Terminal

Beyond that it looked like the mountains of Hell – a pile of gigantic cinder cones without a trace of green vegetation on the scarred rock faces.

'We were going to have a lovely day at the Desert Museum,' she pouted. 'They have a beaver lodge underground. You can go down a staircase and see the beavers nestled in the lodge…'

`And all the time you'll be worrying and talking about Jesse Kennedy…'

'He raised me after my mother and father were killed in a car crash. I don't like the way Linda secretly had him moved to Switzerland while I was at St Thomas's in London. There's an odd smell about the whole business…'

'I don't like Linda,' he remarked.

`You like her legs – you never stop looking at them…'

'I'm a connoisseur of good legs. Yours are almost as good…'

She thumped him, turned round and leaned against the wall, her expression serious. 'Bob, I really am worried. Linda could have phoned me when they diagnosed leukaemia. She had my number. I'm not happy at all. She may be my older sister but she's no right to take the law into her own hands. Then there's her husband, Harvey…'

'Don't like Harvey either,' he said easily, twirling an unlit cigarette in his mouth. 'You realize the only way to check this? Not that I think for a moment there's anything wrong – but you won't settle until I convince you…'

'So, convince me, Mr World Foreign Correspondent who speaks five languages fluently.'

'We proceed systematically as though I was checking out a big story. You're a doctor and a close relative of the man we're enquiring about – so the right people will have to talk to me as long as you're present. The family doctor is on my list – but first we interview the specialist who took the blood tests that showed it was leukaemia. Where do we find him?'

'A man called Buhler at Tucson Medical Center. It's in the city. I insisted on Linda telling me all the details – I say insisted because I had to drag the information out of her…'

'Doesn't prove a thing,' Newman commented. 'Knowing you're a doctor she might have been worried she hadn't done it your way. She might also have resented your questioning..

`We seem to be doing it backwards,' she objected. 'I can't see why you don't talk to Linda first, then our doctor, then the specialist at the Center…'

`Deliberately backwards. That way we get testimony and check what the others say later. It's the only technique which will show up any discrepancies. I still think it's a wild goose chase but…' He spread his hands. `… I just want to settle your mind and then we can get on with living.'

`It's queer – Linda not phoning me while I was doing my post-graduate work at St Thomas's..

`You said that before. Let's get some action. Specifically, let's get to the Center before Buhler goes to lunch. And no argument – I'm driving. Hop in the passenger seat…'

`Didn't you know, Nancy? No, of course not – you were away in London when Buhler was killed…'

They were at the Center talking to a slim man of fifty wearing a sweat shirt and slacks. Dr Rosen had taken them to his private office and Newman sat watching him and drinking coffee. Rosen had an alert, professional manner and was clearly glad to help Nancy in any way he could.

`How was he killed?' Newman asked casually.

`Killed was perhaps the wrong word…'

`But it was the word you used,' Newman pointed out. `Maybe you could fill us in on the details. I'm sure Nancy would appreciate that…'

Dr Rosen hesitated. He stroked his thinning hair with his right hand as though searching for the right words to express himself. Newman frowned at Nancy who was about to say something and she remained silent.

`It was very tragic. He went off the road near Gates Pass in his new Mercedes. He was DOA when we got him back here…'

`He must have earned a lot of money to afford a Mercedes,' Newman remarked.

`He told me he got lucky during the one trip he made to Vegas. He was that kind of man, Mr Newman – if he made a killing… I'm using that word again – don't read any significance into it. What I'm saying is, if Buhler came into a lot of money he would hang on to it.'

`You said 'very tragic' and I noticed you emphasized the first word. He had a family?'

Rosen swivelled in his chair, gazed out of the window and then turned back to face Newman who had the impression Rosen was uncomfortable about the subject of their conversation. Clasping his hands, he leaned forward across his desk and looked at both his visitors.

`Buhler went off that road at speed because he was drunk. It was a shock to all of us because we'd never suspected he was an alcoholic..

`Driving off a road when you've had one too many doesn't make you an alcoholic,' Newman pressed. 'Why not complete the story?'

`Buhler had no family, wasn't married – except to his job. He had no relatives we were able to trace. When the police checked his home they found cupboards stacked with empty bottles of whisky. The evidence was conclusive – he'd been a secret drinker. That's why I said very tragic…'

And he was the specialist who checked my grandfather's blood sample and diagnosed leukaemia?' Nancy interjected.

`That's correct. Young Dr Chase brought them in himself for Buhler to check. Unfortunately, there was no doubt about it – if that's what you're wondering, Nancy.'

`I wasn't wondering that-why this Dr Chase? For years our doctor has been Bellman…'

`All this has to be in confidence, Nancy. Some of it I'm only telling you because of our long acquaintance – and to put your mind at rest about Jesse being sent to that clinic in Switzerland. Mrs Wayne changed your doctor – she never liked Bellman. Said she preferred someone younger…'

`Linda chose this Dr Chase!' Nancy's tone expressed near amazement. 'Someone entirely new – and young – advised her to shuttle Jesse off to Europe?'

`Well…' Rosen hesitated again, glancing at Newman, who gazed back with no particular expression. 'Frank Chase has gone up like a rocket – he's very popular. My guess is he'll soon have a string of wealthy patients. He has a way with… people.'

`The records,' Nancy persisted, 'the blood samples Buhler took to check my grandfather. They're here at the hospital?'

`They were destroyed…'

`That's not right,' Nancy protested.

`Wait a minute. Please!' Rosen held up a placating hand. `Let me finish. Buhler was an eccentric. As I told you, he lived for his work. He had a habit of carrying his files round with him so he could study them whenever he felt like it. They were inside the car when he went over the edge. There was a partial fire – all his records were incinerated…'

`How young is this Dr Frank Chase?' Newman enquired.

`Thirty-two. He still has a long way to go to get to the top of the tree, if that's what you were wondering. But he's climbing.'

`Could we have. Dr Chase's address?' Newman asked. `Sure. He's out on Sabino Canyon Road.'

`Very nice, too,' Nancy commented. 'Skyline Country Club territory. Linda is practically his neighbour if he's far enough out.'

Rosen said nothing as he took a pad and wrote carefully in a fine Italian script. Newman read the address upside down and for a member of the medical profession it was surprisingly legible. Something in Rosen's attitude puzzled him: the doctor had given Newman several close scrutinies as though trying to make up his mind about something, an aspect which was bothering him. He tore off the sheet, folded it neatly and handed it to Newman – which caused Nancy to raise her eyebrows.

He stood up and came round his desk to shake hands and escort them to the door, opening it to let Nancy leave first. His handclasp was warm and reassuring.

`I really don't think you have anything to worry about,' he told her. 'The Swiss are very good…'

He waited until Newman was half way along the corridor leading to the exit before he called him back. Newman told Nancy he would be with her in a minute and to wait in the car. Rosen closed the door once the Englishman was inside his office. He handed him a visiting card.