The Cradle Will Fall

duplicate his success.

He went into the library, opened the desk drawer and withdrew Katie DeMaio's file from its compartment. He made a final entry:

Patient entered hospital at 6:00 p.m. with blood pressure 100/60, hemoglobin no more than 10 grams. This physician administered the final two Coumadin pills at 7:00 p.m. At 8:30 this physician returned to Mrs. DeMaio's room and administered 5-ml heparin injection. Mrs. DeMaio awakened briefly. In a near comatose state she asked, 'Why did you kill Vangie Lewis?'

This physician left to obtain more heparin. When this physician returned, patient had left room in attempt to escape. Patient was apprehended and another 5 ml of heparin was administered. Patient will hemorrhage to death tonight in Westlake Hospital. This file is now closed.

He put down his pen, stretched, walked over to the wall safe and opened it. Bathed in light from the crystal sconces, the buff-colored files inside took on an almost golden sheen.

They were golden: the records of his genius. Expansively he lifted them all out and laid them on his desk, savoring his great successes: Berkeley and Lewis. Then his face darkened at the sight of the failures: Appleton, Carey, Drake, Elliot… Over eighty of them. But not really failures. He had learned so much, and they had all contributed. Those who had died, those who had aborted.

From somewhere in the distance a sound was beginning to penetrate the library: the wail of a siren. He hurried to the window, snatched back the drapery and glanced out. A police car had pulled into the driveway.

Had Katie been found? Had she been able to talk? Running to the desk, he stacked the files, replaced them in the safe, closed it and pushed back the panel. Calm. He must be calm.

If Katie had talked, it was all over.

All the possibilities and consequences were exploding in his mind. And then it came. The icy calm, the sense of power, the godlike omniscience that never failed him during difficult surgery.

There was a sharp rap at the door. Slowly, deliberately he smoothed his hair, then tightened the knot in his tie. He walked to the front door and opened it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

IN HIGHLEY'S driveway, the two detectives who were in the front seat of the squad car jumped out. As he and Scott followed, Richard noticed the movement of a drapery in a window at the far right of the house.

They had parked behind a black car with MD plates. Scott touched the hood. 'It's still warm. He hasn't been here long.'

The younger detective rapped sharply on the front door. They waited. The door opened. Edgar Highley was standing in the foyer. Scott spoke first. 'Dr. Highley?'

'Yes?' The tone was cold and questioning.

'Dr. Highley, I'm Scott Myerson, the Valley County prosecutor. We have a search Warrant for these premises, and it is my duty to inform you that you have become a suspect in the deaths of Vangie Lewis, Edna Burns and Dr. Emmet Salem. You have the right to consult a lawyer. You can refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you.'

Suspect. They weren't sure. They hadn't found Katie. With controlled fury he said, 'Come in, gentlemen. I will answer any questions you have, and you are welcome to search my home. However, when I consult a lawyer, it will be to bring suit against Valley County and against each one of you personally.'

He led them into the library. He knew he looked imposing sitting behind the massive Jacobean desk. It was vital that he unnerve them, make them afraid to question too closely. With a gesture of contempt, he waved them to the leather couch and chairs. Scott Myerson handed him the printed Miranda warning. Scornfully he signed it Myerson and Dr. Carroll sat down; the other two did not.

'We'll proceed with the search,' the older detective said politely. 'Where do you keep your medical records, Dr. Highley?'

'At my office, of course,' he snapped. 'However, please satisfy yourselves.' He stood up, walked to the bar and poured Scotch and water into a crystal tumbler. Then he sat down in the high-backed striped velvet chair near the fireplace, sipped the Scotch and eyed them coldly.

The questions began. 'Did Mrs. Lewis enter your office after leaving Dr. Fukhito last Monday night?'

'As I told Mrs. DeMaio…' They had absolutely no proof.

'Where were you that night, Doctor?'

'Home. I came home directly after my office hours.'

'Were you in Edna Burns's apartment on Tuesday night?'

His smile, contemptuous. 'Hardly.'

'We'll want some hair samples from you.'

Hair samples. Had some been found in Edna's apartment? But he'd been there with the police on Wednesday night. And Vangie always wore that black coat to the office. If strands of his hair had been found near the dead women, they could be explained.

'Were you in the Essex House last night after five o'clock?'

'Absolutely not.'

'We have a witness who is prepared to swear that he saw you get off the elevator there at approximately five thirty.'

Who had seen him? He had glanced around the lobby as he got off the elevator. He was certain that no one he knew was there. Maybe they were bluffing.

'I was not in the Essex House last night. I was at the Carlyle! I dine there frequently; in fact, my medical bag was stolen while I was dining there.'

He'd make it seem that he was cooperating.

'What was in your bag?' The question seemed perfunctory.

'A basic emergency kit, a few drugs. Hardly worth a thief's effort.' Should he mention that it contained files? No. The prosecutor beckoned to the younger investigator. 'Get that package out of the car.'

What package? Highley gripped the glass.

They sat in silence, waiting. The detective returned and handed

Scott a small parcel. He pulled off the wrapping paper. 'Do you recognize this moccasin, Doctor?' Careful. Careful. He leaned over, examined it. The left shoe, the one from Edna's apartment. They had not found his bag.

'Certainly not. Should I recognize it?'

'Your patient Vangie Lewis wore this shoe for weeks. Didn't you ever notice?'

'Mrs. Lewis wore a pair of rather shabby shoes. I certainly would not recognize one particular shoe.' 'Did you ever hear of a Dr. Emmet Salem?' 'The name seems familiar. I'd have to check my records.' 'Wasn't he on staff with you at Christ Hospital in Devon?' 'Of course. Yes. He was visiting staff. Indeed, I do remember him.' How much did they know about Christ Hospital?

'Were you aware Mrs. Lewis was carrying an Oriental baby?'

So that was it. He said, 'That explains why Mrs. Lewis was becoming terrified of giving birth. She knew that she could never make anyone believe her husband was the father.' Now they were asking about Anna Horan and Maureen Crowley. They were coming close, too close.

'Those two young women are typical of many who demand abortions and then blame the physician when they experience emotional reactions.'

Richard listened bleakly. Highley was so composed, so sure. Unless they could prove wrongful death in the maternity cases, it would be impossible to charge him with anything and make it stick. He felt certain they'd never find anything incriminating in Highley's records. He was far too clever for that.

Scott was asking about the Berkeley baby. 'Doctor, you are aware that Elizabeth Berkeley gave birth to a baby who has green eyes. Isn't that a medical improbability when both parents and all four grandparents have brown eyes?'

'Clearly Mr. Berkeley is not the baby's father,' Highley said.