“Then don’t argue with me. We’ll do it just like we planned.”
“What about Runyon?”
“Forget about him, will you? He’s doesn’t know anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure.”
“… All right. Whatever you say.”
“I’m so amped I don’t want to wait until tonight-I want to do it right now. ”
“God, no, not in the daytime.”
“I’m just saying I want to.”
“But we’re not going to until tonight.”
“Fire’s better at night. Brighter, hotter.”
“Yes.”
“It’s what we both want.”
“Yes.”
“Payback.”
“Yes.”
And the flames, the burning.
“Are we going in and… you know, check first?”
“We have to. We can’t leave any traces.”
“I don’t think I can stand it.”
“You’ll stand it, all right. If I can, you can.”
“I’ll probably puke.”
“Then go ahead and puke. I’m gonna laugh. I’m laughing right now.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever laugh again.”
“There you go again. Candy ass! Just shut up and do what I tell you, or I swear I’ll make you sorry.”
“Don’t get mad.”
“I’m not mad. Amped, totally amped.”
“Can I ask you one thing? Then I won’t say another word.”
“Well?”
“Promise me this’ll be the last time?”
“Last time for what?”
“Fires.”
“What else?”
“Games.”
“What else?”
“Payback.”
“What else?”
“You know.”
“I don’t know. What else?”
“Killing. I don’t want to kill any more people; I don’t want you to. Please? For me?”
“All right. For you.”
But only for a while. A very short while.
So much more to burn, so much more to pay back.
The biggest, the hottest, the best, was yet to come.
21
When I arrived at the medical building at 450 Geary, Celeste Ogden was waiting for me in the lobby. Two- oh-five by my watch, which made me ten minutes early; she’d been there since quarter till, she said. She didn’t look anxious, but neither was she as imperious as usual. Willfully self-contained, like a businesswoman about to take a difficult and probably unpleasant meeting, whatever she was thinking or feeling hidden behind a controlled facade. I liked her better that way; it made her seem more human.
She was the reason we were both here. She and her vascular surgeon husband, Arnold Ogden. There was no way on earth Tamara or I could have induced Dr. Robert J. Prince to grant an audience, much less breach patient- doctor confidentiality even though the patient was deceased, but one phone call to Celeste Ogden, another from her to her husband, a third from the esteemed Dr. Ogden to his colleague. Dr. Prince was scheduled for office consultations this afternoon, fortunately; he’d agreed to squeeze us in for a few minutes at 2:15.
I had a pretty good idea of what we were going to find out from Dr. Prince, and I think Celeste Ogden did, too. We hadn’t discussed it; time enough for that afterward. We rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor in silence.
Dr. Robert J. Prince’s name headed the list of six on the door to Medical Associates’ large, plush suite of offices. Prominent big-money physicians all, and no doubt worth what they earned. These offices were mainly for consultations and record keeping, I gathered. The doctors would spend most of their time at U.C. Med Center, S.F. General, and whatever hospitals in the Bay Area required their specialty services.
We were shown into Dr. Prince’s office promptly at 2:15. He greeted us politely but with restraint and reluctance. African-American, about my age, his graying hair close cropped, his manner unprepossessing. Deep, soft voice. Large hands, the fingers very long and supple. He had a habit of flexing them in different small ways, as if he were engaging in a series of private aerobic exercises.
When we were all seated he said to Celeste Ogden, “I have great respect for your husband, Mrs. Ogden. He’s a fine surgeon and I consider him a friend.”
“He feels the same about you.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But the point is, I’ve agreed to this meeting only as a favor to him and with no little reluctance. Patient confidentiality is a very important part of my practice. I wouldn’t have agreed if your sister was still alive.”
“Yes, we understand that.”
“So before we begin, I must ask you not to repeat to anyone what is said here today.”
I nodded, but she said, “Agreed, unless the information becomes relevant in a criminal case.”
“What sort of criminal case?”
“Homicide.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“It may not be,” I said. “We don’t know yet.”
“If it is,” Celeste Ogden said, “would you be willing to testify in court? In the interest of justice?”
He thought that over. At length he said carefully, “I am always willing to further the cause of justice.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Ask your questions,” he said.
My job. “When did Nancy Mathias first come to you?”
“A little over a month ago.”
“Referred by?”
“Her physician in Palo Alto, Dr. Koslowski. She was suffering from what she believed were increasingly serious migraine headaches. Additional symptoms-nausea and vomiting, vision difficulties, increasing weakness on the left side of her body-were such that he ordered tests which proved that the condition was much more serious.”
“What was the condition?”
“Anaplastic malignant ependymoma.”
“In layman’s terms, Doctor?”
“A brain tumor,” he said.
“Operable?”
