Always Kiss the Corpse (40 page)

“Yes.”

“Oh God.”

“I know, yes I know.”

“And you held him?”

“I didn't have to then, not any more.”

“Gary had the syringes ready? Prepared? Three of them?”

Stockman nodded.

“Please God.” She pulled her hands from Stockman's and cupped her brow, eyes, nose. “This didn't happen.”

“Sandro was dead in minutes.” Stockman breathed deeply. “I panicked. Gary stayed cool. We had to make it look like he overdosed. We washed the makeup from his face and dressed him in sweatpants and a shirt, the only men's clothing in his closet. Except for bowling clothes but Gary didn't think he'd overdose before or after bowling and we couldn't find any men's underwear.”

Bonnie turned to face him. “I can't believe this.”

He looked squarely at her. “It's what happened.”

“And you took Sandro? You drove his body?”

“Yes. Gary took Sandro's car, with the body. I followed. To the cemetery. I wasn't thinking, I was so scared, going on automatic. The cemetery's usually deserted enough but people would pass by. Gary told me he'd spent the drive thinking if we should leave a syringe with the body, and he finally decided not to, make it look as if Sandro had shot up somewhere else, driven there and died.”

“Oh Stock, Stock.” Tears washed her cheeks.

He took her hand again. “It doesn't end yet, Bonnie.”

“Oh my God.”

“Richard. He was so upset about Sandro, he'd been responsible for Sandro's dosages, so upset about what WISDOM had done, he wanted to confess. To the police. We tried to calm him. He went out on his boat, and it burned.”

“But he was rescued. But—do you mean—?”

Stockman nodded. “Gary decided to deal with it. This time we didn't talk. Gary rigged the gas line to leak and bared a piece of wiring so when everything in the engine housing vibrated enough, a spark would touch some gas and make the whole thing blow. But Richard escaped. Then last night Gary shot Richard. He thought he was dead. He came to Lorna to give him an alibi, but Lorna and I had supper together yesterday so Gary needed me for the alibi too.”

“And you said—?”

“I told him yes, of course. He was acting so crazy, he might've killed Lorna and me right there. But I can't cover for him. I said I would, but I can't. He killed Richard.” Stockman looked at Bonnie. She was blurred through his tears, his pain. “When he did that, he destroyed WISDOM. We're done.”

Bonnie wiped her face with the heel of her hands. “Gary brought the syringes, you say.”

“Yes—”

“He had three with him, loaded with morphine.”

“Yes.”

“He injected Sandro not once, or twice, but three times.”

Stockman nodded.

“You tried to stop him, the second time. And the third.”

“I think—”

“Listen to me. You tried to stop him. The second time, the third time. You just told me that.”

“I—” He breathed, shallow. “Yes. I tried to stop him, after the first shot. But I couldn't.”

“We have to go to the police. The State Patrol. I'm going with you. Call Melman, we'll stop there first. He should be with us when you speak to the police.”

“It won't work.”

“We have to try.” She stood. “Come on.” Stockman stayed seated. She reached for his hand and tugged.

He looked up at her. “I've destroyed it all. The respect of the community. Our private life. All of it. I've defiled myself in the face of God.”

“We'll rescue what we can.”

A small sigh from Stockman.

“Get up.”

He pushed himself up. “Okay.”

“There's a way through this.”

“Okay,” he said again. “We'll go to the police. I'll call Melman.” He stared at her for a moment, but didn't see her. “First I want to go to the clinic.”

“Why?”

“Something I forgot to do.”

“The sooner we—”

“I need to do this.”

She stared at him, her face drawn. “I'll go with you.”

“No, Bonnie.”

“I'll wait. Read a magazine.”

“I'll just be a short while.”

“What if one of your patients comes by?”

“I don't see patients on Tuesday.”

“I'm coming with you. You do what you have to, I'll call Melman's office and say we'll be there in an hour.”

“What if he's busy?”

“Lawyers are available for emergencies. They get paid enough.”

≈  ≈  ≈

As Stockman and Bonnie drove down the hill, the fog thinned out, and patches of actual sunlight poked through. He parked the Jag in his assigned space and marched up to the front door, Bonnie falling in behind. He felt better. In charge again. WISDOM usually did this for him. He greeted Dawn with a smile and a cheery, “Hi, I'm back.”

Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Everything's under control. All okay here?”

She shook her head slowly. “Not with Richard shot.”

Stockman let the solemnity of the moment take him. “Of course. It's dreadful.”

“I'd— Would it be okay if—if I went home early?” She noted Bonnie. “Hi.”

“Yes,” Stockman said. “We should close the office. Anyone else coming in?”

She glanced at the appointments book. “Tiomkin in forty minutes. For Gary.”

“Oh.” Stockman laughed lightly. “Gary's here then. And Lorna?”

“She went to the lab. Since Terry's not there—”

He frowned. “Do you mind waiting till Tiomkin arrives? I'll take it from there.”

“Thank you.”

Bonnie sat down. Stockman strode to his office, sat at his desk, glanced about the room. The thick books on their shelves, he'd never need to consult them again. The garden outside the window would have to take care of itself. A thin shaft of sun made a triangle on the window. Ah well. From his desk drawer he took a hand-held tape recorder and began speaking. When he finished, fifteen minutes later, he set the machine on the middle of his desk, and stared at it. He looked about the office. The center of his working universe. He left his office, passed behind the reception counter, said to Dawn and Bonnie, “I need to check some old files,” opened the door, flicked on the lights and walked down the steps. Bonnie stepped outside to phone the lawyer.

Stockman stood in front of the metal cabinets, brought out keys, unlocked the middle one. He found rubber tubing, the syringe he needed, and three vials. He drew morphine from a large bottle. He stared at the three full vials. So it must be. So he must transfuse himself, so he must purify WISDOM. He relocked the cabinet. If in minutes he would meet his Maker, he must arrive cleansed. Though Heaven for him wasn't very likely. For a moment he thought of Bonnie, would she think him unfair, to leave her behind? But she wasn't ready to leave yet. He felt a preparedness in his soul.

In the operating room he flicked the light switch and sat on a straight-backed chair. Not a sterile situation, this; but the subsequent cleanliness of his spirit would compensate. He took off his jacket, rolled up his left shirt sleeve, with his right hand and teeth he tied the tubing on his forearm. He sat upright, leaning slightly backward. He must not slump over.

≈  ≈  ≈

Dawn glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes till Tiomkin's appointment. She heard the door open, and glanced up. A man and a woman. Dawn recognized the woman detective from a few days ago. And the man, he'd been in for an appointment recently.

They stood in front of the counter. The woman said, “Hi. Kyra Rachel again. And Noel Franklin. I was in last week. About Sandro Vasiliadis. We need to talk to Dr. Jones, Dr. Haines, and Dr. Albright. It's a matter of great urgency.”

Dawn disliked this woman. And his last time here the man had had a different name. But her only role here was to receive people and pass them through. Or not. “You don't understand. You need appointments for each one.” She glanced at her book. “You can see Dr. Jones next—”

Franklin said, “No. You don't understand. We have to see them now.”

“No need to be dramatic, sir. You'll just have—” But Franklin and Rachel were marching down the corridor toward the Jones and Albright offices. “Wait! You can't—” Franklin opened Stockman's door, glanced about, stepped in. Rachel opened Lorna's door and looked inside. They both reappeared as Dawn rushed down the corridor after them. “This is intrusive. I'm calling the police.”

They pushed past her, past the reception desk, down the opposite corridor. “Stop! You can't do that.” They did stop. At Richard's office, glancing down to Gary's office. The man grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.

≈  ≈  ≈

Not exactly breaking and entering, Noel realized, but they had reached the rim of disturbing the peace. This doctor was in. “Dr. Haines. My colleague and I need a word with you.”

The receptionist pushed in from behind. “I'm sorry, I tried to stop them.”

“It's okay, Dawn,” said Haines, seated, his desk a barrier protecting him from this little fracas. “I'll speak with them.”

“You have,” she glanced at her watch, “just a few minutes before your next patient.”

“Buzz me when he arrives. I'm sure we'll be done by then.”

The receptionist closed the door behind her. Haines said, “Yes?”

Noel said, “It's again about Sandro Vasiliadis.”

Haines swept his arm before him. “Have a seat. Mr.—Ferguson, was it? Are you here to speak about transgendering options? Or is it your business,” he turned to Kyra, “the two of you have come for, Ms.—?”

“Rachel. The latter. But it connects to the former. How did your transgendering of Sandro Vasiliadis go awry, Dr. Haines?”

“But it didn't, Ms. Rachel. Sandro was evolving properly.”

“Do your procedures include torture?”

Haines laughed. “Don't be ridiculous. Sandro was overcoming every one of the difficulties normally understood to be part of the procedure.”

“Then you've had several patients who've undergone this procedure?”

“Of course. That's what the clinic does.”

“The revolutionary new procedure. That some men might be suited for.”

Haines leaned forward, his face puzzled. “The new procedure?”

Kyra leaned forward, underlining her mockery. “The new purely medical procedure. Which you've evolved for Bendwell Pharmaceuticals.”

“Oh. Well. That.” The telephone buzzed twice. He pressed a button. “Yes?” The receptionist's voice, saying Mr. Tiomkin had arrived. “Tell him I'll be just a few minutes.” He turned back to Noel and Kyra. “You have to leave now.”

“As soon as you tell us about the new procedure.”

“We've still got a long way to go before that's approved. Our mice have been—”

“But in the meantime you've tested it out, to see how it works on humans.”

“Hardly, Ms. Rachel.”

“The research paper authored by the four of you, regarding hipophrine and percuprone?”

“I beg your pardon?” He squinted at her. “How did you have access to documents produced by WISDOM?”

“Professional journals can be leaky places, Dr. Haines. As is the FDA bureaucracy.”

“We've been working on several hormones that—”

“Sandro Vasiliadis was taking precisely those two hormones. The bottle of hipoperc was in his medicine cabinet when he died.”

For a moment Haines said nothing. The squint faded from his eyes. He stood. “I know nothing of that. Now if you'll excuse me. As you heard—” He walked to the door and opened it. “Leave. Now.”

Kyra and Noel remained seated. Then something outside the door caught Haines' attention and in a moment Dawn Deane, horror in her eyes, had collapsed against him. “What, Dawn? What?” He slid his arm around her waist.

Dawn, her breath pulsing out, whispered that Stockman Jones was unconscious down in the operating room. Kyra and Noel looked at each other, then sprinted out and downstairs. Haines followed them more slowly. At the commotion, Bonnie joined the charge. Stockman, sleeve rolled up, a blue tinge to his skin, eyes wide open, barely breathing, tiny pupils, two empty vials at his side, the syringe still sticking out of his inner arm.

Noel pulled out his cellphone, punched in 911 and shouted at Haines, “For god's sake, do something!”

Kyra found a tissue in her purse, grabbed the syringe in it and pulled it out.

≈  ≈  ≈

A fearful peace took Gary Haines. Stock lay as Vasiliadis had. It was just. Stock had fought against finishing off Sandro, Stock was too weak in that, as in everything. He had turned away as Gary punched the needle into the man's arm again. And even ran out as Gary punched it in again, again four-five-six times for good measure, making it clear the guy was an addicted pincushion. Stockman would have approved less than necessary. He would get less than necessary now.

≈  ≈  ≈

Bonnie leaned over her husband, her mouth to his, breathing out, was this the right treatment but what else to do, air in, press chest, air in, press chest, a dozen times—

She looked exhausted. Noel pulled her away, took over, she stood back. Haines stared at Jones, not moving.

“Do something for him!” Kyra shouted. “For god's sake, you're a physician!” She put her arm around Bonnie, who collapsed onto her shoulder.

Haines remained frozen for interminable seconds, then turned toward the women, his face void of information. “Nothing to be done. He'll be fine.”

“Is what they're doing wrong?” Kyra practically spat in his face.

“No.”

Kyra found herself, while supporting Bonnie, breathing in symmetry with the CPR.

≈  ≈  ≈

Two state patrolmen arrived at WISDOM within minutes of Noel's call. The police secured the basement and commanded everyone upstairs. An ambulance arrived and carted away the still unconscious Stockman Jones and his wife.