Silent Treatment

the dollar.

Steve Josephson, Doug Atwater, and theorthopedist Bob Lord were there when Harry and Wetstone arrived.

'How're you doing?' Steve asked.

Harry answered with a How do you think?shrug.

'Do you have any idea who could have beenresponsible for doing this to Evie?' Doug asked.

'Not really,' Harry said, careful to stop there.

Wetstone had cautioned him against sharinghis theory with anyone, even his allies.

'Remember that party game of Telephone weused to play as kids?' the attorney had asked. 'Well, take it from the voice ofexperience. No matter how well-meaning people are, the moment words are out ofyour mouth and into their ears, the original version begins to change.'

Despite Wetstone's caveat, Harry would nothave hesitated to share the details of Evie's secret life with either Josephsonor Atwater had Bob Lord not been there. Instead, there was an uncomfortableminute and a half of silence before Erdman and the hospital counsel entered theroom. With them was a trim, businesslike woman introduced as Ms. Hinkle, thehospital's head of public relations. Harry shook her hand and felt as if he hadgrasped a Popsicle.

'Dr. Corbett,' Sam Rennick began, 'wewondered if you might start by reviewing the events — as you see them — fromthe night of your wife's death.'

'Now just a minute, Sam,' Wetstonerejoined immediately. 'I thought we decided on what the ground rules were goingto be here. .'

Feeling strangely distant and distracted,Harry listened as two attorneys whom he had not even known before today debatedhis situation. From time to time, one of the others at the table spoke up. Heeven heard himself once or twice. But the voices seemed distorted, the meaningof their words often lost. The whole situation was just too surreal. Instead ofbeing keen and focused, Harry's thoughts were drifting. He tried to imagine howmany hours — hundreds of hours, perhaps — he was now destined to spend in onetype of legal proceeding or another. He had been thrust through the lookingglass into a world where anything — however illogical or bizarre — waspossible.

Inexplicably, with the discussion of hisprofessional future raging about him, he found himself thinking about a patientof his, a teenager named Melinda Olivera, whose severe mononucleosis he hadrecently diagnosed and treated so aggressively that within a day, she was ableto attend her junior prom. Doctoring had always seemed so straightforward tohim. A patient shows up sick and you do the best you can to fix them up. Now,suddenly, there were lawyers and administrators and public-relations directors.

'I absolutely disagree.' Doug Atwater'ssharp words pierced Harry's mental fog. Harry had no idea what was beingdiscussed. 'I have already reviewed matters with the CEO at Manhattan Health,and he has spoken with the medical director and several other key personnel. Therehas never been even one complaint about Dr. Corbett — his manner of practice,his fees, or his conduct. We see no reason why he shouldn't continue to be onManhattan Health's role of providers.'

'But what will the public think if-'

Doug cut Ms. Hinkle short.

'Please, I don't mean to be rude, Barbara,but what we need is some sort of strong statement from the hospital that Dr.Corbett has been formally charged with nothing as yet, and we at this hospital. .'

Harry heard little of what followed, butnot because his mind was wandering. He had reached inside the right-hand pocketof his sports jacket for a pen. There was none. What he felt instead were twoobjects he knew had not been there when he put the jacket on that morning. Infact, he knew they had not even been in his possession. Slowly, he clenched hisfist around them and brought them out on to his lap.

'It's agreed, then,' Mel Wetstone wassaying. 'The hospital's posture will be one of support for a respected staffmember who has not been convicted of or even charged with a crime. For hispart, Dr. Corbett will refrain from any public statements without clearing themwith Ms. Hinkle. And his admitting and treatment privileges at this hospitalwill remain intact. Does that sound okay with you, Dr. Corbett?. . Dr.Corbett?'

'Huh? Oh, yes. Thank you all. That'sexcellent.'

He barely managed to pull his attentionfrom his hand, now open on his lap. On his palm lay his watch and Evie'srabbit's-foot key chain and keys, gone when he awoke in, Desiree's apartment.At some point that morning, perhaps in the crowded elevator, Evie's murdererhad been standing behind him, or maybe even right next to him. The keys weremeant as a reminder of how vulnerable he was — a warning to be very carefulwhat he said and to whom. But there was also another possibility, heacknowledged, even more disturbing and chilling — the' possiblity that he wasnothing more to his wife's murderer than sport, a pawn in some macabre game.

'Pardon?' Wetstone asked.

'Excuse me?' Harry replied, againrealizing he had drifted.

'Harry, you just said something like,'I'm not going to be that easy.' What did that mean?'

'Oh, nothing,' Harry said, slipping thewatch and keys back into his pocket. 'Nothing important.'

CoronerRules Manhattan

Reporter'sDeath a Homicide

Kevin Loomis stared at the headline in theTimes. The photo of Evelyn DellaRosa was the same as the one in herobituary. He tried, as he had for the past week, to convince himself that herresemblance to Desiree was coincidental. But deep inside, he knew the truth. Amonth and a half ago, wearing nothing but a bra and panties, she had kneltastride him, kneading the tightness from his back as she asked in a mostflattering, disarming way about him and his life.

Kevin read through the article. His handswere shaking so hard he had to keep the paper pressed to the table. At the lastmeeting, Desiree had been more or less dismissed as not a serious threat to TheRoundtable. Then, just a few days later, she had been murdered in her hospitalbed. Her doctor husband was a suspect, but no arrest had been made. Maybethat was because he hadn't killed her.

Kevin felt squeamish. Throughout the rideto the city, he tried to convince himself that he was reacting this way becauseof the intimacy, however artificial, that he had shared with the woman not solong ago. The newspapers — and by now he had read the account in all of them — toldof marital problems. The Daily News alluded to a lover. Evelyn DellaRosaor Desiree or whoever the hell she was had been murdered by her husband, andthat was that.

Kevin did not remember making even one ofthe turns that took him from his driveway to the Crown Building in midtownManhattan. He parked in the underground space with his name stenciled in blueon the wall and took the elevator up to his office on the thirty-first floor.Brenda Wallace was waiting for him, barely able to contain her enthusiasm asshe told him the news.

'Your wife called a few minutes ago, Mr.Loomis,' she said, breathless with excitement. 'She said the people buying yourhouse have gotten their mortgage and the bank has approved the deal for yournew house in Port Chester.'

Standing in the doorway behind her, BurtDreiser gave Kevin a wink and a thumbs up. His expression left no doubt that hehad played a role in expediting the sale.

'I'm pretty good at finding ways to solveproblems,' he had said that day on his boat.

'The closing's scheduled for Wednesday,'Brenda gushed on. 'Mrs. Loomis says you can call her at the office if you want.She'll be there until five. She also said to tell you that the house is reallyno big deal, and you don't have to go through with it, but that next to the dayyou two got married, this is the happiest day of her life.'

Chapter17

Maura Hughes's apartment was on the UpperWest Side, half a block from Morningside Park. Harry walked there from theoffice, hoping that Maura had been able to honor her promise to stay sober.Practicing in a fairly