before driving on. Ben wondered if someone might have called in about the odd-looking stranger making his way up Main Street through the gloom, in no particular hurry. Welcome to small-town America.
With several hours still to kill before his appointment, he wandered back to his bed-and-breakfast, had a better-than-average breakfast of poached eggs and homemade corned beef hash, and then checked in with his office answering machine.
'Mr. Callahan,' a man's deep voice said. 'I have been referred to you by Judge Caleb Johnson, who says you're the best detective in the city…'
If Johnson knows who I am, Ben thought, then he's afar better detective than l am.
The voice went on to say that his was a case of possible spousal infidelity, and that there would be millions of dollars hinging on the results of Ben's discreet investigation. Whatever Ben's usual rate, he would triple it in exchange for having this matter be made his top priority.
Triple. Ben did some quick mental math and realized that even if the stalk-and-gawk case resolved quicker than usual, and he suspected that it might not, he would be able to make up several times over for the Organ Guard check he had already nearly spent, or the money he had turned down in the Katherine de Souci case. Triple. The rich bass voice was a ladder out of the deep red hole he was in. Ben hummed a chorus of Prine's 'Fish and Whistle.'
Father forgive us for what we must do…
For the immediate future, there would be no wolf at his door.
What goes around comes around, he thought, smiling. Bad or good, what goes around comes around.
Dr. Marilyn Christiansen, an osteopathic general practitioner, was a kindly woman in her mid-forties, practicing out of an old Victorian house on the east edge of the town. The antithesis of the always rushed and harried Dr. Banks, she was bereft at learning of the death of Lonnie Durkin, and stunned at the notion of his being used as an unwilling bone marrow donor.
'This is very sad,' she said. 'He was the Durkins only child. Is there any other possible explanation for what happened to him?' she asked.
'Not according to the medical examiner in Florida. The holes of a bone marrow aspiration were present in the bone in each hip.'
'How bizarre. Well, I didn't see Lonnie in the office very much. He was seldom sick. But I certainly knew him. Most everyone in the town did. Very sweet boy. I say boy even though he was in his twenties because, as you probably know — '
'I do know,' Ben said, sparing her the explanation. 'His parents told me you saw him for dizziness.'
'Two years ago. Even though I never suspected anything serious, I ordered a routine laboratory panel. The results all came back normal, and his dizziness simply went away. Some sort of virus, I guess.'
'The tests were done at Whitestone?'
'Yes. I could have used the hospital lab, but I've found that White stone is just a bit, well, more efficient.'
'Do you know the director of the lab?'
'Shirley Murphy. I don't know her well. Single woman with a teenage child — a girl.'
'Do you feel comfortable calling her to see if she could meet with me today?'
'Of course, but I suspect you won't have any problem getting in to see her.'
'How do you know?'
Christiansen hesitated, smiling enigmatically.
'I see that you don't wear a wedding ring,' she said finally.
'Divorced.'
'Well, as I said, Shirley is single, and she's educated, and Soda Springs is, well, pretty much of a small, family 'oriented town.'
Ben had never been very intuitive or aware when it came to women, but even he could tell that Shirley Murphy was coming on to him. She was an attractive enough woman, about his age, with streaked hair, large breasts, and full hips. However, whether it was the introductory phone call that Marilyn Christiansen made to her, or the way she actually came to work every day, Shirley was wearing some sort of highly aromatic perfume in addition to a great deal of makeup, neither of which he ever found pleasing in any way. Still, as long as she might be of help to him, there was no way he was going to rain on her fantasies.
The real question was how much information to share with her. If she knew anything about what had happened to Lonnie Durkin, or mentioned Ben's visit to someone who did, he would have made a mistake as grave as trying to open the RV door. It was time for some creative flirting, and some creative lying, neither of which he was particularly skilled at. Gratefully, Dr. Christiansen had agreed not to mention his real profession.
'I don't think we needed to concoct too elaborate a story around who you are, Mr. Callahan,' she had said when she finished her call to the lab. 'It didn't seem like Shirley heard too much beyond the words 'single and 'good-looking. I told her that you came in because of some blurred vision after your auto accident, and mentioned you were interested in the Whitestone lab. How'd I do?'
Murphy's office was tidy and businesslike, with framed French Impressionist prints on the wall, along with some diplomas and two awards for being a Whitestone Laboratories Regional Employee of the Month. The volumes filling the small bookcase didn't look as if they had seen much use.
As the doctor had predicted, Shirley was much more interested in the teller than in the tale.
'I own a small company that does HLA — you know, human leukocyte antigen — typing for transplants,' Ben had said, watching her closely for any reaction. 'Whitestone is on the verge of buying us out, but keeping me on as director. They want to move our headquarters from Chicago, and one of the places they're considering is Pocatello. Another, from what they told me, is Soda Springs. Something about a smaller town having more employee loyalty and longevity.'
'That's certainly a fact. Most of our people have been here since we opened, three years ago. Funny, I haven't heard anything at all about this.' 'It's only now being made public. I'm sure that after they narrow their choices down to this area, you'll be brought in.'
'I suspect you're right,' she had said, and that was that.
'So, Ben,' she said now, clearly taking pains to hold her shoulders back, her eyes locked tightly on his, and her head at just the right angle, 'tell me about Chicago.'
'Oh, it's a great city,' he replied, wanting to bring the subject back to HLA typing, but not wanting to appear to ignore her. 'Vibrant and very alive. Museums, symphony, great music, and of course, Lake Michigan.'
'Sounds exciting.'
'And romantic. I think you would love it.'
'Oh, I definitely think I would, especially with the right guide.'
'Perhaps that can be arranged.'
'Well…perhaps you'd like a tour of beautiful downtown Soda Springs first. My daughter has cheerleading practice after school and won't be home until six. I think I can get off early. Wait, what am I saying? I'm the boss. I know I can get off early.'
'After I finish here I have some calls to make, so I can only say that I'd like a…um…tour very much, but we'll have to see.'
The implied promise brought her shoulders back another half inch.
'So, Ben, tell me what I can do to help you learn about our operation. We're doing half again as many tests as the hospital lab and as I said, we've only been open for about three years.'
'Only three years. Impressive, very impressive. What do you do with your HLA typing now?'
'To tell you the truth, we don't get much call for it. Transplant candidates from here usually have been worked up in one of the university medical centers. What little we do get, we send out to Pocatello.'
'Do you keep a record of those you tissue-type?'
'Not specifically. We do have the capability in our quality control program to pull up a list of those who had a specific test drawn, including tissue-typing, but I'd have to think a bit about sharing our patients names. Oh, heck, I suppose if it's really important to you, Ben, I could make an exception. I mean, you are about to become one of the Whitestone family, so to speak.'
She favored him with intense eye contact and an expression that spoke of many long, lonely Idaho nights. He knew that given his imminent position with Whitestone, her willingness to share patient data with him wasn't all
