“I was.”
“Why was he terminated from his internship?”
Garfield stared at him for a moment. “Am I going to end up testifying in a court of law about this?”
“That’s unlikely,” Stone said. “This is purely for background.”
“It’s about the Nijinsky woman, isn’t it?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Barrington, you’d better say, if you want to get anything out of me. I read the tabloids, from time to time, and I’m aware that you are retired from the police department.”
Stone tried to keep from showing embarrassment. “That’s true, sir.”
“Then why are you flashing a badge around here?”
“Retired officers are allowed to keep their badges.”
“I don’t have to talk to a retired detective, you know.”
“I know that, sir, but I think the information I’m asking for could be important.”
“You don’t have the slightest notion of whether it’s important, do you? You’re just curious.”
“To tell you the truth, sir, I am. I couldn’t break this one when I was on the force, and it bothers me that it’s no longer being investigated.”
“The Morgan woman didn’t do it, then?”
“No, sir, she didn’t.”
Garfield sat down behind his desk and waved Stone to a chair. “Let me explain something to you, Mr. Barrington. This is a very highly regarded institution of healing, and we get some very well-known people in here as patients.”
“I’m aware of that, Doctor.”
“It’s conceivable that if the information you’re asking for got into the papers, there could be… repercussions for this hospital.”
“I assure you, Doctor, nothing you tell me will become a part of any public record, and I certainly won’t pass it on to the press.”
The doctor looked at Stone thoughtfully. “I’d like to know what happened to Sasha Nijinsky myself,” he said.
“So would I, Doctor; that’s why I’m here.”
“All right, but if it ever comes up, I will deny I ever told you any of this.”
Stone nodded. “I understand.”
Garfield took a deep breath and began. “This happened, what – twelve, thirteen years ago?”
“That sounds about right.”
“You have to understand that interns, like everybody else, have their own little… eccentricities. I have seen yearend pranks pulled that would stand your hair on end – cadavers in the cafeteria, you know? We try to be a little tolerant of these things – after all, these young people are under a lot of pressure, and they don’t get much time off – but we keep a close eye on them, all the same. I’ve had alcoholics, drug addicts, nymphomaniacs – all sorts of problems exhibit themselves, and, usually, with a little counseling, we can keep the offender in the program, maybe make a fine physician out of him later on. We’re not out to wreck careers, here; these kids come to us with eight years of higher education, and they’ve worked hard. But we have to draw the line somewhere.”
“Where did you draw it with Herbert Van Fleet?”
“Van Fleet was one of our brighter interns,” Garfield said, placing his feet on his desk, unwilling to be hurried. “He finished, I don’t know, sixth or seventh in his med school class at Columbia, and he exhibited an inclination toward pathology. Might have been good at it, too; unfortunately, that was not the only inclination he exhibited.” He paused.
“Go on, Doctor,” Stone encouraged.
“Van Fleet appeared to be attracted to sick people.”
“That seems like a desirable quality in a physician.”
Garfield shook his head. “I’m not making myself clear,” he said. “I mean he exhibited a sexual attraction for the ill. Women, that is. He seemed very uncomfortable with male patients, didn’t like to touch them. One of his professors at Columbia told me that, as a med student, he had refused to work on a male cadaver, except when forced to study the genitalia. My guess is that he was suppressing homosexual, or at least bisexual, tendencies, and that he had difficulty accepting these tendencies or dealing with them.”
“How did this attraction to ill women manifest itself?”
“The chief resident noticed that he was spending a lot of extra time with young women patients, especially those recovering from injury or surgery, looking frequently into the rooms of these patients. If someone else was in attendance, he’d leave; he’d wait until they were alone before he visited them. The nurses noticed him, and there were jokes about it. The patients always seemed to be those who had IV’s running. We started to keep a watch on him, surreptitiously.
“About that time, we had a very well-known actress in here as the result of an automobile accident. She had to have extensive reconstructive surgery done on a hand, and, as you can imagine, the reaction among the interns to the presence of this famous and beautiful woman was startling. A lot of them suddenly exhibited a keen interest in surgery of the hand. Van Fleet, in particular, was attentive.
“Then one night, only a few hours after a surgical procedure, a nursing supervisor walked into the woman’s room and found Van Fleet on top of her.”
“On top of her?” Stone asked, unbelieving.
“He’d taken a syringe of morphine from a drugs cabinet, injected it into her IV, which immediately put her to sleep; then he had removed his clothes, had removed
“Jesus Christ.”
“Indeed. I was summoned from my bed and told the circumstances. The actress was still sleeping peacefully, and Van Fleet, as you might imagine, was distressed at having been caught in the act. While they were waiting for me to arrive, he threatened the nursing supervisor if she reported him. She did, of course, and I made short work of young Dr. Van Fleet.”
“I can imagine.”
“The nursing supervisor cleaned up the patient and put her clothing in order, and no more was said about it. I should have called the police, I suppose, and had him charged with rape, but you see the position I was in: the papers would have had an absolute field day, the actress would have sued us – and won – and this hospital would have been done irreparable harm as a result.”
“And the actress never knew?”
Garfield shook his head. “I lived in fear for months that she would turn up pregnant – she didn’t, thank God. I’m not sure what I would have done if that had happened.” Garfield sighed. “You see why I’m concerned that this go no further.”
“I do, and I promise you it won’t.”
Garfield stood up and slipped out of his white coat. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to run now.” He got into his suit jacket. “I hope this story might somehow help you.”
“It might, Dr. Garfield, and I thank you for confiding in me.” He shook the doctor’s hand and turned to go.
“Mr. Barrington,” Garfield said, “whatever became of Van Fleet? What’s he doing now?”
“He’s a mortician,” Stone said.
Garfield gave a little shudder. “How very appropriate,” he said.
Chapter 47
When Stone woke on Thursday morning, his first thought was that only three days remained until Sasha’s dinner party. His second thought was that there was someone in his bathroom.
It could be only one person, he knew; she had a key, and she knew the code for the security system. He was flabbergasted and revolted that she should be in his house only days after her marriage, but his revulsion vanished
