lot. He kept in the shadows. He had his key to the fire exit at the rear of the maternity wing. No one ever used those stairs. He let himself in.
The stairway was brightly lighted. He turned off the switch. He could find his way through this hospital blindfolded. At the third floor he opened the door and listened. There was no sound. Noiselessly he stepped into the hall. An instant later he was in the living room of Katie's suite.
That had been another problem he'd anticipated. Suppose someone had accompanied her to the hospital-her sister, a friend? Suppose that person had asked to stay overnight on the sofa bed in the living room? By ordering the room repainted, he'd blocked that possibility. Planning. Planning. It was everything.
That afternoon he had left the needle with the heparin in a drawer of an end table under the painter's drop cloth. A light from the parking lot filtered through the window, giving him enough visibility to find the table. He reached for the needle.
Now for the most important moment of all. He was in the room, bending over her. The drapery was open. Faint light was coming into the room. Her breathing was uneven. She must be dreaming. He took her arm, slipped the needle in, squeezed. She winced and sighed. Her eyes, cloudy with sleep, opened as she turned her head. She looked up at him, puzzled. 'Dr. Highley,' she murmured, 'why did you kill Vangie Lewis?'
SCOTT Myerson was more tired than angry. Since Vangie Lewis' body had been found Tuesday morning, two other people had died. Two very decent people-a hardworking receptionist who deserved a few years of freedom after caring for her aged parents, and a doctor who was making a real contribution to medicine.
They had died because he had not moved fast enough. If only he had brought Chris Lewis in for questioning immediately, Edna Burns and Emmet Salem would be alive now.
Scott couldn't wait for the chance to get to Lewis. He and his girl friend had landed at seven. They should be here by eight. Lewis was cool all right. Knew better than to run. Thought he could brazen it out. Knows it's all circumstantial. But circumstantial evidence can be a lot better than eyewitness testimony when properly presented in court.
At seven fifty Richard walked into Scott's office. 'I think we've uncovered a cesspool,' he said, 'and it's called the Westlake Maternity Concept.'
'If you're saying that the shrink was probably playing around with Vangie Lewis, I agree,' Scott said.
'That's not what I'm talking about,' said Richard. 'It's Highley I'm after. I think he's experimenting with his patients. I just spoke to the husband of one of them. He's been thinking that his wife agreed to artificial insemination without his permission. I think it goes beyond that. I think Highley is performing artificial insemination without his patients'
Scott snorted. 'You think Highley would inject Vangie Lewis with the semen of an Oriental and expect to get away with it?'
'Maybe he made a mistake.'
'Doctors don't make mistakes like that. Even allowing your theory to be true-and frankly, I don't buy it-that doesn't make him Vangie's murderer. Look, we'll investigate Westlake's maternity clinic. If we find any kind of violation there, we'll prosecute. But right now Chris Lewis is my first order of business.'
'Do this,' Richard persisted. 'Go back further with the check on Highley. I'm already looking into the malpractice suits against him. But
Scott shrugged. 'Sure, go ahead.' The buzzer on his desk sounded. He switched on the intercom. 'Bring him in,' he said. Leaning back in his chair, he looked at Richard. 'The bereaved widower, Captain Lewis, is here with his paramour.'
DANNYBOY Duke sat in the precinct house miserably hunched forward in a chair. He was trembling and perspiring. In another thirty seconds he'd have gotten away. He'd be in his apartment now, feeling the blissful release of the fix. Instead, this steamy hell. 'Give me a break,' he whispered.
The cops weren't impressed. 'You give
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Danny said.
'Sure you do. The doctor's bag was in your car. We know you stole it last night. The doorman at the Carlyle Hotel can identify you. But who'd you hit with that paperweight, Danny? And what about that shoe? Since when do you save beat-up shoes?'
'It was in the bag,' Danny said.
The two detectives looked at each other. The younger one shrugged and turned to the newspaper on the desk behind him. The other dropped the file he had been examining back into the bag. 'All right, Danny. We're calling Dr. Salem to find out just what he had in this bag. That'll settle it.'
The younger detective looked up from the paper. 'Dr. Salem?'
'Yeah. That's the name on the file. Oh, I see. The nameplate on the bag says Dr. Edgar Highley. Guess he had some other doctor's file.'
The younger detective came over to the table carrying the
The police officers looked at Dannyboy with renewed interest.
H E WATCHED KATIE'S EYES CLOSE, HER breathing become even. She'd fallen asleep again. The question about Vangie had come from her subconscious, triggered perhaps by a duplication of her mental state of Monday night. Suppose she asked it again in the operating room before they anesthetized her?
He had to kill her before Nurse Renge made her check, in less than an hour. After the Coumadin pills she had taken, the heparin shot would further act to anticoagulate her blood. He had planned on several hours to complete the procedure. Now he couldn't wait. He had to give her a second shot immediately.
He had heparin in his office. He'd have to go down the fire stairs to the parking lot, use the private door to his office, refill the hypodermic and come back up here. It would take at least five minutes. The waitress would question his absence from the table, but there was no help for that. Satisfied that Katie was asleep, he hurried from the room.
THE technician in the Valley County forensic lab worked overtime on Friday evening. Dr. Carroll had asked him to compare all microscopic samples from the home of the presumed suicide Vangie Lewis with all microscopic samples from the home of the presumed accident victim Edna Burns.
The technician had a superb instinct for microscopic evidence, a hunch factor that rarely failed him. He was particularly interested in loose hair, and he was fond of saving, 'It's astonishing how much hair we are constantly shedding.'
Sifting the vacuum-bag contents from the Lewis home, he found many strands of the ash-blond hair of the victim. And he'd discovered a fair quantity of medium brown hair-undoubtedly the husband's. But there were also a number of silverish sandy hairs in the victim's bedroom. The length suggested that the hair was a man's. Some of the same strands were on the coat the victim had been wearing.
And then the technician found the connection Richard Carroll had been seeking. Several sandy hairs with silver roots were clinging to the faded blue bathrobe of Edna Bums.
The technician reached for the phone to call Dr. Carroll.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SHE tried to wake up. There was a click; a door had closed. Someone had just been here. Her arm hurt. Dr. Highley. She dropped off… What had she said to Dr. Highley? Katie woke up a few minutes later and remembered. The black car and the shiny spokes and the light on his glasses. She'd seen him put Vangie Lewis in his trunk Monday night. Dr. Highley had killed Vangie. And now he knew she knew about him. Why had she asked him that question? He'd be back. She had to get out of here. He was going to kill her too.
Help. She needed help. Why was she so weak? Her finger was bleeding. The pills he had given her. Since she'd been taking them she'd been so sick. The pills were making her bleed.
Oh, God, help me, please. The phone! Katie fumbled for it, knocked it over. She pulled it up by the cord, put the receiver to her ear. The line was dead.
