F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (27 page)

 
          
"Good.
I'll turn you over to my secretary, who'll arrange all the releases. How does
next week sound?"

           
"Thursday would be the best
for me."

 
          
"I'll
see what we can arrange. But if you want me to use the accelerated healing procedures,
you'll have to watch a videotape and sign a stack of release forms. The
implants I employ are still considered investigational at this point."

 
          
"Whatever
you say."

 
          
"Excellent."
As
Duncan
led him out into the hall, he spotted Gin
passing by.

 
          
She
glanced his way, then did a double take.

 
          
"Senator
Marsden!" Something flickered across her face. Somewhere in the moment
between her surprise of recognition and smile of greeting her features twisted
with an odd expression. Was it fear, concern, or consternation?

 
          
Whatever,
it was plain that Gin was anything but happy to see the senator here.

 
          
Why?

 
          
She'd
seen nothing but good results, excellent results, during her time here. Why on
earth should she have the slightest concern about her senator's having surgery
here?

 
          
Unless
. . .

 
          
No.
How could she suspect? How could she even guess? It had to be something else.
Maybe he'd misinterpreted her expression.

 
          
But
he didn't think so. Something there, something very much like fear.

 
          
Duncan
tried to shrug off the feeling but it
wouldn't let go. Why on earth should the sight of him with Senator Marsden
strike terror into Gin?

 
          
Unsettling
thoughts whirled through Gin's mind as she watched Senator Marsden sign the
consent forms, thoughts about three members of Marsden's committee, all Lathram
patients, all either dead, damaged, or demented . . .

 
          
She
did her best to keep calm.

 
          
"What
a surprise to see you here," she said after
Duncan
was gone.

 
          
He
tapped the tip of his ear with his finger. "Well, it seems it's unanimous
that this has got to go. And didn't you say he was the best?"

           
"Yes, but I never meant you
should come here. . . I mean, he doesn't take cases like yours."

 
          
"He
said he'd make an exception in my case." Gin felt a cold lump form in her
stomach.
Duncan
never made exceptions.

 
          
"Really.
I'm surprised."

 
          
"Maybe
you should be flattered. He said it was because of you." He clapped her on
the upper arm. "See. I knew I'd be glad I hired you."

 
          
I
hope so, Senator, she thought. She made what she hoped was a graceful exit and
hurried away. She had someplace to go.

 
          
She
sat in the periodicals section of the D. C. Public Library's main branch on
G Street
. She'd remembered something Oliver had said
about the Guidelines committee . . . shortly after
Duncan
had exploded at the news that she was
looking for a post on the committee. . . . years ago he had a bit of trouble .
. .

 
          
Trouble
with the Guidelines committee? How many years? Oliver wasn't talking. Maybe the
microfilm would.

 
          
She
ran a search of the Washington Post the year of Lisa's death, looking for
Duncan
.

 
          
The
earliest was dated May 7th, about a week before the first anti-Duncan article
in the Alexandria Banner. Front page, lower right corner.

 
          
Gin's
stomach lurched as she read the heading, "Committee Decries Gross
Overcharging by Surgeon." She scanned the article until she spotted his
name, then backtracked.

 
          
From
his seat beside the committee chairman, ranking member Senator Harold Vincent
said his staff had uncovered a case of "flagrant abuse of the current
system, right here in our own backyard." He went on to excoriate Dr.
Duncan Lathram, a vascular surgeon in
Alexandria
, for collecting over a million dollars from
Medicate last year. "This sort of gouging is a prime example of a
profession running wild, lining their pockets with millions of taxpayers'
hard-earned money. If ever there was a doubt that the medical profession needs
guidelines imposed on it, that doubt should be banished by the likes of Dr.
Lathram." Gin sat rigid in her seat before the microfilm screen, shocked
not only by the words, but by their speaker. Senator Vincent . . .
Duncan
had operated on him just a few weeks ago,
they'd been bantering in the committee hearing room moments before his
seizures. And though he'd attacked
Duncan
in public five years before, neither had
ever mentioned it. Had they both forgotten?

 
          
No.
Not
Duncan
. Vincent, maybe. In a quarter century on
the Hill, this was simply another in an endless series of remarks prepared by
one of his aides and tossed away after they were read into the record.

 
          
But
Duncan
. . . those words no doubt were branded on
his brain. He'd never forget something like this. Nor would he forgive.

 
          
She
went back and read the article from the beginning. Vincent had attacked
Duncan
from his seat on the Committee for Medical
Practice Guidelines, the original Guidelines committee under Senator McCready.

 
          
The
article listed the other members of that first committee. Besides Vincent and
McCready, it named Lane, Allard, and Schulz.

 
          
Schulz!
Schulz had been on the original committee. Gin hadn't known that.

 
          
'"Oh
. . . my . . . God, " she whispered. That was the connection between the
four dead or injured legislators, all had been members of the McCready
committee.

 
          
She
found another mention of
Duncan
, deeper in the paper, a week later.

 
          
This
time it was Congressman Allard pillorying this price-gouging surgeon and
calling him "the tip of the iceberg." Something must be done on the
federal level. He demanded a Medicate audit of
Duncan
's officer and hospital records.

 
          
Gin
leaned back. So this was where
Duncan
's hell had begun, ignited by a spark from
the original Guidelines committee. He must hate these men . . . yet he'd done
cosmetic surgery on four of them.

 
          
And
now those four were either dead or hospitalized.

 
          
It
was all circumstantial, all four cases were different, and she couldn't see how
any grand jury could indict on the available evidence . . . yet only a fool
could deny the obvious and terrifying pattern.

 
          
But
where was the connection to Lisa?

 
          
And
did it matter?

 
          
At
the moment, no. What did matter was that Senator Marsden was going under
Duncan
's knife next week.

 
          
She
remembered him signing the surgical consent forms a few hours ago.

 
          
Wasn't
there an expression about signing your life away?

GINA

           
GINA DIDN'T WAKE UP SATURDAY
MORNING. SHE DIDN’T have to. She never got to sleep.

 
          
A
night of endless tossing and turning. She'd tried everything short of a
sleeping pill. She didn't have one around and it probably wouldn't have worked
anyway. Her racing mind was stuck in overdrive and refused to downshift.

 
          
Something's
going to happen Jo Senator Marsden.

 
          
The
thought had ricocheted off the walls of her brain like a racquetball. She'd
countered it with every explanation she could dredge up. It all came down to
the fact that despite a seemingly obvious pattern, all the evidence was
circumstantial. Yes, the committee had initiated a series of events that had
ruined
Duncan
's practice, but it would take more than
that to set him on a murderous vendetta.

 
          
Yet
every time she thought she'd laid the fear to rest, some dark, formless dread
from her hindbrain, that ancestral home of primal instincts, would rear up and
slam it into wild, random motion again.

 
          
So
now she sat in her bay window and looked down on the Saturday-morning quiet of
Kalorama Road
. God, what was she going to do?

 
          
She'd
have to do something.

 
          
Stop
the surgery? How? What reason could she give? No, she'd have to find a way to
ease her mind so she wouldn't go crazy waiting for something to happen.

 
          
But
anything bad that happens to Marsden after the surgery, even if he gets hit by
a meteor while raking leaves in his front yard, I'm going to blame on
Duncan
.

 
          
Gin
could handle just about every question except the one about
Duncan
's desk drawer.

 
          
She
had seen the vial and the oversized trocar. And she couldn't explain them.

 
          
What
was in that vial? What was a trocar doing in there?

 
          
Only
one way to find out. Did she dare?

 
          
She
headed for the bedroom to throw on some clothes.

 
          
Gin
let herself into the surgicenter through the private rear entrance and coded
off the alarm. She felt more than a little guilty about this.

 
          
After
all,
Duncan
had entrusted her with a set of keys and
here she was sneaking in to snoop through his desk.

 
          
It's
not as if I'm going to steal anything, she thought. I'm just going to borrow a
little reassurance.

 
          
She
locked the door behind her, then set up her excuse for being here.

 
          
Not
much chance that anyone else would be in on a Saturday, and her car was in the
rear lot, hidden from the street, but you never knew. So, first thing, she
trotted down to the records room and left her Senate ID badge on the floor
under the dictation desk. Should anybody ask, that was why she was here,
looking for her lost badge.

 
          
Back
upstairs, she let herself into
Duncan
's officer. She noticed her hands were
sweaty. What if
Duncan
popped in and caught her here? Not likely. He couldn't wait to get out
of here weekday afternoons, so why would he show up on a Saturday? Oliver was a
different story. But he'd mentioned a trip to
Virginia Beach
for the weekend, so it was unlikely he'd
show up. Through the picture window she saw that the rock garden was half in
shadow. The shrubbery shielded her from anyone outside, but also blocked her
view of the rear parking lot, so she left the office door open to hear anyone
unlocking the private entrance.

 
          
She
moved to
Duncan
's desk, praying she'd find the top right
drawer sitting open.

 
          
No
such luck.

 
          
Okay,
another prayer that he'd forgotten to lock it. She pulled on the handle. The
drawer wiggled but wouldn't slide.

 
          
Damn!
She slapped her palm against the drawer. She wanted this over with. She
couldn't stand it.

 
          
She
slumped into
Duncan
's chair and stared at the drawer. The putting-to-bed, or God forbid,
confirmation, of all her distress lay on the far side of half an inch of wood.
She stared at the brass face of the lock. She'd seen
Duncan
's key ring hanging from that lock, which
meant the drawer key went wherever he went. But maybe there was a spare around.

 
          
She
went through each of the remaining drawers carefully and did find two keys, but
neither fit the lock. She tried prying it open with a letter opener but was
getting nowhere, and she was afraid to exert too much leverage for fear of
scratching the wood.

 
          
If
only she knew how to pick a lock . . . or knew someone who did.

 
          
.

 
          
They
made love first.

           
Gerry arrived a few minutes early
and, as much as Gin wanted to learn how to pick a lock, the sight of him
standing inside her door swept away thoughts of locked drawers. After about
three words they were in each other's arms and leaving a trail of clothing
between the front door and the bedroom. Nicer making love on a bed instead of a
couch, and this time Gerry took charge, running his lips around her nipples,
then between her breasts, down along her scar to her navel, circling that, and
continuing downward. She whimpered with delight and thrust herself against his
probing tongue.

 
          
Afterward,
they lay breathless and sweaty in each other's arms. Gin fought the urge to
fall into a contented doze. She got up, threw on a robe, and opened a bottle of
merlot. They snuggled together on the couch, sipping their wine.

 
          
"That
was wonderful."

 
          
"For
both of us," she said, nuzzling his neck.

 
          
"By
the way, did I say hello?" Gin laughed. "That was a hectic scene,
wasn't it?"

           
"Where's this lock you can't
open?" he said finally.

 
          
Gin
was uncomfortable with the lie she'd told him about a lost key, so she was glad
she didn't have to remind him. She pointed to the far corner of the room.

 
          
"That
little oak filing cabinet over there. I don't even know why I locked it. And now
the key is gone." She hated lying, but she couldn't tell Gerry the real
reason. He was too much of a straight arrow to let her go through with her
plan.

 
          
She'd
chosen the little oak filing cabinet because its lock looked to be about the
same size as the one on
Duncan
's drawer.

 
          
"No
spare key?" She looked sheepish. "I think it's inside." That, at
least, was true.

 
          
Gerry
laughed as he picked an oblong box from the pocket.

 
          
"A
lock-picking kit?"

           
"Even better." He opened
up his jacket and pulled out the box and showed her something that looked like
a miniature cordless screwdriver. "A battery-operated lock pick."

           
"Really? I didn't even know
there was such a thing."

 
          
"They've
been around for a while. This one's the E.P.G. Electropick. It'll open just about
any pin-and-disk tumbler cylinder lock in under a minute."

           
"What about picking locks the
old-fashioned way?"

           
"Let's hope that won't be
necessary," Gerry said. "I never learned how. Lock picking isn't a
skill required by the Bureau."

 
          
"Then
why this electro-thing?"

           
"For when we're in a big hurry
and we can't get a locksmith right away." He tried a number of little
black metal instruments in the keyhole until he found one that fit, then he
fixed that into the end of the Electropick and began adjusting a thumbscrew
atop the device.

 
          
"Once
we find the right-sized raking tool, we adjust the up-and-down motion, a narrow
range for a small lock like this, put it into the lock, and turn her on."

       
    
Gin watched the metal tool begin moving
rapidly up and down inside the lock. Gerry moved the Electropick in and out a
few times, then removed it.

 
          
"Okay.
All the pins are in position. Now I just insert this tension bar", he
slipped a fine, L-shaped metal rod into the keyhole, "and twist."

           
She heard a click. He removed the
tension bar and gestured toward the drawer.

 
          
"Okay.
Give her a tug." The cabinet drawer easily pulled open. She kissed him.

 
          
"My
hero! A man of many talents."

      
     
He held up the Electropick. "Just me
and my handy E.P.G- I ."

 
          
'"Wait
a minute." She rummaged in the bottom of the cabinet drawer. "Here's
the spare."

 
          
"Great
place for it." Gerry said with a wry smile. "How about sticking it under
the cabinet for safekeeping?"

           
"Good idea. But first . . .

 
          
"She
stuck the key in the slot and relocked the drawer. Then she held out her hand
for the Electropick.

 
          
"Let
me try." Gerry was hesitant, but then showed her how to use it.

 
          
Under
his guidance she unlocked and relocked the cabinet three times.

 
          
Gin
knew then that she had to have an Electropick.

 
          
"Where
can I get one of these things?"

           
"Not at Wal-Mart, that's for
sure. They cost a couple of hundred bucks, but if you really want one I can
give you the address of a mail-order place."

 
          
"That's
okay," she said, disappointed. No time for mail order. "I mean, how
many times would I need something like that?" And then it was time for
dinner. They went out to a Thai place in the neighborhood where she couldn't
talk Gerry into trying fish stomachs in peanut sauce. Then they caught the new
Kevin Costner flick. She could tell Gerry wasn't crazy about it, and she might
not have liked it either if Kevin Costner hadn't been the star. Just watching
him move and listening to his voice made up for a multitude of shortcomings in
the rest of the film.

 
          
And
finally it was back to the apartment for more lovemaking. Slow and deliberately
languorous this time

 
          
"Strange,
isn't it?" Gin said as they lay together at the end. She was thinking how
she might want to be with Gerry forever. "So much has happened to each of
us since we went to high school. We hardly knew each other when we spent most
of the day in the same building. And now after all those years and miles we run
into each other in a city of millions and wind up like this. I don't believe in
fate, but you've got to admit . . . "