Remains Silent mm-1

by Michael Baden

  He turned to her, his face haggard and gray. It’s what he’ll look like in twenty years, Manny thought, if I can’t get him on a diet and exercise regimen and if this case doesn’t kill him first.

  “I’m thinking there’s a disconnect. The Pete Harrigan whom Ms. Collier described isn’t the Pete I knew.”

  “He was young then. Couldn’t he have simply matured?”

  “Not so profoundly. I’m willing to grant he was involved in those experiments, even complicit in the deaths of the people whose bones we found. He might have thought the experiments were necessary, or he was afraid to lose his job, or he was on the track of a cure- flimsy excuses, indefensible but conceivable. What’s inconceivable is that he would treat Isabella de la Schallier that way- impregnate her and then rush off without taking responsibility for her or the baby.”

  “Men can be assholes,” Manny said, thinking of her own wounds. “At least most men. That’s typical behavior. Why, if you hooked up with me-”

  “Don’t. No jokes. I knew Pete inside out. He was fundamentally decent. Goodness was part of his genetic makeup.”

  “Maybe he was scared off by the threat of loss of his medical license or even jail.”

  “Maybe, but he was a fighter. If he loved Isabella and she was carrying his baby, he’d have died protecting them.”

  Manny glanced at him quizzically. “Then how come he left?”

  Jake was sitting up straight, resolute, the fire back in his eyes. “Pete will tell us.”

  She almost swerved off the road. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ever since we left Ms. Collier, I’ve been wondering why Pete never left a clue about the baby. He left us Isabella’s dental records and the Gazette picture- clear enough that he and Isabella were together- and a road map to the experiments at the hospital. A full confession of guilt. But silence when it came to the baby.”

  “Maybe he was too ashamed of what he’d done to admit it even to you.”

  “Or maybe he wanted to admit it only to me. When I opened the box, there’d probably be other people present: Sam or Wally- he didn’t know about you, of course. But maybe he wanted to tell me alone, a confession to his best friend and to no one else. Manny, he’s left me another clue. I’m sure of it.”

  ***

  By the time they reached the outskirts of New York City, they had devised a plan of action. Manny would go to the Catskill Medical School to speak to Dr. Ewing; Jake would stay in New York and look for the information he was convinced Pete had left.

  He’s probably deluded, poor man, Manny thought, but she said nothing. The change in him was so profound, his excitement so great, his beauty so remarkable, that she wanted him to stay undeterred by doubt. There would be plenty of time after the case was closed for her to assess her feelings- and for him to determine his.

  ***

  The next morning, after Manny left, Jake called Wally. “Can you meet me for lunch?”

  “Delighted, Dr. Rosen. The usual place?”

  “No, I don’t want to be anywhere Pederson might see me. How about the Carnegie Deli? It won’t kill you to eat real food for one meal.”

  ***

  Every time Jake saw Wally, he felt a tingle of pride; this time it was especially true. With Pete’s death, Wally was now his closest medical confidant, and he looked forward to a developing relationship during which his colleague’s shyness would dissipate and his brilliance would become obvious not only in Jake’s office but throughout the forensic pathology community. There are lots of good brain surgeons and heart surgeons, Jake told Wally, but very few top forensic pathologists. The future, he told Wally over pastrami, could be anything Wally wanted to make it.

  “I’m flattered, Dr. Rosen,” Wally said. “Truly. But you could have saved the praise until you got back to the office. Why’d you ask me to come downtown?”

  Jake leaned back, enjoying himself. “Ever spied on anybody?”

  Wally’s face crimsoned. “When I was in high school, I peeked into the girls’ locker room. It was a big deal then. Can you imagine?”

  Jake laughed. “No, I mean really spied. Like followed somebody without being seen?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “I am now an experienced private dick. And I have the finesse of a ballerina.”

  “You may be overqualified.” Jake considered. “This time you will mostly be in a car.”

  “But I don’t have a car, remember? You had to rent one when I drove to Turner.”

  “And very expensive, too. This assignment may take a few days, and I don’t want to spring for a rental. You could take mine, though. Manny’ll drive me if we have to go upstate. Otherwise, I’m not leaving the city.”

  Jake leaned forward to take another bite of his sandwich; then his body jerked back. He stood, fumbled in his pocket, and plunked fifty dollars on the table. “That’s where it is!” he shouted. “Of course!”

  “Where are you going?” Wally asked, looking at Jake as though he were certifiable.

  “Out.”

  “But what about the assignment? Who’m I supposed to follow?”

  Jake was already halfway to the door. “This is more important.”

  ***

  The more he thought about it, the surer he was that he had guessed Pete’s hiding place. Hide in plain sight. Well, almost plain. His mind retraced the day they had discovered the other bodies. He had grown ill at the sight of them, particularly the mandible of Skeleton Four- Isabella de la Schallier. It wasn’t because of the cancer. It was because he must have suspected after the top of her skull was dug up Friday morning. He must have had her dental records with him on Saturday and confirmed it was her when the buried jawbone was disinterred. He had pleaded heat exhaustion, then forgetfullness, gone back to the car twice. My car.

  Jake willed the subway to go faster. He’d seen Manny’s skepticism. Now he wanted her with him, wanted to share his exaltation. He got out at 103rd Street and raced to his parking garage. “I’ve left something in the car,” he told the surprised attendant. “I have to get it.”

  “You know that’s not permitted, Dr. Rosen. I’ll have to get it for-”

  Jake darted past him and ran down the ramp. He saw his beat-up Olds enclosed in a thicket of new foreign cars. He made his way through, skinning an ankle. He didn’t care. He opened the passenger door and with his spare key unlocked the glove compartment. He reached in, rummaged. Tucked in back was something Jake had handled a thousand times, only never in so crucial a moment: an evidence bag.

  He drew it out. Pete had left him a letter.

  DR. HENRY EWING was in his eighties, Manny figured, but looked nearer sixty. His trim figure, when he rose to shake her hand, was ramrod straight, his face was rosy, his shoes and fingernails polished to the highest gloss. Now he was back behind his desk, Manny sitting across from it.

  “You told my assistant it was an emergency, Ms. Manfreda,” he said, “but you seem to be in excellent health. I’ve made room for you in my schedule, but if you’re merely here to sell me something-”

  “Oh, it’s an emergency all right.” Manny loathed the man from the moment she introduced herself. She watched him intently. Spring it on him. “I’m here at the recommendation of Dr. Peter Harrigan.”

  A muscle twitched under Ewing’s left eye. He selected a paper clip from a bowl on his desk and toyed with it. Not a bad cover-up but not good enough. “I haven’t heard from Dr. Harrigan in decades. Strange that he would recommend me.” Got him. He talked to Harrigan the Monday before Harrigan died.

  “But you were once colleagues, were you not?”

  He shrugged. “Forty years ago. He worked for me.”

  “Then you’re the right Dr. Ewing. It’s forty years ago I’m interested in.” I’ve interrogated tougher witnesses than this. That paper clip’s scrap metal. He’s limp pasta. “You see, I’ve been retained to investigate the death of one Lieutenant James Albert Lyons.”

  Not a twitch, not a flicker. “Never heard of him. I
don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  She bore in. “You might not know the name, but you’ll surely remember the circumstance. He was one of at least four patients- there may have been more- who died at your hands. For him the murder weapon you used was electroshock experiments. He died of a fracture of the cervical spine.”

  Touchdown! The hatred in those eyes could burn asbestos. She pressed on. “Still, if you don’t remember him, perhaps the name Isabella de la Schallier is familiar. You killed her with mescaline, I believe. But here’s a question that puzzles me: How come you decided to save her baby? You can tell me, or you can tell the police.”

  He faced her squarely. “I will not have you sully my reputation at this stage of my life. We weren’t in the business of killing people, Ms. Manfreda. Especially not babies.”

  “So the deaths were accidents? Unfortunate results of vital government testing? Human experiments?”

  “Yes.”

  “And one patient died of strontium poisoning. Didn’t you know what would happen if you fed someone strontium ninety?”

  “Dr. Harrigan handled the strontium ninety. He fed it to patients in breakfast cereal in different doses.”

  “And the mescaline?”

  “Harrigan wouldn’t touch that. He refused. A different doctor did it.”

  “On whose orders?”

  Look at him. He’s broken. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “On your orders, right?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, on your orders because you yourself were ordered.”

  He seemed to shrivel before her eyes. Like the Wicked Witch of the West. “I had no choice,” he said. “It was a government program. I was a patriot.” He laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes. Waiting for the guillotine.

  “I’m not much of a government fan,” Manny said calmly, though her heart was a trip-hammer, “and I’ve seen more than my share of injustice, but what you did in the government’s name at Turner is beyond despicable.”

  Ewing raised his head. His eyes were vacant. “It wasn’t only at Turner, it was all over the country. Remember, this was the Cold War. We were afraid the Russians might use their bombs. We had to know the levels of radiation a person could survive. It was self-defense.”

  Bullshit. “And the mescaline?”

  “The North Koreans used drugs in fifty-two, the Japanese throughout the Second World War, mescaline and all sorts of other mind-benders. Again, we had to know the levels, what a person could be subjected to before he gave up secrets, before he’d betray his country.”

  “Of course you would never have used radiation or drugs or Serratia as weapons.”

  A hesitation. “Never. This is America!”

  Righteous jerk. “So you experimented on people whose minds were already gone. I’m afraid I don’t understand the logic.”

  “Isabella wasn’t insane.”

  “No, she was just pregnant. I guess that makes it all right. Did you try mescaline on nonpregnant women too? A kind of comparison shopping?” Manny stood, shaking with rage. “This has been really informative, Dr. Ewing. I thank you.”

  He reached out a hand. “Where are you going?”

  “To New York. I’m just a simple civil rights attorney, but I suspect a great many people will want to know what happened at Turner- or all over the nation, if you’re right in what you say. If I were you, I’d hire a good lawyer. Somebody from the Justice Department would probably be best. His boss’s interests might coincide with yours.”

  She looked at him for one last time, feeling her stomach heave. “Tell me, was it only four?”

  He hesistated, then shook his head.

  “And their bodies?”

  “Buried in the field with the others.”

  No special day ends without a treat. “I suppose, then, they’ll have to stop construction while we dig them up. But don’t worry, you probably won’t have to give back your Nobel Prize.”

  When she’d left, he picked up the phone and made a long distance call.

  ***

  Jake had guessed right. If Pete was carrying something with him, something that would explain the existence of the child, what better place to hide it- where no one but Jake could find it- than in the glove compartment of Jake’s car? Why not give it to me that night? Because he didn’t want to be there when I discovered it. He was too ashamed. He opened the letter. The voice of Isabella de la Schallier rang out across the decades.

  My dearest beloved,

  This is the most painful letter I’ll ever write. When you finish it, I ask only for two things: that you do what I ask, agony though I’m sure it will be, and that you keep this letter always as a reminder of my love.

  Dr. Ewing told me yesterday that I will be given mescaline. He told me it was for my benefit, that it will help me with my depression, but I know that’s a lie. I’m not depressed- you have brought me joy. And I’m not sick, except sick in love. So I will be another of the Turner victims, like Lyons and Millen, Tedesco, Ryan and Cochran, and three others whose names I don’t know. The ones who disappeared into the Seclusion Room before me. At worst, I will go mad. At best, I shall die.

  Of course I refused. I pleaded, begged on my hands and knees. He told me that if I did not cooperate, he would kill the baby- our Joseph. He said that in exchange for my participation, he would let me find a couple to adopt Joseph when he’s born- he would even help me if I didn’t know anyone myself.

  My “treatment” will be long and hard. It’s even possible I will survive it, though I doubt that very much. The tragedy is that you will not be at my side to guide me through it. The other condition that Dr. Ewing imposed is that we are never to see each other again. I know you’re going to try to save me, and I can’t prevent you from trying, except to urge you to heed me. Be at peace. I’m at peace. You are my Godsend, my light, my soul, and my life, and losing you is a different death, a more painful one.

  You must promise, my heart. For Joseph’s sake and for mine, you must accept what is inevitable. God is more powerful than Dr. Ewing. I believe it is His will to take me to His bosom and to leave you and Joseph on this frail earth to live out your lives in happiness. You are forgiven- by me and by God.

  So this is goodbye. It is the heart that animates life. When the murmur of the heart finally ceases, the rest remains silent. I cover you with a thousand million kisses and feel yours in return.

  Your Isabella

  Pete had attached a note:

  Jake,

  For God’s sake show this to no one. It is a sacred treasure, and I entrust it to your care.

  P

  A treasure indeed, Jake thought. After Pete guessed who the bones belonged to, he must have swiped the dental records and the photographs from the Academie on Friday afternoon. Maybe he was still hoping it wasn’t her, but when the mandible was unearthed Saturday afternoon- bingo. When we discovered the other bones, he had his proof that she had not died in childbirth but had been killed, so he left the note in my glove compartment and hid the dental chart and pictures in “Gardiner’s” samples for dual protection. The poor shell of a man. What a shock it must have been. No wonder he was so sick that day. His sins had come back to claim him.

  MANNY CALLED Jake’s cell phone and told him everything she’d discovered. “I’ll go to Haskell Griffith,” she said. “He’s the best lawyer I know. Fought the government a number of times- even won a few. I’ll co-counsel with him. I want to get back at those roaches, those who are still alive. It’s personal.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “Home.”

  “You’re back in the city?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.”

  “Why? I’m lying here in bed, dressed in a diaphanous La Perla nightgown, waiting for my lover to get his ass across town and fill my bedroom with the intoxicating odor of eau de formaldehyde.”

  “You’ll have to call a different ME,” Jake said. “I’m on my way to Albany. I thou
ght if you were still upstate, you could do the investigation with me.”

  “What investigation?”

  “To find Isabella’s baby’s adoptive parents.”

  Manny sat up, electrified. “You mean the child’s alive?”

  “Hardly a child anymore. And I’ve no idea if he’s alive. Still, it’s worth a try. Maybe Pete found him, kept in contact with him, supported him.”

  “Talk about a needle in a haystack. Couldn’t you at least wait to go until tomorrow morning?”

  “I want to get there first thing. I’ll find a motel for the night. Maybe pick up a hot tootsie to keep me company.”

  “Try it and I’ll know. I have the nose of a bloodhound.”

  “But not, thank goodness, the looks.”

  “I still say it’s a waste of time.”

  “How many babies were adopted in this area in 1964? It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  “If the adoptive parents lived in the area, and if they still live there, and if they’re still alive, and if it was a legal adoption. You’re right: shouldn’t be difficult at all.”

  “If I can’t find him, it’s not so terrible. I’ll have only wasted a day.”

  “Worse,” Manny said. “You’ll have wasted a night.”

  ***

  It was a huge haystack. Jake sat in the Hall of Records cursing himself; the task seemed formidable. The Baxter County clerk had been a friend and admirer of Dr. Harrigan- knew him when he worked at Turner. Harrigan had told him nice things about Jake. So when Jake called him and told him he needed to look through the records as a part of a murder investigation, he readily permitted it. There were over twelve thousand adoptions recorded for the year 1964. How would I know the right couple even if I found them? Did Isabella use Pete’s last name? He looked up “Baby Harrigan.” Nothing. Mostly the babies were listed by their first name. “Baby Joseph.” He riffled through the pages. Twelve Baby Josephs, though he might have missed a few. Slowly he matched them with their adoptive parents; if necessary, he’d contact them all. He took out his notebook and began to jot down names and addresses.