The weather was not much better the next morning. The rain had stopped, but it was misting so heavily that it might as well have been raining. There was no break in the heavy cloud cover and it seemed even chillier than it had the day before.

While Nikki was doing her postural drainage the phone rang. David snatched it up. Considering the early morning hour, he was afraid the call was about John Tarlow. But it wasn’t. It was the state’s attorney’s office requesting permission to send over an assistant to look at the crime scene.

“When would you like to come?” David asked.

“Would it be too inconvenient now?” the caller said. “We have someone in your immediate area.”

“We’ll be here for about an hour,” David said.

“No problem,” the caller replied.

True to their word, an assistant from the state’s attorney’s office arrived within fifteen minutes. She was a pleasant woman with fiery red hair. She was dressed conservatively in a dark blue suit.

“Sorry to bother you so early,” the woman said. She introduced herself as Elaine Sullivan.

“No trouble at all,” David said, holding the door open for her.

David led her down the cellar steps and turned on the floor lamp to illuminate the now empty tomb. She took out a camera and snapped a few pictures. Then she bent down and stuck a fingernail into the dirt of the tomb’s floor. Angela came down the stairs and looked over David’s shoulder.

“I understand that the town police were here last night,” Elaine said.

“The town police and a district medical examiner,” David said.

“I think I’ll recommend that the state police crime-scene investigators be called,” she said. “I hope it won’t be a bother.”

“I welcome the idea,” Angela said. “I don’t think the town police are all that accustomed to a homicide investigation.”

Elaine nodded, diplomatically avoiding comment.

“Do we have to be here when the crime-scene people come?” David asked.

“That’s up to you,” Elaine said. “An investigator may want to talk with you at some point. But as far as the crime-scene people are concerned, they can just come in and do their thing.”

“Will they come today?” Angela asked.

“They’ll be here as soon as possible,” Elaine said. “Probably this morning.”

“I’ll arrange for Alice to be here,” Angela said. David nodded.

Shortly after the state’s attorney’s assistant had left, the Wilsons were off themselves. This was to be Nikki’s first day back to school since she got out of the hospital. She was beside herself with excitement and had changed her clothes twice.

As they took her to school, Nikki couldn’t talk about anything besides the body. When they dropped her off, Angela suggested that she refrain from talking about the incident, but Angela knew her request was futile: Nikki had already told Caroline and Arni, and they’d undoubtedly passed the story on.

David put the car in gear, and they started for the hospital.

“I’m concerned about how my patient will be this morning,” he said. “Even though I haven’t gotten any calls I’m still worried.”

“And I’m worried about facing Wadley,” Angela said. “I don’t know if Cantor has spoken to him or not, but either way it won’t be pleasant.”

With a kiss for luck, David and Angela headed for their respective days.

David went directly to check on John Tarlow. Stepping into the room he immediately noticed that John’s breathing was labored. That was not a good sign. David pulled out his stethoscope and gave John’s shoulder a shake. David wanted him to sit up. John barely responded.

Panic gripped David. It was as if his worst fears were coming to pass. Rapidly David examined his patient and immediately discovered that John was developing extensive pneumonia.

Leaving the room, David raced down to the nurses’ station, barking orders that John should be transferred to the ICU immediately. The nurses were in the middle of their report; the day shift was taking over from the night shift.

“Can it wait until we finish report?” Janet Colburn asked.

“Hell, no!” David snapped. “I want him switched immediately. And I’d like to know why I haven’t been called. Mr. Tarlow has developed bilateral pneumonia.”

“He was sleeping comfortably the last time we took his temperature,” the night nurse said. “We were supposed to call if his temperature went up or if his GI symptoms got worse. Neither of those things happened.”

David grabbed the chart and flipped it open to the temperature graph. The temperature had edged up a little, but not the way David would have expected having heard the man’s chest.

“Let’s just get him to the ICU,” David said. “Plus I want some stat blood work and a chest film.”

With commendable efficiency John Tarlow was transferred into the ICU. While it was being done, David called the oncologist, Dr. Clark Mieslich, and the infectious disease specialist, Dr. Martin Hasselbaum, to ask them to come in immediately.

The lab responded quickly to lab work requested for the ICU, and David was soon looking at John’s results. His white count, which had been low, was even lower, indicating that John’s system was overwhelmed by the developing pneumonia. It was the kind of lack of response one might expect from a patient undergoing chemotherapy, but David knew that John hadn’t been on chemo for months. Most ominous of all was the chest X ray: it confirmed extensive, bilateral pneumonia.

The consults arrived in short order to examine the patient and go over the chart. When they were finished they moved away from the bed. Dr. Mieslich confirmed that John was not on any chemotherapy and hadn’t been for a long time.

“What do you make of the low white count?” David asked.

“I can’t say,” Dr. Mieslich admitted. “I suppose it is related to his leukemia. We’d have to do a bone marrow sample to find out, but I don’t recommend it now. Not with the infection he’s developing. Besides, it’s academic. I’m afraid he’s moribund.”

This was the last thing David wanted to hear although he had begun to expect it. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose a second patient in his brief Bartlet career.

David turned to Dr. Hasselbaum.

Dr. Hasselbaum was equally blunt and pessimistic. He thought that John was developing massive pneumonia with a particularly deadly type of bacteria and that, secondarily, he was suffering from shock. He pointed to the fact that John’s blood pressure was low and that his kidneys were failing. “It doesn’t look good. Mr. Tarlow seems to have very poor physiological defenses, undoubtedly due to his leukemia. If we treat, we’ll have to treat massively. I have access to some experimental agents created to help combat this type of endotoxin shock. What do you think?”

“Let’s do it,” David said.

“These drugs are expensive,” Dr. Hasselbaum said.

“A man’s life hangs in the balance,” David said.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, when John’s treatment had been instituted and there was nothing else to be done, David hurried to his office. Once again, every seat in the waiting room was occupied. Some patients were standing in the hall. Everyone was upset, even the receptionist.

David took a deep breath and plunged into his appointments. In between patients he called the ICU repeatedly to check on John’s status. Each time he was told there had been no change.

In addition to his regularly scheduled patients, a number of semi-emergencies added to the confusion by having to be squeezed in. David would have sent these cases to the emergency room if it hadn’t been for Kelley’s lecture. Two of these patients seemed like old friends: Mary Ann Schiller and Jonathan Eakins.

Although he was somewhat spooked by the way Marjorie Kleber’s and now John Tarlow’s cases had progressed, David felt compelled to hospitalize both Mary Ann and Jonathan. David just didn’t feel comfortable treating them as outpatients. Mary Ann had an extremely severe case of sinusitis and Jonathan had a disturbing cardiac arrhythmia. Providing them with admitting orders, David sent them both over to the hospital.

Two other semi-emergency patients were night-shift nurses from the second floor. David had met them on several occasions when he’d been called into the hospital for emergencies. Both had the same complaints: flu-like syndromes consisting of general malaise, low-grade fever, and low white counts, as well as GI troubles including crampy pain, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. After examining them, David sent them home for bed rest and symptomatic therapy.

When he had a minute he asked his nurse, Susan, if a flu was going around the hospital.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Susan said.

Angela’s day was going better than expected. She’d not had any run-ins with Wadley. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all.

Midmorning she phoned the chief medical examiner, Dr. Walter Dunsmore, having gotten his number from the Burlington directory. Angela explained that she was a pathologist at the Bartlet Community Hospital. She went on to explain her interest in the Hodges case. She added that she had once considered a career in forensic pathology.

Dr. Dunsmore promptly invited her to come to Burlington someday to see their facility. “In fact, why don’t you come up and assist at Hodges’ autopsy?” he said. “I’d love to have you, but I have to warn you, like most forensic pathologists, I’m a frustrated teacher.”

“When do you plan to do it?” Angela asked. She thought that if it could be put off until Saturday, she might be able to go.

“It’s scheduled for late this morning,” Dr. Dunsmore said. “But there’s some flexibility. I’d be happy to do it this afternoon.”

“That’s very generous,” Angela said. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure what my chief would say about my taking the time.”

“I’ve known Ben Wadley for years,” Dr. Dunsmore said. “I’ll give him a call and clear it with him.”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” Angela said.

“Nonsense!” Dr. Dunsmore said. “Leave it to me. I look forward to meeting you.”

Angela was about to protest further when she realized that Dr. Dunsmore had hung up. She replaced the receiver. She had no idea what Wadley’s reaction to Dr. Dunsmore’s call would be, but she imagined she’d learn soon enough.

Angela heard even sooner than she expected. Hardly had she hung up than it rang again.

“I’m caught up here in the OR,” Wadley said agreeably. “I just got a call from the chief medical examiner. He tells me he wants you to come up to assist with an autopsy.”

“I just spoke with him. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.” It was obvious to Angela from Wadley’s cheerfulness that Cantor had not yet spoken with Wadley.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Wadley said. “My feeling is that whenever the medical examiner asks for a favor, we do it. It never hurts to stay on his good side. You never know when we’ll need a favor in return. I encourage you to go.”

“Thank you,” Angela said. “I will.” Hanging up she called David to let him know her plans. When he came on the line, David’s voice sounded tense and weary.

“You sound terrible,” Angela said. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ask,” David said. “I’ll have to tell you later. Right now I’m behind again and the natives are restless.”

Angela quickly told him about the medical examiner’s invitation and that she’d been cleared to go. David told her to enjoy herself and rang off.

Grabbing her coat, Angela left the hospital. Before setting out for Burlington, she headed home to change clothes. As she approached the house she was surprised to see a state police van parked in front of her house. Evidently the crime scene investigators were still there.

Alice Doherty met her at the door, concerned that something was wrong. Angela immediately put her at ease. She then asked about the state police people.

“They are still downstairs,” Alice said. “They’ve been there for hours.”

Angela went down to the basement to meet the technicians. There were three. They had the entire area around the back of the stairs blocked off with crime scene tape and brightly illuminated with floodlights. One man was using advanced techniques in an attempt to lift fingerprints from the stone. Another man was carefully sifting through the dirt that formed the floor of the tomb. The third was using a hand-held instrument called a luma-light, looking for fibers and latent prints.

The only man who introduced himself was the gentleman working on the fingerprints. His name was Quillan Reilly.

“Sorry we’re taking so much time,” Quillan said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Angela assured him.

Angela watched them work. They didn’t talk much, each absorbed by his task. She was about to leave when Quillan asked her if the interior of the house had been repainted in the last eight months.

“I don’t think so,” Angela said. “We certainly haven’t.”

“Good,” said Quillan. “Would you mind if we came back this evening to use some luminol on the walls upstairs?”

“What’s luminol?” Angela asked.

“It’s a chemical used to search for bloodstains,” Quillan explained.

“The house has been cleaned,” Angela said, taking mild offense that they thought any blood would still be detectable.

“It’s still worth a shot,” Quillan said.

“Well, if you think it might be helpful,” Angela said. “We want to be cooperative.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Quillan said.

“What happened to the evidence taken by the medical examiner?” Angela asked. “Do the local police have it?”

“No, ma’am,” Quillan said. “We have it.”

“Good,” Angela said.

Ten minutes later, Angela was on her way. In Burlington, she found the medical examiner’s office with ease.

“We’re waiting for you,” Dr. Dunsmore said as Angela was ushered into his modern and sparsely furnished office. He made her feel instantly at ease. He even asked her to call him Walt.

In minutes, Angela was dressed in a surgical scrub suit. As she donned a mask, a hood, and goggles, she felt a rush of excitement. The autopsy room had always been an arena of discovery for her.

“I think you’ll find we are quite professional here,” Walt said as they met outside the autopsy room. “It used to be that forensic pathology was somewhat of a joke outside of the major cities. That’s not the case any longer.”

Dennis Hodges was laid out on the autopsy table. X rays had been taken and were already on the X-ray view box. Walt introduced the diener to Angela, explaining that Peter would assist them in the procedure.

First they looked at the X rays. The penetrating fracture at the top of the forehead was certainly a mortal wound. There was also a linear fracture in the back of the head. In addition, there was a fracture of the left clavicle, the left ulna, and the left radius.

“There’s no doubt it was a homicide,” Walt said. “Looks like the poor old guy put up quite a fight.”

“The local police chief suggested suicide,” Angela said.

“He was joking, I hope,” Walt said.

“I really don’t know,” Angela said. “He didn’t impress me or my husband with his investigative skills. It’s possible he’s never handled a homicide.”

“Probably not,” Walt said. “Another problem is that some of the older local law enforcement people haven’t had much formal training.”

Angela described the pry bar that was found with the body. Using a ruler for determining the size of the penetrating fracture and then examining the wound itself they determined that the pry bar could have been the murder weapon.

Then they turned their attention to the bagged hands.

“I was delighted when I saw the paper bags,” Walt said. “I’ve been trying to get my district MEs to use them on this kind of case for a long time.”

Angela nodded, secretly pleased that she’d suggested it to Dr. Cornish the night before.

Walt carefully slipped the hands out of their covers and used a magnifying glass to examine under the nails.

“There is some foreign material under some of them,” Walt said. He leaned back so Angela could take a look.

“Any idea what it is?” Angela asked.

“We’ll have to wait for the microscopic,” Walt said as he carefully removed the material and dropped it into specimen jars. Each was labeled according to which finger it came from.

The autopsy itself went quickly; it was as if Angela and Walt were an established team. There was plenty of pathology to make things interesting, and, as promised, Walt enjoyed his didactic role. Hodges had significant arteriosclerosis, a small cancer of the lung, and advanced cirrhosis of the liver.

“I’d guess he liked his bourbon,” Walt said.

After the autopsy was completed, Angela thanked Walt for his hospitality and asked to be kept informed about the case. Walt encouraged her to call whenever she wanted.

On the way back to the hospital, Angela felt in a better mood than she had for days. Doing the autopsy had been a good diversion. She was glad that Wadley had let her go.

Pulling into the hospital parking lot, she couldn’t find a space in the reserved area near the back entrance. She had to park way up in the upper lot instead. Without an umbrella, she was quite wet by the time she got inside.

Angela went directly to her office. No sooner had she hung up her coat than the connecting door to Wadley’s office banged open. Angela jumped. Wadley loomed in the doorway. His square jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, and his customarily carefully combed silver hair was disheveled. He looked furious. Angela instinctively stepped back and eyed the door to the hall with the thought of fleeing.

Wadley stormed into the room, coming right up to Angela and crowding her against her desk.

“I’d like an explanation,” he snarled. “Why did you go to Cantor of all people with this preposterous story, these wild, ridiculous, ungrounded accusations? Sexual harassment! My God, that’s absurd.”

Wadley paused and glared at Angela. She shrank back, not sure if she should say anything. She didn’t want to provoke the man. She was afraid he might hit her.

“Why didn’t you say something to me?” Wadley screamed.

Wadley paused in his tirade, suddenly aware that Angela’s door to the hall was ajar. Outside, the secretaries’ keyboards had gone silent. Wadley stomped to the door and slammed it shut.

“After all the time and effort I’ve lavished on you, this is the reward I get,” he yelled. “I don’t think I have to remind you that you are on probation around here. You’d better start walking a narrow path, otherwise you’ll be looking for work with no recommendation from me.”

Angela nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Wadley’s face was inches from Angela’s. “Are you just going to stand there and nod your head?”

“I’m sorry that we’ve reached this point,” she said.

“That’s it?” Wadley yelled. “You’ve besmirched my reputation with baseless accusations and that’s all you can say? This is slander, woman, and I’ll tell you something: I might take you to court.”

With that, Wadley spun on his heels, strode into his own office, and slammed the door.

Angela let out her breath unevenly as she fought back tears. She sank into her chair and shook her head. It was so unfair.

Susan poked her head into one of the examining rooms and told David that the ICU was on the line. Fearing the worst, David picked up the phone. The ICU nurse said that Mr. Tarlow had just gone into cardiac arrest and the resuscitation team was working on him at that very moment.

David slammed the phone down. He felt his heart leap in his chest, and he instantly broke out in a cold sweat. Leaving a distressed office nurse and receptionist, he dashed over to the but he was too late. By the time he arrived it was over. The ER physician in charge of the resuscitation team had already declared John Tarlow dead.

“Hey, there wasn’t much point,” the doctor said. “The man’s lungs were full, his kidneys shot, and he had no blood pressure.”

David nodded absently. He stared at his patient while the ICU nurses unhooked all the equipment and IV lines. As they continued to clean up, David went over to the main desk and sat down. He began to wonder if he were suited to be a doctor. He had trouble with this part of the job, and repetition seemed to make it more difficult, certainly not easier.

Tarlow’s relatives came and, like the Kleber family, they were understanding and thankful. David accepted their kind words feeling like an impostor. He hadn’t done anything for John. He didn’t even know why he’d died. His history of leukemia wasn’t a real explanation.

Even though he’d now been informed about the hospital autopsy policy, David asked the family if they would allow one. As far as David was concerned, there was no harm in trying. The family said they’d consider it.

Leaving the ICU area, David had enough presence of mind to check on Mary Ann Schiller and Jonathan Eakins. He wanted to be certain that they had been settled and their respective treatments started. He particularly wanted to be sure that the CMV cardiologist had visited Eakins.

Unfortunately, David discovered something that gave him pause. Mary Ann had been put in room 206: the room that John Tarlow had so recently vacated. David had half a mind to have Mary Ann moved, but he realized he was being irrationally superstitious. What would he have said to admitting: he never wanted one of his patients in room 206 again? That was clearly ridiculous.

David checked her IV. She was already getting her antibiotic. After promising he’d be back later, David went into Jonathan’s room. He too was comfortable and relaxed. A cardiac monitor was in place. Jonathan said that the cardiologist was expected imminently.

When he returned to his office, Susan greeted David with word that Charles Kelley had called. “He wants to see you immediately,” she said. “He stressed immediately.”

“How many patients are we behind?” David asked.

“Plenty,” Susan said. “So try not to be too long.”

Feeling as if he were carrying the world on his shoulders, David dragged himself over to the CMV office. He wasn’t exactly sure what Charles Kelley wanted to see him about, but he could guess.

“I don’t know what to do, David,” Charles Kelley said once David was sitting in his office. Kelley shook his head. David marveled at his role-playing ability. Now he was the wounded friend.

“I’ve tried to reason with you, but either you’re stubborn or you just don’t care about CMV. The very day after I talk to you about avoiding unnecessary consults outside of the CMV community, you do it again with another terminal patient. What am I going to do with you? Do you understand that the costs of medical care have to be considered? You know there’s a crisis in this country?”

David nodded. That much was true.

“Then why is this so hard for you?” Kelley asked. He was sounding angrier. “And it’s not only CMV that is upset this time. It’s the hospital too. Helen Beaton called me moments ago complaining about the enormously expensive biotechnology drugs that you ordered for this sad, dying patient. Talk about heroics! The man was dying, even the consults said that. He’d had leukemia for years. Don’t you understand? This is wasting money and resources.”

Kelley had worked himself up to a fevered pitch. His face had become red. But then he paused and sighed. He shook his head again as if he didn’t know what to do. “Helen Beaton also complained about your requesting an autopsy,” he said in a tired voice. “Autopsies are not part of the contract with CMV, and you were informed of that fact just recently. David, you have to be reasonable. You have to help me or  .  .  .” Kelley paused, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

“Or what?” David said. He knew what Kelley meant, but he wanted him to say it.

“I like you, David,” Kelley said. “But I need you to help me. I have people above me I have to answer to. I hope you can appreciate that.”

David felt more depressed than ever as he stumbled back toward his office. Kelley’s intrusion irritated him, yet in some ways Kelley had a point. Money and resources shouldn’t be thrown away on terminal patients when they could be better spent elsewhere. But was that the issue here?

More confused and dejected than he could remember being, David opened the door to his office. He was confronted by a waiting room full of unhappy patients angrily glancing at their watches and noisily flipping through magazines.

Dinner at the Wilson home was a tense affair. No one spoke. Everyone was agitated. It was as if their Shangri-la had gone the way of the weather.

Even Nikki had had a bad day. She was upset about her new teacher, Mr. Hart. The kids had already nicknamed him Mr. Hate. When David and Angela arrived home that evening, she described him as a strict old fart. When Angela chided her about her language, Nikki admitted the description had been Arni’s.

The biggest problem with the new teacher was that he had not allowed Nikki to judge her own level of appropriate exercise during gym and he’d not allowed Nikki to do any postural drainage. The lack of communication had led to a confrontation that had embarrassed Nikki.

After dinner David told everyone that it was time to cheer up. In an attempt to improve the atmosphere he offered to build a cozy fire. But when he descended to the basement, he suffered the shock of seeing yellow crime scene tape around his own basement stairs. It brought back the gruesome image of Hodges’ body.

David gathered the wood quickly and dashed back upstairs. Normally he wasn’t superstitious or easily spooked, but with the recent events he was becoming both.

After building the fire, David began to talk enthusiastically about the upcoming winter and the sports they would soon enjoy: skiing, skating, and sledding. Just when Angela and Nikki were getting in the spirit he’d hoped, headlight beams traversed the wall of the family room. David went to the window.

“It’s a state police van,” he said. “What on earth could they want?”

“I totally forgot,” Angela said, getting to her feet. “When the crime scene people were here today they asked if they could come by when it was dark to look for bloodstains.”

“Bloodstains? Hodges was killed eight months ago.”

“They said it was worth a try,” Angela explained.

The technicians were the same three men who had been there that morning. Angela was impressed with the length of their workday.

“We do a lot of traveling around the state,” Quillan said.

Angela introduced Quillan to David. Quillan seemed to be in charge.

“How does this test work?” David asked.

“The luminol reacts with any residual iron from the blood,” Quillan said. “When it does, it fluoresces.”

“Interesting,” David said, but he remained skeptical.

The technicians were eager to do their test and leave, so David and Angela stayed out of their way. They started in the mud room, setting up a camera on a tripod. Then they turned out all the lights.

They sprayed luminol on the walls using a spray bottle similar to those used for window cleaner. The bottle made a slight hiss with each spray.

“Here’s a little,” Quillan said in the darkness. David and Angela leaned into the room. Along the wall was a faint, spotty, eerie fluorescence.

“Not enough for a picture,” one of the other technicians said.

They circled the room but didn’t find any more positive areas. Then they moved the camera into the kitchen. Quillan asked if the lights could be turned off in the dining room and the hallway. The Wilsons readily complied.

The technicians continued about their business. David, Angela, and Nikki hovered at the doorway.

Suddenly portions of the wall near the mud room began to fluoresce.

“It’s faint, but we got a lot here,” Quillan said. “I’ll keep spraying, you open the shutter on the camera.”

“My God!” Angela whispered. “They’re finding bloodstains all over my kitchen.”

The Wilsons could see vague outlines of the men and hear them as they moved around the kitchen. They approached the table which had been left behind by Clara Hodges and which the Wilsons used when they ate in the kitchen. All at once the legs of the table began to glow in a ghostly fashion.

“My guess is this is the murder site,” one of the technicians said. “Right here by the table.”

The Wilsons heard the camera being moved, then the loud click of its shutter opening followed by sustained hissing from the spray bottle. Quillan explained that the bloodstains were so faint, the luminol had to be sprayed continuously.

After the crime-scene investigators had left, the Wilsons returned to the family room even more depressed than they had been earlier. There was no more talk of skiing or sledding on the hill behind the barn.

Angela sat on the hearth with her back to the fire and looked at David and Nikki, who had collectively collapsed on the couch. With her family arrayed in front of her, a powerful protective urge swept through Angela. She did not like what she had just learned: her kitchen had the remains of blood spatter from a brutal murder. This was the room that in many ways she regarded as the heart of their home and which she had thought she had cleaned. Now she knew that it had been desecrated by violence. In Angela’s mind it was a direct threat to her family.

Suddenly Angela broke the gloomy silence. “Maybe we should move,” she said.

“Wait one second,” David said. “I know you’re upset; we’re all upset. But we’re not going to allow ourselves to become hysterical.”

“I’m hardly hysterical,” Angela shot back.

“Suggesting that we have to move because of an unfortunate event which didn’t involve us and which occurred almost a year ago is hardly rational,” David said.

“It happened in this house,” Angela said.

“This house happens to be mortgaged to the roof. We have both a first and second mortgage. We can’t just walk away because of an emotional upset.”

“Then I want the locks changed,” Angela said. “A murderer has been in here.”

“We haven’t even been locking the doors,” David said.

“We are from now on and I want the locks changed.”

“Okay,” David said. “We’ll change the locks.”

Traynor was in a rotten mood as he pulled up to the Iron Horse Inn. The weather seemed to fit his temperament: the rain had returned to tropical-like intensity. Even his umbrella proved uncooperative. When he couldn’t get it open, he cursed and threw it into the back. He decided he’d simply have to make a run for the Inn’s door.

Beaton, Caldwell, and Sherwood were already sitting in a booth when he arrived. Cantor got there just after him. As the two men sat down, Carleton Harris, the bartender, came by to take their drink orders.

“Thank you all for coming out in this inclement weather,” Traynor said. “But I’m afraid that recent events mandated an emergency session.”

“This isn’t an official executive board meeting,” Cantor complained. “Let’s not be so formal.”

Traynor frowned. Even in a crisis, Cantor persisted in irritating him.

“If I may continue,” Traynor said, staring Cantor down.

“For chrissake, Harold,” Cantor said, “get on with it.”

“As you all know by now, Hodges’ body turned up in rather unpleasant circumstances.”

“The story has attracted media attention,” Beaton said. “It made the front page of the Boston Globe.”

“I’m concerned about this publicity’s potentially negative effect on the hospital,” Traynor said. “The macabre aspects of Hodges’ death may attract still more media. The last thing we want is a bunch of out-of-town reporters poking around. Thanks largely to Helen Beaton, we’ve been able to keep word of our ski-masked rapist out of the headlines. But big-city reporters are bound to stumble across that brewing scandal if they’re in town. Between that and Hodges’ unseemly demise, we could be in for a slew of bad press.”

“I’ve heard from Burlington that Hodges’ death is definitely being ruled a homicide,” Cantor said.

“Of course it will be ruled a homicide,” Traynor snapped. “What else could it be ruled? The man’s body was entombed behind a wall of cinder blocks. The issue before us is not whether or not his death was a homicide. The issue is what can we do to lessen the impact on the hospital’s reputation. I’m particularly anxious about how these events impact our relationship with CMV.”

“I don’t see how Hodges’ death is the hospital’s problem,” Sherwood said. “It’s not like we killed him.”

“Hodges ran the hospital for twenty-plus years,” Traynor said. “His name is intimately associated with Bartlet. Lots of people know he wasn’t happy with the way we were running things.”

“I think the less the hospital says the better,” Sherwood said.

“I disagree,” Beaton said. “I think that the hospital should issue a statement regretting his death and underlining the great debt owed him. The statement should include condolences to his family.”

“I agree,” Cantor said. “Ignoring his death would seem peculiar.”

“I agree,” Caldwell said.

Sherwood shrugged. “If everyone else feels that way, I’ll go along.”

“Has anyone spoken to Robertson?” Traynor asked.

“I have,” Beaton said. “He doesn’t have any suspects. Braggart that he is, he surely would have let on if he had.”

“Hell, the way he felt about Hodges he could be a suspect himself,” Sherwood said with a laugh.

“So could you,” Cantor said to Sherwood.

“And so could you, Cantor,” Sherwood said.

“This isn’t a contest,” Traynor said.

“If it were a contest, you’d be a leading contestant,” Cantor said to Traynor. “It’s common knowledge how you felt about Hodges after your sister committed suicide.”

“Hold on,” Caldwell said. “The point is that no one cares who did it.”

“That might not be entirely true,” Traynor said. “CMV might care. After all, this sordid affair still reflects poorly on both the hospital and the town.”

“And that’s why I think we should issue a statement,” Beaton said.

“Would anyone like to make a motion for a vote?” Traynor said.

“Jesus, Harold,” Cantor said. “There are only five of us here. We don’t have to follow parliamentary procedure. Hell, we all agree.”

“All right,” Traynor said. “Does everybody concur that we should make a formal statement along the lines Beaton discussed?”

Everyone nodded.

Traynor looked at Beaton. “I think it should come from your office,” he said.

“I’ll be happy to do it,” Beaton said.

It had been a turbulent night at the Wilson house. Just after two o’clock in the morning Nikki had begun screaming again and had to be awakened from yet another terrifying nightmare. The episode had upset everyone and had kept them all up for over an hour. David and Angela regretted having allowed Nikki to watch crime-scene technicians work, guessing they had contributed to her terror.

At least the day dawned bright and clear. After five days of continuous rain the sky was pale blue and cloudless. In place of the rain was a big chill. The temperature had plunged into the upper teens, leaving the ground blanketed with an exceptionally heavy hoarfrost.

There was little conversation as the Wilsons dressed and breakfasted. Everyone avoided making reference to the luminal test although Angela refused to sit at the kitchen table. She ate her cereal standing at the sink.

Before Angela and Nikki left, David asked Angela about lunch. Angela told him she’d meet him in the lobby at twelve-thirty.

On the way to school, Angela tried to encourage Nikki to give Mr. Han more than one day’s chance. “It’s difficult for a teacher to take over someone else’s class. Especially someone special like Marjorie.”

“Why couldn’t Daddy save her?” Nikki asked.

“He tried,” Angela said. “But it just wasn’t to be. Doctors can only do so much.”

Pulling up to the front of the school, Nikki jumped out and was about to dash up the walk when Angela called her back.

“You forgot the letter,” Angela said. She handed Nikki a letter Angela had written explaining Nikki’s health problems and needs. “Remember, if Mr. Hart has any questions he should give either me or Dr. Pilsner a call.”

Angela was relieved to find that Wadley wasn’t around when she arrived at the lab. Quickly she immersed herself in her work, but no sooner had she started when one of the secretaries let her know that the chief medical examiner was on the phone.

“I have some interesting news,” Walt said. “The material that we teased from beneath Dr. Hodges’ fingernails was indeed skin.”

“Congratulations,” Angela said.

“I’ve already run a DNA screen,” Walt said. “It is not Hodges’ skin. I’d bet a thousand dollars it belongs to his assailant. It could prove to be critical evidence if a suspect is charged.”

“Have you ever found evidence like this before?” Angela asked.

“Yes, I have,” Walt said. “It’s not rare in mortal struggles to find remnants of the attacker’s skin under the victim’s nails. But I have to admit that this case represents the longest interval from the time of the crime to the discovery of the body. If we can make an I.D. with a suspect it might be worth writing it up for one of the journals.”

Angela thanked him for keeping her informed.

“I almost forgot,” Walt added. “I found some black carbon particles embedded in the skin samples. It looks strange. It’s as if the killer had scraped up against a hearth or a wood stove during the struggle. Anyway, I thought it was curious and that it might help the crime-scene investigators.”

“I’m afraid it might only confuse them,” Angela said. She explained about the luminol test the night before. “The blood spatter wasn’t anywhere near a fireplace or the stove. Maybe the killer picked up the carbon earlier, someplace else?”

“I doubt it,” Walt said. “There was no inflammation, just a few red blood cells. The carbon had to be picked up contemporaneous to the struggle.”

“Maybe Hodges had carbon under his nails,” Angela suggested.

“That’s a good thought,” Walt said. “The only trouble is the carbon is evenly distributed in the skin samples.”

“It’s a mystery,” Angela said. “Especially since it doesn’t jibe with what the crime-scene people found.”

“It’s the same with any mystery,” Walt said. “To solve it you have to have all the facts. We’re obviously missing some crucial piece of information.”

After having been denied the opportunity to ride his bike for an entire week, David thoroughly enjoyed the trip from his home to the hospital. Taking a little extra time, he followed a route that was slightly longer than usual but much more scenic.

The exhilaration of the cold, crisp air and the views of the frost-filled meadows cleared David’s mind. For a few minutes he was relieved of his anguish over his recent medical failures. Entering the hospital he felt better than he had for several days. The first patient he visited was Mary Ann Schiller.

Unfortunately Mary Ann was not bright and cheerful. David had to wake her up, and while he was examining her, she fell back asleep. Beginning to feel a little concerned, David woke her up again. He asked her how it felt when he tapped over her antral sinuses. With a sleep-slurred voice she said she thought there was less discomfort, but she wasn’t sure.

David then listened to her chest with his stethoscope, and while he was concentrating on her breath sounds, she fell asleep again. David allowed her to fall back onto the pillows. He looked at her peaceful face; it was in sharp contrast to his state of mind. Her drowsiness was alarming him.

David went to the nurses’ station to go over Mary Ann’s chart. At first he felt a little better, seeing that the low-grade fever she had developed the day before had remained unchanged. But his apprehension grew when he read the nurses’ notes and learned that GI symptoms had appeared during the night. She’d suffered from nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea.

David couldn’t account for these symptoms. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. Since her sinusitis seemed to be slightly better, he did not alter her antibiotics even though there was a slight chance the antibiotics were causing the GI problems. But what about the drowsiness? As a precaution, he canceled her PRN sleep order as he’d done with John Tarlow.

Going on to Jonathan Eakins’ room, David’s relatively buoyant spirits returned. Jonathan was in an expansive mood. He was feeling chipper and reported that his cardiac monitor had been beeping as regularly as a metronome without the slightest suggestion of irregularity.

Taking out his stethoscope, David listened to Jonathan’s chest. He was pleased to hear that Jonathan’s lungs were perfectly clear. David wasn’t surprised with Jonathan’s rapidly improved status. He had spent several hours going over the case with the cardiologist the previous afternoon. The cardiologist had been certain there would be no problems with the heart.

The rest of David’s hospital patients were all doing as well as Jonathan. He was able to move from one to the other swiftly, even discharging a few. With his rounds finished, David headed to his office, happy to be early. After the experiences of the last few days, he’d made a vow to make every effort not to get behind again.

As the morning progressed, David remained acutely aware of the amount of time he spent with each patient. Knowing that his productivity was being monitored, he tried to keep each visit short. Although he didn’t feel good about it, he was afraid he didn’t have much choice. Kelley’s implied threat of firing him had left him shaken. With their debt, the family could not afford for him to be out of work.

Having gotten an early start, David was able to keep ahead all morning. When two second-floor nurses called and asked to be seen as semi-emergencies, David was able to take them the moment they came in the door.

Both had flu-like symptoms identical to the two previous nurses. David treated them the same way: recommending bed rest and symptomatic therapy for their GI complaints.

With ample time to attend to other matters, David even had an opportunity to slip over to Dr. Pilsner’s office. He told the pediatrician that he’d been seeing some flu already, and he asked him about Nikki’s flu shot.

“She’s already had it,” Dr. Pilsner said. “I haven’t seen any flu in my practice yet, but I don’t wait to see it before I give the shots, especially to my cystic fibrosis patients.”

David also asked Dr. Pilsner about his opinion regarding the use of prophylactic antibiotics for Nikki. Dr. Pilsner said he was not in favor of it. He thought it best to wait until Nikki’s condition suggested she needed them.

David finished his morning patients before noon and even had time to dictate some letters before meeting Angela in the hospital lobby.

“With the weather as nice as it is, what do you say we go into town and have lunch at the diner?” David suggested. He thought some fresh air would be good for both of them.

“I was about to suggest the same thing,” Angela said. “But let’s get take-out. I want to stop by the police station and find out how they intend to proceed with the Hodges investigation.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” David said.

“Why not?” Angela questioned.

“I’m not entirely sure,” David admitted. “Intuition, I guess. And it’s not like the town police have inspired much confidence. To tell you the truth, I didn’t get the impression they were all that interested in investigating the case.”

“That’s why I want to go,” Angela said. “I want to be sure they know that we’re interested. Come on, humor me.”

“If you insist,” David said with reluctance.

They got tuna sandwiches to go and ate them on the steps of the gazebo. Although it had been well below freezing that morning, the bright sun had warmed the air to a balmy seventy degrees.

After finishing their meal they walked over to the police station. It was a plain, two-story brick structure standing on the town green directly across from the library.

The officer at the front desk was gracious. After a quick call he directed David and Angela down a creaky wooden corridor to Wayne Robertson’s office. Robertson invited them in and hastily took newspapers and Dunkin’ Donuts bags off two metal chairs. When David and Angela were seated, he leaned his expansive backside against his matching metal desk. He crossed his arms and smiled. Despite the lack of direct sunlight in the room, he was wearing his reflective aviator-style sunglasses.

“I’m glad you folks stopped in,” he said once David and Angela were seated. He had a slight accent that had a vague similarity to a southern drawl. “I’m sorry we had to intrude the other night. I’d like to apologize for upsetting your evening.”

“We appreciated your coming,” David said.

“What can I do for you folks?” Robertson asked.

“We’re here to offer our cooperation,” Angela said.

“Well now, we appreciate that,” Robertson said. He smiled widely, revealing square teeth. “We depend on the community. Without its support, we couldn’t do our job.”

“We want to see the Hodges murder case solved,” Angela said. “We want to see the killer behind bars.”

“Well, you’re certainly not alone,” Robertson said with his smile plastered on his face. “We want to see it solved as well.”

“Living in a house where there’s been a murder is very distressing,” Angela said. “Particularly if the murderer is still on the streets. I’m sure you understand.”

“Absolutely,” Robertson said.

“So we’d like to know what we can do to help,” Angela said.

“Well, let’s see,” Robertson said, showing signs of unease. He stammered, “Actually, there’s not a whole bunch anybody can do.”

“What exactly are the police doing?” Angela asked.

The smile faded from Robertson’s face. “We’re working on it,” Robertson said vaguely.

“Which means what?” Angela persisted.

David started to stand up, concerned about the direction and tone of the conversation, but Angela wouldn’t budge.

“Well, the usual,” Robertson said.

“What’s the usual?” Angela asked.

Robertson was clearly uncomfortable. “Well, to be truthful we’re not doing much right now. But back when Hodges disappeared, we were working day and night.”

“I’m a little surprised that there hasn’t been a resurgence of interest now that there is a corpse,” Angela said testily. “And the medical examiner has unquestionably ruled the case a homicide. We’ve got a killer walking around this town, and I want something done.”

“Well, we certainly don’t want to disappoint you folks,” Robertson said with a touch of sarcasm. “What exactly would you like done so that we’ll know in advance you’ll be pleased?”

David started to say something, but Angela shushed him. “We want you to do what you normally do with a homicide,” she said. “You have the murder weapon so test it for fingerprints, find out where it was purchased, that sort of thing. We shouldn’t have to tell you how to carry out an investigation.”

“The spoor is a little cold after eight months,” Robertson said, “and frankly I don’t take kindly to your coming in here telling me how to do my job. I don’t go up to the hospital and tell you how to do yours. Besides, Hodges wasn’t the most popular man in town, and we have to set priorities with our limited manpower. For your information we have a few more pressing matters just now, including a series of rapes.”

“It’s my opinion that the basics ought to be done on this case,” Angela said.

“They were,” Robertson said. “Eight months ago.”

“And what did you learn?” Angela demanded.

“Lots of things,” Robertson snapped. “We learned there was no break-in or robbery, which has now been confirmed. We learned there was a bit of a struggle  .  .  .”

“ ‘A bit of a struggle’?” Angela echoed. “Last night the state police crime-scene investigators proved that the killer chased the doctor through our house bashing him with a pry bar, spattering blood all over the walls. Dr. Hodges had multiple skull fractures, a fractured clavicle, and a broken arm.” Angela turned to David, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t believe this!”

“Okay, okay,” David said, trying to calm her. He had been afraid she’d make a scene like this. She had little tolerance for incompetence.

“The case needs a fresh look,” Angela said, ignoring David. “I got a call today from the medical examiner confirming that the victim had skin from his attacker under his fingernails. That’s the kind of struggle it was. Now all we need is a suspect. Forensics can do the rest.”

“Thank you for this timely tip,” Robertson said. “And thank you for being such a concerned citizen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Robertson stepped over to the door and held it open. David practically had to yank Angela from the office. It was all he could do to keep her from saying more on her way out.

“Did you catch any of that?” Robertson asked when one of his deputies appeared.

“Some of it,” the deputy said.

“I hate these big-shot city people,” Robertson said. “Just because they went to Harvard or someplace like that they think they know how to do everything.”

Robertson stepped back inside his office and closed the door. Picking up the phone, he pressed one of the automatic dial buttons.

“Sorry to bother you,” Robertson said deferentially, “but I think we might have a problem.”

“Don’t you dare paint me as an hysterical female,” Angela said as she got into the car.

“Baiting the local chief of police like that certainly isn’t rational,” David said. “Remember, this is a small town. We shouldn’t be making enemies.”

“A person was brutally murdered, the body dumped in our basement, and the police don’t seem too interested in finding out who did it. You’re willing to let it rest at that?”

“As deplorable as Hodges’ death was,” David said, “it doesn’t involve us. It’s a problem that should be left up to the authorities.”

“What?” Angela cried. “The man was beaten to death in our house, in our kitchen. We’re involved whether you want to admit it or not, and I want to find out who did it. I don’t like the idea of the murderer walking around this town, and I’m going to do something about it. The first thing is we should learn more about Dennis Hodges.”

“I think you’re being overly dramatic and unreasonable,” David said.

“You’ve already made that clear,” Angela said. “I just don’t agree with you.”

Angela seethed with anger, mostly at Robertson but partly at David. She wanted to tell him that he wasn’t the paragon of rationality and agreeableness that he thought he was. But she held her tongue.

They reached the hospital parking lot. The only space available was far from the entrance. They got out and started walking.

“We already have plenty to worry about,” David said. “It’s not as if we don’t have enough problems at the moment.”

“Then maybe we should hire somebody to do the investigating for us,” Angela said.

“You can’t be serious,” David said, coming to a halt. “We don’t have the money to throw away on such nonsense.”

“In case you haven’t been listening to me,” Angela said, “I don’t think it’s nonsense. I repeat: there’s a murderer loose in this town. Someone who has been in our house. Maybe we’ve already met him. It gives me the creeps.”

“Please, Angela,” David said as he started walking again. “We’re not dealing with a serial killer. I don’t think it’s so strange that the killer hasn’t been found. Haven’t you read stories about murders in small towns where no one would come forward even though it was common knowledge who the killer was? It’s a kind of down-home justice where the people think the victim got what he deserved. Apparently Hodges wasn’t uniformly admired.”

They reached the hospital and entered. Just inside the door they paused.

“I’m not willing to chalk this up to down-home justice,” Angela said. “I think the issue here is one of basic social responsibility. We’re a society of laws.”

“You’re too much,” David said. Despite his aggravation, he smiled. “Now you’re ready to give me a lecture on social responsibility. You can be such an idealist sometimes, it blows my mind. But I do love you.” He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “We’ll talk more later. For now, calm down! You’ve got enough problems with Wadley to keep you occupied without adding this.”

With a final wave David strode off toward the professional building. Angela watched him until he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. She was touched by his sudden display of affection. Its unexpectedness mollified her for the moment.

But a few minutes later as she was sitting at her desk trying to concentrate, she replayed the conversation with Robertson in her mind and got furious all over again. She left her office to look for Paul Darnell. She found him where he always was: hunched over stacks of petri dishes filled with bacteria.

“Have you lived in Bartlet all your life?” Angela asked.

“All except four years of college, four of medical school, four of residency, and two in the navy.”

“I’d say that makes you a local,” Angela said.

“What makes me a local is the fact that Darnells have been living here for four generations.”

Angela stepped into Paul’s office and leaned against the desk. “I suppose you heard the gossip about the body found in my home,” she said.

Paul nodded.

“It’s really bothering me,” Angela said. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

“Not at all,” Paul said.

“Did you know Dennis Hodges?”

“Of course.”

“What was he like?”

“He was a feisty old codger few people miss. He had a penchant for making enemies.”

“How did he get to be hospital administrator?” Angela asked.

“By default,” Paul said. “He took over the hospital at a time when no other doctors wanted the responsibility. Everybody thought that running the hospital was below their physician status. So Hodges had a free hand, and he built the place like a feudal estate, associating with a medical school for prestige and billing the place as a regional medical center. He even sank some of his own money into it in a crisis. But Hodges was the world’s worst diplomat, and he didn’t care one iota about other people’s interests when they collided with the hospital’s.”

“Like when the hospital took over pathology and radiology?” Angela asked.

“Exactly,” Paul said. “It was a good move for the hospital, but it created a lot of ill will. I had to take an enormous cut in my income. But my family wanted to stay in Bartlet so I adjusted. Other people fought it and eventually had to move away. Obviously Hodges made a lot of enemies.”

“Dr. Cantor stayed as well,” Angela remarked.

“Yes, but that was because he talked Hodges into a joint venture between himself and the hospital to create a world-class imaging center. Cantor wound up doing well financially, but he was the exception.”

“I just had a conversation with Wayne Robertson,” Angela said. “I got the distinct impression that he’s dragging his feet about investigating who killed Hodges.”

“I’m not surprised,” Paul said. “There’s not a lot of pressure to solve the case. Hodges’ wife has moved back to Boston, and she and Hodges weren’t getting along at the time of his death. They’d essentially lived apart these last few years. On top of that, Robertson could have done it himself. Robertson always had it in for Hodges. He even had an altercation with him the night Hodges disappeared.”

“Why was there animosity between those two?” Angela asked.

“Robertson blamed his wife’s death on Hodges,” Douglas said.

“Was Hodges Robertson’s wife’s physician?” Angela asked.

“No, Hodges’ practice was minuscule by then. He was running the hospital full time. But as director he allowed Dr. Werner Van Slyke to practice even though most everybody knew Van Slyke had a drinking problem. Actually Hodges left the issue of Van Slyke’s privileges up to the medical staff. Van Slyke bungled Robertson’s wife’s appendicitis case while under the influence. Afterward, Robertson blamed Hodges. It wasn’t rational, but hate usually isn’t.”

“I’m getting the feeling that finding out who killed Hodges won’t be easy,” Angela said.

“You don’t know how right you are,” Paul said. “There’s a second chapter to the Hodges-Van Slyke affair. Hodges was friends with Traynor who is the present chairman of the hospital board. Traynor’s sister was married to Van Slyke, and when Hodges finally denied Van Slyke privileges  .  .  .”

“All right,” Angela said, holding up her hand, “I’m getting the idea. You’re overwhelming me. I had no idea the town was quite this byzantine.”

“It’s a small town,” Paul said. “A lot of families have lived here a long time. It’s practically incestuous. But the fact of the matter is there were a lot of people who didn’t care for Hodges. So when he disappeared, not too many people were broken up about it.”

“But that means Hodges’ murderer is walking around,” Angela said. “Presumably a man who is capable of extreme violence.”

“You’re probably right about that.”

Angela shivered. “I don’t like it,” she said. “This man was in my home, maybe many times. He probably knows my house well.”

Paul shrugged. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “I’d probably feel the same way. But I don’t know what you can do about it. If you want to learn more about Hodges, go talk to Barton Sherwood. As president of the bank he knows everyone. He knew Hodges particularly well since he’s been on the hospital board forever and his father had been before that.”

Angela went back to her office and again attempted to work, but she still couldn’t concentrate. It was impossible to get Hodges out of her mind. Reaching for the phone, she called Barton Sherwood. She remembered how friendly he’d been when they bought the house.

“Dr. Wilson,” Sherwood said when he came on the line. “How nice to hear from you. How are you folks making out in that beautiful house of yours?”

“Generally well,” Angela said, “but that’s what I’d like to chat with you about. If I were to run over to the bank, would you have a few moments to speak with me?”

“Absolutely,” Sherwood said. “Any time.”

“I’ll be right over,” Angela said.

After telling the secretaries that she’d be back shortly, Angela grabbed her coat and ran out to the car. Ten minutes later she was sitting in Sherwood’s office. It seemed like just yesterday that she, David, and Nikki were there, arranging to buy their first house.

Angela came right to the point. She described how uncomfortable she felt about Hodges having been murdered in her house and about the murderer being on the loose. She told Sherwood she hoped he would be willing to help.

“Help?” Sherwood questioned. He was leaning back in his leather desk chair with both thumbs tucked into his vest pockets.

“The local police don’t seem to care about solving the case,” Angela said. “With your stature in the town a word from you would go a long way in getting them to do something.”

Sherwood thumped forward in his chair. He was clearly flattered. “Thank you for your vote of confidence,” he said, “but I truly don’t think you have anything to worry about. Hodges was not the victim of senseless, random violence or of a serial killer.”

“How do you know?” Angela asked. “Do you know who killed him?”

“Heavens no,” Sherwood said nervously. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I meant  .  .  . well, I thought  .  .  . there’s no reason for you and your family to feel at risk.”

“Do a lot of people know who killed Hodges?” Angela asked, recalling David’s theory of down-home justice.

“Oh, no. At least, I don’t think so,” Sherwood said. “It’s just that Dr. Hodges was an unpopular man who’d hurt a number of people. Even I had trouble getting along with him.” Sherwood laughed nervously, then went on to tell Angela about the spit of land that Hodges had owned, fenced, and refused to sell out of spite, keeping Sherwood from using his own two parcels.

“What you’re trying to tell me is the reason no one cares who killed Hodges is because he was disliked.”

“Essentially, yes,” Sherwood admitted.

“In other words, what we have here is a conspiracy of silence.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Sherwood said. “It’s a situation where people feel that justice has been served, so no one cares much whether someone is arrested or not.”

“I care,” Angela said. “The murder took place in my house. Besides, there’s no place for vigilante justice in this day and age.”

“Normally I would be the first to agree with you,” Sherwood said. “I’m not trying to justify this affair on moral or legal grounds. But Hodges was different. What I think you should do is go talk with Dr. Cantor. He’ll be able to give you an idea of the kind of animosity and turmoil that Hodges was capable of causing. Maybe then you’ll understand and be less judgmental.”

Angela drove back up the hill toward the hospital feeling confused about what she should do. She did not agree with Sherwood for one second, and the more she learned about the Hodges affair, the more she wanted to know. Yet she did not want to speak with Cantor, not after the conversation she’d had with him the day before.

Entering the hospital, Angela went directly to the section of the pathology lab where slides were stained and prepared. Her timing was perfect: slides that she’d been anticipating that morning had just been completed. Taking the tray, she hurried back to her office to get to work.

The moment she entered her office Wadley appeared at the connecting door. Like the day before, he was visibly distressed. “I just paged you,” he said irritably. “Where the hell were you?”

“I had to make a quick trip to the bank,” Angela said nervously. Her legs suddenly felt weak. She feared Wadley was about to lose control the way he had the day before.

“Restrict your visits to the bank to your lunch hour,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped back into his office and slammed the door.

Angela breathed a sigh of relief.

Sherwood had not moved from his desk following Angela’s departure. He was trying to decide what to do. He couldn’t believe this woman was making such a issue about Hodges. He hoped he hadn’t said something that he would regret.

After some deliberation, Sherwood picked up the phone. He’d come to the conclusion that it was best for him to do nothing other than pass on the information.

“Something has just happened that I thought you should know about,” Sherwood said when the connection went through. “I just had a visit from the newest member of the hospital’s professional staff and she’s concerned about Dr. Hodges  .  .  .”

David finished with his last office patient for the day, dictated a few letters, then hurried over to the hospital to make his late afternoon rounds. Fearing what he’d find, he left Mary Ann Schiller for last. As he’d intuitively suspected, she’d taken a turn for the worse.

Her low-grade fever had gradually climbed during the afternoon. Now it hovered a little over one hundred and one. The fever bothered David, especially since it had risen while she was on antibiotics, but there was something that bothered him more: her mental state.

That morning Mary Ann had been drowsy, but now as David tried to talk to her, he found her both drowsy and apathetic. It had been a distinct change. Not only was it hard to wake her and keep her awake, but when she was awake she didn’t care about anything and paid little attention to his questions. She was also disoriented with respect to time and place although she still knew her name.

David rolled her on her side and listened to her chest. When he did so he panicked. He heard a chorus of rhonchi and rales. She was developing massive pneumonia. It was like John Tarlow all over again.

David raced back to the nurses’ station where he ordered a stat blood count as well as a portable chest film. Going over Mary Ann’s chart he found nothing abnormal. The nurses’ notes for the day suggested that she had been doing fine.

The stat blood count came back showing very little cellular response to the developing pneumonia, a situation reminiscent of both Tarlow and Kleber. The portable chest film confirmed his fear: extensive pneumonia developing in both lungs.

At a loss, David called Dr. Mieslich, the oncologist, to confer by phone. After all the trouble with Kelley he was reluctant to ask for a formal consult even though that would have been far better.

Without having seen the patient, Dr. Mieslich could offer little help. He did confirm that the last time he had seen Mary Ann in his office there had been no evidence of her ovarian cancer. At the same time he told David that her cancer had been extensive prior to treatment and that he fully expected a recurrence.

While David was on the phone with the oncologist, a nurse appeared in front of the nurses’ station and yelled that Mary Ann was convulsing.

David slammed down the phone and raced to the bedside. Mary Ann was indeed in the throes of a grand mal seizure. Her back was arched and her legs and arms were rhythmically thrashing against the bed. Fortunately, her IV had not become dislodged, and David was able to control the seizure quickly with intravenous medication. Nevertheless, in the wake of the seizure, Mary Ann remained comatose.

Returning to the nurses’ station, David put in a stat call to the CMV neurologist, Dr. Alan Prichard. Since he was in the hospital making his own rounds, he called immediately. After David told him about the seizure along with a capsule history, Dr. Prichard told David to order either a CAT scan or an MRI, whichever machine was available. He said he’d be over to see the patient as soon as he could.

David sent Mary Ann to the Imaging Center for her MRI accompanied by a nurse in case she seized again. Then he called the oncologist back, explained what had happened, and asked for a formal consult. As he’d done with Kleber and Tarlow, he also called Dr. Hasselbaum, the infectious disease specialist.

David couldn’t help but worry about Kelley’s reaction to these non-CMV consults, but David felt he had little choice. He could not allow concern about Kelley to influence his decision making in light of the grand mal seizure. The gravity of Mary Ann’s condition was apparent.

As soon as David was alerted that the MRI study was available, he dashed over to the Imaging Center. He met the neurologist in the viewing room as the first images were being processed. Along with Dr. Cantor they silently watched the cuts appear. When the study was complete David was shocked that there was no sign of a metastatic tumor. He would have sworn such a tumor was responsible for the seizure.

“At this point I cannot say why she had a seizure,” Dr. Prichard said. “It could have been some micro emboli, but I’m only speculating.”

The oncologist was equally surprised about the MRI result. “Maybe the lesion is too small for the MRI to pick up,” he suggested.

“This machine has fantastic resolution,” Dr. Cantor said. “If the tumor was too small for this baby to pick up, then the chances it could have caused a grand mal seizure are even smaller.”

The infectious disease consult was the only one with anything specific to add, but his news wasn’t good. He confirmed David’s diagnosis of extensive pneumonia. He also demonstrated that the bacteria involved was a gram-negative type organism similar but not identical to the bacteria that had caused Kleber’s and Tarlow’s pneumonia. Worse still, he suggested that Mary Ann was already in septic shock.

From the Imaging Center David sent Mary Ann to the ICU where he insisted on the most aggressive therapy available. He allowed the infectious disease consult to handle the antibiotic regimen. The respiratory care he turned over to an anesthesiologist. By then Mary Ann’s breathing was so labored she needed a respirator.

When everything that could be done for Mary Ann had been done and after all the consults had departed, David felt dazed. His group of oncology patients had become far more emotionally draining than he’d originally feared. Finally he left the ICU, and just to be reassured, he stopped in again to see Jonathan. Thankfully Jonathan was doing marvelously.

“I only have one complaint,” Jonathan said. “This bed has a mind of its own. Sometimes when I press the button nothing happens. Neither the head nor the foot rises.”

“I’ll take care of it,” David assured him.

Thankful for a problem that had an easy solution, David went back to the nurses’ station and mentioned the problem to the evening head nurse, Dora Maxfield.

“Not his too,” Dora said. “Some of these old beds break down a little too often. But thanks for telling us. I’ll have maintenance take care of it right away.”

David left the hospital and got on his bike. The temperature had dropped as soon as the sun had dipped below the horizon, but he felt the cold was somehow therapeutic.

Arriving home David found a bedlam of activity. Nikki had both Caroline and Arni over, and they were racing around the downstairs with Rusty in hot pursuit. David joined the melee, enjoying being pummeled and trampled by three active children. The laughter alone was worth the punishment. For a few minutes he forgot about the hospital.

When it was almost seven Angela asked David if he would take Caroline and Arni home. David was happy to do it, and Nikki came along. After the two children had been dropped off, David was glad for the moments alone with his daughter. First they talked about school and her new teacher. Then he asked her if she thought much about the body discovered in the basement.

“Some,” Nikki said.

“How does it make you feel?” David asked.

“Like I don’t want to ever go in the basement again.”

“I can understand that,” David said. “Last night when I was getting firewood I felt a little scared.”

“You did?”

“Yup,” David said. “But I have a little plan that might be fun and it might help. Are you interested?”

“Yeah!” Nikki said with enthusiasm. “What?”

“You can’t tell anybody,” David said.

“Okay,” Nikki promised.

David outlined his plan as they continued home. “What do you say?” he asked once he had finished.

“I think it’s cool,” Nikki said.

“Remember, it’s a secret,” David said.

“Cross my heart.”

As soon as David got into the house, he called the ICU to check on Mary Ann. He had been distressed that the floor nurses had missed the worsening condition of his two patients who had died. At the same time he recognized that his patients’ vital signs had shown little change as their clinical states markedly deteriorated.

“There has been no alteration in Mrs. Schiller’s status,” the ICU nurse told him over the phone. She then gave him a lengthy review of Mrs. Schiller’s vital signs, lab values, and even the settings on her respirator. The nurse’s professionalism bolstered David’s confidence that Mary Ann was receiving the best care possible.

Intentionally avoiding the kitchen table after the previous night’s revelation, Angela served dinner in the dining room. It seemed huge with just three people and their skimpy dining-room furniture. But Angela tried to make it cozy with a fire in the fireplace and candles on the table. Nikki complained it was so dark she could hardly see her food.

After they had finished eating, Nikki excused herself to watch her half-hour allotment of television. David and Angela lingered at the table.

“Don’t you want to ask me how my afternoon went?” Angela asked.

“Of course,” David said. “How was it?”

“Interesting,” Angela said. She told him about her conversations with Paul Darnell and Barton Sherwood concerning Dennis Hodges. She conceded that David might have been right when he suggested that some people in town knew who did it.

“Thanks for giving me credit,” David said, “but I’m not happy about your asking questions about Hodges.”

“Why not?” Angela asked.

“For a number of reasons,” David said. “Mainly because we both have other things to worry about. But beyond that, did it occur to you that you might wind up questioning the killer himself?”

Angela admitted she hadn’t thought of that, but David wasn’t listening. He was staring into the fire.

“You seem distracted,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Another one of my patients is in the ICU fighting for her life.”

“I’m sorry,” Angela said.

“It’s another disaster,” David said. His voice faltered as he struggled with his emotions. “I’m trying to deal with it, but it’s hard. She’s doing very poorly. Frankly, I’m worried she’ll die just like Kleber and Tarlow. Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I shouldn’t even be a doctor.”

Angela came around the table to put an arm around David. “You are a wonderful doctor,” she whispered. “You have a real gift. Patients love you.”

“They don’t love me when they die,” David said. “When I sit in my office in the same spot where Dr. Portland killed himself, I start thinking that now I know why he did it.”

Angela shook David’s shoulders. “I don’t want to hear any talk like that,” she said. “Have you been speaking with Kevin Yansen again?”

“Not about Portland,” David said. “He seems to have lost interest in the subject.”

“Are you depressed?”

“Some,” David admitted. “But it’s not out of hand.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me if it gets out of hand?” Angela said.

“I promise,” David said.

“What’s this new patient’s problem?” Angela asked. She sat down in the seat next to his.

“That’s part of what’s so upsetting,” David said. “I don’t really know. She came in with sinusitis which was improving with antibiotics. But then she began to develop pneumonia for some unknown reason. Actually, first she became drowsy. Then she became apathetic, and finally she had a seizure. I’ve had neurology, oncology, and infectious disease look at her. No one has any bright ideas.”

“Then you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Angela said.

“Except I’m responsible,” David said. “I’m her doctor.”

“I wish I could help,” Angela said.

“Thank you,” David said. He reached out and gave Angela’s shoulder a squeeze. “I appreciate your concern because I know you mean it. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do directly except understand why I can’t get so worked up about Hodges’ death.”

“I can’t just let it go,” Angela said.

“But it could be dangerous,” David said. “You don’t know who you’re up against. Whoever killed Hodges isn’t likely to be thrilled by your poking around. Who knows what such a person might do? Look what he did to Hodges.”

Angela looked into the fire, mesmerized for the moment by the white-hot coals that shimmered ominously in the intense heat. Potential danger to her family was her motivation for wanting Hodges’ murder solved. She hadn’t considered that her investigation itself could put them in greater jeopardy. Yet all she had to do was close her eyes and see the luminol glow in her kitchen or remember the horrid fractures on the X rays in the autopsy room to know that David had a point: a person capable of that kind of violence was not someone who should be provoked.

Worried about Mary Ann, David was up before the sun. He stole out of the house without waking Angela and Nikki and got on his bike. Just as the sun was inching above the eastern horizon, he crossed the Roaring River. It was as cold as it had been the previous morning. Another heavy frost blanketed the fields and covered the naked branches of the leafless trees with a vitreous sheen.

David’s early-morning arrival surprised the ICU nurses. Mary Ann’s condition had not changed dramatically although she had developed moderately severe diarrhea. David was amazed and grateful for how the nurses took such a development in stride. It was a tribute to their compassion and dedication.

Reviewing Mary Ann’s case again from the beginning, David did not have any new ideas. He even called one of his past professors in Boston whom he knew to be a chronic early riser. After hearing about the case, the professor volunteered to come immediately. David was overwhelmed by the man’s commitment and generosity.

While he waited for his professor to arrive, David made the rounds to see his other hospitalized patients. Everyone was doing fine. He thought about sending Jonathan Eakins home but decided to keep him another day just to be sure his cardiac status was truly stable.

Once his professor arrived some hours later, David presented Mary Ann as if he were back in his training program. The professor listened intently, examined Mary Ann with great care, then went over the chart in detail. But even he had no new insights. David saw him out to his car, thanking him profusely for having made the trip.

With nothing else to do at the hospital, David headed home. He avoided Saturday morning basketball since he was still smarting from the unpleasant confrontation with Kevin Yansen over their tennis match. In his precarious emotional state, David felt that he’d do well to avoid Kevin’s unpleasant competitiveness for another week.

When he got home, Angela and Nikki were just finishing breakfast. David teased them that they’d missed half the day. While Angela tended to Nikki’s respiratory treatment, David went down into the basement and removed the crime scene tape. Then he took some of the storm windows out to the yard via the steps leading outdoors.

He’d put the first-floor windows up by the time Nikki joined him.

“When are we going to  .  .  .” Nikki began to ask.

David put his finger to his lips to shush Nikki while he pointed to the nearby kitchen window where Angela could be seen. “As soon as we clean up,” he said.

David let Nikki help him carry each of the screens down into the basement. He could have done it more easily himself, but she liked to think she was helping. They leaned them up against the base of the stairs where the storm windows had originally been.

With that accomplished, David and Nikki announced to Angela that they were heading into town on a shopping mission. Then they rode off on their bikes. Angela enjoyed seeing them having so much fun, though she did feel excluded.

Left alone, Angela began to feel a little edgy. She noticed every creak the empty house made She tried to immerse herself in the book she was reading, but before long she was up locking the doors and even the windows. Ending up in the kitchen, Angela could not suppress her imagination from coating the walls with blood.

“I can’t live like this,” Angela said aloud, realizing how paranoid she was becoming. “But what am I going to do?”

She stepped over to the kitchen table, the legs of which she had scrubbed with the strongest disinfectant Mr. Staley had in his hardware store. Her fingers brushed its surface. She wondered if luminol would still fluoresce now that she had cleaned it so thoroughly. She still didn’t like the idea that Hodges’ killer was free. Yet she took to heart David’s warning that it was dangerous for her to be snooping around about the murder.

Walking over to the phone directory, she looked up “private investigators” but didn’t find any entries. Then she looked up “detectives” and found a list. Most were security businesses, but there were several individuals listed as well. One—a Phil Calhoun—was in Rutland, which was only a short drive away.

Before she had time to reconsider, Angela dialed the number. A man with a husky, slow, and deliberate voice answered.

Angela hadn’t given much thought to what she would say. She finally stammered that she wanted to investigate a murder.

“Sounds interesting,” Calhoun said.

Angela tried to picture the man on the other end of the wire. Judging from the voice she imagined a powerfully built man with broad shoulders, dark hair, maybe even a mustache.

“Perhaps we could meet,” Angela suggested.

“You want me to come there or do you want to come here?” Calhoun asked.

Angela thought for a moment. She didn’t want David finding put what she was up to—not just yet.

“I’ll come to you,” she said.

“I’ll be waiting,” Calhoun said after he gave her directions.

Angela ran upstairs, changed clothes, then left a note saying “Gone shopping” for David and Nikki.

Calhoun’s office was also his home. She had no trouble finding it. In the driveway she noticed his Ford pickup truck had a rifle rack in the back of the cab and a sticker on the back bumper that read: “This Vehicle Climbed Mount Washington.”

Phil Calhoun invited her into his living room and offered her a seat on a threadbare sofa. He was far from her romantic image of a private investigator. Although he was a big man, he was overweight and considerably older than she’d guessed from his voice. She figured he was in his early sixties. His face was a little doughy, but his gray eyes were bright. He was wearing a wool black and white checkered hunting shirt. His cotton work pants were held up by black suspenders. On his head was a cap with the words “Roscoe Electric” emblazoned above the visor.

“Mind if I smoke?” Calhoun asked, holding up a box of Antonio y Cleopatra cigars.

“It’s your house,” Angela said.

“What’s the story about this murder?” Calhoun asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Angela gave a capsule summary of the whole affair.

“Sounds interesting to me,” Calhoun said. “I’ll be delighted to take the case on an hourly basis. Now about me: I’m a retired state police officer and a widower. That’s about it. Any questions?”

Angela studied Calhoun as he casually smoked. He was laconic like most New Englanders. He seemed forthright, a trait she appreciated. Beyond that, she had no way of judging the man’s competence, although having been a state policeman seemed auspicious.

“Why did you leave the force?” Angela asked.

“Compulsory retirement,” Calhoun said.

“Have you ever been involved in a murder case?” Angela asked.

“Not as a civilian,” Calhoun said.

“What type of cases do you usually handle?” Angela asked.

“Marital problems, shoplifting, bartender embezzlement, that sort of thing.”

“Do you think you could handle this case?” Angela asked.

“No question,” Calhoun said. “I grew up in a small Vermont town similar to Bartlet. I’m familiar with the environment; hell, I even know some of the people who live there. I know the kinds of feuds that simmer for years and the mindset of the people involved. I’m the right man for the job because I can ask questions without sticking out like a sore thumb.”

Angela drove back to Bartlet wondering if she’d done the right thing in hiring Phil Calhoun. She also wondered how and when she’d tell David.

Arriving at home Angela was distressed to find that Nikki was by herself. David had gone to the hospital to check on his patient. Angela asked Nikki if David had tried to get Alice to come over while he was away.

“Nope,” Nikki said, unconcerned. “Daddy said he’d be back soon and that you’d probably show up before he did.”

Angela decided she’d talk with David. Under the circumstances, she did not like Nikki being in the house by herself. She could hardly believe that David would leave Nikki alone, and the fact that he did eliminated any reservations Angela had about hiring Phil Calhoun.

Angela told Nikki that she wanted to keep the doors locked, and they went around to check them all. The only one that was open was the back door. As she prepared a quick snack for Nikki, she casually asked what she and her father had been doing that morning, but Nikki refused to say.

When David returned, Angela took him aside to discuss his leaving Nikki by herself. David was defensive at first but then agreed to avoid it in the future.

Soon David and Nikki were thick as thieves again, but Angela ignored them. Saturday afternoons were one of her favorite times. With little opportunity to cook during the week, she liked to spend a good portion of the day hovering over her recipe books and putting together a gourmet meal. It was a therapeutic experience for her.

By midafternoon she had the menu planned. Leaving the kitchen, she opened the cellar door and started down. She was on her way to the freezer to get some veal bones to make a golden stock when she realized she’d not been back to the basement since the technicians had been there. Angela’s steps slowed. She was a little nervous going down in the cellar by herself and toyed with the idea of asking David to accompany her. But she realized she was being silly. Besides, she didn’t want to spook Nikki any more than she already was.

Angela continued the rest of the way down the stairs and headed toward the freezer against the far wall. As she walked she glanced in the direction of Hodges’ former tomb and was relieved to see that David had stacked the window screens over the hole.

Angela was just reaching into the freezer when she heard a scraping sound behind her. She froze. She could have sworn the noise had come from behind the stairs. Angela allowed the freezer to close before she slowly turned around to face the dimly lit cellar.

With utter horror, Angela saw the screens begin to move. She blinked, then looked again, hoping that it had been her imagination. But then the screens fell over with a loud, echoing crash.

Angela tried to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. She tried to move, but she couldn’t. With great effort, she at last took a step, then another. But she was only halfway to the stairs when Hodges’ partially skeletonized face emerged from the tomb. Then the man himself staggered out. He seemed disoriented until he saw Angela. Then he started toward her, his arms extended.

Angela’s terror translated to motion. She ran for the stairs in earnest, but she was too late. Hodges cut her off and grabbed her arm.

Feeling the creature’s hand on her wrist unlocked Angela’s voice. She screamed, struggling to free herself. Then she saw another ghoul emerge from the tomb, a smaller but equally hideous fiend with the exact same face. Suddenly Angela realized that Hodges was laughing.

Angela could only stare, dumbfounded, as David pulled off a rubber mask. Nikki, the smaller ghoul, pulled an identical mask from her face. Both of them were laughing hysterically.

At first Angela was embarrassed, but her humiliation quickly turned to fury. There was nothing funny about this gag. She pushed David aside and stomped upstairs.

David and Nikki continued to laugh, but their laughter soon faltered as they began to understand how much they had frightened Angela.

“Do you think she’s really mad?” Nikki asked.

“I’m afraid so,” David said. “I think we’d better go up and talk with her.”

Angela refused to even look at them as she busied herself in the kitchen.

“But we’re sorry,” David repeated for the third time.

“We both are, Mom,” Nikki insisted. But then both Nikki and David had to suppress giggles.

“We never imagined you’d be fooled for a minute,” David said, trying to control himself. “Honest! We thought you’d guess immediately; it was so corny.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Nikki said. “We thought you’d guess because next Sunday’s Halloween. These are going to be our Halloween costumes. We even bought the same mask for you.”

“Well, you can just throw it away,” Angela said.

Nikki’s face fell. Her eyes welled with tears.

Angela looked at her and her anger melted. “Now don’t you get upset,” she said. She drew Nikki to her. “I know I’m overreacting,” she added, “but I was really scared. And I don’t think it was funny.”

Eager to get started on what was easily the most intriguing case he’d landed since he started his little side business to supplement his pension and social security, Phil Calhoun drove into Bartlet in the middle of the afternoon. He parked his pickup truck within the shade of the Bartlet library and walked across the green to the police station.

“Wayne around?” he asked the duty officer.

The duty officer merely pointed down the hall. He was reading a copy of the Bartlet Sun.

Calhoun walked down and knocked on Robertson’s open door. Robertson looked up, smiled, and invited Phil to take a load off his feet.

Robertson tipped back in his chair and accepted an Antonio y Cleopatra from Calhoun.

“Working late on a Saturday,” Calhoun said. “Must be a lot going on here in Bartlet.”

“Goddamned paperwork,” Robertson said. “It sucks. And it gets worse every year.”

Calhoun nodded. “I read in the paper that old Doc Hodges turned up,” he said.

“Yeah,” Robertson said. “Caused a little stir, but it’s already died down. Good riddance. The man was a pain in the ass.”

“How so?” Calhoun asked.

Robertson’s face became red as he aired yet again his litany against Dr. Dennis Hodges. He admitted that there had been numerous times he’d almost decked the man.

“I gather Hodges wasn’t the most popular man in town,” Calhoun said.

Robertson gave a short, caustic laugh.

“Much action on the case?” Calhoun asked casually, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling.

“Nah,” Robertson said. “We spun our wheels a bit back when Hodges disappeared, but it was mostly going through the motions. Nobody cared much, not even his wife. Practically ex-wife. She’d just about moved back to Boston even before Hodges disappeared.”

“What about now?” Calhoun asked. “The Boston Globe said the state police were investigating.”

“They were just going through the motions, too,” Robertson said. “The medical examiner called the state’s attorney. State’s attorney sent some junior assistant to check it out. This assistant called in the state police who then sent some crime-scene investigators to the site. But after that a state police lieutenant called me. I told him it wasn’t worth his time and that we’d handle it. And as you know better than most people, the state police take their cue from us local guys on a case of this sort unless there’s pressure from someplace like the state attorney’s office or from some politician. Hell, the state police have more pressing cases to attend to. Same with us. Besides, it’s been eight months. The trail’s stone cold.”

“What are you guys working on these days?” Calhoun asked.

“We’ve had a series of rapes and attacks up in the hospital parking lot,” Robertson said.

“Any luck snagging the perpetrator?” Calhoun asked.

“Not yet,” Robertson said.

After leaving the police station, Calhoun wandered down Main Street and stopped in the local bookstore. The proprietor, Jane Weincoop, had been a friend of Calhoun’s wife. Calhoun’s wife had been a big reader, especially the last year of her life when she’d been confined to bed.

Jane took Calhoun into her office, which was only a tiny desk stuck in the corner of the stock room. Calhoun said he was just passing through and after a bit of chitchat and catching up, he managed to steer the conversation to Dennis Hodges.

“The discovery of his body was certainly news in Bartlet,” Jane admitted.

“I understand he wasn’t a popular man,” Calhoun said. “Who all had it in for him?”

Jane gave Calhoun a look. “Is this a professional or personal visit?” she asked with a wry smile.

“Just curiosity,” Calhoun said with a wink. “But I’d still appreciate it if you’d keep my question to yourself.”

Half an hour later Calhoun wandered back out into the fading afternoon sunlight clutching a list of over twenty people who had disliked Hodges. The list included the president of the bank, the owner of the Mobil station near the interstate, the town’s retarded handyman, the chief of police whom Calhoun already knew about, a handful of merchants and store owners, and a half dozen doctors.

Calhoun was surprised by the length of the list but not unhappy. After all, the longer the list, the more billable hours he’d be logging in.

Continuing his trek up Main Street, Calhoun stopped into Harrison’s Pharmacy. The pharmacist, Harley Strombell, was the brother of one of Calhoun’s fellow troopers, Wendell Strombell.

Harley wasn’t fooled any more than Jane had been about the nature of Calhoun’s inquiries, but he promised to be discreet. He even added to Calhoun’s list by offering his own name as well as those of Ned Banks, the owner of the New England Coat Hanger Company, Harold Traynor, and Helen Beaton, the new hospital administrator.

“Why did you dislike the man?” Calhoun asked.

“It was a personal thing,” Harley said. “Hodges lacked even the rudimentary social graces.” Harley explained that he’d had a small branch pharmacy up at the hospital until one day without explanation or warning, Hodges just kicked him out.

“I mean it was natural for the expanding hospital to have its own outpatient pharmacy,” Harley said. “I understood that. But it was handled very badly, thanks to Dennis Hodges.”

Calhoun left the pharmacy wondering how long his list would get before he could start whittling it down to serious suspects. He had close to twenty-five names and there were still a few more contacts in Bartlet he could check out before he considered the list complete.

Since most of the shops were closing for the night, Calhoun crossed the street and headed for the Iron Horse Inn. It was an establishment that held many pleasant memories for him. It had been his wife’s favorite restaurant for special-occasion dinners, like celebrating anniversaries and birthdays.

Carleton Harris, the bartender, recognized Calhoun from across the room. By the time Calhoun got to the bar a glass of Wild Turkey neat was waiting for him. Carleton even drew half a mug’s worth of draft beer for himself so they could clink glasses in a toast.

“Working on anything interesting these days?” Carleton asked after downing his spot of beer.

“I think so,” Calhoun said. He leaned in toward the bar and Carleton instinctively did the same.

Angela didn’t say a word to David and avoided eye contact as they got ready for bed. David guessed that Angela was still irritated about the basement prank with the Halloween masks. He disliked moodiness and wanted to clear the air.

“I’m getting the message you’re still upset about Nikki and me scaring you,” he said. “Can’t we talk about it?”

“What makes you say I’m angry?” Angela asked innocently.

“Come on, Angela,” David said. “You’ve been giving me the silent treatment ever since Nikki went to bed.”

“I suppose I’m disappointed you’d do such a thing when you know how upset I am about that body. I would have thought you’d have been more sensitive.”

“I said I was sorry,” David said. “I still can’t believe you just didn’t laugh the second you saw us. It never occurred to me you’d get as frightened as you did. Besides, it wasn’t just an idle prank. I did it for Nikki’s benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Angela asked skeptically.

“With the nightmares she’s been having, I thought it would help to treat the subject with humor. It was a ruse to get her in the basement without being afraid. And it worked: she was so focused on surprising you, she didn’t think about her fears.”

“You could have at least warned me.”

“I didn’t think I had to. Like I said, I never thought you’d be fooled. And the conspiratorial nature of the activity is what got Nikki so involved.”

Angela eyed her husband. She could tell he was remorseful as well as sincere. Suddenly she felt more embarrassed she’d fallen for the trick than angry. She put down her toothbrush and went over to David and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry I got so mad,” she said. “I guess I’m stressed out. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” David echoed. “I should have told you what we were doing. You could have pretended not to know. I just didn’t think. I’ve been so distracted lately. I feel so stressed out, too. Mary Ann Schiller is no better. She’s going to die. I just know it.”

“Come on now,” Angela said. “You can never be sure.”

“I don’t know about that,” David said. “Come on, let’s get to bed.” As they finished washing he told Angela about his professor’s having driven all the way from Boston and that even he had nothing to add.

“Are you any more depressed?” Angela asked.

“About the same,” David said. “I woke up at four-fifteen this morning and couldn’t go back to sleep. I keep thinking there’s something I’m missing with these patients; maybe they’ve picked up some unknown viral disease. But I feel as though my hands are tied. It’s so frustrating to have to think about Kelley and CMV every time I order a test or a consult. It’s gotten so bad that I even feel like I have to rush through my daily office schedule.”

“You mean to see more patients?” Angela asked. They moved from the bathroom into the bedroom.

David nodded. “More pressure from CMV via Kelley,” he said. “I hate to admit it, but what it means is that I have to avoid talking with patients and answering their questions. It’s not hard because it’s easy to bully patients, but I don’t like it. I wonder if the patients realize they are being shortchanged. A lot of critical clues for making the right diagnosis come from the kind of spontaneous comments patients make when you spend a little time with them.”

“I have a confession to make,” Angela said suddenly.

“What are you talking about?” David asked as he got into bed.

“I also did something today I should have spoken to you about before I did it,” Angela said.

“What?” he asked.

As Angela slipped under the covers, she told David about going to Rutland and hiring Phil Calhoun to investigate Hodges’ murder.

David looked at her, then looked away. He didn’t say anything. Angela knew he was angry.

“At least I took your suggestion that it was dangerous for me to investigate it,” Angela said. “Now we have a professional doing it.”

“What makes this man a professional?” David asked, looking back at Angela.

“He’s a retired state policeman.”

“I was hoping you were going to be reasonable about this Hodges affair,” David said. “Hiring a private investigator is going a little overboard. It’s throwing money away.”

“It’s not throwing money away if it is important to me,” Angela said. “And it should be important to you if you expect me to continue living in this house.”

David sighed, turned out his bedside light, and rolled away from Angela.

She knew she should have warned him about hiring the investigator. She too sighed as she reached for her light. Maybe she didn’t go about it the right way, but she was still confident that hiring Calhoun had been a good idea.

Hardly had the lights been turned out than they heard several loud thumps followed by the sound of Rusty’s barking.

Angela turned her light back on and got out of bed. David did the same. They grabbed their robes and stepped into the hall. David turned on the hall light. Rusty was at the top of the stairs, looking down toward the darkened first floor. He was growling ferociously.

“Did you check to see if the front door was locked?” Angela whispered.

“Yes,” David said. He walked down the hall and patted Rusty’s head. “What is it, big fellow?”

Rusty went down the stairs and began barking at the front door. David followed him. Angela stood at the top of the stairs.

David unlocked the front door.

“Be careful,” Angela warned.

“Why don’t you slip on one of those Halloween masks,” David called up to Angela. “We’ll give whoever it is a good scare.”

“Stop joking,” Angela said. “This isn’t funny.”

David stepped out onto the porch holding onto Rusty’s collar. The dark sky was strewn with stars. A quarter moon provided enough light to see all the way down to the road, but there wasn’t anything unusual to be seen.

“Come on, Rusty,” David urged as he turned around. As he approached the door he saw a typed note nailed to the muntin. He pulled it off. It read: “Mind your own business. Forget Hodges.”

Closing the door and locking it, David climbed the stairs and handed the note to Angela. She followed David into the bedroom.

“I’ll take this to the police,” Angela said.

“Hell, it could have come from the police,” David replied. He climbed back into bed and turned out the light. Angela did the same. Rusty padded back down the hall to rejoin Nikki who’d evidently not stirred.

“Now I’m wide awake,” David complained.

“So am I,” Angela said.

The jangle of the telephone made them both jump. David answered it on the first ring. Angela turned on the light and watched her husband. His face fell as he listened. Then he hung up the phone.

“Mary Ann Schiller had another seizure and died,” he said. “I told you it would happen.” He raised a hand to his face and covered his eyes. Angela moved over and put her arms around him. She could tell he was crying silently.

“I wonder if this ever gets easier,” he said. He wiped his eyes, then began to get dressed.

Angela accompanied him as far as the back door. After she saw him off, she locked the door behind him, then watched as the Volvo’s taillights descended the driveway and disappeared.

Stepping from the mud room into the kitchen, Angela could still see the eerie glow of the luminol in her mind’s eye. She shivered. She did not like being in the huge old house at night without David.

At the hospital, David met Mary Ann’s husband, Donald, for the first time. Donald, his teenage son Matt, and Mary Ann’s parents were in the patients’ lounge across from the ICU quietly talking and consoling each other. As with the Kleber family and the Tarlow family, they were appreciative of David’s efforts. None of them had a bad word for him or a complaint.

“We had her for longer than Dr. Mieslich estimated,” Donald said. His eyes were red and his hair was tousled as if he had been sleeping. “She even got to go back to her job at the library.”

David commiserated with the family, telling them what they wanted to hear: she hadn’t suffered. But David had to confess his confusion as to the cause of her seizures.

“You didn’t expect seizures?” Donald asked.

“Not at all,” David said. “Especially since her MRI was normal.”

Everyone nodded as if they understood. Then, on the spur of the moment, David went against Kelley’s orders and asked the family if they would permit an autopsy. He explained that it might answer a lot of questions.

“I don’t know,” Donald said. He looked over at his in-laws. They were equally indecisive.

“Why don’t you think about it overnight?” David suggested. “We’ll keep the body here.”

Leaving the ICU, David felt despondent. He didn’t go directly home. Instead, he wandered over to the dimly lit second-floor nurses’ station. It was a quiet time of the night. Trying to keep his mind on other things, he glanced at Jonathan Eakins’ chart. As he was perusing it, one of the night nurses told David that Mr. Eakins was awake, watching TV. David walked down and poked his head in.

“Everything okay?” David asked.

“What a committed doctor,” Jonathan said with a smile. “You must live here.”

“Is that ticker of yours staying nice and regular?” David asked.

“Like clockwork,” Jonathan said. “When do I get to go home?”

“Probably today,” David said. “I see they changed your bed.”

“Sure did,” Jonathan said. “They couldn’t seem to fix the old one. Thanks for giving them a nudge. My complaints fell on deaf ears.”

“No problem,” David said. “See you tomorrow.”

David left the hospital and got into his car. He started the engine but didn’t put the car in gear. He’d had three unexpected deaths in one week: patients other doctors had been keeping alive and healthy. He couldn’t help but question his competence. He wondered if he were meant to be a doctor. Maybe those three patients would still be alive if they’d had another physician.

He knew he couldn’t sit in the hospital parking lot all night, so David finally put the car in gear and drove home. He was surprised to see a light on in the family room. By the time he’d parked and gotten out of the car, Angela was at the door. She was holding a medical journal.

“Are you all right?” she asked as she closed and locked the door behind David.

“I’ve been better,” David said. “Why are you still up?” He removed his coat and motioned for Angela to precede him into the kitchen.

“There was no way I would sleep without you here,” Angela said over her shoulder as she passed through the kitchen into the hall. “Not after that note was nailed to our door. And I’ve been thinking. If you have to go out in the middle of the night like this, I want to have a gun here.”

David reached out and pulled Angela to a stop. “We’ll have no guns in our house,” he said. “You know the statistics as well as I do about guns in houses where there are children.”

“Such statistics are not for physicians’ families with a single, intelligent child,” Angela countered. “Besides, I’ll take responsibility for making sure Nikki is well acquainted with the gun and its potential.”

David let go of his wife and headed for the stairs. “I don’t have the energy or the emotional strength to argue with you.”

“Good,” Angela said as she caught up with him.

Upstairs, David decided to take another shower. When he came into the bedroom Angela was reading her pathology journal. She was as wide awake as he.

“Last night after dinner you said that you wished you could help me,” David said. “Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Angela said.

“You might get your wish,” David said. “An hour ago I asked the Schiller family if they would permit an autopsy. They said they’d think about it overnight and talk to me tomorrow.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not up to the family,” Angela said. “The hospital doesn’t do autopsies on CMV patients.”

“But I have another idea,” David said. “You could do it on your own.”

Angela considered the suggestion. “Maybe I could,” she said. “Tomorrow is Sunday and the lab is closed except for emergency chemistries.”

“That was exactly my thought,” David said.

“I could go to the hospital with you tomorrow and talk to the family,” Angela said, warming to the idea.

“I’d appreciate it,” David said. “If you could find some specific reason why she died, it would make me feel a whole lot better.”

David and Angela were exhausted in the morning, but Nikki was well rested. She’d slept through the night without a nightmare and was eager to begin the day.

On Sundays the Wilsons got up early for church, followed by brunch at the Iron Horse Inn.

Attending church had been Angela’s idea. Her motivation wasn’t religious, it was social. She thought it would be a good way to join the Bartlet community. She’d settled on the Methodist church on the town green. It was far and away the most popular in town.

“Do we have to go?” David whined that morning. He was sitting on the side of the bed. He was trying to dress with clumsy fingers. He’d again awakened before dawn despite having gone to sleep so late. He’d lain awake for several hours. He’d just fallen back asleep when Nikki and Rusty had come bounding into the room.

“Nikki will be disappointed if we don’t go,” Angela called from the bathroom.

David finished dressing with resignation. A half hour later, the family climbed into the Volvo and drove into town. From past experience they knew to park in the Inn’s parking lot and walk to the green. Parking near the church itself was always a disaster. The traffic on a Sunday was so bad it had to be supervised by one of the town’s policemen.

That morning Wayne Robertson was on duty as traffic controller. A stainless-steel whistle protruded from his mouth.

“Isn’t this handy,” Angela said as soon as she spotted him. “You guys wait here.”

Darting away before David could stop her, Angela went directly to the chief of police with the anonymous note in hand.

“Excuse me,” Angela said. “I have something I’d like you to see. This was nailed to our door last night while we were in bed.” She handed him the note, then rested her knuckles on her hips, her arms akimbo, waiting for his response.

Robertson allowed the whistle to drop from his mouth. It was attached by a cord around his neck. He glanced at the note, then handed it back. “I’d say it’s a good suggestion. I recommend that you take the advice.”

Angela chuckled. “I’m not asking your opinion as to the note’s suggestion,” she said. “I want you to find out who left it on our door.”

“Well, now,” he said slowly, scratching the back of his head, “it’s not a lot to go on except for the fact that it was obviously typed on a nineteen fifty-two Smith Corona with a defective lowercase ‘o.’  ”

For an instant, Angela began to reevaluate her estimation of Robertson’s abilities. But then she realized he was making fun of her.

“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Angela said with commensurate sarcasm, “but considering your attitude toward the Hodges murder case, I guess we can’t expect miracles.”

Honking horns and a few shouts from frustrated drivers forced Robertson’s attention back to the traffic, which had quickly become a muddle. As he did his best to unsnarl the congestion, he said: “You and your little family are newcomers to Bartlet. Maybe you ought to think twice about interfering in matters that don’t concern you. You’ll only make trouble for yourself.”

“So far I’ve only gotten trouble from you,” Angela said. “And I understand that you happen to be one of the people who’s not so sorry about Hodges’ death. I understand you mistakenly blame him for your wife’s death.”

Robertson stopped directing traffic and turned to Angela. His chubby cheeks had become beet red. “What did you say?” he demanded.

Just then David slipped in between Angela and Robertson, forcing Angela away. He’d been eavesdropping on the conversation from a few feet away and he didn’t like the direction it was taking.

Angela tried to repeat her statement, but David gave her arm a sharp tug. Through clenched teeth he whispered to her to shut up. When he got her far enough away he grabbed her shoulders. “What the hell has gotten into you?” he demanded. “You’re taunting a man who’s obviously got some kind of personality problem. I know you have a penchant for the dramatic but this is pushing it.”

“He was ridiculing me,” Angela complained.

“Stop it,” David commanded. “You’re sounding like a child.”

“He’s supposed to be protecting us,” Angela snapped. “He’s supposed to uphold the law. But he isn’t any more interested in this threatening note than he is in finding out who murdered Hodges.”

“Calm down!” David said. “You’re making a scene.”

Angela’s eyes left David’s and swept around the immediate area. A number of people had paused on their way into the church. They were all staring.

Self-consciously, Angela put the note away in her purse, smoothed her dress, and reached for Nikki’s hand.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s not be late for the service.”

With Alice Doherty recruited to watch over Nikki and Caroline, David and Angela drove to the hospital. Nikki had met Caroline after the church service, and Caroline had accompanied them to the Iron Horse Inn for brunch.

At the hospital, David and Angela met Donald Schiller and his in-laws, the Josephsons, in the lobby. They sat on the benches to the right of the entrance to discuss the proposed autopsy.

“My husband has asked you for permission to do an autopsy,” Angela said. “I’m here to tell you that I will be the one to do it if you agree. Since neither the hospital nor CMV will pay for this service, I’m offering to do it on my own time. It will be free. It also might provide some important information.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Donald said. “We still weren’t sure what to do this morning, but after talking to you, I think I feel okay about it.” Donald looked at the Josephsons. They nodded. “I think Mary Ann would have wanted it too, if it could help other people.”