Mortal Fear

by Robin Cook

  “Hayes and the dancer were no longer lovers.”

  “Oh, really?” Curran asked with a short, hollow laugh that ended in a belch. “Why don’t you go over to the Vice department and leave me alone, doctor. I have a lot of genuine homicides to ponder.”

  Curran picked up his pencil and went back to his forms. Enraged, Jason returned to the ground floor and surrendered his visitor’s pass. Then he went out to his car. Driving along Storrow Drive, with the Charles River lazily spread out on the right, Jason finally began to calm down. He was still convinced something had happened to Helene, but he decided that if the police weren’t concerned, there was little he could do.

  He pulled into the GHP parking lot and went back to his office. Claudia and Sally hadn’t returned from their lunch break yet. A few patients were already waiting. Jason changed back to his white coat and called to check on Madaline Krammer’s cardiac consult. Harry Sarnoff had agreed with Jason’s appraisal, and Madaline was having an angiogram.

  As soon as Sally returned, Jason went to work seeing his scheduled patients. He was on his third afternoon patient when Claudia ducked into the exam room.

  “You have a visitor,” she announced.

  “Who?” Jason asked, tearing off a prescription.

  “Our fearless leader. And she’s foaming at the mouth. I thought I should warn you.”

  Jason handed the prescription to the patient, tossed his stethoscope around his neck, and walked down the corridor to his office. Shirley was standing by the window. The moment she heard Jason she turned to face him. She was without question furious.

  “I certainly hope you have a good explanation, Dr. Howard,” she said. “I just got a call from the police. They’re on their way here to get a formal statement on why I didn’t report the break-in of Hayes’s lab. They said they heard about it from you — and they’re threatening obstruction of justice.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jason. “It was an accident. I was at the police station. I didn’t mean to mention it…”

  “And just what the hell were you doing down at the station?”

  “I wanted to see Curran,” Jason said guiltily.

  “Why?”

  “There was some information I thought he should have.”

  “About the break-in?”

  “No,” Jason said, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Helene Brennquivist hasn’t shown up today. I found out that she and Hayes were having an affair, and I guess I jumped to conclusions. The break-in just slipped out.”

  “I think it would be best if you stayed with doctoring,” Shirley said, her voice softening a degree.

  “That’s what Curran said,” sighed Jason.

  “Well,” Shirley said, reaching out and touching Jason’s arm, “at least you didn’t do it on purpose. For a while there I was wondering whose side you were on. I tell you, this Hayes affair has a life of its own. Every time I think the problem is contained, something else breaks.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jason said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

  “It’s okay. But remember — Hayes’s death is already hurting this institution. Let’s not compound our difficulties,” She gave Jason’s hand a squeeze, then walked to the door.

  Jason went back to his patients, determined to leave the investigation to the police. It was nearly four when Claudia interrupted again.

  “You have a call,” she whispered.

  “Who is it?” Jason asked nervously. The usual modus operandi was for Claudia to take messages and for Jason to return the calls at the end of the day. Unless, of course, it was an emergency. But Claudia didn’t whisper when it was an emergency.

  “Carol Donner,” she said.

  Jason hesitated, then said he’d take it in his office. Claudia followed, still whispering.

  “Is that the Carol Donner?”

  “Who is the Carol Donner?”

  “The dancer in the Combat Zone,” Claudia said.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Jason said, entering his office. He closed the door on Claudia and picked up the phone. “Dr. Howard,” he said.

  “Jason, this is Carol Donner. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “No bother.” Her voice brought back the pleasant image of her sitting across from him at the Hampshire House. He heard a click. “Just a moment, Carol.” He put the phone down, opened the door, and looked across the room at Claudia. With an irritated expression, he motioned for her to hang up.

  “Sorry,” Jason said, returning to the phone.

  “I wouldn’t call you unless I.thought it might be important,” Carol said. “But I came across a package in my locker at work. I’m a dancer at the Club Cabaret, by the way….”

  “Oh,” Jason said vaguely.

  “Anyway,” Carol said, “I had to go in to the club today and I found it. Alvin had asked me to put it in my locker several weeks ago and I’d forgotten all about it.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Bound ledgers, papers and correspondence. That type of stuff. There were no drugs, if that’s what you were wondering.”

  “No,” Jason said, “that’s not what I was wondering. But I’m glad you called. The books might be important. I’d like to see them.”

  “Okay.” Carol said. “I’ll be at the club tonight. I’ll have to think of some way to get them to you. My boss is giving me a lot of trouble about protection. Something weird is going on, which they won’t tell me about, but I’m stuck with this goon following me around. I’d just as soon not involve you in that.”

  “Maybe I could come and pick it up?”

  “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’ll tell you what. If you give me your number, I’ll call when I get home tonight.”

  Jason gave her the number. “One other thing,” Carol said. “Last night I realized there was something else I didn’t tell you. About a month ago, Alvin said he was going to break up with Helene. He said he wanted her to concentrate on their work.”

  “Do you think he told her?”

  “Haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “Helene hasn’t shown up for work today.”

  “No kidding!” Carol said. “That’s strange. From what I’d heard, she was compulsive. about work. Maybe she’s the reason my boss is acting so crazy.”

  “How would your boss know about Helene Brennquivist?”

  “He has a great informational network. He knows what’s going on in the whole city.”

  Hanging up, Jason pondered the confusing inconsistencies between Carol’s job and her intellectual sophistication. “Informational network” was a computer-age term — unexpected from an exotic dancer.

  Going back to his patients, Jason studiously avoided Claudia’s questioning gaze. He knew she was overwhelmingly curious, but he wasn’t about to give her any satisfaction.

  Toward the very end of the afternoon, Dr. Jerome Washington, a burly black physician who specialized in gastrointestinal disorders, interrupted Jason, asking for a quick consult.

  “Sure,” Jason said, taking him back to his office.

  “Roger Wanamaker suggested I speak to you about this case.” He took a bulky chart from under his arm and put it on the desk. “A few more like this and I’m going into the aluminum siding business.”

  Jason opened the chart. The patient was male, sixty years old.

  “I did a physical on Mr. Lamborn twenty-three days ago,” Jerome said. “The guy was a little overweight, but aren’t we all? Otherwise I thought he was okay and told him so. Then, a week ago, he comes in looking like death warmed over. He’d dropped twenty pounds. I put him in the hospital, thinking he had a malignancy I’d missed. I gave him every test in the book. Nothing. Then three days ago he died. I put a lot of pressure on the family for an autopsy. And what did it show?”

  “No malignancy.”

  “Right,” Jerome said. “No malignancy — but every organ he had was totally degenerated. I told Roger and he said to see you, that you’d commiserate.”


  “Well, I’ve had some similar problems,” Jason said. “So has Roger. To be truthful, I’m worried we’re on the brink of some unknown medical disaster.”

  “What are we going to do?” Jerome asked. “I can’t take too much of this kind of emotional abuse.”

  “I agree. With all the deaths I’ve had lately, I’ve been thinking of changing professions too. And I don’t understand why we’re not picking up symptoms on our physicals. I told Roger I’d call a meeting next week, but now I think we can’t afford to wait.” An image of Hayes’s blood pumping over the dinner table flashed through Jason’s mind. “Let’s get together tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have Claudia set it up, and I’ll tell the secretaries to put together a list of all the physicals we’ve done over the last year and see what’s happened to the patients.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jerome said. “Cases like this don’t do much for a man’s confidence.”

  After Jerome left, Jason went out to the central desk to make plans for the staff conference. He knew that a few people would have to put in some overtime, and he thanked providence for providing computers. There were a few groans when he explained what was needed, including rebooking all the afternoon patients, but Claudia took it on herself to be the ringleader. Jason was confident things would get done as well as the short time would permit.

  At five-thirty, after seeing his last patient, Jason tried Helene’s home number. Still no answer. Impulsively, he decided to stop by her apartment on his way home. He looked at the address he’d gotten from personnel and noted she lived in Cambridge on Concord Avenue. Then he recognized the address. It was the Craigie Arms apartment building.

  What a coincidence, he thought. Before meeting Danielle he’d dated a girl at the Craigie Arms.

  Descending to his car, Jason headed over to Cambridge. The traffic was terrible, but thanks to his familiarity with the area he had no trouble locating the address. He parked his car and went into the familiar lobby. Scanning the names, he found Brennquivist and pressed the buzzer. There was always the outside chance Helene wasn’t picking up her phone, but would respond to the door. There was no answer. Jason looked at the tenant list, but Lucy Hagen’s name was gone. After all, it had been fifteen years.

  Instead, he reached for the super’s buzzer and pressed it. A small speaker above the door buzzers crackled to life, and the gruff voice of Mr. Gratz grated out into the tiled foyer.

  “There’s no soliciting.”

  Jason quickly identified himself, admitting that Mr. Gratz might not remember him since it had been a few years. He said he was concerned about a colleague who was a tenant. Mr. Gratz didn’t say anything, but the door buzzed open. Jason had to run a few steps to get it. Inside, Jason confronted the unmistakable odor, which he’d remembered for fifteen years. It was the smell of grilled onions. A metal door opened down the tiled hall and Mr. Gratz appeared dressed, as always, in a tank-top undershirt and soiled jeans. He sported a two-day growth of beard. He studied Jason’s face, demanded his name again, then asked, “Didn’t you used to date the Hagen girl in 2-J?”

  Jason was impressed. The man certainly wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but he apparently had a memory like a steel trap. Jason had gotten to know him because Lucy had chronic problems with her drains and Larry Gratz was in and out of her apartment.

  “What can I do for you?” Larry asked.

  Jason explained that Helene Brennquivist hadn’t shown up for work and wasn’t answering her phone. Jason said he was worried.

  “I can’t let you in her apartment.”

  “Oh, I understand,” Jason said. “I just want to make sure everything is okay.”

  Gratz regarded him for a moment, grunted, then started toward the elevator. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket that looked adequate enough to open half the doors in Cambridge. They rode the elevator without speaking.

  Helene’s apartment was at the end of a long hall. Even before they got to the door; they could hear loud rock and roll.

  “Sounds like she’s having a party,” Gratz said. He rang the bell for a full minute, but there was no response. Gratz put his ear to the door and rang again. “Can’t even hear the door chimes,” he said. “Wonder no one’s complained about the music.”

  Lifting a hairy fist, he pounded on the door. Finally he selected a key and turned the lock. As the door opened, the volume of the music increased dramatically. “Shit,” Gratz said. Then he yelled, “Hello!” There was no answer.

  The apartment had a small foyer with an arched opening to the left, but even from where he stood Jason recognized the unmistakable smell of death. He started to speak, but Gratz stopped him.

  “You better wait here,” Gratz said over the pounding music as he advanced toward the living room.

  “Oh, Christ!” he shouted a second later. His eyes opened wide as his face contorted with horror. Jason looked between the arch and Larry’s body. The room was a nightmare.

  The super ran for the kitchen, his hand clasped over his mouth. Even with his medical training, Jason felt his own stomach turn over. Helene and another woman were side by side on the couch, naked, with their hands tied behind their back. Their bodies had been unspeakably mutilated. A large, stained kitchen knife was jammed into the coffee table.

  Jason turned and looked into the kitchen. Larry was bent over the kitchen sink, heaving. Jason’s first response was to help him, but he thought better of it. Instead, he went to the door to the hall and opened it, thankful for the fresh air. In a few minutes Larry stumbled past him.

  “Why don’t you go call the police,” Jason said, allowing the door to close behind him. The relative quiet was refreshing. His nausea abated.

  Thankful for something to do, Larry ran down the stairs. Jason leaned against the wall and tried not to think. He was trembling.

  Two policemen arrived in short order. They were young and turned several shades of green when they looked into the living room. But they set about sealing off the scene and carefully questioning Jason and Gratz. With care not to disturb anything else, they finally pulled the plug on the stereo. More police arrived, including plainclothes detectives. Jason suggested Detective Curran might be interested in the case and someone called him. A police photographer arrived and began snapping shot after shot of the devastated apartment. Then the Cambridge medical examiner arrived.

  Jason was waiting in the hall when Curran came lumbering toward Helene’s apartment.

  Seeing Jason, he paused only to shout, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jason held his tongue, and Curran turned to the policeman standing by the door. “Where’s the detective in charge?” he snapped, flashing his badge. The policeman jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room. Curran went in, leaving Jason in the hall.

  The press appeared with their usual tangle of cameras and spiral notebooks. They tried to enter Helene’s apartment, but the uniformed policeman at the door restrained them. That reduced them to interviewing anybody in the area, including Jason. Jason told them he knew nothing, and they eventually left him alone.

  After a while Curran reappeared. Even he looked a little green. He came over to Jason. He took a cigarette out of a crumpled pack and made a production out of finding a match. Finally, he looked at Jason.

  “Don’t tell me ‘I told you so,’” he said.

  “It wasn’t just a rape murder, was it?” Jason asked quietly.

  “That’s not for me to say. Sure, it was a rape. What makes you think it was more?”

  “The mutilation was done after death.”

  “Oh? Why do you say that, doctor?”

  “Lack of blood. If the women had been alive, there would have been a lot of bleeding.”

  “I’m impressed,” Curran said. “And while I hate to admit it, we don’t think it was your ordinary loony. There’s evidence I can’t discuss but it looks like a professional job. A small-caliber weapon was involved.”

  “Then you agree Helene’s death i
s tied to Hayes.”

  “Possibly,” Curran said. “They told me you discovered the bodies.”

  “With the help of the superintendent.”

  “What brought you over here, doctor?”

  Jason didn’t answer immediately. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “As I told you, I had an uncomfortable feeling when Helene didn’t show up for work.”

  Curran scratched his head, letting his attention wander around the hallway. He took a long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose. There was a crowd of police, reporters, and curious tenants. Two gurneys were lined up against the wall, waiting to take the bodies away.

  “Maybe I won’t turn the case over to Vice,” Curran said at last. Then he wandered off.

  Jason approached the policeman standing guard at the door to Helene’s apartment. “I was wondering if I could go now.”

  “Hey, Rosati!” yelled the cop. The detective in charge, a thin, hollow-faced man with a shock of dark, unruly hair, appeared almost immediately.

  “He wants to leave,” said the cop, nodding at Jason.

  “We got your name and address?” Rosati asked.

  “Name, address, phone, social security, driver’s license — everything.”

  “I suppose it’s okay,” Rosati said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Jason nodded, then walked down the hallway on shaky legs. When he emerged outside on Concord Avenue, he was surprised it had already gotten dark. The cold evening air was heavy with exhaust fumes. As one final slap in the face, Jason found a parking ticket under his windshield wiper. Irritated, he pulled it out, realizing he’d parked in a zone that required a Cambridge resident sticker.

  It took much longer for him to return to GHP than it had taken to drive to Helene’s apartment. The traffic on Storrow Drive was backed up exiting at Fenway, so it was about seven-thirty P.M. when he finally parked and entered the building. Going up to his office, he found a large computer printout on his desk listing all the GHP patients who had received executive physicals in the last year, along with a notation of the patient’s current physical status. The secretaries did a great job, Jason thought, putting the printout in his briefcase.