'You are right, Mr. Orsino,' Perchekreplies. 'But only up to a point.'
His back turned, he reaches into hisvalise. When he turns back, he is holding a snub-nosed revolver. Before Orsinocan react, he is shot through the bull's eye that is his half mouth. His headsnaps back. He spins full-circle in a graceless pirouette, then crumples to thedusty floor.
The shooting upstairs has stopped. Thefootsteps are closer now, and they can hear voices. The Doctor levels theautomatic at the center of Santana's forehead. Ray clenches his teeth andforces his eyes to remain open for the last moment he will ever see anything.Then, with the smile Ray has come both to fear and loathe, Perchek lowers therevolver, steps forward, and empties the still nearly full syringe into theintravenous line.
'Don't worry,' he says. 'You should diefrom this dose long before it has its full effect.'
He whirls, steps over Orsino's corpse, andhurries toward the escape tunnel.
A moment later his nervous system explodesin a volcano of pain. He shrieks again and again. He thrashes his head about.He bites through his lip and hurls himself sideways on to the floor. The agony,in every nerve, every fiber of his body, intensifies.
'
Soaked in sweat, Walter Concepcion sat boltupright in bed. After more than seven years, he had almost become inured to thenightmare. But some journeys back to the basement sessions with The Doctor werestill worse than others. And this one — his first in the weeks since arrivingin Manhattan from his home in Tennessee — had been a motherfucker.
It was the pain that had brought on theflashback. It usually was. The electric nerve pain that had been part of hislife for almost every moment of the seven years since The Doctor emptied thesyringe into his body. Ray wiped off his forehead and face with the sheet andfumbled through the bedside table drawer for the Bible he had hollowed out tohold his Percodans. He could stand to have everything he owned in the rentedroom ripped off, even his gun. But not his Percodans. His doc at homeunderstood. After years of neurologic consultations, psychotherapy, AA, NA, andhospitalizations, the man had given up trying for a cure, and now just wrotethe scripts. The local pharmacist understood, too, and just filled them. Tothose men and the others who knew the whole story, Ray was a legend. The manwho had captured Anton Perchek.
Santana had brought along enough pills tolast a month, provided the chronic pain didn't get any worse than it had been.He had no desire to take to the street for drugs, but he would if he had to.Anton Perchek was alive and plying his miserable trade in New York. And therewas no way Ray was leaving the city until the man was dead.
He had heard from Harry about thesuccessful session with the hypnotist. Next, Maura would be meeting with thecriminologist her brother knew. Together, they would make computer renderingsof her drawing in a variety of disguises. Those drawings would be put up inhospitals throughout the city. Santana's plan was simple. Keep jabbing at TheDoctor. Irritate him enough, and sooner or later, he would do something rash.Sooner or later, he would make a mistake.
He tossed two Percodans into the back ofhis throat and washed them down with a glass of water. Then he set out clothesfor his meeting with Page. He would wear his sports jacket so that he couldconceal the shoulder holster and his.38. He didn't expect trouble, but heanticipated it. Since his betrayal and capture in Nogales, he alwaysanticipated it.
He reached beneath the pillow, withdrewhis pistol, and unscrewed the silencer. It was bulky, and although it hadworked just fine that evening in Central Park, it tended to cut down onaccuracy. Besides, he thought, when he finally stood face-to-face with AntonPerchek, when he finally leveled the.38 at a spot between his eyes and pulledthe trigger, he wanted The Doctor to hear the sound.
Chapter27
This hearing isn't going to be pleasant,'Mel Wetstone said to Harry as they drove across town to the hospital. 'But Ipromise you we are not going to take any bullshit from these people.'
He had picked Harry up in the MercedesPhilip had sold him — the one that Phil claimed defined the man as an attorney.The four doors as well as the trunk had electronic closing mechanisms, and therear couch —
'Did Sam Rennick say what they were goingfor?' he asked.
'Sam plays things pretty close to thevest, but it was clear that he isn't willing to concede any of the points we'vepresented to him — not the sketch from Ms. Hughes, not the floor buffer theory,not the call to your office from the killer. They want you off the staff untilthe case is resolved.'
'Can they do that?'
'Probably. There are a few spots in thehospital bylaws where the language about who can do what to whom is vague — purposely vague, we think. The bottom line is that if they vote you out — andbelieve me, we've got some cards to play before they do — we can try for aninjunction. But we'd better get a damn sympathetic judge. A far better ideawould be to beat them back right here and now. That's what I intend to do.'
Harry stared out the sun-sensitive windowat the passing scene. He had no desire to be booted from the MMC staff. For onething, his patients were his emotional and financial life-blood; for another,being barred from practice in the hospital would make it that much harder toput the pressure on the killer. And they had enough progress since connectingwith Walter Concepcion to believe that before long, some sort of strategy forputting pressure on him might actually evolve.
Maura was on her way to meet with herbrother's friend, Lonnie Sims. The Dweeb had access to the latest in thegraphics suspects. Together they would enhance Maura's sketch and addphotographic quality, coloring, and detail. The result would be, essentially, afull-color mug shot, front and side views. They would then add and subtract,mix and match, until they had similar photos of the man with his appearancealtered.
When Harry and his lawyer entered theexecutive conference room for the second time since Evie's death, theatmosphere was distinctly more formal — and more threatening. Recordingmicrophones had been placed at several spots around the massive table. Theplayers from the first drama were all there already, along with a number ofnotable newcomers including members of the hospital board of trustees, thedepartment heads who made up the medical staff executive committee, the headnurses from Alexander 9 and Alexander 5, Caspar Sidonis, and a legalstenographer. There was also a man sitting beside the hospital attorney whomHarry did not know — a rough- hewn man in an ill-fitting blue suit.
Steve Josephson squeezed Harry's hand ashe passed. Doug Atwater smiled uncomfortably and came over.
'Harry,' he whispered, 'I'm glad I gotthis chance to talk with you. I hope you understand that the other day I wasonly suggesting what I thought would be best for you. Obviously, I upset you,and I'm sorry for that. I wanted to be sure you know that I'm behind you ahundred percent in this thing.'
Half a dozen snide responses sped throughHarry's head. None of them made it to his mouth. Atwater didn't deserve it. Overthe years he had been most supportive of Harry and his struggles to keep familypractice a respected option. Suggesting that Harry take a voluntary leave fromthe hospital was the only way he could think of to avoid the hearing that wasabout to take place — a hearing in which Harry seemed destined to be humiliatedand ultimately swept aside.
'I understand, Doug,' he said. 'But Ihaven't done anything wrong, so I just can't go down without a fight.'
'In that case, give 'em hell, Harry.'Atwater grinned.
Sam Rennick reviewed the ground rules thathad been agreed upon by him and Mel Wetstone.
Witnesses would give a statement andanswer questions from first Rennick, then Wetstone. Harry would be
