With the cause ofEvie's death clearly established as a ruptured aneurysm, there was no need forthe medical examiner to demand an autopsy — especially with multiple organdonations at stake. But he had ordered extensive toxicology studies.
'Father Moore just left,' Dorothy said.
'I'm sorry I missed him.'
'He administered the Sacrament of the Sickto Evelyn.'
'Good.'
Evie had not considered herself a Catholicfor years and had made no attempt to have her first marriage annulled. Butneither of her parents would ever admit to the fact.
'I'm just not sure this organ business isthe right thing to do. Evelyn was so … so beautiful.'
'It's the right thing, Dorothy. Evie willbe just as beautiful when this is all over —
'Yes. I … I suppose so. Um. . aboutthe funeral?'
Harry sensed what she wanted him to say.
'Would you like to make arrangements?' heasked.
'Thank you. I would.'
'Anything you do in that regard will beokay. The funeral people you decide to use can call and make arrangements withthe hospital.'
'Do you know if Evelyn has an address bookof some sort?'
'Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, she has ithere. I'll call you later if you want and go through the names with you.'
'That won't be necessary. I have friendswho will call all the numbers. That way anyone who wants to come can do so. Ourchurch isn't that large, but we don't have that much family, so there should beroom. You'll speak to people here?'
'Of course.'
Harry took Evie's purse from beneath herbedside table. She had left her wallet at home, but insisted on bringing in hermakeup, some money, and her address book. He withdrew the small, leather-boundbook and quickly flipped through it. The names were carefully done in Evie'smeticulous block print. Many of them conjured up immediate, vivid memories ofthe happier years of their marriage. He was about to hand the book over when henoticed two small pieces of paper taped inside the back cover. On each was aname, address, and what looked like a social security number. Curious, Harryremoved the slips and dropped them into his jacket pocket, taking pains toshield his movements from Dorothy. Oblivious, she took the address book andthanked him. Then she led her husband back to the bedside and out the door.
'She was such a beautiful girl,' Harryheard her say.
Harry waited until he was certain theDellaRosas would not be returning for any reason. Then he opened Evie's purseagain. In addition to some eye shadow, lipstick, blush, and a twenty-dollarbill, there was a gray rabbit's-foot key chain with three keys on it. Two weredoor keys of some sort, fairly new. Harry checked them against the co-op keyson his own ring. No match. The third was for a mailbox. He was about to examinethe two slips of paper when Ben Dunleavy swept into the room.
Evie's neurosurgeon was respectedthroughout the hospital, but he was also feared for his volatility andintolerance. The decision to delay repair of Evie's aneurysm, although made onsound clinical grounds and decent data, had been his. Now, before he couldoperate on his patient, she was dead.
'Harry,' he said.
His handshake and tone were cooler thanthey should have been given the circumstances. Sidonis had obviously gotten tohim.
'You here to pronounce Evie?'
The neurosurgeon nodded and looked down ather. With no more drama than that, it was done. Harry glanced at the wallclock. Nine-twelve A.M. and thirty-five seconds. Officially, Evie was dead.
'Needless to say, I'm really sorry thishas happened,' Dunleavy said. 'It's been years since I opted to do anythingother than a delayed repair of an aneurysm like hers. Evie is my firstfatality. I've only had two patients even rebleed before I could get them tothe OR, and both of them did fine.'
Harry could read between the lines of whatthe man was saying. He saw no sense in not cutting to the chase.
'Ben, Sidonis may have been having anaffair with Evie. I don't know. But he's wrong about what he's accusing me of
Dunleavy's gaze was dispassionate.
'I hope so, Harry,' he said. 'Let me knowif there's anything else I can do.'
He was gone before Harry could evenrespond. First the nursing staff, now Dunleavy. Even without hard evidence,there were already some unwilling to give him the benefit of the doubt. Harryfelt an unpleasant tightening in his gut. There was going to be trouble.
He sat down in the bedside chair vacatedby Dorothy and took the two pieces of paper from his pocket. They were scraps,one torn from the border of a magazine page, one from a sheet of stationery.Each had a man's name, address, phone number, date of birth, and SocialSecurity number, written in Evie's hand, but hastily. The first was JamesStallings, forty-two years old, with an Upper East Side address. The second, athirty-seven-year-old from Queens, was someone named Kevin Loomis.
Harry put the slips in his wallet and therabbit's foot and keys in his pocket. Then he checked the purse one last timeand dropped it into the wastebasket. Finally, he bent over Evie's body andkissed her gently on the forehead.
'I'm sorry, kid,' he whispered. 'I'm sorryabout everything.'
He brushed her cheek with the back of hishand and left the room. He was nearing the elevators when, from somewhere downthe hall behind him, he heard a familiar voice cry out, 'Hey, will someoneplease get in here! Get in here and get these damn bugs off of me!'
'He winked at me, Sherry. I swear he did.'
Gowned and masked, nurse MarianneRodriguez peered down into the radiant warmer where tiny Sherman O'Banion hadspent virtually every moment of his two and a half weeks on earth. The neonatalintensive care unit at New York Children's Hospital was the finest inManhattan, and it was currently filled to capacity — thirty newborns ranging inbirth weight from just over a pound to ten. Sherman, born at twenty-five weeks,weighed one pound five ounces. His mother was a housewife, staying at home tocare for two other children. His father worked the night shift on the assemblyline of a factory. Considering his birth weight and other problems, Sherman wasdoing pretty well.
'Don't you wonder what some of thesepeanuts are going to grow up to be?' Sherry Hiller asked.
'I'll bet Sherm plays football. Have youseen his daddy?'
The infant, in his pod, looked like avisitor from another planet. There were tubes, wires, and auxiliary machinesall around him. He was draped in Saran Wrap to conserve his body heat. A panelof phototherapy lights shone on him to lessen jaundice. Tiny eye shieldsprotected him from the ultraviolet rays. A ventilator controlled hisrespiratory rate and volume. Sensors on his abdomen and legs measuredtemperature, heart rate, and blood oxygen concentration. An intravenous lineplaced in a tiny vein on his head provided fluid and antibiotics. A tube intohis stomach through his nose delivered formula.
Marianne moved about the warmer, notingdown the infant's temperature, heart rate, and color. His oxygen levels wererunning a bit low, and his dusky color, lab values, and exam had indicated asignificant heart defect that would probably have to be surgically correctedbefore long. But Marianne wasn't all that concerned. She had been an NICU nursefor six years and had seen any number of infants worse off than ShermanO'Banion make it out of the hospital in great shape. Of course, there wereothers who were not so fortunate. Blindness from a number of factors, cerebralpalsy, mental retardation, multiple surgical procedures, death — either suddenfrom cardiac arrest or prolonged from infection — and eventual learningdisabilities were complications that every NICU nurse had to deal with, if notaccept.
There was a tap on the glass from theformula room. Marianne looked over. The woman bringing the specially preparedformulas up from dietary waved at her cheerily with the fingers of arubber-gloved hand. Marianne had never seen the dietary worker before — or atleast felt fairly certain she hadn't. Per protocol, the woman wore a
