The Cradle Will Fall

that? What will that pill do? Why do you put caution labels on those bottles?”

He’d gone to medical school, finished in the top ten percent of his class. He’d interned at Christ Hospital in Devon, with its magnificent research laboratory. He’d become a member of staff;

his reputation as an obstetrician had grown rapidly. But his project had been held back by his inability to test it.

At twenty-seven he'd married Claire, a distant cousin of the earl of Sussex. She was infinitely superior to him in social background, but his growing reputation had been the leveler. And what incredible ignominy. He who dealt in birth and fertility had married a barren woman.

When had he started to hate Claire? It took a long time-seven years. It was when he realized that her disappointment was faked; that she'd known all along that she could not conceive.

Impatiently he turned from the window. It would be another cold, wind-filled night. When all this was over, he'd take a vacation. He was losing his grip on his nerves. He had nearly given himself away this morning when Gertrude told him that Edna had phoned in sick. He'd grasped the desk, watched his knuckles whiten. Then he'd realized: Gertrude was covering for her friend.

The missing shoe. This morning he'd gone to the hospital soon after dawn and once again searched the parking lot and the office. Had Vangie been wearing it when she came into his office Monday night? He couldn't be sure. The other shoe, the right one, was still in his bag in the trunk of the car.

Even if the police started an investigation into Vangie's death, there was no evidence against him. Her file in the office could bear intensive scrutiny. All the true records of the special cases were here in the wall safe, and he defied anyone to locate that safe. It wasn't even in the original plans of the house.

Anyway, no one had any reason to suspect him-no one except Katie DeMaio.

Fukhito had come in to see him just as he was locking up tonight. He'd said, 'Mrs. DeMaio was asking a lot of questions. Is it possible that they don't believe Mrs. Lewis committed suicide?'

'I really don't know.' He'd enjoyed Fukhito's nervousness.

'The interview you gave to that magazine comes out tomorrow?'

'Yes. But I gave them the impression I use a number of psychiatric consultants. Your name will not appear in the article.'

'Still, it's going to put the spotlight on us.'

'On yourself. Isn't that what you're saving, Doctor?'

He'd almost laughed aloud at the troubled, guilty look on Fukhito's face. Now, finishing his Scotch, he realized that he had been overlooking another avenue of escape. If the police concluded that Vangie had been murdered, if they did investigate Wesdake, he could reluctantly suggest that they interrogate Dr. Fukhito. Especially in view of his past. After all, Fukhito was the last person known to have seen Vangie Lewis alive.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AFTER leaving Dr. Fukhito, Katie went to the east wing of the hospital for the transfusion. She had a long wait, and didn't leave the hospital until nearly six o'clock. She was hungry, and the idea of going home did not appeal to her. She thought she had learned to cope with loneliness. The feeling of emptiness that had been coming over her lately was something new.

She passed the restaurant where she and Richard had eaten the night before, and on impulse swung into the parking area. Maybe in the warm, intimate atmosphere she'd be able to think.

The proprietor recognized her, beamed with pleasure and led her to a table near the one she had shared with Richard.

Nodding at the suggestion of a glass of Burgundy, Katie leaned back. Now if she could just sort out the impressions she'd received talking with Dr. Highley and Dr. Fukhito.

Taking out her notebook, she began to scan what she had jotted down during the interviews. Dr. Highley. He'd explained that Vangie Lewis was in serious trouble with her pregnancy. What he told Katie was completely reasonable. What then? What more did she want of Dr. Highley? He'd expressed regret over Vangie's death, but certainly not sorrow. Of course, a doctor had to stay objective, as she'd heard both Bill and Richard say.

Richard. Her eyes slid over to the table where they'd sat together. Was it possible that it could happen twice in a lifetime, that from the very beginning you know someone is right?

When she and Richard were leaving Molly's after lunch yesterday, Molly had asked them both to dinner Thursday night-tomorrow-to meet Liz and Jim Berkeley. 'She's the one who thinks Dr. Highley is God,' Molly had said. Katie realized how much she was looking forward to that dinner.

Again she looked down at her notes. Dr. Fukhito. Something was wrong there, the way he'd weighed every word when he'd discussed Vangie's Monday-night visit. It had been like watching someone walk step by step through a minefield. What was he afraid of? He had said Vangie left by his private entrance.

No one had seen her go.

Suppose she hadn't left? Suppose he'd gone with her or followed her home. Suppose he'd realized that she was suicidal, that he was responsible in some way…

The waiter arrived to take her order. She made one final entry in her notebook: 'Investigate Fukhito's background.'

EVEN before he crossed the George Washington Bridge, Richard knew that he should have canceled the date with Clovis. He was preoccupied with Vangie Lewis' death. He had missed something in the autopsy. What was it?

And he was worried about Katie. She had looked so thin and pale last night. She wasn't well. That accident. Was it possible that she'd been hurt more than anyone realized? The thought haunted Richard as he turned into East Fifty-fourth Street and headed for Clovis' apartment.

Clovis had a pitcher of martinis waiting, and a plate of crab-meat puffs fresh from the oven. With her flawless skin and Viking coloring, she reminded Richard of a young Ingrid Bergman. Until recently he'd thought they might end up together. But as he returned her kiss, he was acutely aware that he'd never worry about Clovis the way he was now worrying about Katie.

He realized Clovis was talking to him as she filled two glasses. '… and I just got home. So I fixed the drinks and figured you could relax while I get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me?'

Richard accepted the drink and smiled apologetically. 'I'm sorry. Do you mind if I make some calls while you get ready?' 'Go ahead and dial away,' She picked up her glass and started toward the hall that led into the bedroom and bath. Richard took out his credit card and dialed the operator. He gave his account number and the call went through. The phone rang a dozen times before he gave up. Katie wasn't home.

Next he tried Molly's house. But Molly had not spoken to Katie today. 'She'll probably call me later. But I wish she was home by now. She should take it easy.'

It was the opening he needed. 'Molly, what's the matter with Katie? There is something wrong physically, isn't there? Besides the accident, I mean?'

Molly hesitated. 'You'd better talk to Katie about that.'

Cold fear washed over him. 'What's the matter with her?'

'Oh, not much. I promise you that. But it's nothing she wants discussed. See you tomorrow night. Don't forget.' The connection broke. Richard frowned into the dead receiver. Then he called the prosecutor. 'Anything going on?'

Scott did not waste time on preliminaries. 'The body of a woman was found in an apartment in Edgeriver. She was the receptionist Katie wanted to talk to at Westlake. Name's Edna Burns. We're heading over there, and we need you.'

'Give me the address,' Bichard said.

He wrote it quickly and hung up the phone. Vangie Lewis and now Edna Burns. He knocked on Clovis' bedroom door. Wrapped in a terry-cloth robe, she opened it. 'Hey, what's the hurry?'

'Clo, I'm sorry.' Quickly he explained. He was frantic to get away. She was clearly disappointed. 'Oh, of course I understand. Go, but let's have dinner tomorrow night. Promise?' Richard temporized. 'Well, very