Crisis

by Robin Cook

  Magazines?” the waiflike young woman questioned. Jack thought she was no more than ninety pounds, yet she was walking a half dozen dogs, ranging in size from a gray Great Dane down to a small bichon frise. A clutch of clear plastic poop bags stuck out of her jeans’ back pocket. Jack had stopped her after following his established route back down through the Beacon Hill neighborhood. He had it in his mind to buy some reading material in case the wait for the backhoe operator turned out to be overly protracted.

  “Let’s see,” the woman said, scrunching her face in thought. “There’s a couple of places on Charles Street.”

  “One would be fine,” Jack said.

  “There’s Gary Drug on the corner of Charles and Mount Vernon Street.”

  “Am I going in the right direction?” Jack questioned. At the moment he was on Charles Street, heading toward the park area and the parking garage.

  “You are. The drugstore is a block down on this side of the street.”

  Jack thanked the woman, who was pulled away by her impatient canines.

  The shop was a true ma-and-pop-type store with an old-fashioned cluttered but welcoming ambience. The whole shebang was about the size of the shampoo section in a generic chain drugstore, yet it was a true emporium. Products that ranged from vitamins to cold remedies to notebooks were tucked into shelving that went from floor to ceiling along the single aisle. At the far end near the pharmacy counter was a surprisingly wide selection of magazines and newspapers.

  Jack had mistakenly agreed to lunch with Alexis and Craig. It turned out to be like being invited to a wake where you were expected to converse with the deceased. Craig was furious at the system, as he called it, at Tony Fasano, at Jordan Stanhope, and mostly at himself. He knew he’d done a terrible job despite the hours of practice he’d been through with Randolph the night before. When Alexis tried to get him to talk about why he had so little control of his emotions, knowing full well it was in his best interest to do so, he flew off the handle, and he and Alexis had a short but nasty exchange. But mostly Craig just sat for the hour in sullen withdrawal. Alexis and Jack had tried to talk, but the intensity of Craig’s irritation gave off vibes that were difficult to ignore.

  At the end of lunch, Alexis was hoping Jack would return to the courtroom, but Jack had begged off with the excuse that he wanted to get to the cemetery by two in hopes that Percy Gallaudet had made short work of his contribution in rectifying his buddy’s sewer system. At that point, Craig had angrily told Jack just to give up, that the die had been cast, so Jack needn’t bother. Jack had responded that he’d gone too far involving too many people to abandon the idea.

  With several magazines and a New York Times under his arm, Jack proceeded on to the parking garage, got his sad-looking Accent out into the daylight, and headed west. He had a bit of trouble finding the route that had brought him into the city that morning, but he eventually recognized a few landmarks that indicated he was on the correct road.

  Jack pulled into the Park Meadow Cemetery at two ten and parked next to a Dodge minivan in front of the office building. Going inside, he found the frumpy woman and Walter Strasser exactly as he’d left them in the morning. The woman was typing into a monitor, and Walter was sitting impassively at his desk with his hands still clasped over his paunch. Jack wondered if he ever did any work, since there was nothing on his desk surface to suggest it. Both people looked in Jack’s direction, but the woman immediately went back to her work without a word. Jack proceeded over to Walter, who followed him with his eyes.

  “Any sign of Percy?” Jack asked.

  “Not since he left this morning.”

  “Any word?” Jack asked. He marveled that the only way he could tell Walter was conscious was the rare blink and the moving mouth when he spoke.

  Nope.”

  “Is there any way to contact him? I’m supposed to meet him here sometime after two. He’s agreed to dig out Patience Stanhope this afternoon.”

  “If he said he’d do it, he’ll be here.”

  “Does he have a cell phone? I failed to ask him.”

  “Nope. We contact him by e-mail. Then he comes by the office.”

  Jack put one of his business cards on Walter’s desk. “If you could contact him to find out when he’s going to get to Patience Stanhope, I’d be much obliged. You can call me on my cell phone. Meanwhile, I’ll head up to the grave site if you can tell me where it is.”

  Gertrude, show the doctor the Stanhope plot on the map.”

  The wheels on Gertrude’s desk chair squeaked as she pushed away from her desk. As a woman of few words, she merely tapped an arthritic index finger at the appropriate spot. Jack glanced at the site. Thanks to the contour lines, he could see it was on the very crest of the hill.

  “Best view in Park Meadow,” Walter commented.

  “I’ll wait there,” Jack said. He started for the car.

  “Doctor!” Walter called. “Since the grave is scheduled to be opened, there’s the issue of the fee, which must be settled before digging commences.”

  After parting with a significant number of twenty-dollar bills from his bulky stash, Jack returned to the rent-a-car and drove up the hill. He found a small turnout with an arbor shading a park bench. He left his car there and walked over to where he guessed the Stanhope plot was located. It was on the very crown of the hill. There were three identical, rather plain granite headstones. He found Patience’s and glanced briefly at the incised inscription.

  Getting the magazines and newspaper out of the car, Jack went over to the bench and made himself comfortable. The weather had improved dramatically from the morning. Bright sun beat down with a ferocity that it hadn’t had on previous days, as if to remind everyone that summer was just around the corner. Jack was glad to have the shade from the ivy-covered arbor because it was tropically hot.

  Jack glanced at his watch. It seemed hard to believe that in less than twenty-four hours he would be married. That is, he admitted, unless there was some unforeseen disaster, such as his not getting there on time. He thought about that for a minute while a blue jay angrily scolded him from a nearby dogwood tree. Jack shook off the idea of not getting to the church on time with a shake of his head. There was no way it could happen. But the thought was an unpleasant reminder of his need to call Laurie. Yet with the reality of not knowing when he would get Patience’s corpse, he was once again able to put it off.

  It had been longer than Jack could remember since he’d spent solitary idle time. He’d found that keeping himself frantically busy, whether at work or at play, was the best way to keep his demons at bay. It had been Laurie who’d patiently coaxed him out of the habit over the last few years, but that was when they were together. This was different, since he was alone. Yet he felt no urge to dwell on the past and what could have been. He was content to think about what was going to be, unless…

  Jack shook off the idea for the second time. Instead, he picked up the newspaper and started reading. It was a good feeling being al fresco in the sunshine, enjoying the news with birds singing in the background. The fact that he was sitting in the middle of a cemetery didn’t bother him one iota. In fact, thanks to his ironic sense of humor, it added to his pleasure.

  Finishing the newspaper, Jack turned to the magazines. After he read several rather long but interesting articles in The New Yorker, Jack’s contentment began to wane, especially when he found himself in direct sunlight. He checked his watch and cursed. It was a quarter to four. He stood up, stretched, and gathered the newspaper and magazines. One way or the other, he was going to find Percy and pin him down for a start time. Knowing that the last shuttle flight to New York was somewhere around nine, he admitted he would not make it. Unless he drove the rent-a-car to New York, which he was not excited about doing for multiple reasons, he would have to stay in Boston for one more night. The idea of staying at the hotel he’d seen at the airport occurred to him, because he had no intention of going back to the Bowmans’ without Alexis and t
he kids being there. As much as he sympathized with Craig, he’d had quite enough of his funk at lunch.

  The newspapers and magazines went into the Hyundai through the missing passenger-side window. Jack was halfway around the car when he heard the sound of the backhoe. Shielding his eyes from the sun and peering down through the trees, Jack saw Percy’s yellow vehicle start up the cemetery’s sinuous roadway. It had its scoop folded up against its rear like a grasshopper’s leg. Jack quickly called Harold Langley.

  “It’s almost four,” Harold complained when Jack told him the exhumation was about to get under way.

  “It’s the best I could do,” Jack said. “I even had to bribe the man as it is.” Jack didn’t say he’d also bribed Walter Strasser.

  “All right,” Harold said with resignation. “I’ll be over in a half hour. I need to make certain things are ready here. If I’m a little late, do not open the vault until I am on-site! I repeat, do not try to take the lid off the vault until I am there to see it happen! I have to identify the coffin and certify it was in that particular vault.”

  “I understand,” Jack said.

  Before Percy arrived, the Park Meadow pickup truck drove up. Enrique and Cesar climbed out and unloaded equipment from the truck’s bed. With commendable efficiency and minimal conversation, they staked out Patience’s grave site, spread out a waterproof tarpaulin like the one Jack had seen that morning at the grave that was being dug, cut and removed the sod, and stacked the rolled lengths on the tarpaulin’s periphery.

  By the time Percy rolled onto the scene, the site was ready for the backhoe. Although Percy gave Jack a quick wave, he didn’t get out of his cab until he’d positioned the excavating machine to his liking. Only then did he leap out to position his outriggers.

  “Sorry I was delayed,” Percy called to Jack.

  Jack merely waved. He wasn’t interested in conversation. All he wanted to do was get the damn coffin out of the ground.

  When Percy thought all was in order, he went to work. The scoop dug deeply into the relatively loose soil. The backhoe’s diesel roared when the scoop was drawn inward, then lifted. Percy swung the boom around and began piling the dirt on the tarp.

  Percy proved skillful at what he was doing, and within a short time, a wide trench with sharply perpendicular walls began to form. By the time he was down approximately four feet, Harold Langley arrived with the Langley-Peerson hearse. He did a three-point turn and backed the vehicle up alongside the deepening trench. With his hands on his hips, he inspected the progress.

  “You’re getting close,” Harold yelled to Percy. “So ease up.”

  Whether Percy couldn’t hear Harold or chose to ignore him Jack couldn’t tell. Whatever the reason, he continued digging as if Harold weren’t there. After a short time, there was a jarring hollow sound as the scoop’s teeth clunked against the vault’s concrete top a foot or so beneath the soil at the bottom of the pit.

  Harold went berserk. “I told you to ease up,” he yelled, frantically waving his hands in an attempt to get Percy to lift the scoop out of the hole. Jack had to smile. Harold looked completely out of place outside the funeral home, in the sunshine with his somber black suit and pasty-colored skin, like a parody of a punk rocker. Spikes of darkly dyed hair, which had been carefully combed and pomaded over his bald crown, angled off from the side of his head.

  Percy continued to ignore Harold’s increasingly frenzied gestures. Instead, he drew in the scoop, creating a scraping, screeching noise as the scoop’s metal teeth dragged along the vault’s concrete lid.

  In desperation, Harold dashed to the backhoe’s cab and pounded on the glass. Only then did the scoop stop and the roar of the diesel abate. Percy opened the door and looked at the livid funeral director with an innocent questioning expression.

  “You’re going to break the vault’s lid or tear off the eyehooks, you…” Harold yelled, unable to come up with a sufficiently vulgar descriptive noun to express what he thought of Percy. His anger had him tongue-tied.

  Content to let the professionals sort out their differences, Jack climbed into his car. He wanted to use his phone, and he thought the car would shield him from the noise of the backhoe’s diesel when Percy recommenced digging. The missing passenger-side window faced away from the action.

  Jack called Dr. Latasha Wylie. This time, he got her directly.

  “I got your message earlier,” Latasha admitted. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you. Thursdays are our Grand Rounds conference.”

  “No problem,” Jack said. “I’m calling now because they are finally digging up the body as we speak. If all goes smoothly, which I have no reason to suspect, considering the obstacles I’ve had to deal with to get this far, I’m looking at doing the case between six and seven at the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home. You offered to help. Is that still a possibility?”

  “The timing couldn’t be better,” Latasha said. “Count me in! I’ve got the bone saw packed and ready to go.”

  “I hope I’m not taking you away from something more fun.”

  “The pope was coming in for dinner, but I’ll tell him we have to reschedule.”

  Jack smiled. Latasha had a sense of humor akin to his.

  “I’ll plan to meet you at the home around six thirty,” Latasha continued. “If that’s not appropriate for whatever reason, give me a call!”

  “Sounds like a plan. Can I offer you dinner after all the fun and games?”

  “If it’s not too late. A girl needs her beauty sleep.”

  Jack disconnected. As he’d been speaking, Enrique and Cesar had disappeared into the pit and shovelfuls of dirt had begun flying up into the air. Meanwhile, Percy had started rigging steel cables from the scoop’s teeth. Harold had returned to the edge of the pit, staring down into its depths with his hands on his hips. Jack was pleased that he was taking such personal interest.

  Switching his attention to his phone, Jack considered calling Laurie. He now knew that he’d missed even what he’d called the worst-case scenario on the phone the night before: getting home that evening. Events had inexorably pushed his departure until tomorrow morning, the day of the wedding. Although his cowardly side tried to talk him into putting off the call until after the autopsy, he knew he had to make the call now. But that wasn’t the only conundrum: What to tell her about the morning’s demolition derby on the Mass Pike was another issue. After a moment’s thought, he decided to come clean. He felt the sympathy factor trumped the worry factor, since he could say he was reasonably confident Franco had to be convalescing, at least for a few days, and wouldn’t be apt to pop up again. Of course, that didn’t exclude Antonio, whoever he was. Jack could recall an image of the man standing behind and to the side of Franco at the Memorial Drive basketball court confrontation, as well as his sitting in court that morning. Jack had no idea how he fit in with the Fasano team, but the fact that he existed had passed through Jack’s mind when Percy had started digging Patience’s grave. Unconsciously, Jack had touched the revolver in his pocket at the time just to reassure himself it was there. Considering the seriousness of the threat communicated to the girls, it wasn’t a wild leap of imagination to think of someone showing up and contesting the exhumation.

  Taking a fortifying breath, Jack speed-dialed Laurie’s number. There was always the hope he’d get her voicemail. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Laurie answered quickly.

  “Where are you?” she demanded with no preliminaries.

  “The bad news is that I’m in a cemetery in Boston. The good news is that I’m not one of the residents.”

  “This is no time for jokes.”

  “Sorry! I couldn’t help myself. I am in a cemetery. The grave is being opened at this moment.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause.

  “I know you are disappointed,” Jack said. “I’ve done everything I could to speed up the process. I’d hoped to be on my way home at this time. It’s not been easy.” Jack went on to describe the morning’s run-in wit
h Franco. He told her everything that had happened, including the bullet lodging in the rent-a-car’s windshield support.

  Laurie listened in stunned silence until Jack finished his monologue, which had included the need to bribe both the cemetery superintendent and the backhoe operator. He also had mentioned that Craig’s testimony had been a disaster.

  “It pisses me off that now I don’t know whether to be angry or sympathetic.”

  “If you are asking my opinion, I’d lean in the direction of sympathy.”

  “Please, Jack. No jokes! This is serious.”

  “After I finish the autopsy, I’ll surely have missed the last shuttle flight tonight. I’ll stay in a hotel at the airport. Flights start sometime around six thirty.”

  Laurie sighed audibly. “I’m going over to my parents’ early to get ready, so I’ll miss you here at the apartment.”

  “No problem. I think I’ll be able to get into my tuxedo without any help.”

  “Will you come to the church with Warren?”

  “That’s my intention. He’s inventive the way he always finds parking for his ride.”

  “All right, Jack. See you at the church.” She disconnected abruptly.

  Jack sighed and flipped his phone shut. Laurie wasn’t happy, but at least he’d gotten the unpleasant chore out of the way. For a moment, he marveled that there was nothing in life that was simple and straightforward.

  Slipping his phone into his pocket, Jack climbed out of the car. As he’d been talking with Laurie, things seemed to be coming to a head at graveside. Percy was back inside the backhoe’s cab and had the diesel engine cranking. The scoop was poised over the excavation with attached steel cables stretching downward into the depths. It was apparent the backhoe was putting significant tension on the cables.

  Jack walked to the edge of the hole to join Harold. Looking down, he could see that the cables were attached to eyehooks embedded in the vault’s lid.

  “What’s happening?” Jack yelled over the diesel roar.

  “We’re trying to break the seal,” Harold yelled back. “It’s not easy. It’s an asphalt-like material that’s used to make it waterproof.”