The Ferguson Affair

intelligent smile. A little too intelligent at the moment.

“Well, well, the prodigal husband himself. The wanderer returns.”

“Go ahead and have your bit of vaudeville. Everybody does. Then I want to talk to you seriously.”

“Sally’s in fine shape, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re fortunate to have a secretary who knows what labor pains are.”

“It isn’t Sally I’m worried about. Can you give me a few minutes in private?”

“I have patients to look after. Including your wife.”

“This concerns one of your patients.”

He consulted his watch. “All right. Five minutes. Where can we talk?”

“Up in my room.”

I was shaky and sweating again when I reached my bed. I sat on the edge of it.

Dr. Trench remained standing. “I suppose the patient you mean is Mrs. Ferguson?”

“Yes. Have you seen her since the-accident?”

“I attended her, yes. Her husband requested me not to discuss her condition with anyone.” His eyes were stern.

“Good. Ferguson has retained me as his attorney. Anything that you tell me will be privileged.”

“What do you want to know about her?”

“I’m interested in her mental condition, for one thing.”

“It’s not too bad, considering what she’s been through. She seems to be blessed with a good strong nervous system. I was afraid she might lose her child, but there seems to be no danger of that now.”

“Is she at home?”

“Yes. She doesn’t seem to require hospitalization. I found that her injuries were superficial.”

“Is she in fit shape to be questioned?”

“It depends on the questioner, and the nature of the questions. She’s resting quietly, at least she was two hours ago. I’d leave it for a few days, if I were you. You can use the rest yourself.”

“It won’t wait, Doctor. I have to get a statement from her about the events of last night. Not to mention the night before and the night before.”

“I don’t see how she can help you much. She was unconscious, as you know, literally dead to the world.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Yes, and I have no medical reason to doubt it. She was in a state of drugged sleep throughout her period of- ah-detention. It’s lucky for her the kidnappers knew how to handle drugs. They could so easily have killed her.”

“They gave her drugs?”

“Who else? I gather from her fragmentary memories, and from the medical indications, that she was forcibly drugged at the actual moment of the kidnapping. It occurred in the parking lot of the Foothill Club. She was lured out there by a telephone call from someone purporting to be a relative. They seized her at the door of her car and gave her an injection of pentothal or some other quick-acting anesthetic.”

“Do you believe all this?”

“I know it sounds melodramatic, but the marks of the needle are on her arm. Later, to keep her under, they evidently gave her spaced shots of morphia or demerol. I suppose their idea was to keep her quiet and make it impossible for her to identify them later.”

“What if I told you that I talked to her last night?”

“Around what time last night?”

“It must have been about one o’clock when I got to the mountain house. Your patient was very much alive and kicking.”

“What did she say?”

“I’d hate to repeat it.”

Trench took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. Under cover of this business, he was studying my face. “I’d say that one of you was lying, or hallucinating. Mrs. Ferguson was still in a drug-induced coma when she came into my hands early this morning. When she did rouse out of it, she had no memory of the previous forty-eight hours or so. Her physical condition supported her subjective account.”

“You should have seen her last night. She was moving around like a cat on a hot stove, and spitting like one. It occurred to me at the time that she had been taking drugs. Is it possible she took an overdose and it suddenly caught up with her?”

“Took an overdose of her own accord?”

“Yes. There are indications that she is an addict.”

The doctor’s eyes widened. He put on his glasses as though to protect them from seeing too much. “You must be mistaken. She’s been visiting me biweekly for two months. I’ve noticed no-” His voice broke off. He looked up sideways at a corner of the ceiling and stayed with his eyes fixed in that position.

“Have you remembered something, Doctor?”

He answered in a rather flustered way. “I’m sure it’s of no great significance. In one of her visits to me, Mrs. Ferguson did bring up the subject of drug addiction. It was a purely academic discussion-at least it seemed so to me-having to do with the effect of drugs on an unbalanced mind. I told her that most addicts probably have some degree of mental or nervous illness to begin with. That’s what makes them addicts. She seemed very interested in the subject.”

“Personally interested?”

Trench looked up at the ceiling again, as if he were balancing pros and cons on his chin.

“I’d say so, yes. I gathered, from another discussion we had, that some friend or relative of hers is a psychopath-what the psychiatrists call a severely maladjusted personality. She was very much concerned with the question of inherited character defects. I assured her that such things weren’t inherited. That isn’t entirely true, of course, but we know so little about the genes as they affect mind and emotions, there’s no use worrying a pregnant woman about it.”

“Is she psychopathic herself?”

“I’ve observed no signs of it.” But a deep cleft of concern had appeared between his eyebrows. “I wish I knew where your questions are leading.”

“So do I. Consider this possibility. This friend or relative she blames things on-couldn’t it be her way of referring to her own alter ego? A second personality that gets out of control and jumps out at her when she’s disturbed?”

“If so, I’ve never seen it. I understand-books and movies to the contrary-that a true case of multiple personality is rare. Of course I don’t pretend to be a psychiatrist.” After a pause, he added: “You may be interested to know that I’ve asked Mrs. Ferguson to have a neuropsychiatric examination. Perhaps she’ll agree to share the findings with you, if it really is so important.”

“Why did you suggest it?”

“Simply as a precautionary measure. She seems to have come through her ordeal without brain damage. But it’s dangerous to spend such a long period under drugs, even in good hands.” He looked at his watch impatiently.

“You mentioned her interest in heredity. Was there any thought of her not having her child?”

“She’s very eager to have it. So is the father, now that he knows about it. It’s true, with an older father, the probability of mutation rises, but not to the point of negative indication.”

“Ferguson is the father, then?”

“I have no reason to doubt it.” Trench gave me a queer, cold look. “In any case, I’m sure your client wouldn’t authorize you to ask that question about my patient.”

“Is that intended to be a negative answer?”

“Absolutely not. The question doesn’t deserve an answer. You seem to be trying to rake up any dirt you can about Mrs. Ferguson.”

“I’m sorry it looks that way to you, doctor. It’s true I have to know the worst about her, if I’m going to do anything for her.”

“What are you trying to do for her?”

“Give her the legal protection she’s entitled to. She’s likely to be arrested some time today.”

“On what charge?”