“Initially it was a semen sample found on the victim. The hump was identified later. Do you happen to be friends with this Steven Cioffi?”
The doctor smiled thinly. “I’m not friends with many of my patients. If I were, Mr. Cioffi would not be among them.”
I sensed that had been a factor in Duquesne’s decision to cooperate. The nurse appeared at the door with the file. The doctor took it from her and nodded her away.
“Not one of your favorite people?”
He opened the file and began leafing through it slowly. “No. He’s not a nasty man, mind you; he’s just totally lacking in… I don’t know what you’d call it… Charm, maybe.”
“Charm?”
“Well, you know. He’s not particularly bright or well spoken. He seems dull and single-minded. He has absolutely no sense of humor or curiosity. He’s just kind of blah… You know the type?”
Looking at Duquesne, I decided to duck the subject of type. “Does he e. entifhave the makings of a killer, in your personal view?”
“We all do. It is interesting that you think he may have been involved in a murder just as the Cushing’s was manifesting itself, however.”
“Why?”
“Well, it gives him an extra edge in that department. Heavy doses of prednisone can make one moody, depressed, sometimes even delirious.”
“And you think that may have happened with Cioffi?”
“He was more prone to it than others I’ve treated-it may be some reflection of sociological background. Of course, that isn’t my field.”
“What’s a man capable of when he has Cushing’s? I mean, is he as strong as usual? Can he run around the block?”
“Under normal conditions, I’d say no. His inclination is to rest. There is some muscular weakness associated with the syndrome. In Cioffi’s case it was not debilitating. If his adrenaline were pumping high enough, he’d have normal strength. However, I don’t see him running around the block, as you say, under normal conditions. He’s kind of a tubby, flabby man.”
“How is he now?”
“Fine-for the moment. The asthma is under control. His looks are back to normal.”
“What’s ‘for the moment’ mean?”
“He’s developed aseptic necrosis in the right hip-it’s a degeneration of the femoral head. Prednisone does that sometimes.”
“So he limps?”
“Now he limps. He uses a cane. Later, in two or three years, he’ll be in a wheelchair.”
“Jesus. Isn’t that a high price to pay for asthma?”
“It’s a trade-off. His asthma wasn’t just a little wheezing. It was about to kill him.”
“But he can get around now.”
“Oh, yes. He could even run around your proverbial block, again if he were adequately stimulated. Of course, it wouldn’t improve his hip any.”
“Do you have an address on him?”
Duquesne closed the folder and passed it across his desk to me. “I suppose most of this is yours now anyway. You’ll find everything you need-or at least everything I know-in there.”
“How about blood samples? Do you have any of those?”
“Several. I take them and urine samples periodically for monitoring purposes.”
“Do you have any that date back to when he had Cushing’s?”
“Yes. They’re at the hospital-in the deep freeze.”
“If you could call the hospital as soon as I leave and tell them to release those samples to us, I’d greatly appreciate it.” ate he
He frowned. “Am I obligated to do that?”
I opened his warrant and showed him the paragraph that dealt with the specific and dated materials in question.
He sighed and muttered, “All right.”
I thanked him and stood up. “There is something else I ought to tell you, doctor. We aren’t the only ones looking for Cioffi.” Duquesne just stared at me. “Have you been aware of what the newspaper’s been calling ‘the man in the mask,’ or Ski Mask?”
“Certainly. I’d have to live in a cocoon not to.”
“Well, he’s the other one interested in Cioffi, although he only knows him as a mysterious hunchback right now.”
“Why tell me?”
“He’s a very motivated, dangerous man. He’s also very resourceful. If he does happen to discover your connection to all this, he’ll come knocking at your door, one way or the other. It’s happened before.”
Duquesne was very still. When he spoke, the neutrality had tilted toward the hostile. “Then you’ve just exposed me to a certain amount of danger, is that right? As you did with that prostitute?”
“Not necessarily. If he does contact you, just tell him everything he wants to know. That should be the end of it.”
“Are you going to give me some protection in the meantime?”
“He may not even get in touch.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Giving you protection might cause more harm than good. If Ski Mask senses an obstacle, he’s usually pretty good at removing it.”
“That sounds more like your area than mine, Lieutenant. Perhaps I can be more persuasive: let’s say that if any harm does come to me while I’m unprotected, my lawsuit against your department will stand a far greater chance of success.”
He smiled. I smiled. I showed myself out. It occurred to me that for all her street smarts, Susan Lucey could learn a thing or two from an operator like that.
It turned out Dr. Duquesne wasn’t the only one not living in a cocoon. Town Manager Tom Wilson was waiting for me in the hallway back at the Municipal Building.
“Give me an update, Gunther.”
“I’d prefer to let Chief Brandt do that.”
“I don’t care what you prefer. Tell me what’s going on-right now.”
“We’re digging, and it’s getting easier and easier. We should have something before long.”
Wilson stabbed my chest with his finger. “Don’t give me that crap. You guys are not the CIA. You work for me and the board, and you are accountable for everything you do. Early on, I let you play coy because we were all trying to duck the publicity. That, iici' wn case you haven’t read today’s newspaper, or heard the radio, or seen Channel 31, is no longer a consideration.”
“I know. We’re famous.”
“Don’t be cute. I’ve been fencing with the press from Rutland and Keene for a couple of days already. Now I’ve had calls from the wire services and two of the three networks. A Boston TV station has a news crew due here this afternoon, for Christ’s sake. We’ve got to do better than ‘We’re digging and it’s getting easier.’ They’ll eat us alive. Even worse, they’ll start digging on their own. I can’t believe you want that.”
“All right, but I’m still not going to say anything without Brandt. He should be back any second.” I crossed over to Maxine’s window. “Any word from Tony?”
“He’s heading back. He just called in.”
I turned to Wilson. “Why don’t you wait in his office? I’ll be right there.”
He grumbled, but he went. I took a left into the squad room and poked my head into Billy Manierre’s office. “I need someone to run a blood sample to a forensic pathologist in West Haven, Connecticut. Can you help me out?”
“Whose blood?”
