Custody of the State (19 page)

The fugitive had a rising fear that the delay had something to do with her. Perhaps a problem with the medical information she'd given the receptionist. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd listed no insurance company. But Katherine had accompanied her and assured the nurse that she herself would be paying for the visit.

Or perhaps the doctor was contacting the local sheriff's department—and they were on their way right now with multiple squad cars to arrest Mary Sue and snatch Joshua from her care.

“What's that, Mommy?” Joshua asked.

“That's a stethoscope.”

Mary Sue looked at her watch again. She got up from her chair and quietly cracked the door open an inch, glancing
through the hallway and to the lobby beyond. She could see Katherine seated in the lobby, reading a magazine. She could also see the main desk area, where the receptionist was typing calmly at her computer.

She closed the door and sat down. Joshua trudged over to her with a bored expression and flopped onto her lap.

“Can we go now? I'm tired of this room.”

She set Joshua squarely on her lap and gave him a big hug and kiss.

“We have to wait for the doctor, Josh.”

“Why? Why don't we go, Mommy?”

“Because we have to make you better and the doctor is going to help us.”

Then there were voices outside the door, just down the corridor. A man's voice, and another voice that sounded like a woman's. And another voice. For a moment, Mary Sue began to feel the overpowering grip of panic.

She set Joshua down and quickly walked over to the window. She pulled back the curtain and saw that there was no screen on the other side. When unlatched and fully opened, the window would be large enough for her and Joshua to easily climb through.

The voices outside the door stopped. Mary Sue glanced out at the highway and the dusty, rolling hills in the distance. She stretched out her hand and touched the latch on the window. Then she felt a presence at her side, and she turned around. Joshua was looking up at her, watching her wide-eyed. He wrapped his arms around her leg and smiled.

She took her hand off the latch, bent down, and took him into her arms, feeling the sense of panic melt away.

Then she began walking around the room, telling her son about some of the pictures on the walls. She stopped in front of one of them that showed a farm scene, with a farmhouse not unlike theirs.

Out of nowhere, Mary Sue felt the empty, gnawing pangs of loneliness and fear.

She began praying.
Please heal my baby boy, whatever the problem is. Protect us. Let Joe know how much I love him. Bring our family back together. Make this nightmare end.

Then after a few seconds she added,
And give your wisdom and courage to Will Chambers—wherever he is.

The door to the room swung open suddenly. Caught off guard, Mary Sue was startled, and she clutched Joshua even closer to her as she spun to face the door.

Dr. Bill Kendoll, dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt with his tie loosened at the neck, holding a clipboard, was standing in the doorway.

He strode into the room smiling, reaching out a hand and cupping the side of Joshua's face. Joshua smiled back.

“Mary Sue, I'm Dr. Kendoll,” he said, motioning for her to sit down on the chair he pulled up. “But everybody calls me ‘Dr. Bill.'” He flipped through the documents on his clipboard.

“Okay, first visit for mother and child. The nurse indicates in her notes that there is some lethargy, some complaint of possible developmental delays—below the fifteenth percentile in height-and-weight bracket. Vomiting after meals. Lack of appetite. Temp is only slightly elevated. Any other symptoms you have noticed?”

“No, I think you've got it.”

“I do note you feel that the vomiting and loss of appetite have improved recently—is that right?”

“Yes—in fact, I've been living with a family in the area for a little while and Josh has had a change in diet. I've noticed that his nausea seems to have decreased and his appetite is getting better ever since we came out here to South Dakota. In fact, I've written down a list of the things he's been eating in comparison to what he was eating before to see if that might be tied into a possible diagnosis.” She handed the piece of paper to the doctor, who took it and looked at it with interest.

“Very impressive. That's very smart on your part.”

“Are you going to be taking any blood?”

“Yes. No question about that. We've got to rule out some things. From the history you've given, this appears to be a problem that was getting progressively worse over the course of a year—until most recently, when you think there has been an improvement.”

“How about the blood analysis?” Mary Sue asked, “Are you going to be doing a broad-spectrum evaluation rather than just a simple blood count?”

“Well,” Dr. Bill said, smiling and looking at Mary Sue directly, “it is true that a broader blood test might pick up some of the more esoteric diseases—some of those metabolic disorders, though they're pretty rare. But I think we should be open to all kinds of possibilities.”

Then, after turning to one of the pages in the notes and glancing at it for a moment, he looked up at Mary Sue again.

“So—what brings you to South Dakota?”

“Some family problems,” Mary Sue replied.

“The chart indicates that you are staying over at Tommy White Arrow's ranch. Are you a friend of the family?”

“Actually, I've just gotten to know them recently. They're wonderful folks.”

“Yes, they certainly are,” Dr. Bill confirmed. “I've known them for a number of years. I've taken care of all of them, I think—Tommy, Katherine, even Andrew on occasion. And I'll probably be doing checkups on Danny, now that he's back here in South Dakota living with his brother and sister.”

The physician glanced down at the piece of paper with Mary Sue's notes on Joshua.

“You say here that Joshua has been eating lower-protein foods and you wonder whether that might give us a clue?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Katherine does the cooking, and she wanted to experiment with a low-protein diet she read about. So we're all her guinea pigs!” she added with a laugh. “And the other thing is, that he's been a little bit healthier since I've taken him out of a one-day-a-week day care that he'd been in—fewer colds
and flu and that kind of thing. I'm not sure if that makes any difference to coming up with a diagnosis.”

The doctor leaned back in his chair and studied Mary Sue for a moment. Joshua was now squirming impatiently in her arms.

“You seem very educated on medical issues—do you have some kind of medical background?”

“Yes,” Mary Sue responded. “I am a nurse.”

“Well,” Dr. Bill said, rising and walking over to the cabinet with the syringes, “let's draw some blood and see what we find out.” And then he turned to Mary Sue and remarked, “As you know, it's amazing what you can find out from a little bit of blood.”

25

T
HE LAST OF THE DINNER GUESTS
had left Jason Bell Purdy's mansion outside of Atlanta. The cook, the two maids, and the housekeeper were cleaning up after the feast, which had been held in the grand dining room that seated forty.

Purdy was pacing in his study, in front of the French doors that led to a large veranda outside, and sucking on a piece of hard candy. He strode over to the Moroccan leather couch, plopped down, and punched the TV remote with his right hand while he flipped open his Palm Pilot with the other and began tapping into his calendar for the rest of the week.

On TV, a congressman was giving a press conference, sharing his comments on the potential airline pilot strike. Both the House and the Senate were closely divided on the question of emergency legislation to deal with the issue. The president had not yet commented on whether he would use executive power to order the pilots back to work if a strike occurred.

Purdy muted the sound on the TV and considered his own position on the issue—or more precisely, his difficulty in forming any position at all.

Ever since the death of Senator Jim Boggs Hartley, the political caucus had been seriously considering Purdy to finish out Hartley's term. He had money, connections, experience on several prestigious volunteer projects, and that golden commodity of name recognition. He even possessed local-hero status, having been all-state quarterback during his high-school days at the prestigious Exeter Academy. And what he lacked in raw IQ he could make up with cunning, charisma, and charm.

Purdy was quickly realizing that hiring political consultants and a group of PR experts to prepare him to fill Hartley's Senate seat had not been enough. Calling up his to-do list, he tapped in the message, “Hire political analyst/expert on the issues.”

I've got to get me some brain boys to help me on these political issues,
Purdy thought to himself. But a tap at the windows interrupted him. He whirled and saw a large figure outside the window. He smiled and gestured for the man to come in.

Howard John Jubb walked into the room. Six-foot-one, a broad-shouldered, beefy man with powerful arms and a thick neck, he sported a curly black beard and a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap. He was called “Howley” by most who knew him.

“Hey,” Purdy called out.

“Hey,” the visitor responded. “Nice dinner party?”

“It was alright,” Purdy replied. “Man—what is it with the way you dress, Howley?”

Howley Jubb looked down at his outfit. He was wearing an expensive silk golf shirt on top and, on the bottom, a pair of camouflage pants with black leather military boots.

“What are you talking about?” Jubb chuckled. “This is the way I always dress.”

“Yeah, that's just the point. That nameplate on your office says you're my real estate manager. You've got to do something about your image.”

“What difference does it make? You have me slip in and out of your house at night—through the back door. You treat me like one of your housekeepers. Nobody ever sees me anyway.”

“Do I hear resentment? Is there something about the work you do, or the money I pay you, that you don't like?”

“No, Jason. I'm not complaining. I'm just happy to have a job here on your plantation,” he replied lightly.

Purdy studied Jubb's face and wondered if, underneath his smile, there was anything to worry about. He decided to laugh it off, and he slapped Jubb on the shoulder and invited him to sit down.

“I'm tired. Let's cut to the chase. Where are things with the bank examiners?”

“I don't think that's going to be a problem. They have no inkling that Pencup was anything more than a bank president. They don't know about the real-estate partnership. Their theory is that the two million was salted away by Pencup in some offshore account. At least, that's the idea my contact is trying to sell to them.”

“And you're telling me that Eden Lake has never come up in anything you've heard—right?”

“Jason, I'm telling you,” Jubb assured him, “there is no talk
anywhere
about Eden Lake. They will not be tying you in with Henry Pencup—period.”

“And what about the collar?” Purdy asked.

“I think we're alright on that. This guy is old school. Won't talk because it would violate the sanctity of the relationship. That kind of stuff. I've checked him out—very quietly, of course.”

“And what if he talks? I mean, that's possible. Then what?”

“Well, then I got a backup plan,” Jubb said, “a pretty good one. I'm proud of it.”

“That's good. Backup plans are good. But not having to use backup plans is better. You follow me on that?”

“Sure,” Jubb said, “but like I said, don't worry about it. I've got it covered. Now, how about a drink for me?”

“To tell you the truth, Howley, I'm tired—and I've got a busy day tomorrow. I'm hitting the sack.”

Jubb stood up and glanced around the room.

“So, you're livin' alone nowadays.”

“Yeah,” Purdy remarked getting up. “You might say I'm in between ladies.”

“How about Beth? She's not hanging around anymore?” Jubb asked.

“Like I said, I'm in between girlfriends right now. You know, busy with this and that. I've always got the regulars who call me, but I'm not much interested in them.”

“Must be tough. You've got a tough life, Jason.” Jubb snorted and swung around to give Purdy a high-five, then quickly headed for the door. Purdy called out after him.

“Hey, are you using that
mo-ron
Linus Eggers on this?”

Jubb turned and said, “Sure, I'm using Linus on this. But everything with him is always on a need-to-know basis.”

“Well, I'm going to give you some advice right now—when it comes to Linus, there is
no need to know
, alright?”