coughed, damn near choked. Sanford pulled at my arm. “Can we please get out of here before I have to resuscitate you?” He yanked me toward the door.

  “What about Wanego’s body? Up at Mrs. Hearn’s.”

  “Leave that to me. Did you see the way Mrs. Hearn looked at me when I was talking to her there, before we left? Like the mother of a patient who wasn’t going to make it. I’ve been there once or twice.”

 

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