Mortal Remains (27 page)

“What else?”

“You mean really bizarre stuff?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know. If she continued to have complaints, and actually lost more weight or started to have night sweats, I might get more aggressive and want to rule out childhood malignancies, leukemia, lymphoma, that sort of thing. But it obviously wasn’t any of those. Kelly lived to be a healthy adult.”

“All the GI complaints. A history of multiple doctor visits, a surgeon persuaded to operate on a normal appendix and do a laparotomy. Batteries of normal blood tests and negative X rays. And the only concrete sign is her being slightly underweight? Add in the mother being a drama queen who even now uses Kelly’s death to make herself the center of attention, and what does all that suggest? Would you still think the visit to your father involved nothing more than a neurotic, overprotective mother seeking excessive reassurances that her daughter was okay? Or would you think of a disorder that wasn’t even officially recognized until about thirty years after your father saw them?”

“Oh, my God! You mean Munchausen by proxy?”

“I’m not willing to go that far. But there are disturbing similarities.”

Munchausen by proxy syndrome was among the darkest of mental illnesses. Named after a German baron in the eighteenth century who’d been notorious for constructing elaborate lies to scam money from unsuspecting victims, it designated a disorder far more fiendish than any con for money. Parents, usually mothers, would deliberately inflict illnesses on their children. The techniques varied, from rubbing the skin raw to simulate mysterious rashes, through feeding them purgatives and laxatives to create bizarre GI symptoms, to smothering. An offender would then present her child to unsuspecting doctors as a medical mystery, and play the role of an untiring, long-suffering parent who sacrificed all to care for her child, reaping the subsequent attention bound to be lavished on her.

The literature related how a few carried off the ruse so well they’d been awarded Mother of the Year citations before being found out. The worst of them ended up killing their offspring outright, casting themselves in the part of the ultimate victim – a grieving mother – guaranteeing showers of sympathy. Earl’s worst nightmare throughout a lifetime of practice, as it was for all physicians, had been that he would miss diagnosing one of these helpless children because a cunning parent outsmarted his clinical skills. Current estimates suggested 30 percent of the victims eventually perished, but the number could be much higher. Mortality statistics were hard to come by because some of the cases that ended in murder were misdiagnosed as crib deaths, and the children who managed to outgrow the clutches of their secret abusers as they became too old to fool might never be diagnosed.

Mark took a few seconds to reply. “You figure Samantha was… Jesus Christ, her own mother was deliberately making Kelly ill-”

“Whoa, Mark! Quit jumping to conclusions. No, I don’t think it was as full-blown as that. At least there’s no evidence of Samantha having gone as far as actually physically injuring Kelly. But there’s one feature of that syndrome that does remind me of Samantha – the concerned mother carting her daughter from doctor to doctor, all the time insisting the child is ill, and, if her manner then was what it is now, playing the part of a self-sacrificing woman to the hilt.”

“I never would have imagined anything like this.”

“Neither did I, the first time you showed the file to me. But seeing Samantha today on her own turf…” He quickly related the highlights of his visit. “… the narcissism, the sense that only her grief counts, her forever playing to an audience, the fact she’s even made a shrine to Kelly – it all fit together with a big clunk.”

Mark let out his breath in a long, mournful whistle.

“Even if Samantha wasn’t physically harming Kelly, and her particular game doesn’t have its own fancy diagnosis,” Earl continued, “years of telling her that she was sick, suffering from a mysterious, terrible ailment that the doctors could neither diagnose nor make better, would be devastating psychologically. She’d be left with problems of anxiety, self-esteem, image, trust – a host of difficulties…” That he could coolly paint such a troubled clinical picture of a woman he once loved brought him up short. “Well, you get the idea.”

“No wonder my father had to give her four years’ worth of psychological support therapy.” Mark’s voice sounded distant, as if he were thinking aloud.

Earl said nothing, thinking what a wounded soul she’d been, and he hadn’t realized it.

“A wretched childhood like that,” Mark continued, “and I never had a clue.”

“How could you, being just a boy? Hell, she never even mentioned a word of it to me.”
Yet I should have known,
he said to himself. “But from what her parents said today, or rather, what Samantha wanted to tell me but Walter made her clam up about, I think your father had confronted Samantha head-on about what was happening.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how we often don’t write really legally sensitive stuff in our charts?”

“Of course.”

“He hadn’t put it in writing, but the way Samantha wailed to me about what terrible things he’d said to her, and how Walter went on about having nearly sued him over it, but then backed off, I figure your dad ultimately twigged to what really might have been going on – that’s probably when he wrote
Mother?
in the margin – and did a follow-up visit with good old Mom and Dad where he made some pretty strong insinuations about the harm Samantha had been doing. Maybe he even threatened to report her if he ever got a whiff of any more visits to doctors over ‘mysterious illnesses.’ Judging from the fact that there were no more surgical scars from dubious operations, the ultimatum seemed to have worked.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“And here’s something else. Read the letter Kelly wrote to your father again, especially the part that says,
Regarding the other two matters, we must discuss those. Whatever I plan for myself, I can’t leave and let them go unresolved.
” Earl quoted it from memory. “One of the matters she intended to resolve might have been what her mother had done to her. That possibility gives credence to Braden Senior’s insinuations about Samantha.”

“That she might have killed Kelly?”

“We have to look at the possibility. Suppose on the day she intended to run off and start a new life, she finally confronted her mother. Samantha could have erupted in anger, shoved Kelly or struck her. The woman’s fuse is short. Very short. You’ve seen it. I saw it this morning. What if she accidentally killed Kelly?”

Mark said nothing.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s a thought, but something about it just doesn’t sit right.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Something. That’s all you can say?”

“Let me think about it.”

“Okay, okay.” They exchanged a few more suggestions about how to proceed. When he got off the call, Earl felt impatient. He wanted to go home, return to the present, his present – Janet, Brendan, and ER – not poke around in a quarter-century-old muck of other people’s mistakes. It was all so dreary, and what difference did it really make? Kelly was so long gone.

The whole mess also reminded him how easily a life of promise and love could go wrong, perhaps the result of a single mistake or bad choice. Too often, innocence or guilt played no part. Some, like Kelly, flamed out. Others, like Chaz or the McShanes, let themselves sink inexorably into ruin.

No, he couldn’t pull out just yet and leave loose ends that one day might not only ensnare him but devastate Brendan and Janet as well.

He shivered. Christ it was cold. Either that, or he was coming down with something.

11:35 A.M.

Medical Records,

New York City Hospital

“Could I speak with you a moment, Lena?”

Lena Downie looked up from the log she’d been reviewing at one of the workstations and saw Dr. Melanie Collins standing at the counter. “Why, of course.” She walked over, holding out her hand in greeting. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, we need to speak in private.”

“Oh!” She glanced over to where the frosted glass door with her name and title stood closed. “My own office is in use right now.” She leaned closer. “A confidential audit,” she whispered. “But we’ll use my secretary’s. She’ll be delighted to take a coffee break.”

Within a minute they were seated across a cluttered desk from each other. Lena glanced at the adjoining entrance to her own domain, making sure it was shut tight, thereby ensuring both rooms were completely soundproof. “Now what can I do for you?”

“This is a sensitive matter, but I know you’re used to dealing with confidences.”

“Of course.”

“It has to do with Kelly McShane’s murder.”

Alarm flickered through Lena, and she reflexively glanced toward her own office.

“You’re one of the best informed people in the hospital,” Melanie said, “and probably no one knows as many of the secrets in this place as you do-”

“Now really, Dr. Collins,” she interrupted, feeling most uncomfortable.

“But you are. And I’ve been deeply troubled by something these last few days that I hoped you’d help me with.”

Lena’s curiosity won out over discretion. “Oh?” she said, reclining in her secretary’s chair. Its spring-loaded back and coaster wheels caught her by surprise, nearly tipping her over.

“It has to do with Dr. Earl Garnet,” Collins went on. “He probably was already down here, helping Mark Roper out with his investigation.”

Lena simply nodded.

“Well, I’m convinced Kelly had a lover – you know how we women can intuit that kind of thing – and I told Mark Roper as much, figuring he had to know as investigating coroner, if he is to have any hope of figuring out who killed Kelly.”

Lena’s gaze once more flicked toward the adjoining door. Even with soundproofing it was definitely not the time for this conversation. “Uh, Dr. Collins, you’re talking about things way beyond my purview-”

“Oh, I know it is, Lena, but please hear me out. I’m asking because of your instincts as a woman.”

“Well, I’m very flattered, but-”

“Here’s my point. Dr. Garnet’s talked with me several times about Kelly. You know we were all friends back then?”

“Of course, but-”

“Yet he never once asked who I thought Kelly’s lover had been, although I’m sure Mark told him that I thought she was having an affair.”

“Really? You mean-” She immediately stopped herself. “Dr. Collins, this is not a conversation I feel comfortable with at the moment,” she said instead, standing to end their meeting. “Perhaps at a later time.”

Melanie seemed astounded. “But I thought you would be able to help me decide what to do. I’ve racked my brains wondering if I should go to the police or not. I mean, do you think Kelly’s lover could have been Dr. Garnet? Did you ever hear anything to that effect?”

Lena would normally have jumped at the chance to be the confidante of someone with such a juicy secret. She’d have savored poring over the story, dissecting it piece by piece, adding whatever salacious bits of corroboration she might be able to pull from her memories of Kelly McShane and Earl Garnet. Yet having
him
right next door, soundproofing or not, made her extremely nervous. “I’m sorry, Dr. Collins, but really, I’ve nothing to say either way. I have no knowledge of an affair between those two, and whether you act on your suspicions is a matter between you and your conscience.”

Melanie gave her an are-you-feeling-all-right look. “Of course,” she said, clearly puzzled by Lena’s refusal to discuss the matter. Getting to her feet, she shook Lena’s hand. “And I appreciate your having seen me.” With a parting smile, she left.

Lena let out a long sigh and, staring at her office, wondered whether she should say anything. He couldn’t have overheard what they’d said; of that she had no doubt. She herself never heard her secretary on the phone. And what to tell him? Anything she came up with would only embarrass him. No, better she let him hear this piece of gossip from someone else. As for her own demeanor, should Dr. Collins’s visit ever come to his notice, she’d acted impeccably. He couldn’t fault her on that.

An hour later Charles Braden Senior asked Lena to join him in her own office. “Thank you, Lena,” he said when they were seated, returning Bessie McDonald’s charts to her. He’d been reviewing them since his arrival around ten that morning. “I’ll want to look at the microfilmed case now, then I’ll be catching an afternoon train back to the country. Chaz is ill, and I’ve got guests up for Thanksgiving.”

“I’ll help you get the microfilm set up, if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely. I’m all thumbs with those things.”

“Shall we go? I’ll get the key.”

By one-thirty he was back at her door. “One more thing, Lena. Before you leave today, I’d like these charts collected and left in your office so that I can come in over the holidays to have a look at them.” He handed her a folded paper.

She opened it and read:

All the Morbidity/Mortality reviews of patients under Melanie Collins’s care for the last twenty-five years.

Lena gaped at the note, astonished.

“Is there a problem?” Braden asked.

“No, sir. Not at all. Except there could be a hundred, maybe two hundred charts involved here.”

“That’s right. And again, I appreciate your discretion about this. Gossip is such a terrible thing.”

She knew an order to keep her mouth shut when she heard one.

Later that same afternoon, Wednesday, November, 21,

2:15 P.M.

The Plaza Hotel

E
arl slammed back in the leather seat as Tommy accelerated away from the snarled traffic of Madison Avenue and headed east on Sixty-second Street. He caught the green at Park, only to hit the brakes for a red at Lexington. “I know what you’re thinking, Earl. Kind of a waste, my driving a Jag in New York. All that power, and I only get to make like it’s a drag strip a block at a time.”

“Uh-huh,” Earl said. He wasn’t one to get carsick, but neither did he appreciate having his stomach sloshed against his spine, then slung forward against the lap strap of his seat belt. “If you don’t want me to upchuck on your calfskin interiors or polished mahogany dash, you better slow down.” He tried looking at the horizon, but had to settle on a restricted view of the elevated FDR Drive and a glimpse of the East River beyond. It didn’t help much. And the brilliance of the sky, a bleached polar blue, made his eyes hurt.

Tommy looked at him askance. “You’re, kidding right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He looked relieved. “But don’t you just love the sound of that motor?”

Insecure Tommy, still needing everyone’s approval. Earl swallowed hard to keep his lunch down.

The last thing he wanted was to go beer drinking with Leannis. It wasn’t just the prospect of listening to the man’s bravado and usual litany of worries that deterred him. After having worked the phones for the past few hours talking to more of the former students, interns, and residents who were involved with the digoxin toxicity cases, yet finding zilch, he’d nearly run out of reasons to remain in New York at all. Maybe he should go up to Hampton Junction and help out with the legwork. Unfortunately, the locals there probably wouldn’t talk any more frankly to an outsider than the physicians here would have opened up to Mark.

The idea of squeezing out of this whole grungy mess for a few days to spend Thanksgiving with Janet and Brendan instantly became irresistible. He’d try to get a reservation as soon as he got free of Tommy, then tell Mark he could be back in a heartbeat, if needed.

He wouldn’t even have had to be stuck with Tommy if he’d been quick enough when the call came through.

“Hey, Earl. Can I buy you a beer?” Leannis had said as soon as Earl picked up the phone.

He’d sounded pretty happy for the prince of worry. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, I know an Irish joint that’s about a five-minute drive from those pretentious digs you’re in. I’ll pick you up outside the hotel.”

“Hey, no! I’m waiting for a callback-”

He’d already hung up.

Tommy had never once initiated the two of them going out for a beer together their whole time in med school. Nor had he looked up Earl since then. The guy was after something. Stuck at an unseemly long traffic light, Earl decided he might as well make him get to the point.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“I figure I needed to warn you.”

“About what.”

Another sprint start sent them roaring toward Second Avenue. “A strange conversation I had with Melanie this morning. She got me in her office, all worried about you and Kelly.”

Something that had nothing to do with Tommy’s driving tightened in Earl’s gut.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Apparently you two had a conversation last night. She found it suspicious that you never asked who she thought Kelly’s lover was.”

Earl’s every instinct went on alert. “Kelly’s lover?” He tried to sound curious, but not overly so.

Tommy gave him a sideways look as he rocketed through the next intersection. “Hey, Earl, come on. Don’t play dumb. Melanie said she already told that snoop Roper that Kelly had the look of a woman in love. Naturally, she found it strange you never asked about it, since Roper must have made it part of the investigation you’re helping him with. So now she’s thinking maybe the lover was you.”

Shit!
Earl felt a cold sweat percolate on his back. He could kick himself for having made such an obvious omission. The only response he could think of was to act incredulous. “What? You’re kidding me.”

“Nope, and I figured you ought to know she’s already making noises about reporting you.”

“Oh, my God, that’s ridiculous. I didn’t ask what she knew about Kelly’s love life because I figured Melanie would have told me anything of importance without me having to dig for it.”

“Hey, buddy, you don’t have to convince me. One way or the other, my lips are sealed. As I said, I figured forewarned is forearmed.”

Earl’s mind raced. Every emotion he could come up with that seemed appropriate for a guy wrongfully accused – astonishment, indignation, disbelief – he threw into his performance. “I’m calling her right now, and putting an end to this nonsense. Why, if a rumor like that got started…” He trailed off, digging out his cell phone, checking for her number in its memory, and punching ENTER. Let Tommy believe him, he prayed. And for Christ’s sake, let Melanie believe him.

“Hey! She’ll know I told you,” Tommy protested.

“I can’t just let her think-” Her answering machine interrupted, ordering him to leave a message at the sound of the beep. “Melanie, it’s Earl. We got to talk. There’s been a terrible misunderstanding, and I might have given you a very wrong impression. Please call me as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”

Tommy lurched the car left onto York Avenue.

Earl’s stomach seemed to keep on going toward the river. “Jesus, Tommy, do you have to beat every car at every light-”

“Don’t you be tellin’ Melanie I warned you. But if you explain to her like you did to me – it sounded pretty good, that part how you thought she’d tell you anything important about Kelly’s love life without your asking – she just might buy it.”

Damn, Tommy doesn’t believe me either.
“Look, there’s nothing to buy, Tommy. Kelly and I were just friends.”

“Well, then, all’s the more the pity, because our dear Kelly deserved a good man to love her before she died.”

Earl snapped another sideways glance at the well-coiffed man, to see if he was being serious.

His lips were pressed into a thin red line.

“She had it rough all right,” Earl said, the only admission he felt ready to make.

When they hit Tommy’s watering hole, the patrons greeted him by name and the staff gave them attentive service. Earl nursed a nice Irish red ale and made small talk, all the time willing Melanie to call. His drink, cool and pleasant to the taste, seemed to rile his stomach and set it churning again. Nerves, he thought.

3:30 P.M.

Hampton Junction

“They fired you?”

Victor Feldt nodded, face crimson and lips trembling under his magnificent mustache. He sat on the edge of the chair across the desk from Mark, his huge frame hunched over, his beefy hands clasped together and working each other with the steadiness of a beating heart.

“But that’s outrageous!” Mark got out of his usual chair and took the one beside Victor. “Why?” he asked.

Victor shook his head, pulled his mouth into a grimace, and swallowed a few times. His eyes glistened.

Mark let him compose himself.

“The reason they gave was that I showed unauthorized people around the lab,” he said eventually.

“What?”

The big man shook his head again. “I’ve taken visitors on tours since day one. ‘Good PR,’ my director always said. To pull this now, I don’t get it.”

“But they can’t do that. We’ll get you a lawyer, sue them for unlawful dismissal-”

“It’s no good. The rules are clear. They just never enforced them before.”

“So why now? Who’d you show the place to that got them so upset?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course.”

“Try you and Lucy O’Connor.”

He couldn’t have heard right. “Pardon?”

But Victor grimaced, held his palms skyward, and gave a huge shrug.

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m afraid I am.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“That’s what my director said. He’s as flabbergasted as I am.”

“There’s got to be some mistake.”

“Oh, there’s no mistake. They stipulated my alleged violation of lab security occurred between the hours of six and seven last night.”

“Wait a minute. Let me go to your boss. I’ll explain to him-”

“Won’t do any good. My own boss was apologetic as hell. The order to can me came from the head office in New York.”

“But how did anyone there even know about our visit?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. I mean, security’s extra tight these days. But this doesn’t figure. It’s overkill.”

“Did the people in New York know you were showing two doctors through the lab?”

“I don’t know. But my director did. When he got the order, he looked at the surveillance tapes and saw it was you, then figured the woman was one of your students. He even called New York on my behalf, arguing that you were the local GP and no more a security threat than he was. They weren’t interested, and told him that unauthorized personnel were unauthorized personnel.”

“But orders from New York to fire you because you showed me around. Why would somebody in the head office of a high-powered lab be so skittish?”

“Beats me.”

Still dismayed, Mark began to think the worst. “Who owns Nucleus Laboratories?”

“A numbered company. You know how it works these days – nameless corporations within corporations.”

“Could you find out who’s at the top?”

“With all I know about their records? Give me a day. But what good will it do?”

“Just get me a name. I might be wrong, but this may have more to do with me than you. If that’s the case, and I can prove it, we could get your job back.”

Victor frowned “What do you mean?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you any more right now. But do this for me, and if a hunch I have plays out, chances are Nucleus Laboratories won’t be causing either of us any more trouble.”

“Us?”

“Yeah! Us. Hey, without you managing the place, how am I going to get my blood tests done?”

Victor studied him a few seconds, then the apprehension in his expression dissipated. “It’s a deal, Doc. And thanks.”

“As I said, you’ve done me and everyone in my practice a big favor for years. It’s I who thanks you.”

For a few seconds the rest of the man’s flushed expression gave way to a hint of a smile, but couldn’t quite deliver all of it. “Just don’t tell anyone I’m doing it for you,” he said, getting to his feet and shaking Mark’s hand. “Not anyone. They find out I’m hacking into their business files, I’ll be blackballed from working in the industry ever again-”

A knock on the door interrupted him, and Lucy poked her head in. “Oh, hi, Victor, I thought I heard your voice. Wondered if you wanted to drop over for dinner later.”

“Oh, I couldn’t-”

“Come on. I’ve had a fresh vegetable soup on a low heat all day that’s a stew by now, so join us.”

Victor looked at Mark as if for permission to cross the line that separates patients from doctors.

“Absolutely, Victor,” Mark said, unable to think of any better medicine for the man than good company and a fine meal. “Please come.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Shall we say seven?” she asked.

“Yes, seven would be perfect.”

Mark saw the hint of a smile beneath the mustache.

“Lucy, you gave that guy exactly what the doctor ordered,” he told her, after Victor had left.

“What?”

“I’ll explain later.”

4:30 P.M.

Mark and Lucy finished early with the afternoon’s patients and took a short run together.

“You’re in as good shape as I am,” he said to her, as they started the uphill portion of his route.

She sprinted ahead and grinned at him over her shoulder. “The question is, are you in as good shape as me?”

Afterward they shared a pot of tea in his kitchen.

She sat curled up in a large rocking chair, holding her cup with both hands. “You could be right,” she said, having listened to him explain his theory why Victor might have been fired.

Behind her the large cast-iron woodstove that had been the centerpiece of the room in both his mother’s and aunt Margaret’s day crackled with burning maple. It filled the room with a warmth that was far cozier than the baseboard heaters could provide, but Mark had hardly ever bothered to fire it up. Lucy, however, as soon as she learned it was functional, had sent him out to retrieve an armload of logs off the woodpile while she chopped up some kindling.

The sounds transported Mark back to a time when his home was a happy place, but the memories also carried the dull aching reminder of parents and childhood prematurely lost. Which was why he’d shunned stove fires in the past.

Yet this evening was different. Lucy’s company mollified his usual discomfort with remembrance. How pleasant it felt at the end of the day to have someone with whom he could discuss the little victories. And the problems.

“Obviously I’m making someone nervous,” Mark said, “Nucleus Laboratories must be a business interest connected to Chaz Braden. Why else would our visit bring down such a heavy-handed response?”

She scrunched up her face into a show of skepticism, making her look as if she were staring into a harsh light. “But how could your investigation of a murder twenty-seven years ago have any connection with a lab built in 1996?”

He shrugged, unable to give her an answer. “I just feel it in my bones. Chaz’s name will be among the business interests running the place, I’m sure of it. What the tie-in might be to Kelly, I’ll have to figure that out later.”

“What if you’re wrong, and there is no evidence that Chaz is involved? Or even if his name does appear somewhere in the hierarchy of the place, it doesn’t prove anything is wrong. Lots of doctors have business interests in private labs.”

“Then Victor’s getting fired would be one big coincidence. Don’t tell me you believe that.”

“No, not really. I’m saying there may be another reason.”