As he emerged from her room and walked down the silent, deserted hospital corridor, the clock on the wall over the high counter enclosing the floor nurse’s station showed the time to be a few minutes before midnight. He had been with her for well over two hours and felt something of the same weariness that had overtaken her. It had been a long day, but it was not over yet-and would not be until after he had taken a look at the infamous Stanhope ‘hunting lodge’.
Mrs. Chapman and another heavier set woman about the same age; also wearing the insignia and cap of a registered nurse; were seated behind the counter. His sudden appearance on the other side put an abrupt end to their soft, murmurous conversation. The two of them rose and stood opposite him.
“This is Mrs. Morrissey, my relief,” Mrs Chapman informed him. “I told her you were.. .visiting Miss Skrnczak and that she should wait until you came out. I was just about to leave.”
There was a faint air of disapproval mingled with her obvious curiosity about what had transpired between him and Wanda.
“Thank you, Mrs. Chapman,” he replied, shifting his gaze to the other woman. “You can go in now, Mrs. Morrissey. She’s asleep. Please don’t leave her alone at any time. If you have to leave the room, be sure you get somebody to stay with her until you get back.”
The relief nurse nodded, her eyes betraying the questions she held back behind her slightly compressed lips. “Just as you say, Mr. Tuesday,” she responded tersely, turning back to the other one. “Good-night, Edith. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The words seemed to hold an implied understanding that they would then unravel the whole mystery of his interest in Wanda. She came around the counter and started down the hall towards her room. Mrs. Chapman was gathering up her things, preparing to leave.
“Where’s the floor nurse?” he asked her.
“Making her rounds. She should be back shortly.”
He wondered if he should ask her to wait until she got back, or if he should wait himself. With no one on duty at the desk, Wanda’s room was too accessible to someone-anyone-who wanted to do her harm. Even Mrs. Morrissey’s presence would not be a sufficient deterrent-especially if, somehow, she could be silenced first, or lured out of the room on some pretext. But then, he was probably worrying unnecessarily. Only Elise had known that he was coming to the hospital. And; even if his activities had by now aroused Bentley’s suspicions to the point of having him followed; it seemed unlikely that they would actually try to do anything to her while she was still there-even though he had sent Flynn around to see her earlier. His visit probably had been intended only to make sure she fully comprehended the message conveyed by the beating she had been administered. And, if he had been allowed tosee her, the effect might have been enough to have insured her continued silence. But, she had had time to think about what had happened to her and, possibly, she had found a sense of security in the private room and the nurse’s presence which gave her the courage to admit the truth. Still, it would not hurt to see if Dave could arrange any additional protection for her-particularly in view of how much she did know.
“How do I get to ‘emergency’ from here?” he asked an obviously eager-to-leave Mrs. Chapman who had stood by fidgeting nervously with her purse and gloves, during his reverie.
She pointed down the corridor past Wanda’s room. “Through that door at the end of the wing and turn right when you come out at the ground floor.”
Thanking her, he said good-night and started toward the door she had indicated, conscious of her curious gaze following his back. At the bottom of the four short flights of stairs, he followed her directions and saw the entrance to the emergency room directly ahead. A young, blond nurse was seated at a desk just inside the entrance, checking information on four-by-six ruled cards.
“Is Dr. Blumenstein here?” he inquired.
She looked at him questioningly for a moment, decided he obviously was not in need of medical treatment and nodded.
“He’s in the last consulting room, back there.” She made a vague motion with her hand and, following it, he walked to the end of a row of small glass-partitioned rooms and found the young intern bent over the same thick textbook he had first seen him studying that morning in the hospital cafeteria. Dave looked up as he entered, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Good God! I thought you had left long ago!”
He sat down in a straight chair opposite him. “She had a lot more to tell me than I expected her to.”
“She sure as hell must have.” He leaned forward expectantly.
“I’m sorry, Dave. I can’t give you any of the sordid details just yet. But-believe me-they are sordid and she needs protection even more than I thought she did.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Well, for obvious reasons, I can’t ask the sheriff to provide protection for her and; for less obvious, but equally valid reasons; I don’t want the state police or the FBI to know about her until I’ve had a chance to verify what she’s told me.”
“That eliminates everybody except the C.I.A., and they’re probably too busy watching everyone else,” Dave commented with a grin.
“What about the hospital staff?”
He frowned and leaned back, drawing in his chin as if bracing himself. “We’ve already put a nurse in the room with her, around the clock. What else do you want us to do?”
“Well, without upsetting hospital routine, unduly, I thought there might be a couple of orderlies, or even your fellow interns, who might be available, and willing, to take turns guarding her room.”
Dave looked aghast. “You must be kidding, Mark! They all have jobs to do. Besides, there are rules against.”
“I’m not suggesting any of them should sit outside her room with a rifle across his knees.” He realized his proposal must have seemed almost as outlandish as Dave’s reaction now indicated, and he tried to clarify it. “I only thought that some one of them could manage to be in the vicinity of her room often enough to be sure no one goes in, or comes out, who’s not supposed to.”
Mollified, Dave replied, “Well, I suppose something of the sort might be possible-if you’re really sure her life is in danger.”
“I’m not sure it is, Dave, but I can’t ignore the possibility.”
He nodded. “All right, Mark. I think I can find enough volunteers to take care of it. How long do you think it will be necessary?”
“Until noon tomorrow-or today, rather, since it’s now past midnight. By then, I should have enough evidence to corroborate her story. Would fifty dollars an hour be sufficient inducement?”
His heavy eyebrows escalated in surprise. “Oh, hell! At those prices it won’t be a matter of who but how many. And I’d be first if I wasn’t already on duty here.”
“How long before you finish your internship, Dave?”
The sudden shift in conversation seemed to catch him unprepared and it took a few seconds for him to calculate the answer. “Three months.”
“What branch of medicine are you specializing in?”
He shook his head. “None. I’m going to be an old-fashioned G.P.”
“We could use more of them,” he told him. “When you’re ready to set up your practice, call me, and tell me what insurance coverage you need. The first year’s premiums will be on the house.”
He was momentarily startled but then began to protest, “Oh, now! Wait a minute.. .there’s no need for you.”
“You’re wrong, Dave. There is a need,” he interrupted, “and I hope you’ll let me fill it.” He stood up to leave and reached across the desk to shake hands. “Thanks for all your help and cooperation. I’ll be in touch with you first thing in the morning.”
He turned and left as the young man was still trying to untangle his “thanks” from his “you’re welcome.”
The rain had diminished to a desultory drizzle and tendrils of fog clung to the trees, blurring the outlines of the homes surrounding the hospital grounds. He shrugged into his raincoat and walked quickly around the side of the building to the virtually deserted parking lot. Only half-a-dozen widely scattered cars, including his own, still occupied it. Getting in, he drove away from the hospital, through the wet, dripping streets to the freeway.
He had not been entirely honest with Dave. There was no need to wait any longer in order to verify Wanda’s story. He was certain it was true-and, added to the fact of the hijacking pictures, would be enough to enable the FBI to obtain a warrant to search the lodge. But, it would take time-time to repeat what she had told him; and even if they believed him without questioning her; time to obtain the warrant. And, he did not want to give Bentley or his deputies, or Stanhope, any more time than they already had had to cover their tracks. It seemed probable that the ‘parties’ would be arranged for as early as possible following each hijacking-maybe even scheduled beforehand. He was sure that if Wanda could remember the dates of the ‘parties’ she had been to in the past two years, they would coincide-within a few days-with Hollander’s list. They-both sellers and buyers-would want to distribute the drugs as quickly as possible in order to minimize the risk of discovery. A ‘party’ to distribute the drugs from the Central States hijacking may have been held already-maybe even as he learned about them from Wanda. But, it seemed more likely that it had been delayed, or postponed, because of what had happened to the driver and Closter-that Mr. In-Between would prefer to wait until he was sure there would be no unpleasant repercussions from the two deaths to interfere with the continued success of his operation. So, there was a good chance that the drugs were still at the lodge, and he wanted to be the one to find them. And, in the final analysis, he had to admit to himself that this was the real reason why he did not want to wait for the FBI to take over the case-and why he was willing to take a calculated risk with Wanda’s life by not immediately turning her over to their custody. It was no more-and no less-than another act of self-justification-of atonement for past selfishness and thoughtlessness-and just as selfishly and thoughtlessly conceived . Recognizing the truth of his motives, he was tempted to go back; to call the FBI from the hospital; and to stay with her himself until they got there. But, he could not turn back until the Glen Park exit anyhow and, besides, he felt confident that Dave would be able to arrange for the additional protection for her at least until he could get back there in the morning.
As he approached the Glen Park exit ramp, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the lights of another car just rounding the curve and starting up the incline behind him. It looked like a car that he had seen parked in a far corner of the hospital parking lot but, because of the fog and mist, he could not be sure. On the off-chance that there was somebody following him, he decided not to let on that he was aware of it by trying to evade them, and unhurriedly followed his usual route home through the village, and left his car in the driveway where it could be readily observed.
The Adamson’s house was dark and he felt a pang of guilt for the way in which he had neglected his daughter during the past few days-but, was satisfied with the knowledge that she was in good hands-and possibly better than if she had been at home with her mother. The closed and locked garage door indicated that Marie had still not returned, since she invariably left it open. As he entered the house, he recalled first Phil’s, and then Elise’s, speculation that her disappearance was in some way connected with the other events stemming from the death of Mike Haggerty. But, it still seemed impossible that the two could be related. As far as he knew, her only knowledge of what had happened had come from their brief phone conversation of Monday evening before he left the office. At the time, not only did it seem to be just a routine accident but; remembering the way she had sounded; it seemed doubtful that she had even absorbed what he had told her. She had been more concerned about his missing the dubious pleasure of dinner with Julie Fay and Floyd. Even if she had read or heard about the accident the next day, it would not have been of more than passing interest to her. There was no way that she could have known when she left home on Tuesday afternoon, what he had yet to discover about Closter, or Bentley and his deputies, or Stanhope, or Wanda. He was certain she had never met any of them—probably did not even know of their existence. Except for the past couple of months, she had led such an introverted life since her pregnancy that; except for the Adamsons; she did not even know the names of their immediate neighbors and few, if any, of his business acquaintances. Dan Tobin was the only one he could think of who was even remotely connected with the investigation that she knew, and had met more than once. Dan and his wife Maureen had been their only regular, if infrequent, house guests (not counting his sister-in-law and family) in recent years, and Dan-as he did with every woman he came in contact with-had been the only one to successfully penetrate her shell and induce the only happy laughter he had heard from her since before Cassandra was born. But, he was certain that if Dan did know of her whereabouts, or the reason for her disappearance, he would have found some opportunity to tell him of it when he was in the office that afternoon.
It simply made no sense for her to be involved. But, he could not go on ignoring the fact of her sudden and inexplicable absence. Tomorrow, he would definitely have to start taking some positive action to locate her-if only so that they could settle things between them as quickly and painlessly as possible, so that he could be free to marry Elise. Maybe she had decided to visit her mother? She had done so only once before, three years ago, on the spur of the moment, following a particularly unhappy episode between them, But, at least then she had left him a note to tell him where she had gone. She had also phoned every night while she was away-long, meaningless conversations, interspersed with lengthy silences and empty phrases, and usually ending in bitterness and recriminations-only to be followed by another call the next night. He thought of searching through her closet but realized that he had long ceased to notice what she wore, and now would have no idea what might be missing. Swearing softly to himself at the aggravation and distraction caused by the additional problem of her unaccountable behavior, he went directly to his own room to change.
Stripping off the suit, shirt, tie and shoes that he had worn throughout the day, he quickly donned a pair of dark, twill pants, a black, woolen turtle-neck sweater, and a pair of thick rubber-soled, ankle-high boots. He started to leave the room, but turned back and, reaching up into a corner of the closet shelf, took down a small, leather holster containing a snub-nosed thirty-eight-caliber automatic. He had purchased it shortly after they moved into the house, when there had been a rash of burglaries in the neighborhood-but, he had never had cause to use it and was not sorry. He had had serious doubts that he could have, even if he had been confronted with a burglar, and was not sure why he was even taking it with him now. But, he had kept it clean, and checked it to be sure it was fully loaded, and the safety on, before clipping the holster to his belt in the small of his back.
He turned off the light and retraced his steps though the silent, darkened house to the closet just inside the front door. Without turning on the light in the entranceway, he felt among the coats until he identified the dark, hip-length, jacket that he was looking for. Putting it on, he went back through the kitchen and slipped silently out the back door. He stood for a few moments in the doorway, until his eyes became accustomed to the damp blackness of the night and he could be sure that nobody was lurking in the thicker shadows of the trees or shrubbery that was scattered throughout the backyard. Staying close to the house, he walked along the back and around the side of the garage to where he could observe the winding street. The one street light at the corner cast a pale, diffused glow that barely illuminated the sidewalk under it. The fog shrouded surrounding houses in either direction were all completely dark and there were no other cars in sight-either on the street or the other driveways. He forced himself to wait another five minutes, watching the end of the street. When no cars passed in either direction, he walked quickly to his own and got in, shutting the door as softly as possible. Starting the motor, he backed out of the driveway and drove, without lights, until he was six blocks, and as many turns away from the house. At last, satisfied that he was not being followed, he turned on the headlights and drove back through the sleeping village to the road leading north to the lake that he had driven with Elise by his side the night before.
From the directions Wanda had given him, the lodge was situated well back and high in the heavily wooded hills rising from the north shore of the lake. It was an area he was totally unfamiliar with, and with the poor visibility resulting from the combination of rain and fog, he was going to have to be careful not to miss the turns and landmarks that she had described. But, he did know the road to the lake and; except for some thicker patches of fog in the low lying areas, felt safe in maintaining the allowable speed limit-especially since there was no other traffic in either direction.
As he followed the black, glistening surface revealed by the converging beams of his headlights-and monitored the rearview mirror for other lights behind him-his thoughts slipped back again to Wanda’s astounding and abhorrent revelations about Stanhope and the ‘parties’ at the lodge. The same sense of stupefying shock and revulsion overwhelmed him once more at the thought of the baseness and hypocrisy hidden behind the mask of respectability. It was easy to believe that the banker could very well-and very easily-fill the role of Mr. In-Between. Despite any squeamishness in his makeup about violence-judging by what Wanda had said about his not participating in the beating of the man from Philadelphia
- it was still possible that the murders of Haggerty and Closter had had his concurrence, and even his tacit consent. The driver’s murder appeared to have been unpremeditated and, based on the pictures, had been improvised by the two deputies to prevent his identifying one or both of them. But Closter’s death had undoubtedly been decided upon beforehand by his earlier visitor in the event he had proved to be intractable. Only now; despite Stanhope’s utter and unredeeming treachery; he still could not see him as the cold, calculating murderer
- which rendered his theory; that Closter’s ‘earlier visitor’ and ‘Mr. In-Between’ were one and the same; untenable. But, it did not rule out the possibility that the ‘earlier visitor’ was acting on instructions from ‘Mr In-Between.’
Even if Stanhope was not directly responsible for either man’s death, he was certainly implicated in both of them by virtue of his willing and knowing participation in the activities at the lodge. All the hate and loathing that he had felt for Bentley and his deputies was now transferred to the banker-along with a blind determination to see that he was exposed and punished for the perfidious, lecherous, deceitful son-of-a-bitch that he really was. No wonder he had never made any real attempt to persuade his son to confess to the truth of the accident with the Beamers. And no wonder too, that the sheriff had refused to accept Wanda’s version of what had happened and made no effort to verify or disprove it. A confession by Ronny, or any further investigation, could have inadvertently revealed the secrets of the lodge. Neither of them could have afforded to allow him; or anyone else not under their control; to inspect the premises. Even knowledge of its location could have been dangerous to them and; if Wanda’s description was accurate; the inordinate plushness of the facilities of the lodge alone could have aroused suspicion. But, bitterly, he also realized that it was his failure to insist on a further investigation or failing to get it, to do what he was on his way to doing now, that very possibly had permitted them to continue their illicit operations with impunity for another two years-and to turn Wanda into a prostitute. There were a lot of debts to be paid, and not just a few of his own.