Chapter21
'All right, Doc, let's start all overagain.'
'From where?'
'From the fucking beginning, that's fromwhere.'
Albert Dickinson, his rumpled shirt indesperate need of dry cleaning, stubbed out one Pall Mall as he prepared tolight another. The ashtray was full-to-overflowing. The small interrogationroom reeked of years of tobacco, stale coffee, and body odor. Harry shifteduncomfortably in the slat-back wooden chair and wondered if he should back offon saying anything else without calling Mel Wetstone. But the truth was he haddone nothing wrong. And aside from his intimate involvement in last night'sCentral Park murder, he had nothing to hide. Still, his troubles were piling uprapidly. And now a young man he cared very much for was dead.
Approximately twenty minutes after Harryleft room 505, a nurse's aide found Andrew Barlow lying peacefully in bedwithout any pulse or respirations. A brief attempt at resuscitation by thenurses and residents was called off because of fixed, dilated pupils and anabsolutely straight-line EKG. Although morning was the busiest, most hectictime of day in the hospital, with any number of technicians, physicians,students, maintenance people, aides, transportation workers, and nurses comingand going, none of the staff on Alexander 5 recalled seeing anyone enter orleave Barlow's room after Harry.
After receiving the news, Harry canceledwhat few patients he had left to see and returned, numb and dreamlike, to thehospital. Andy Barlow lay on his back in the semidarkness, a sheet drawn up tohis chin. His face already reflected the early mottling of death. Harry wantedto scream, to bellow like the wounded animal he was. He wanted to destroy theroom, to rip attachments from the wall, to snatch up a chair and hurl itthrough the plate glass window. Instead, he sat alone by the bedside, AndyBarlow's hand in his, and wept.
Before he left the floor, he placed threephone calls. The first was to inform Owen Erdman that he would be calling backlater that day to set up an appointment as soon as possible. The second callwas to Andy's family, and the third was to Albert Dickinson.
'If you think being the one to notify metakes you off my list,' Dickinson said now, 'you're crazy.' He thought for amoment and then added. 'But that's just the point, isn't it.'
'What?'
'That you're crazy.'
Dickinson could not charge him with anycrime until an autopsy proved that Andy had died of something other thannatural causes. But even a negative autopsy would leave unanswered questions.After all, the young architect was officially listed by the hospital as beingin guarded condition, and the nurses to whom Dickinson had spoken testifiedthat Harry's false alarm had doubtless added immeasurable stress to an alreadydifficult situation.
'It wasn't a false alarm,' Harry said,with exaggerated patience. 'My office manager heard the call.'
'Correction, sir. She heard the phone
'Well, there was a patient of mine there,too. Standing in the hall right outside my door. He heard some of theconversation. Some of my half of it, anyway.'
'Well, I guess that convinces me.'
'Don't be snide.'
'Then don't keep throwing ridiculousstories at me like I'm some sort of fucking retard.'
'The man's name was Concepcion. WalterConcepcion.
Harry reviewed the little he had learnedabout his new patient — former private detective, now unemployed, recoveringcrack cocaine addict, chronic headaches, nervous tic. Just the sort ofcorroborating witness Dickinson would expect him to come up with — one thatwould fit in nicely alongside DT-ing alcoholic Maura Hughes. Bookends.
'Get me this Walter whatsizname's addressand I'll speak to him,' Dickinson said.
'Listen,' Harry responded, 'just tell meone thing. What would I have to gain by faking such a phone call? Why would Ido it?'
'Let me think. . Why would you fake aphone call from the man you say killed your wife, announcing that now he hasdecided for no particular reason to knock off some poor faggot who was going todie anyway? Gee, beats me.'
'I didn't kill my wife. I didn't make upthe phone call. Are you done with me?'
You know, it could be this guy just diedof heart failure or something,' Dickinson went on, loosening his tie. 'I mean,if I was lying there in guarded condition with AIDS and pneumonia and my doctorcame bursting into my room screaming that someone was trying to kill me, Imight just croak, too.'
Harry sighed.
'Look, Lieutenant. I called you and toldyou about Andy's death. I waited around while you and your man questionedeveryone on the floor. I came down here to the station without calling alawyer. I've sat here for an hour and a half answering questions that I'veanswered two or three times already. I've listened to your insults and yourinnuendos and your accusations, and I haven't given you a hard time in any way.Right at this moment, I'm feeling incredibly bad about what happened to AndyBarlow. I really liked him, and I was working like hell to get him through hispneumonia. I think he was murdered by the same man who murdered Evie. But thatman wasn't me. If you have any questions I haven't heard before, ask them.Otherwise, I want to go home.'
'If that autopsy's positive, you're myman,' Dickinson said.
'Fine.'
'And if it's negative, you're still myman.'
'That's your problem.'
Dickinson moved to stub out ahalf-finished Pall Mall, realized what he was doing, and instead flicked theash in Harry's general direction before taking another drag. Harry took hissuit coat from the back of his chair and headed for the door.
'You haven't arrested me for Evie's murderbecause you couldn't find a DA who thought you had a good enough case. Andthey're right, I didn't do it.'
'Tell that to the grand jury, Doc. I'vegot a week's pay says they're about to come down on you like a ton of bricks.'
'You know how to find me,' Harry said.
It was after three when Harry returned tohis office. The waiting room was empty. Behind the glass of the reception area,Mary Tobin looked forlorn.
'We had already canceled and rescheduledMrs. Gonsalves and the Silverman kids once before today,' she said. 'DoraGonsalves was okay about it, but Mrs. Silverman was upset. She called just afew minutes ago to ask that her family's records be sent over to Dr. Lorello.'
'Marv's a good guy. He'll take good careof them.'
'You're not upset?'
'Of course I'm upset, Mary. But what am Isupposed to do?'
'I don't know. Oh, Lord, I'm sorry, Dr. C.I guess this is all starting to get to me.'
'Me, too.'
'It's terrible about Andy Barlow.'
Harry crumpled a blank intake form andclenched his fist around it.
'The bastard who killed him is going topay,' he said. 'I swear he is.' He threw the balled paper at the waste- basketand missed by two feet. 'I had to call Andy's folks at Delaware and tell them.I hate that part of the job anytime, but I hate having to do it over the phonethe most.'
Mary stood up and embraced her boss. Herfamily had seen more than its share of tragedy over the years, and she knew howto comfort and console. There was a special warmth in her wide girth thatreminded Harry of his own mother before her recurrent strokes and weight lossof seventy or eighty pounds. He prolonged the hug for a few extra seconds.
