pages, or fifty-three and a half longer than mine.
Stayner himself was about five-ten, with a lean runner’s body. He looked to be in his early fifties, which meant he probably had time to earn another degree or two if he applied himself. His eyes were grey-blue, not unlike the sky outside his windows, and he wore stylish rimless glasses.
He came around from behind his desk to shake hands. The desktop was neat and dust-free. There was a framed photo of him with a teenaged boy who looked a lot like him with a mop of blond curls, and a nice-looking woman with dark hair down to her shoulders.
“Chuck Stayner,” he said. His grip was strong, of course. And quick. One grasp and on to business. “I’m running behind,” he said, leaning back against the desk, “so please tell me how I can help you.”
“I’ll try to keep it short. How long have you known David?”
“Since he began his fellowship, which was a year ago July. Call it a year and a half.”
“Would you say you know him well?”
“I know his work well. I know the part of himself that he applies to the work. The professional self, as it were. And I have to say, this disappearing act of his is unlike anything else he’s ever done. I’m not trying to seem self-absorbed here, but his absence has created significant problems for me.”
“How so?”
“He assists in most of my transplants, supervises much of the research, takes on any task he can find that no one else is doing. You don’t just replace a talent like David, any more than you replace a star athlete who gets hurt. It’s left me scrambling at times.”
That did seem self-absorbed, despite his efforts.
“Did he seem different in any way prior to his disappearance? Worried, preoccupied?”
“Not to me. David is very even-keeled as a rule. Which is part of his talent. He has the mind, the hands and the temperament to be a world-class surgeon. He needs rounding out in a few areas, like immunology, but that will come in time. I didn’t do my post-doc work in immunology until I was thirty-four.”
The slouch. “He never confided anything in you?”
“No. And I told all this to the police, by the way. Should I assume they have no leads?”
“None. Was he ever depressed?”
“Are you asking me whether I think he could have taken his own life? No. In addition to everything else, I believe his religious beliefs proscribe that rather severely.” He glanced at a slim silver watch around his wrist, reminding me my audience was limited.
“Who is he closest to?”
“In the department? Me, I suppose.”
“No other close friends?”
“We work very long hours here, Mr. Geller. Very long. To be frank, I don’t know what my residents or fellows do outside these walls. I couldn’t tell you which of them is married or has kids. If that’s a failing, I can live with it comfortably. Look, there is a roomful of patients waiting to see me.”
“Can you think of anywhere David might go if he were in trouble?”
“Home to Canada?”
“No. His passport is still here and no one at home has heard from him.”
“Then there’s nowhere else I can think of.”
“Last thing. He wasn’t allowed to moonlight or anything, right?”
“No, his visa doesn’t allow it. Which is too bad, of course. What we pay residents and fellows is practically criminal.”
“We found five thousand dollars in cash in his room. Any idea where that could have come from?”
For a moment, Stayner looked as sallow as one of his patients. He gulped as though he’d taken a large drink. “Five thousand? David?”
“Hidden in his closet. And we think he gave another five to the family of another man who is also missing.”
He crossed his arms and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I have no idea,” he said. “I’m-I’m frankly stunned.”
“I can see that.”
He looked more than stunned. He looked afraid. “Where would David get that kind of money?” Stayner asked, more interested in the money than in the other missing man. If he wasn’t going to bring it up, neither was I. Yet.
“Did he ever say anything to you about poker?”
“Not that I recall. I didn’t know he played.”
“He did online. Could that account for the money?”
“That seems kind of fantastic to me but who knows? It might be as reasonable as any other explanation.”
Still ignoring any mention of the other man. “You’re chair of the ethics committee, aren’t you?”
“Bioethics, yes. What does that have to do with it?”
“Could David have done something unethical to get that money?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“One of your patients was just telling me how hard it is to get a kidney. Could David have taken money to move someone up the list?”
“First of all, he wouldn’t have a say in that. And he wouldn’t do anything unethical, it’s not in him.”
“Would you?”
“Would I what?” he snapped. “Do something unethical?”
“No. Have a say in who gets on the list.”
“Of course not. No doctor does, and I resent the question. The New England Organ Bank handles all procurement and notifies patients based on strict criteria.”
“What criteria?”
“I’m not going to do your research for you. Look it up on your own time.” His demeanour had slipped a couple of notches, from cool and self-absorbed to snappy. “Now good luck, Mr. Geller. Please let me know if you find out anything.” He walked back behind his desk. Got behind his chair too.
“And you’ll do the same?” I laid a business card on his desktop. He moved it to one side with his fingertips. Then he phoned out to his receptionist and asked her to send in his next patient.
“One last thing,” I said. I took a folded flyer out of my jacket pocket and handed it to him. “Do I have your permission to put this up by the elevator?”
He unfolded it and was saying, “Yes, yes,” when he actually looked at it. I watched his reaction as he saw Harinder Patel’s face and walked out thinking it was a good thing he didn’t play poker.
CHAPTER 9
Jenn and I had a late lunch at the hotel coffee shop. I told her about my visit to Stayner and the question of whether David could have taken money to get someone onto, or higher up on, a donor waiting list.
“But Stayner says he couldn’t have,” she said.
“Right. Even he can’t, he says.”
“Are we going to take his word for it?”
“Not a chance.”
“You think he knew more than he was letting on.”
“Something about the money,” I said. “That’s when he flinched, and this is not a man who lets go easily.”
She agreed to stay behind at the hotel and work the phones, to try to get confirmation from the New England Organ Bank about its protocols and track down more people David Fine had spoken to in the days before he went missing. I drove back to Summit Avenue without getting lost and parked near the house he shared with Sheldon. There were a lot of other houses to canvass-too many for one night-so I walked to the plateau of the hill where a
