Chapter 72

 

The next morning, just as Fred sat down at his desk, the phone rang. Louise Jones was on the other line. “Hello, Lieutenant, I was hoping you would stop by and take in a deep whiff of my new perfume. I really do appreciate your gift. Where have you been?”

God, Fred thought, she is coming on to me; that’s all I need in my troubled life. He tried to be as professional and terse with her as he could, hoping the message would not be too subtle. “Hello, Miss Jones, it is certainly good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

“No need to be so formal, but I called you to tell you what I found out about women in the company wearing my perfume. I hate to say this because she is a good employee as well as my good friend, but Debra Black uses Chanel Number 5.”

That’s great, Fred thought, just as I’ve removed her as a suspect.

“I appreciate the info, but do me a favor. Please don’t tell Miss Black what you just told me.”

“No, of course, I won’t. But she won’t get into any trouble based on what I told you, will she?”

“I just plan to talk to her,” Fred replied. “Nothing else at this stage and your name won’t be mentioned. Is there anyone else in your company who you think uses that scent?”

“Well, I vaguely believe so; but for some reason I can’t remember who it is. Normally, I have a great memory for details but for some reason I can’t put a face on this one. In fact, it may have been a visitor, perhaps a wife of one of our employees. I just don’t recall.”

“Keep thinking about it, and please call me when you remember.” Fred put the receiver down without saying goodbye. He didn’t want to encourage Miss Jones. He thought about her saying she couldn’t recall who had been wearing Chanel Number 5. That’s strange, Fred thought, she seemed to have an excellent memory for detail when I first interviewed her.

Fred got up and went to his standby blackboard to think. He recalled the coroner’s statement about the death of Ford. The coroner said that death was instantaneous and that it was probable that the murderer knew something about physiology, based on his selection of the murder weapon and the place in Ford’s body where the knife was inserted.

Hmm, who would know about physiology, Fred questioned. He wrote on his board the word “PHYSIOLOGY.” He moved to the right of the word and wrote “WHO.” Then it hit him. The only area where that expertise could be found in AU was in the Science Division. The Science Division had a neurologist assigned to pinpoint areas of the brain where extraordinary talents were located, to be used for God knows what. That person is a medical doctor, Fred thought, and who would have better knowledge of the human anatomy than a medical doctor?

* * *

Doctor Lloyd Anderson had worked at AU for five very lucrative years. He had been enjoying a successful practice at Naples General when George Schultz contacted him. Before Schultz had even fully identified himself, Dr. Anderson knew who was on the other line. Anderson could not forget Schultz’s deep penetrating voice. He had known Schultz in Jordan two years earlier, when they were on assignment together.

Posing as salesmen, he and Schultz had been assigned responsibility to identify terrorist activities in the neighboring country of Syria. Anderson recalled that Schultz’s technique for obtaining intelligence information was highly unique. He had the assistance of some strange people who seemed to employ talents straight out of an Edgar Cayce book.

At the time, Anderson already had obtained his advanced medical degree with a specialty in neurology. His CIA role was limited to the application of mind-altering drugs to uncover names, locations and contacts from captured terrorists. Anderson didn’t want to use his medical training in such an unethical way, but he felt he had little choice. It was the CIA who had paid for all of his medical training; his contract called for a five year assignment once his degree was obtained. He learned early in the game that the CIA would not take no for an answer.

When Anderson returned to the United States and was temporarily released from CIA duty, he applied for a position in the neurosurgery department of Naples General Hospital. He was ecstatic that he got the job and considered his CIA ventures ancient history.

Schultz’s voice from the unpleasant past made him uneasy. Schultz wanted to hire him in his new company. Dr. Anderson, in the most polite way he could, told Schultz that he was happy in his role at the hospital and was not interested, either now or in the future.

Schultz said in a tone devoid of any empathy, “That’s too bad because you have no choice. You still owe the CIA three years, or did you forget?”

Dr. Anderson said, “Just what does that have to do with your firm?”

Schultz said, “Just be at work at 8 a.m. sharp on Monday. I’ll put my secretary on to give you directions to our office. You will soon receive a call from the company explaining to you your residual responsibilities for the firm. Welcome on board, I will explain your duties when you arrive.” The next voice Dr. Anderson heard was that of Schultz’s secretary.

Dr. Anderson thought seriously about pleading for additional time, but he knew it would be a waste of his energy. Later that same afternoon, he submitted his resignation to Naples General.

All that had happened five years ago. Dr. Anderson was still employed at AU, even though his contract with the company should have been over years ago. When he told Schultz that he was definitely going to resign after completion of his three-year obligation, Schultz said nothing. The next morning he had found an envelope on his doorstep. Inside were details about alleged criminal activity in his past. The statute of limitations had long passed, but the message was clear: resign from AU and you will never get another decent job anywhere. Dr. Anderson knew the company could deliver; it was much more than a veiled threat.

That was two years ago; Dr. Anderson had no idea when he could get out from the extended reach of the company, if ever. He wasn’t even sure what tentacles the CIA had into the inner workings of Schultz’s company, except that their involvement was deep and well hidden.

Anderson’s intercom rang, and Mr. Dodd said, “You have a call from Lieutenant Harris on line one.” Anderson wanted to tell Dodd he was not here; but he was sure Dodd had already revealed to Harris that he was in his office.

Anderson was jumpy and for good reason; he didn’t want to take the call. He knew his quivering voice would betray his anxiety. But he had no choice. Pain would help quell his emotional state; he took a hypodermic needle from the top of his medical counter and jabbed it in his right leg, insuring that he did not hit any major vein. In his nervousness, the needle went deeper than planned. Pain overtook anxiety. He picked up the phone and said in as pleasant a voice as he could muster, “Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”

Fred said, “I need to talk with you right away, it concerns a murder case.”

That was the worst news that Anderson could have heard. “Well, you see, I am quite busy at the moment and have some—”

“—Look, Dodd told me that you were free this afternoon so I will meet you in your office at one. Be there!”

Damn, Damn, Anderson’s pain started to grow worse; he didn’t want to meet with the policeman, last of all not in his area.

“Okay, Lieutenant, I understand that it must be important; so why don’t I come down to the station where we won’t be disturbed?”

“No, that won’t do. I will see you shortly.” Fred hung up abruptly, not wanting to continue the conversation.

Dr. Anderson took the little time he had to put incriminating evidence away.

* * *

As Mr. Dodd escorted Fred to see Dr. Anderson, they came to a locked door. Fred asked, “Why the lock?”

“Dr. Anderson has insisted on the precaution since he conducts delicate medical experiments.” Dodd unlocked the door leading to an inner chamber in the Science Division. Fred had noticed from the outside of the building that one of its segments protruded beyond the rest of the exterior walls. Now, Fred knew why, it was to house an extensive medical component.

Anderson was seated at a small Formica desk; his fingers were nervously tapping on a wooden ruler. As Anderson got up he grimaced slightly; Fred noticed that his right leg seemed to buckle. Anderson used the desk for support as he shook Fred’s hand. After he greeted Fred, he put his left hand on his desk and resumed his tapping.

Fred noticed a circular bulge on Anderson’s left thigh, a hint of red provided a stark contrast to his clean white trousers.

“Recent injury?” Fred asked.

“No, no –well, yes, it is. It’s not serious; I just bumped my leg on my desk. Clumsy of me, I admit, very clumsy. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“Did you play softball at the company picnic last spring?”

What a strange question, Anderson thought. “No, I was too busy, but I would have liked to play. I’m not a bad hitter, but as I just told you I was busy that day, much too busy.”

At least you aren’t redundant, aren’t redundant, Fred thought. “Good hitter, huh? Are you left handed?”

“Yes, I happen to be one of only twelve percent of the US population who have that advantage in life. Of course, some think it is a disadvantage. But why do you need to know that?”

“No reason. But I need you to help me with your medical expertise.”

Anderson was now very rattled. He didn’t know where this interview was going, and what in hell did his being left handed have to do with anything.

“Of course, if I can, if I can.” Anderson was still standing; his left hand started tapping on the desk again, this time with much faster movement. I have to control my nervousness, he thought.

“If you were going to kill someone quickly, doctor, how would you proceed?”

“Do you want someone killed, Lieutenant?” Anderson laughed a tense laugh. “If you do, I’m sorry but that’s really not part of my business, not even a small piece of my business.”

“No I don’t want to hire you. But I would like you to answer my question. How would you kill someone quickly?” Fred did not smile.

This is some type of trap, Anderson thought. He paused before he spoke. “Well, I’m a neurosurgeon, so I guess I would sever his upper spinal cord; that would shut down his vital functions. Yes, I am sure that is what I would do, but I hope you realize that I would never do such a thing. I am a medical doctor, as you know; I work to preserve life, I don’t take it away.”

The pain in his leg was now more intense, and he couldn’t subdue his nervousness. His hands were shaking almost out of control.

“Doctor, assuming you decided to kill someone quickly using some other way, how would you do it?”

“I guess I would stab through the heart. That would be the fastest way.”

“And how would you get to the heart?”

“Through the rib cage; about right here.” Anderson’s hands were now shaking so badly that he had difficulty pointing to the specific area of the rib cage where the insertion should be made.

Fred knew this guy was guilty, if not of killing Ford, then of something else.

“How well do you know Mr. Harry Ford?”

“Harry Ford? I don’t believe I know him. Was he a patient of mine? I have had a lot of patients over my career and—”

“—No, he was a hypnotist. You must have seen him around here.”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sure I don’t know him.”

Fred said, “Well, thank you for your help.” He reached out to grasp Dr. Anderson’s shaking hand. As he started to leave, he purposely exited from the wrong door.

Dr. Anderson yelled, “That’s the wrong door!”

Fred did not respond. Inside the room was a large operating table, x-ray and CAT machines. A large blackboard dominated one wall. Fred could not understand what the writing on the board signified. It seemed to be some type of decision tree. Fred guessed that it represented some sequential medical process.

After he scanned the room carefully, he returned to where Dr. Anderson was standing and said, “I will see you again.”

After the door closed behind Fred, Dr. Anderson pulled an opened bottle of Scotch from his lower desk drawer. Not taking time to put its contents in a glass, he took a large swig directly from the bottle.

* * *

Jim was bending over a file cabinet when Fred entered his office area. “Hey, Jim, I just returned from an interesting conversation with a Dr. Anderson at AU. The guy is as nervous as anybody I’ve ever seen. How about checking him out for me?”

“Is he Dr. Lloyd Anderson?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Why, he’s the doctor who was accused of being responsible for the deaths of two patients awhile back. Don’t you remember, it happened over five years ago, I believe in Naples. Big scandal.”

“Oh, yeah, I do seem to recall it, but vaguely. Refresh my memory.”

“He was accused of having been drunk during two operations, but the police couldn’t prove it. There was a subsequent civil case, but the attorney for the families of those that died couldn’t prove their case either. Complicating things was the fact that both operations were very complex, so a lot of things could have gone wrong, regardless of the skill of the surgeon.”

“Well, he may be being visited by ghosts of Christmas past, but I would bet he has some more current issues that are bothering him. Check him from the period that he left Naples and also talk to Dodd, his division head. Anderson is concealing something, I know it.”