Nikki was not in the bathtub. She’d been out for some time. When the door chimes sounded, she’d rushed to finish dressing and put on her mask. She’d hoped to get downstairs before the kids had left. She wanted to see their costumes and surprise them with her own. She’d just gotten to the head of the stairs when the glass bowl shattered, stopping her in her tracks. Helplessly she’d watched from upstairs as her mother began to struggle with a man wearing a serpent mask.

After the initial shock, Nikki ran down the hall to the master bedroom and picked up the telephone. But there was no dial tone. The line was dead. Rushing back down the hall, she’d peeked over the edge of the stairs just in time to see her mother and the man disappear into the family room.

Advancing to the head of the stairs, Nikki looked down. The shotgun was leaning against the back of the newel post.

Nikki had to jump back out of sight when her mother and the reptile man reappeared from the family room. Nikki could hear their footsteps crunching the broken glass of the candy bowl. Then the footsteps stopped. Nikki could only hear muffled voices.

Nikki forced herself to peek over the edge of the stairs again. She saw her mother and the man reappear briefly from the living room before they vanished down the central corridor toward the kitchen.

Nikki inched forward and again peered down at the shotgun. It was still there. She started down the steps, but no matter how slowly she moved, each step creaked under the weight of her light, seventy-pound frame.

Nikki only got halfway down the stairs before she heard Angela and the man coming back along the corridor. Panicked, Nikki raced back up the stairs and partway down the upstairs corridor. She stopped, intending to return to the top of the stairs and then to descend to the foyer when it was safe. But to her horror her mother and the man started up the stairs.

Nikki ran the rest of the way down the corridor and dashed into the master bedroom. She ducked into one of the walk-in closets. In the back of the closet was a second door leading to a short hall connecting with the barn. Several store rooms ran off it. At the end of the hall was a narrow, spiral staircase that led down to the mud room.

Nikki raced down these stairs, then through the kitchen and along the first-floor corridor, finally reaching the foyer. She snatched up the shotgun. She checked to see if there was a shell in the magazine just as her mother had taught her. There was. She released the safety.

Nikki’s elation quickly changed to confusion. Now that she had the shotgun in her hands, she didn’t know what to do next. Her mother had explained that the gun sprayed pellets in a wide arc. It didn’t have to be aimed too carefully; it would hit just about everything it was pointed at. The problem was her mom. Nikki didn’t want to hit her.

Nikki had little time to ponder her dilemma. Almost immediately she heard the intruder marching her mother back along the upstairs corridor and down the main stairs. Nikki backed up toward the kitchen. She didn’t know whether to hide or run outside to the neighbors’.

Before Nikki could decide, her mother appeared in the foyer, stumbling down the last few stairs. Apparently she’d been pushed. Right behind her was the reptile man. In full view of Nikki the man gave Angela another cruel shove that sent her flying through the archway into the living room. In his right hand was a pistol.

The man started after her mother. He was about twenty feet away from Nikki, who was holding the shotgun at her waist. She had her left hand around the barrel and her right hand around the stock. Her finger was on the trigger.

The intruder turned briefly to face Nikki as he walked, then did a double take. He started to raise his gun in her direction. Nikki closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the blast from the shotgun was horrendous in the narrow hallway. The recoil knocked Nikki over backward, yet she stubbornly held onto the shotgun. Regaining her balance enough to sit up, she used all her strength to cock the gun. Her ears were ringing so much, she couldn’t hear the mechanical click the shotgun made as a fresh shell was rammed into position and the spent cartridge ejected.

Angela suddenly appeared out of the smoky haze, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Immediately following the blast she’d run from the living room into the kitchen, doubling around and back up the main corridor. She took the shotgun from Nikki who was only too glad to give it up.

From the family room they heard the sound of a door banging open, then stillness.

“Are you all right?” Angela whispered to Nikki.

“I think so,” Nikki said.

Angela helped Nikki to her feet, then motioned for her to follow her. Slowly they advanced toward the foyer. They inched past the archway leading into the living room, catching sight of the damage caused by Nikki’s shotgun blast. A portion of the pellets were embedded in the side of the arch. The rest of the charge had carried away another four panes of glass from the living room’s bay window, the same window damaged by the brick.

Next they rounded the base of the stairs, trying to avoid the shards of broken glass. As they approached the archway leading into the family room, they felt a draft of cold air. Angela kept the shotgun trained ahead. Edging along together, Angela and Nikki spotted the source of the draft: one of the French doors leading to the terrace hung open and was gently swinging back and forth with the evening breeze.

With Nikki clutching one of Angela’s belt loops, they advanced toward the open door. They gazed out at the dark line of trees bordering their property. For a few moments they stood absolutely still, listening for any sounds. All they heard was the distant bark of a dog, followed by Rusty’s rebuttal from out in the barn. No one was in sight.

Angela closed the door and locked it. Still gripping the gun in one hand, she bent down and hugged Nikki with all her might.

“You’re a hero,” she said. “Wait until I tell your father.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Nikki said. “I didn’t mean to hit the window.”

“The window doesn’t matter,” Angela said. “You did splendidly.” Angela went over to the phone. She was surprised to find it was dead.

“The one in your bedroom’s not working either,” Nikki said.

Angela shuddered. The intruder had gone to the trouble of cutting their lines first. Had it not been for Nikki, Angela hated to think what might have happened.

“We have to make sure the man is not still here,” Angela said. “Come on, let’s search the house.”

Together they went through the dining room into the kitchen. They checked the mud room and the two small storage rooms. Returning to the kitchen they walked down the central corridor back to the foyer.

While Angela was debating whether to check upstairs, the door chimes rang. Both she and Nikki jumped.

Looking out the side lights on either side of the door, Angela and Nikki saw a group of children dressed as witches and ghosts standing on their stoop.

David pulled into the driveway. He was surprised to see that every light in the house was on. Then he saw a group of teenagers leap from the porch, dash across the lawn, and disappear into the trees lining the property.

David stopped the car. He could see that his front door was plastered with raw eggs. The windows had been soaped, and the jack o’ lantern smashed. He had half a mind to give chase to the kids but decided that the chances of finding them in the dark were pretty slim. “Damn kids,” he said aloud. Then he noticed that more of the living-room bay window had been broken.

“Good gravy!” David exclaimed. “That’s going way too far.” He got out of the car and went up to his front door. The place was a mess. Tomatoes as well as eggs had been thrown against the front of the house.

Not until he discovered the broken glass and candy scattered across the floor of the foyer did David become truly worried. Struck by a sudden stab of fear for his family, David cried out for Angela and Nikki.

Almost immediately Angela and Nikki appeared at the top of the stairs. Angela was holding the shotgun. Nikki started to cry and ran down the stairs into David’s arms.

“He had a gun,” Nikki managed to tell David through choking sobs.

“Who had a gun?” David asked with growing alarm. “What’s happened?”

Angela came part of the way down the stairs and sat down.

“We had a visitor,” Angela said.

“Who?” David demanded.

“I don’t know,” Angela said. “He was wearing a Halloween mask. He had a handgun.”

“My God!” David said. “I never should have left you alone here. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Angela said. “But you are later than you said you’d be when you called.”

“It took longer than expected to get copies of the medical records,” David explained. “I did try to call on my way up, but the phone was constantly busy. When I checked with the operator, I was told it was out of order.”

“I think it was deliberately cut,” Angela said. “Probably by the intruder.”

“Did you call the police?” David asked.

“How were we to call the police when we had no phone?” Angela snapped.

“I’m sorry,” David said. “I’m not thinking.”

“All we’ve done since the man bolted is huddle upstairs,” Angela said. “We’ve been terrified he’d come back.”

“Where’s Rusty?” David asked.

“I put him in the barn earlier in the day because he got so hyper with all the trick-or-treaters coming to the door.”

“I’ll get my portable phone from the car and I’ll get Rusty while I’m at it,” David said. He gave Nikki’s shoulder a final squeeze.

Outside, he saw the same group of teenagers scatter.

“You’d better stay the hell away from here,” David yelled into the night.

Angela and Nikki were waiting for him in the kitchen when he returned with the phone and Rusty.

“There’s a wolf pack of teenagers out there,” David said. “They’ve made a mess of the front porch.”

“I think it’s because we haven’t been answering the door,” Angela said. “All the trick-or-treaters have been turned away empty-handed. I’m afraid with no treats we’ve gotten our share of tricks. Believe me, compared to what we were facing, they’re nothing.”

“Not quite nothing: they’ve broken a few more window panes in the bay window,” David said.

“Nikki broke the window,” Angela said. She reached out and hugged her daughter. “She’s our hero.” Then Angela told him exactly what had happened.

David could hardly believe the peril his family had been in. When he thought of what might have happened  .  .  . He couldn’t bear to entertain the awful possibilities. When another barrage of raw eggs splattered against the front door, David’s anger welled. Running to the foyer, he threw open the door fully intending to catch a couple of kids. Angela restrained him. Nikki held on to Rusty.

“They’re not important,” Angela said. Tears welled in her eyes.

Seeing his wife start to break down, David closed the door. He had no confusion in regard to his priorities. He consoled Angela as best he could. He knew that running after the kids would accomplish nothing; he’d just be blowing off steam in an attempt to assuage his guilt.

He drew Nikki to him as well and sat them both down on the family room couch. As soon as Angela had calmed down, David used his portable phone to call the police. While they waited for them to arrive, David cursed himself for having left Angela and Nikki.

“It’s just as much my fault,” Angela said. “I should have anticipated we’d be in danger.” Angela then conceded that the rape attempt had possibly been an attempt on her life. She said that she’d told Calhoun about it, and he tended to agree with her.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” David demanded.

“I should have,” Angela admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“If nothing else, we’re learning that we shouldn’t hold secrets from each other,” David said. “What about Calhoun? Have you heard from him yet?”

“No,” Angela said. “I even left a message as you suggested. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” David said. He stood up. “In the meantime let’s take a look at that bay window.”

The police were in no hurry. It took them almost three-quarters of an hour to arrive. To David’s and Angela’s chagrin, Robertson himself came in full uniform. Angela was tempted to ask if it was his Halloween costume. He was accompanied by a deputy, Carl Hobson.

As Robertson came through the front door he glanced at the refuse on the porch and noticed the broken window. He was carrying a clipboard.

“You people having a minor problem?” he asked.

“Not minor,” Angela said. “Major.” She then described what had happened from the moment the man appeared to David’s arrival.

Robertson obviously had little patience for Angela’s story. He fidgeted impatiently as she explained all that had happened, rolling his eyes for his deputy’s benefit.

“Now, you sure this was a real gun?” Robertson asked.

“Of course it was a real gun,” Angela said with exasperation.

“Maybe it was just a toy gun, part of a costume. You sure this guy wasn’t just trick-or-treating?” He winked at Hobson.

“Just one goddamn minute,” David said, breaking into the conversation. “I don’t like what I’m hearing here. I’m getting the distinct impression that you’re not taking this seriously. This man had a gun. There was violence here. Hell, even part of the bay window has been blown out.”

“Don’t you yell at me,” Robertson said. “Your good wife has already admitted that your darling daughter blew out the window, not the purported intruder. And let me tell you something else: there’s an ordinance against discharging a shotgun within the town limits unless it’s done at the range by the dump.”

“Get the hell out of my house,” David raged.

“I’ll be happy to,” Robertson said. He motioned for Hobson to precede him. At the door, Robertson paused. “Let me offer you people some advice. You’re not a popular family in this town, and it could get a whole lot worse if you shoot at some innocent child coming by for candy. God help you if you actually hit some kid.”

David rushed to the door and slammed it behind Robertson as soon as the oaf was out the door.

“Bastard!” David fumed. “Well, we no longer have any illusions about the local police. We can’t expect any help from them.”

Angela hugged herself and fought off a new batch of tears. “What a mess,” she said, shaking her head. David stepped over and comforted her. He also had to calm Nikki who was shocked by the sharp exchange between her father and the chief of police.

“Do you think we should stay here tonight?”

“Where can we go at this hour?” David said. “I think we should stay. We can make sure we have no more visitors.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Angela said with a sigh. “I know I’m not thinking straight. I’ve never been this upset.”

“Are you hungry?” David asked.

Angela shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “But I’d started getting dinner ready before all this happened.”

“Well, I’m starved,” David said. “I didn’t eat lunch.”

“Okay,” Angela said. “Nikki and I will put something together.”

David called the phone company and reported that their phone was out of order. When he mentioned he was a doctor they agreed to send a repairman as soon as possible. Next, David went out to the barn and found some additional outdoor lighting. When he was finished, the entire outside of the house was brilliantly illuminated.

The phone repairman arrived while they were eating. He quickly determined the problem was outside; the phone line had been cut where it entered the house. While the repairman worked, the Wilsons continued their dinner.

“I hate Halloween,” the repairman said when he came to the door to announce that the phone was fixed. David thanked him for coming out on a Sunday night.

After dinner David tended to additional security measures. First he boarded up a portion of the bay window in the living room. Then he went around and made sure all the doors and windows were locked.

Although the visit by the police had been exasperating, it did have one beneficial effect. After the police had been there the pesky teenagers gave up their harassment campaign. Apparently seeing the cruiser had been enough to scare them off. By nine o’clock the Wilsons had gathered in Nikki’s room for her respiratory therapy.

After Nikki went to sleep, David and Angela retired to the family room to go over the material David had brought back from Boston. As an additional security aid David encouraged Rusty to leave Nikki’s room where he customarily slept and stay with them in the family room. David wanted to take advantage of the dog’s sensitive hearing. David also kept the shotgun close at hand.

“You know what I think,” Angela said as David opened the envelope that contained the medical records. “I think the man who came in here tonight is the same person who’s behind the euthanasia and Hodges’ murder. I’m convinced of it. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I agree with you,” David said. “And I think our best candidate is Clyde Devonshire. Read this.”

David handed Devonshire’s medical record to Angela. She quickly scanned it. “Oh my,” she said as she came near to the end. “He’s HIV positive.”

David nodded. “It means he’s got a potentially terminal illness himself. I think we have a serious suspect here, especially when you combine his HIV status with the other facts like his having been arrested outside of Jack Kevorkian’s house. He obviously has a strong interest in assisted suicides. Who knows? That interest could extend to euthanasia. He’s a trained nurse so he has the medical expertise and he worked in the hospital so he has access, and if that isn’t enough, he has a history of rape. He might be the ski-masked rapist.”

Angela nodded, but she was troubled. “The only problem with all this is that it’s completely circumstantial,” she said. Then she asked: “Would you know Clyde Devonshire by sight?”

“No,” David admitted.

“I wonder if I’d be able to identify him by his height or the sound of his voice,” Angela said. “I kind of doubt it. I’d never be absolutely sure.”

“Well, let’s move on,” David said. “The next best candidate is Werner Van Slyke. Take a look at his history.” David handed Van Slyke’s record to Angela. It was considerably thicker than Devonshire’s.

“Good grief,” Angela said as she came to the end. “What you don’t know about people.”

“What do you think of him as a suspect?” David asked.

“It’s an interesting psychiatric history,” Angela agreed. “But I don’t think he’s the one. Schizo-affective disorder with mania and paranoia is not the same thing as an antisocial psychotic.”

“But you don’t have to be antisocial to have misguided ideas about euthanasia,” David said.

“That’s true,” Angela said. “But just because someone is mentally ill doesn’t mean they’re criminal. If Van Slyke had an extensive criminal history or a history of violent behavior, that would be different. But since he doesn’t, I don’t think he rates too high as a suspect. Besides, he may know about nuclear submarines, but he doesn’t have a sophisticated knowledge of medicine. How could he be killing a bunch of patients employing a method even you can’t detect if he didn’t have specialized health-related training?”

“I agree,” David said. “But look at this material I got from Robert today.”

David handed Angela the sheet of paper listing Van Slyke’s various bank accounts in Albany and Boston.

“Where on earth is he getting this money?” Angela asked. “Do you think it has anything to do with our concerns?”

David shrugged. “That’s a good question,” he said. “Robert didn’t think so. He suggested that Van Slyke was dealing drugs. We do know there’s marijuana in town, so it’s possible.”

Angela nodded.

“If it’s not drugs it would be ominous,” David said.

“Why?” Angela asked.

“Let’s suppose Van Slyke is the one killing these people,” David said. “If he’s not selling drugs, he could be getting paid for each death.”

“What an awful idea,” Angela said. “But if that were the case we’d be back to square one. We still wouldn’t know who was behind it. Who would be paying him and why?”

“I’d still guess it’s some misguided mercy killer,” David said. “All the victims had potentially fatal illnesses.”

“I think we’re getting too speculative,” Angela said. “We’ve got too much information and we’re straining to put it all into the same theory. Most of this information probably isn’t related.”

“You’re probably right,” David said. “But I just had an idea. If we were to determine Van Slyke was the culprit, then his psychiatric problems could work in our favor.”

“What do you mean?” Angela asked.

“Van Slyke had a psychotic break under the stress of a submarine patrol. I don’t find that all that surprising. I might have had one, too. Anyway, when he had his psychotic break, he had paranoid symptoms and turned against his authority figures. His history indicates he’d done that before. If we confronted him I’m sure he’d get stressed out. Then we could evoke his paranoia toward whoever is paying him. All we’d have to say is that this, quote, ‘authority figure’ is planning on letting Van Slyke take the blame if anything goes wrong. And since we’re talking with him, obviously things are going wrong.”

Angela flashed David an expression of disbelief. “You amaze me sometimes,” she said. “Especially since you think you are so rational. That’s the most convoluted and ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard. Van Slyke’s history documented mania with belligerence. And you’re suggesting that you could safely evoke this individual’s schizophrenic paranoia? That’s absurd. He’d explode in violence, and it would be directed at everyone, particularly you.”

“It was just an idea,” David said defensively.

“Well, I’m not going to get myself worked up,” Angela said. “This is all too speculative and theoretical.”

“Okay,” David said soothingly. “The next candidate is Peter Ullhof. Obviously he has medical training. The fact that he’s been arrested in connection with the abortion issue suggests that he has some strong feelings about moral issues in medicine. But after that, there’s not much.”

“What about Joe Forbs?” Angela asked.

“The only thing that makes him suspicious is his inability to handle his personal finances,” David said.

“And what about the last person? Claudette Maurice.”

“She’s clean,” David said. “The only thing I’m curious about is where she has the tattoo.”

“I’m exhausted,” Angela said. She tossed the papers she had in her hands onto the coffee table. “Maybe after a good night’s sleep, something will come to us.”

Nikki awoke in the middle of the night with another nightmare and ended up sleeping in the master bedroom. David and Angela both slept restlessly. Even Rusty seemed unable to sleep soundly, growling and barking on several occasions during the night. Each time David leaped out of bed and grabbed the shotgun. But each time it proved to be a false alarm.

The only bright spot the next morning was Nikki’s health. Her lungs were completely clear. Nevertheless, the Wilsons didn’t even consider sending her to school.

They tried phoning Calhoun again but got the answering machine with the same message. They discussed calling the police about the investigator but couldn’t make up their minds. They admitted they didn’t know Calhoun that well, that his behavior was eccentric, and that they were probably jumping to conclusions. They were also reluctant to call the local police considering the experiences they’d had with them, particularly the previous night.

“The one thing I do know,” Angela said, “I don’t want to spend another night in this house. Maybe we should pack everything up and leave this town to its own devices and secrets.”

“If we’re thinking of doing that, then I’d better call Sherwood,” David said.

“Do it,” Angela said. “I’m serious about not wanting to spend another night here.”

David phoned the bank to make an appointment to see the president. The first opening available was that afternoon at three o’clock. Although David would have preferred an earlier time, he took what he could get.

“We really should speak to a lawyer,” Angela said.

“You’re right,” David said. “Let’s call Joe Cox.”

Joe was a good friend of theirs. He was also one of the shrewdest lawyers in Boston. When Angela called his office, she was told that Joe was unavailable; he was in court and would be all day. Angela left a message that she’d call back.

“Where should we spend the night?” Angela asked, hanging up the phone.

“Our closest friends in town are the Yansens,” David said. “And that’s not saying much. I haven’t socialized with Kevin since that ridiculous tennis game, and I don’t want to call him now.” David sighed. “I suppose I could call my parents.”

“I was afraid to suggest it,” Angela said.

David made the call to Amherst, New Hampshire, and asked his mother if they could come for a few days. He explained that they were having some difficulties with the house. David’s mother was delighted. There’d be no problem at all. She said she was looking forward to their arrival.

Angela tried to call Calhoun again with no luck. She then suggested they drive to his place in Rutland; it wasn’t that far away. David agreed, so all three Wilsons climbed into the Volvo and made the trip.

“There it is,” Angela said as they approached Calhoun’s home.

David pulled into the parking area in front of the car port. They were immediately disappointed. They’d hoped to be reassured, but they weren’t. It was obvious no one was home. There was two days’ worth of newspapers piled on the front stoop.

On their way back to Bartlet they discussed the investigator and found themselves even more indecisive. Angela mentioned that after she’d hired him he’d not contacted her for days. Finally they decided they’d wait one more day. If they couldn’t reach him in twenty-four hours they would go to the police.

When they got home, Angela began packing for a stay at David’s parents’. Nikki helped. While they were busy with that, David got out the telephone book and looked up the addresses of the five tattooed hospital workers. Once he had them written down, he went upstairs and told Angela that he wanted to cruise by their homes just to check out their living situations.

“I don’t want you going anywhere,” Angela said sternly.

“Why not?” David asked. He was surprised at her response.

“For one thing, I don’t want to be here by myself,” she said. “Second, we now understand that this affair is dangerous. I don’t want you snooping around the house of a potential killer.”

“Okay,” David said soothingly. “Your first reason is quite sufficient. You didn’t have to give me two. I didn’t think you’d be nervous to be left alone during this time of the morning. And as far as it being dangerous, these people would probably be at work now.”

“Probably isn’t good enough,” Angela said. “Why don’t you give us a hand packing the car?”

It was almost noon before they were ready. After they made sure all the doors to the house were locked, they climbed into the Volvo. Rusty hopped in beside Nikki.

David’s mother, Jeannie Wilson, welcomed them warmly, and made them feel instantly at home. David’s father, Albert, was off for a day’s fishing trip and wouldn’t be back until that evening.

After carrying everything into the house, Angela collapsed on the quilted bed in the guest room. “I’m exhausted,” she said. “I could fall asleep this second.”

“Why don’t you?” David said. “There’s no need for both of us to go back to talk with Sherwood.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Angela asked.

“Not in the least,” David said. He pulled the edge of the quilt down and encouraged Angela to slide under it. As he closed the door he heard her advise him to drive carefully, but her voice was already thick with sleep.

David told his mother and Nikki that Angela was napping. He suggested that Nikki do the same, but she was already involved in making cookies with her grandmother. Explaining that he had an appointment in Bartlet, David went out to the car.

David arrived back in town with three-quarters of an hour to spare. He stopped alongside the road to pull out the list of tattooed hospital employees and their addresses. The closest one was Clyde Devonshire’s. Feeling a bit guilty, David put the car in gear and headed for Clyde’s. He rationalized his decision by telling himself that Angela’s fears were unwarranted. Besides, he wasn’t going to do anything; he just wanted to take a look.

David was surprised to find a convenience store at the address listed for Devonshire. He parked in front of the building, got out, and went into the store. While paying for a carton of orange juice he asked one of the two clerks if he knew Clyde Devonshire.

“Sure do,” the man said. “He lives upstairs.”

“Do you know him well?” David asked.

“So-so,” the man said. “He comes in here a lot.”

“I was told he had a tattoo,” David said.

The man laughed. “Clyde’s got a bunch of tattoos,” he said.

“Where are they?” David asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“He has tattooed ropes around both wrists,” the second clerk said. “It’s like he was all tied up.”

The first clerk laughed again, only harder.

David smiled. He didn’t get the humor, but he wanted to be polite. At least he’d found out Clyde had tattoos where they could be damaged in a struggle.

“He’s also got a tattoo on his upper arm,” the first clerk said. “And more on his chest.”

David thanked the clerks and left the store. He walked around the side of the building and spotted the door to the stairs. For a brief instant he thought about trying the door, but then he decided against it. He owed Angela that much.

Returning to his car, David climbed in behind the wheel and checked the time. He still had twenty minutes before his meeting with Sherwood: time for one more address. The next closest was Van Slyke’s.

In just a few minutes David turned onto Van Slyke’s lane. He slowed down to check the numbers on the mailboxes, looking for Van Slyke’s. Suddenly, David jammed on the brakes. He’d come abreast of a green truck that looked a lot like Calhoun’s.

Backing up, David parked the Volvo directly behind the truck. It had a sticker on the back bumper that read: “This Vehicle Climbed Mount Washington.” It had to be Calhoun’s.

David got out of his car and peered into the truck’s cab. A moldy cup of coffee was sitting on the open glove compartment door. The ashtray was overflowing with cigar butts. David recognized the upholstery and the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. The truck was definitely Calhoun’s.

David straightened up and looked across the street. There was no mailbox in front of the house, but from where he was standing, he could see the address painted on the riser of the porch stairs. It was 66 Apple Tree Lane, Van Slyke’s address.

David crossed the street for a closer look. The house was badly in need of paint and repair. It was even hard to be sure what color it had originally been. It looked gray but there was a greenish cast to it suggesting it had once been pale olive.

There were no signs of life. It hardly looked like the house was lived in except for the indentation of tire tracks in the gravel of the driveway.

David hiked back to the garage and peered inside. It was empty.

David then returned to the front of the house. After checking to see that no one was observing him from the street, he tried the door. It was unlocked and it opened with a simple turn of the knob. He pushed it open slowly; the rusty hinges groaned.

Ready to flee at the slightest provocation, David peered inside. What furniture he could see was covered with dust and cobwebs. Taking a deep breath, David called out to determine if anybody was home.

If there was, no one answered. He strained to hear, but the house was silent.

Fighting an urge to flee, David forced himself to step over the threshold. The silence of the house enveloped him like a cloak. His heart was racing. He didn’t want to be there, but he had to find out about Calhoun.

David called out again, but again no one answered. He was about to call out a third time when the door behind him slammed shut. David nearly passed out from fright. Experiencing an irrational fear that the door had somehow locked, he frantically re-opened it. He propped it open with a dusty umbrella stand. He did not want to feel enclosed in the building.

After composing himself as best he could, David made a tour of the first floor. He moved quickly from one dirty room to the next until he got to the kitchen. There he stopped. On the table was an ashtray. In it was the butt of an Antonio y Cleopatra cigar. Just beyond the table was an open door leading down to the cellar.

David approached the doorway and looked down into utter darkness. Beside the doorway was a light switch. David tried it. An anemic glow filtered up the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, David started down. He stopped midway and let his eyes sweep around the cluttered basement. It was filled with old furniture, boxes, a steamer trunk, and a hodgepodge of tools and junk. David noticed that the floor was dirt just as it was in his house, although near the furnace there was a slab of concrete.

David continued down the stairs, then went over to the concrete. Bending down, he examined it closely. The slab was still dark with dampness. He put his hand on it to be sure. David shuddered. He straightened up and ran for the stairs. As far as he was concerned, he’d seen enough to go to the police. Only he wasn’t going to bother with the local police. He planned to call the state police directly. Reaching the top of the stairs, David stopped in his tracks. He heard the sound of car tires in the gravel of the driveway. A car had pulled in beside the house.

For a second David froze, not knowing what to do. He had little time to decide; the next thing he knew, he heard the car door open, then slam shut, then footsteps in the gravel.

David panicked. He pulled the door to the cellar shut and quickly descended the stairs. He was confident there’d be another way out of the basement, some sort of back stairs leading directly out.

At the rear of the basement were several doors. David lost no time weaving his way to them. The first one had an open hasp. As quietly as possible, he pulled it open. Beyond was a root cellar illuminated by a single low-watt bulb.

Hearing footsteps above, David quickly went to the second door. He gave the knob a tug, but the door wouldn’t budge. He exerted more strength. At last, it creaked open. It moved stiffly, as if it hadn’t been opened for years.

Beyond the door was what David had been looking for: a flight of concrete steps leading up to angled hatch-like doors. David closed the door to the basement behind him. He was now in darkness save for a sliver of light coming from between the two nearly horizontal doors above him.

David scrambled up the stairs and crouched just beneath the doors. He stopped to listen. He heard nothing. He put his hands on the doors and pushed. He was able to raise the doors half an inch, but no more; they were padlocked from outside.

Letting the doors down quietly, David tried to keep himself calm. His pulse was hammering in his temples. He knew he was trapped. His only hope was that he’d go undiscovered. But the next thing he heard was the door to the cellar crashing open followed by heavy footfalls on the cellar steps.

David squatted in the darkness and held his breath.

The footfalls drew nearer, then the door to his hideaway was yanked open. David found himself staring into the frenzied face of Werner Van Slyke.

Van Slyke appeared to be in a worse panic than David. He looked and acted as if he’d just taken an overwhelming dose of speed. His eyelids were drawn back, causing his unblinking eyes to bulge from their sockets. His pupils were so dilated he seemed to have no irises. Drops of perspiration were beaded on his forehead. His whole body was trembling, particularly his arms. In his right hand he clutched a pistol which he pointed at David’s face.

For a few moments neither of them moved. David frantically tried to think of a plausible reason for his presence, but he couldn’t think of a thing. All he could think about was the dancing barrel of the gun pointed at him. With Van Slyke’s trembling growing worse by the minute, David was afraid the gun might go off accidentally.

David realized that Van Slyke was in the grip of an acute anxiety attack, probably triggered by his discovery of David hiding in his home. Remembering the man’s psychiatric history, David thought there was a good chance Van Slyke was psychotic that very moment.

David thought about mentioning Calhoun’s truck as a way of explaining his presence, but he quickly decided against it. Who knew what had transpired between Van Slyke and the private investigator? Mention of Calhoun might only exacerbate Van Slyke’s psychotic state.

David decided that the best thing for him to do was to try to befriend the man, to acknowledge that he had problems, to admit that he was under stress, to tell him that David understood that he was suffering, and to tell him that David was a doctor and wanted to help him.

Unfortunately, Van Slyke gave David little chance to act on his plan. Without a word, Van Slyke reached out, grabbed David by his jacket, and rudely yanked him from the stairwell into the cellar itself.

Overwhelmed by Van Slyke’s strength, David sprawled headfirst onto the dirt floor, crashing into a stack of cardboard boxes.

“Get up!” Van Slyke screamed. His voice echoed in the cellar.

David warily got to his feet.

Van Slyke was shaking so hard he was practically convulsing.

“Get into the root cellar,” he yelled.

“Calm down,” David said, speaking for the first time. Trying to sound like a therapist, he told Van Slyke that he understood he was upset.

Van Slyke responded by indiscriminately firing the gun. Bullets whizzed by David’s head and ricocheted around the basement until they embedded themselves in an overhead floor joist, the stairs, or one of the wooden doors.

David leaped into the root cellar and cowered against the far wall, terrified of what Van Slyke might do next. Now he was convinced that Van Slyke was acutely psychotic.

Van Slyke shut the heavy wooden door with such force, plaster rained down on top of David’s head. David didn’t move. He could hear Van Slyke moving around in the cellar. Then he heard the sound of the hasp of the root cellar door being closed over its staple and a padlock being applied. David heard the click as the lock was closed.

After a few minutes of silence, David stood up. He looked around his cell. The only light source was a single bare bulb hanging by a cord from the ceiling. The room was bounded by large granite foundation blocks. On one wall were bins filled with fruit that appeared mummified. On the other wall shelves lined with jars of preserves reached to the ceiling.

David moved to the door and put his ear to it. He heard nothing. Looking more closely at the door he saw fresh scratch marks across it. It was as if someone had been trying desperately to claw his way out.

David knew it was futile but he had to try: he leaned his shoulder against the door and pushed it. It didn’t budge. Failing in that, David started to make a complete tour of the cell when the light went out, plunging him into absolute darkness.

Sherwood buzzed his secretary and asked what time the appointment was scheduled with David Wilson.

“Three o’clock,” Sharon said.

“What time is it now?” he asked. He was looking at the pocket watch he’d fished out of his vest.

“It’s three-fifteen,” she said.

“That’s what I thought. No sign of him?”

“No, sir.”

“If he shows up, tell him he’ll have to reschedule,” Sherwood said. “And bring in the agenda for tonight’s hospital executive board meeting.”

Sherwood took his finger off the intercom button. It irritated him that David Wilson would be late for a meeting that he had called to request. To Sherwood it was a deliberate snub, since punctuality was a cardinal virtue in his value system.

Sherwood lifted his phone and dialed Harold Traynor. Before he put in time on the executive meeting material, Sherwood wanted to be sure that the meeting hadn’t been canceled. One had been back in 1981 and Sherwood still hadn’t gotten over it.

“Six p.m.,” Traynor said. “On schedule. Want to walk up together? It’s a nice evening, and we won’t be having too many more of these until next summer.”

“I’ll meet you right outside the bank,” Sherwood said. “Sounds like you’re in a good mood.”

“It’s been a good day,” Traynor said. “I’ve just heard this afternoon from my nemesis, Jeb Wiggins. He’s caved in. He’ll back the parking garage after all. We should have the approval of the Selectmen by the end of the month.”

Sherwood smiled. This was good news indeed. “Should I put together the bond issue?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Traynor said. “We’ve got to move on this thing. I have a call in to the contractor right now to see if there’s any chance of pouring concrete before winter sets in.”

Sharon came into Sherwood’s office and handed him the agenda for the meeting.

“There’s more good news,” Traynor said. “Beaton called me this morning to tell me the hospital balance sheet looks a lot better than we thought it would. October wasn’t nearly as bad as predicted.”

“Nothing but good news this month,” Sherwood said.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Traynor said. “Beaton also called me a little while ago to tell me that Van Slyke never showed up.”

“He didn’t phone?” Sherwood questioned.

“No,” Traynor said. “Of course, he doesn’t have a phone so that’s not too surprising. I suppose I’ll have to ride over there after the executive meeting. Trouble is, I hate to go in that house. It depresses me.”

Just as unexpectedly as the overhead light had gone out, it went on again. In the distance David could hear Van Slyke’s footfalls coming back down the cellar stairs accompanied by the intermittent clank of metal hitting metal. After that, David heard the clatter of things being dropped onto the dirt floor.

After another trip up and down David heard Van Slyke drop something particularly heavy. After a third trip there was the same dull thud that David could feel as much as hear. It sounded almost like a body hitting the hard-packed dirt, and David felt himself shudder.

Taking advantage of the light, David explored the root cellar for another way out, but as he suspected, there was none.

Suddenly David heard the lock on the root cellar door open and the hasp pull away from the staple. He braced himself as the door was yanked open.

David sucked in a breath of air at the sight of Van Slyke. He appeared even more agitated than he had earlier. His dark, unruly hair was no longer lying flat against his skull; it now stood straight out from his head as if he’d been jolted with a bolt of electricity. His pupils were still maximally dilated, and his face was now covered with perspiration. He’d removed his green work shirt and was now clad in a dirty tee shirt which he hadn’t tucked into his trousers.

David immediately noticed how powerfully built Van Slyke was, and he quickly ruled out the possibility of trying to overpower the man. David also noticed that Van Slyke had a tattoo of an American flag held by a bald eagle on his right forearm. A thin scar about five inches long marred the design. David realized then that Van Slyke was probably Hodges’ murderer.

“Out!” Van Slyke yelled along with a string of expletives. He waved his gun recklessly, sending a chill down David’s spine. David was terrified Van Slyke would again start randomly firing.

David complied with Van Slyke’s command and quickly stepped out of the root cellar. He edged sideways, keeping Van Slyke in his line of vision at all times. Van Slyke angrily motioned for him to continue on toward the furnace.

“Stop,” Van Slyke commanded after David had moved some twenty feet. He pointed down toward the ground.

David looked down. Next to his feet were a pick and shovel. Nearby was the new slab of concrete.

“I want you to dig,” Van Slyke yelled. “Right where you are standing.”

Afraid of hesitating for a second, David bent down and lifted the pick. David considered using it as a weapon, but as if reading his mind, Van Slyke stepped back out of reach. He kept the gun raised, and although it was shaking, it was still pointing in David’s direction. David didn’t dare risk charging toward him.

David noticed bags of cement and sand on the floor and guessed it had been the noise of those bags hitting the floor that he had heard from the root cellar.

David swung the pick. To his surprise it dug a mere two inches into the densely packed earthen floor. David swung the pick several more times but only succeeded in loosening a small amount of dirt. He dropped the pick and picked up the shovel to move the dirt aside. There was no doubt in his mind what Van Slyke had in mind for him. He was having him dig his own grave. He wondered if Calhoun had been put through the same ordeal.

David knew his only hope was to get Van Slyke talking. “How much should I dig?” he asked as he traded the shovel for the pick.

“I want a big hole,” Van Slyke said. “Like the hole of a doughnut. I want the whole thing. I want my mother to give me the whole doughnut.”

David swallowed. Psychiatry hadn’t been his forte in medical school, yet even he recognized that what he was hearing was called clanging or “loosening of associations,” a symptom of acute schizophrenia.

“Did your mother give you a lot of doughnuts?” David asked. He was at a loss for words, but he desperately wanted to keep Van Slyke talking.

Van Slyke looked at David as if he were surprised he was there. “My mother committed suicide,” he said. “She killed herself.” Van Slyke then shocked David by laughing wildly.

David mentally ticked off another schizophrenic symptom. He could remember that this symptom was euphemistically called “inappropriate affect.” David recalled another major component of Van Slyke’s illness: paranoia.

“Dig faster!” Van Slyke suddenly yelled as if he’d awakened from a mini-trance.

David dug more quickly, but he did not give up on his attempt to get Van Slyke talking. He asked Van Slyke how he was feeling. He asked what was on his mind. But he got no response to either question. It was as if Van Slyke had become totally preoccupied. Even his face had gone blank.

“Are you hearing voices?” David asked, trying another approach. He swung the pick several more times. When Van Slyke still didn’t answer, David looked over at him. His expression had changed from a blank look to one of surprise. His eyes narrowed, then his trembling became more apparent.

David stopped digging and studied Van Slyke. The change in his expression was striking. “What are the voices saying?” David asked.

“Nothing!” Van Slyke shouted.

“Are these voices like the ones you heard in the navy?” David asked.

Van Slyke’s shoulders sagged. He looked at David with more than surprise. He was shocked.

“How did you know about the navy?” he asked. “And how did you know about the voices?”

David could detect paranoia in Van Slyke’s voice and was encouraged. He was cracking the man’s shell.

“I know a lot about you,” David said. “I know what you have been doing. But I want to help you. I’m not like the others. That’s why I’m here. I’m a doctor. I’m concerned about you.”

Van Slyke didn’t speak. He simply glared at David, and David continued.

“You look very upset,” David said. “Are you upset about the patients?”

Van Slyke’s breath went out of him as if he’d been punched. “What patients?” he demanded.

David swallowed again. His mouth was dry. He knew he was taking risks. He could hear Angela’s warnings in the back of his mind. But he had no choice. He had to gamble.

“I’m talking about the patients that you’ve been helping to die,” David said.

“They were going to die anyway,” Van Slyke shouted.

David felt a shiver rush down his spine. So it had been Van Slyke.

“I didn’t kill them,” Van Slyke blurted out. “They killed them. They pushed the button, not me.”

“What do you mean?” David asked.

“It was the radio waves,” Van Slyke said.

David nodded and tried to smile compassionately despite his anxiety. It was clear to him he was now dealing with the hallucinations of a paranoid schizophrenic. “Are the radio waves telling you what to do?” David asked.

Van Slyke’s expression changed again. Now he looked at David as if David were deranged. “Of course not,” he said with scorn. But then the anger came back: “How did you know about the navy?”

“I told you, I know a lot about you,” David said. “And I want to help you. That’s why I’m here. But I can’t help you until I know everything. I want to know who ‘they’ are. Do you mean the voices that you hear?”

“I thought you said you knew a lot about me,” Van Slyke said.

“I do,” David said. “But I don’t know who is telling you to kill people or even how you are doing it. I think it’s the voices that are telling you. Is that true?”

“Shut up and dig,” Van Slyke said. With that, he aimed the gun just to David’s left and pulled the trigger. The slug thumped into the root cellar door, which then creaked on its hinges.

David quickly resumed his digging. Van Slyke’s mania terrified him. But after a few more shovelfuls, David took the risk of resuming talking. He wanted to regain his credibility by impressing Van Slyke with the amount of information he had.

“I know you are being paid for what you’ve been doing,” David said. “I even know you’ve been putting money in banks in Albany and Boston. I just don’t know who’s been paying you. Who is it, Werner?”

Van Slyke responded by moaning. David looked up from his digging in time to see Van Slyke grimacing and holding his head with both hands. He was covering his ears as if shielding them from painful sounds.

“Are the voices getting louder?” David asked. Fearing that Van Slyke wouldn’t hear him with his hands over his ears, David practically shouted his question.

Van Slyke nodded. His eyes began to dart wildly around the room as if he were looking for a way to escape. While Van Slyke was distracted David gripped the shovel, gauging the distance between himself and Van Slyke, wondering if he could hit him, and if he could, whether he could hit him hard enough to eliminate the threat of the gun.

But whatever chance there had been while Van Slyke had been momentarily preoccupied was soon gone. Van Slyke’s panic lessened and his wandering eyes refocused on David.

“Who is it, who is speaking to you?” David asked, trying to keep up the pressure.

“It’s the computers and the radiation, just like in the navy,” Van Slyke yelled.

“But you’re not in the navy,” David said. “You are not on a submarine in the Pacific. You are in Bartlet, Vermont, in your own basement. There are no computers or radiation.”

“How do you know so much?” Van Slyke demanded again. His fear was again changing to anger.

“I want to help you,” David said. “I can tell you’re upset and that you’re suffering. You must feel guilt. I know you killed Dr. Hodges.”

Van Slyke’s mouth dropped open. David wondered if he had gone too far. He sensed that he had evoked a strong paranoia in Van Slyke. He only hoped Van Slyke’s rage wouldn’t be directed toward him as Angela feared. David knew he had to get the conversation back to whoever was paying Van Slyke. The question was how.

“Did they pay you to kill Dr. Hodges?” David asked.

Van Slyke laughed scornfully. “That shows how much you know,” he said. “They didn’t have anything to do with Hodges. I did it because Hodges had turned against me, saying I was attacking women in the hospital parking lot. But I wasn’t. He said he would tell everybody I was doing it unless I left the hospital. But I showed him.”

Van Slyke’s face went blank again. Before David could ask him if he were hearing voices, Van Slyke shook his head. Then he behaved as if he were waking from a deep sleep. He rubbed his eyes, then stared at David as if surprised to find him standing before him with a shovel. But his confusion quickly changed to anger. Van Slyke raised his gun, aiming it directly at David’s eyes.

“I told you to dig,” he snarled.

David rushed to comply. Even then, he fully expected to be shot. When no shots followed, David agonized over what to do next. His current approach was not working. He was stressing Van Slyke, but not enough or perhaps not in the right ways.

“I’ve already talked to the person who is paying you,” David said after a few minutes of frantic digging. “That’s one of the reasons I know so much. He’s told me everything, so it doesn’t matter if you tell me anything or not.”

“No!” Van Slyke shouted.

“Oh, yes,” David said. “He also told me something you should know. He told me that if Phil Calhoun got suspicious, you’d have to take the blame for everything.”

“How did you know about Phil Calhoun?” Van Slyke demanded. He began to shake again.

“I told you I know what’s happening,” David said. “The whole affair is about to destruct. As soon as your sponsor finds out about Phil Calhoun, it will be over. And he doesn’t care about you, Van Slyke. He thinks you are nothing. But I care. I know how you are suffering. Let me help you. Don’t let this person use you as a dupe. You are nothing to him. He wants you to be hurt. They want you to suffer.”

“Shut up!” Van Slyke screamed.

“The person who is using you has told lots of people about you, Van Slyke. Not just me. And they have all had a good laugh over the fact that Van Slyke will be blamed for everything.”

“Shut up!” Van Slyke screamed a second time. He lunged at David and rammed the barrel of the gun against David’s forehead.

David froze as he peered at the gun cross-eyed. He let go of the shovel and it fell to the floor.

“Get back in the root cellar,” Van Slyke screamed. He kept the tip of the gun pressed against David’s skin.

David was terrified the gun would go off at any second. Van Slyke was in a state of frenzied agitation that bordered on absolute panic.

Van Slyke backed David into the root cellar. Only then did he withdraw the gun. Before David could reiterate his desire to help Van Slyke, the heavy wood door was slammed in his face and re-locked.

David could hear Van Slyke running through the basement, crashing into objects. He heard his heavy footfalls on the cellar steps. He heard the cellar door slam shut. Then the lights went out.

David stayed perfectly still, straining to hear. Very faintly he heard a distant car engine start, then quickly fade. Then there was only silence and the pounding of his own heart.

David stood motionless in the total darkness thinking about what he’d unleashed. Van Slyke had dashed out of the house in a state of acute manic psychosis. David had no idea where Van Slyke was headed or what he had in mind, but whatever it was it couldn’t be good.

David felt tears well up in his eyes. He’d certainly managed to evoke the man’s psychotic paranoia, but the result was not what he’d hoped. He’d wanted to befriend Van Slyke and get him to talk about his problems. David also wanted to free himself in the process. Instead David was still imprisoned and he’d released a madman into the town. David’s only source of solace was that Angela and Nikki were safely in Amherst.

Struggling to control his emotions, David tried to think rationally about his predicament, wondering if there were any chance of escape. But as he thought of the solid stone walls encircling him he had an acute rush of claustrophobia.

Losing control, David began to sob as he vainly attacked the stout wooden door to the cellar. He hurdled his shoulder against it multiple times, crying for someone to let him out.

At length David managed to regain a modicum of self control. He stopped his self-destructive batterings against the unyielding door. Then he stopped crying. He thought about the blue Volvo and Calhoun’s truck. They were his only hope.

With fear and resignation, David sank to a sitting position on the dirt floor to wait for Van Slyke’s return.

Angela slept much longer than she’d planned. When she awoke around four-thirty, she was surprised to hear that David had neither returned nor called. She felt a pang of concern, but dismissed it. But as the time crept toward five, her concern grew with each passing minute.

Angela finally picked up the phone and called Green Mountain National Bank. But she only got a recording that told her the bank’s hours were nine to four-thirty. Frustrated, Angela hung up. She wondered why David hadn’t called on his portable phone. It wasn’t like him. He’d surely know she’d start worrying if he were late.

Next Angela called Bartlet Community Hospital. She asked to be connected to the front information desk, then inquired there about David. She was told that Dr. Wilson had not been seen all day.

Finally Angela tried their home in Bartlet. There wasn’t any other place she could think to try. But after letting the phone ring ten times, she gave up.

Replacing the receiver for the third time, Angela wondered if David had decided to play sleuth after all. The possibility only made her more concerned.

Angela went to the kitchen and asked her mother-in-law if she would mind if she borrowed the car.

“Of course not,” Jeannie answered. “Where are you going?”

“Back to Bartlet,” Angela said. “I left some things in the house.”

“I want to go too,” Nikki said.

“I think you’d better stay here,” Angela said.

“No,” Nikki said. “I’m coming.”

Angela forced herself to smile at Jeannie before going over to Nikki. She took her daughter by the arm and walked her into the next room.

“Nikki, I want you to stay here,” Angela said.

“I’m scared to stay here by myself,” Nikki said. She broke into tears.

Angela was stymied. She much preferred that Nikki stay with her grandmother, yet she didn’t have time to argue with the child. Nor did she want to explain to her mother-in-law why Nikki would be better off staying. In the end, Angela gave in.

It was close to six by the time Angela and Nikki entered Bartlet. It was still light out, but night would follow soon. Some of the cars already had their headlights on.

Angela only had a sketchy plan of what to do, and it mostly involved hunting for the Volvo. The first location she wanted to search was the bank, and as she neared the institution she saw Barton Sherwood and Harold Traynor walking toward the town green. Angela pulled over to the curb and jumped out. She told Nikki to wait in the car.

“Excuse me,” Angela said as she caught up with the two men.

Sherwood and Traynor turned.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Angela said. “I’m looking for my husband.”

“I have no idea where your husband is,” Sherwood said irritably. “He missed our appointment this afternoon. He didn’t even phone.”

“I’m sorry,” Angela said.

Sherwood touched the brim of his cap, and he and Traynor moved off.

Angela dashed back to the car. Now she was convinced that something bad had happened.

“Where’s Daddy?” Nikki questioned.

“I wish I knew,” Angela said. She made a rapid U-turn in the middle of Main Street that sent the car’s wheels screeching.

Nikki reached out and steadied herself against the dash. She’d sensed that her mother was upset, and now she was certain.

“Everything will be all right,” Angela told Nikki.

Angela sped to their house, hoping to see the Volvo parked near the back door. Maybe David had gone there by now. But as she pulled into the driveway, she was immediately disappointed. There was no Volvo.

Angela jerked to a stop next to the house. A quick glance told her it was just as they had left it, but she wanted to be sure.

“Stay in the car,” she told Nikki. “I’ll just be a second.”

Angela went inside and called for David, but there was no answer. Taking a quick run through the house, she checked to see if the master bed had been disturbed. It hadn’t. On her way back down the stairs Angela spotted the shotgun. She snatched it up and checked the magazine. There were four shells in it.

With shotgun in hand, Angela went into the family room and took out the phone directory. She looked up the addresses of Devonshire, Forbs, Maurice, Van Slyke, and Ullhof and wrote them down. Carrying both the list and the shotgun, she returned to the car.

“Mom, you’re driving crazy,” Nikki said as Angela left a patch of rubber on the road.

Angela slowed a little. She told Nikki to relax. The problem was, Angela was more anxious than ever and Nikki could sense it.

The first address turned out to be a convenience store. Angela angled in to its parking area and pulled to a stop.

Nikki looked at the store and then back at her mother. “What are we doing here?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Angela said. “Keep an eye out for the Volvo.”

“It’s not here,” Nikki said.

“I realize that, dear.” She put the car in gear and headed for the next address. It was Forbs’ residence. Angela slowed as they came to the house. The lights inside were on, but there was no Volvo.

Disappointed, Angela again gunned the engine and they sped away.

“You’re still driving weird, Mom,” Nikki said.

“I’m sorry,” Angela said. She slowed down. As she did, she realized she was gripping the steering wheel so hard, her fingers had gone numb.

The next house was Maurice’s. Angela slowed but immediately saw that it was closed up tight with no sign of life. Angela sped on.

A few minutes later, when she turned onto Van Slyke’s street, Angela spotted the Volvo instantly. So did Nikki. It was a ray of hope. Angela pulled directly behind the car, turned off the ignition, and jumped out.

As she approached the car she saw Calhoun’s truck in front of it. She looked in both vehicles. In Calhoun’s truck she noticed a moldy cup of coffee. It appeared as if it had been there for several days.

Angela looked across the street at Van Slyke’s house. There were no lights whatsoever, fanning Angela’s growing alarm.

Running back to the car, Angela got the shotgun. Nikki started to get out, but Angela yelled at her to stay where she was. Angela’s tone let Nikki know there was to be no arguing.

Carrying the shotgun, Angela ran across the street. As she climbed the porch steps, she wondered if she should go directly to the police. Something was seriously wrong, there was no doubt about it. But what help could she expect from the police? Besides, she worried that time might be a factor.

She tried ringing the doorbell, but it clearly didn’t work. Failing that, she banged on the door. When there was no response, she tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open and cautiously stepped inside.

Then, as loudly as she could, she yelled David’s name.

David heard Angela’s yell. He straightened up. He’d been slouched against a bin filled with desiccated apples. The sound had come from such a distance and had been so faint that at first he questioned if it had been real. He thought he might have been hallucinating. But then he heard it again.

This time David knew it was real, and he knew it was Angela. He leaped to his feet in the utter darkness and screamed Angela’s name. But the sound died in the confined, insulated space with its dirt floor. David moved blindly ahead until he hit against the door. Then he tried yelling again, but he could tell it would be in vain unless Angela were in the basement.

Groping along the shelves, David seized a jar of preserves. He carried it over to the door and pounded the wood with it. But the sound was hardly as loud as he’d hoped.

Then David heard what he thought were Angela’s footsteps somewhere above. Changing tactics, he hurled the jar of preserves against the ceiling. He covered his head with his hands and closed his eyes as the glass smashed against the floorboards.

Groping back to the shelving, David tried to climb up on it so he could pound directly on the ceiling with his fists. But he’d only pounded once when the shelf he was standing on gave way. The shelf and all its jars collapsed to the floor, David along with it.

Angela felt frantic and discouraged. She’d rapidly toured the first floor of the filthy house, turning on what lights she could. Unfortunately she found no evidence of either David or Calhoun, save for a cigar butt in the kitchen that possibly could have been Calhoun’s.

Angela was ready to start on the second floor when she thought about Nikki. Concerned, Angela dashed out to the car. Nikki was anxious, but she was okay. Angela said she’d be just a bit longer. Nikki told her to hurry because she was scared sitting by herself.

Angela ran back into the house and started up the stairs. She carried the shotgun with both hands. When she reached the second floor, she stopped and listened. She thought she’d heard something, but if she had, she didn’t hear it again. She continued on.

The upstairs of the house was even dirtier than the main floor. It had a peculiar musty smell, as if no one had been up there for years. Giant cobwebs hung from the ceiling. In the upstairs hall Angela yelled David’s name several more times, but after each shout there was nothing but silence.

Angela was about to head back downstairs when she noticed something on a small console table at the head of the stairs. It was a rubber Halloween mask fashioned to look like a reptile. It was the mask the intruder had worn the previous evening!

Trembling, Angela started down the stairs. Halfway down she paused to listen. Once again she thought she’d heard something. It sounded like distant thumping.

Angela was determined to find the source of the sound. At the base of the stairs she paused again. She thought she heard pounding from the direction of the kitchen. She hurried into the room. The noise was definitely louder. Bending down she put her ear to the floor. Then she heard the knocking distinctly.

She yelled David’s name. With her ear still pressed to the floor she could just barely hear David answer, calling her by name. Angela scrambled to the cellar stairs.

She found the light and headed down, still clutching the shotgun. She began to hear David’s voice more clearly, but it was still muffled.

Once she was down in the basement, she yelled his name again. Tears sprang to her eyes when she heard his reply. Weaving her way through the clutter, Angela followed the sound of his voice. There were two doors. By this time David was pounding so hard Angela knew immediately which one he was behind. But there was a problem: the door was padlocked.

Angela shouted to David that she’d get him out. Leaning the shotgun against the wall, she scanned the basement for an appropriate tool. Her eyes soon came to rest on the pick.

Swinging the tool in a short arc, she hit the lock several times but with no result. Trying a different approach, she inserted the end of the pick beneath the hasp and used it as a pry bar.

Pushing with all her might, Angela was able to snap the hasp and its mounting screws out of the door. She then pulled the door open.

David rushed out and embraced her.

“Thank God you came!” he said. “Van Slyke is the one behind all this. He’s killed the patients and he killed Hodges. Right this minute he’s in a psychotic panic and he’s armed. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Let’s go,” Angela said. She snatched up the shotgun. Together they hurried to the stairs.

Before they started up, David put a hand on Angela’s arm. He pointed toward the cement slab next to the hole he’d been digging. “I’m afraid Calhoun is under there,” he said.

Angela gasped.

“Come on!” David said, giving her a nudge.

They started up the stairs.

“I haven’t learned who is paying Van Slyke,” David said as they climbed. “But it’s clear that’s what’s been happening. I also haven’t learned how Van Slyke has been able to kill the patients.”

“Van Slyke is also the one who was at the house last night,” Angela said. “I found the reptile mask upstairs.”

As David and Angela reached the kitchen, headlight beams suddenly filled the room, playing across their horrified faces. Van Slyke had come back.

“Oh, God, no!” David whispered. “He’s back.”

“I’ve turned on a lot of lights,” Angela said. “He’ll know something’s wrong.”

Angela thrust the shotgun into David’s hands. He gripped it with sweaty palms. They heard the car door close, then heavy footsteps in the gravel of the driveway.

David motioned for Angela to step back through the cellar door. David followed and pulled the door partially closed behind him. He left it open a crack so he could see into the kitchen.

The footsteps came to the back door, then abruptly stopped.

For a few terrorizing minutes there was no sound whatsoever. David and Angela held their breath. They guessed Van Slyke was wondering about the lights.

Then, to their surprise, they heard the footsteps recede. They listened until they couldn’t hear them anymore.

“Where did he go?” Angela whispered.

“I wish I knew,” David said. “I don’t like not knowing where he is. He knows this place too well. He could get at us from behind.”

Angela turned and looked down the cellar steps. The idea that Van Slyke could suddenly jump out at them made her skin crawl.

For a few minutes they stayed put, straining to hear any noises. The house was eerily silent. Finally David pushed the door open. Stepping back into the kitchen warily, he motioned for Angela to follow.

“Maybe it wasn’t Van Slyke,” Angela whispered.

“It had to have been him,” David whispered back.

“Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m afraid if I’m in here too long Nikki will get out of the car.”

“What!” David whispered. “Nikki’s here?”

“I couldn’t leave her at your mother’s,” Angela whispered. “She insisted on coming with me. I couldn’t fight with her. And there was no time to explain the situation to your mother.”

“Oh my God!” David whispered. “What if Van Slyke has seen her?”

“Do you think he might have?”

David motioned for Angela to follow him. They went to the door to the yard, opening it as quietly as they could. It was completely dark outside. Van Slyke’s car was twenty feet away but the man was nowhere to be seen.

Now David motioned for Angela to stay where she was. He sprinted to Van Slyke’s car, keeping the shotgun ready. He looked in the passenger side window, just in case Van Slyke was hiding, but he wasn’t there. David waved for Angela to join him.

“Let’s skirt the gravel of the driveway,” David said. “It’s too noisy. We’ll stick to the grass. Where did you park?”

“Right in back of you,” Angela said.

David led with Angela right behind him. As they reached the street their worst fears were realized. In the light of a street lamp next to Calhoun’s truck, they could see Van Slyke’s silhouette in the driver’s seat of David’s mother’s Cherokee. Nikki was next to him.

“Oh, no!” Angela said as she impulsively started forward.

David restrained her. They looked at each other in horror. “We have to do something,” Angela said.

“We have to think,” David said. He looked back at the Cherokee. He was so tense, he thought he might pass out.

“Do you think he has a gun?” Angela asked.

“I know he has a gun,” David snapped.

“Maybe we should get help,” Angela suggested.

“It would take too long,” David said. “Besides, Robertson and his crew wouldn’t have any idea how to handle a situation like this—if they even took us seriously. We’ll have to handle this ourselves. We’ve got to get Nikki far enough away so that we can use the shotgun if we have to.”

For a few harrowing moments they simply stared at the car.

“Let me have the keys,” David said. “I’m worried he might have locked the doors.”

“They’re in the car,” Angela said.

“Oh, no!” David exclaimed. “He could just drive off with Nikki.”

“Oh, God,” Angela whispered.

“This is getting worse and worse,” David said. “But have you noticed: the whole time we’ve been standing here looking at the car, Van Slyke hasn’t moved. Last time I saw him he was in constant manic motion, unable to hold still for a moment.”

“I see what you mean,” Angela said. “It looks almost as if they’re having a conversation.”

“If Van Slyke isn’t watching, we could slip behind the car,” David said. “Then you could go to one side and I to the other. We’ll open the front doors simultaneously. You pull Nikki free and I’ll aim the shotgun at Van Slyke.”

“Good Lord!” Angela groaned. “Don’t you think that’s taking a lot of chances?”

“Tell me a better idea,” David said. “We have to get her out of there before he drives off with her.”

“Okay,” Angela said reluctantly.

After crossing the street a good distance back from the Cherokee, David and Angela approached the car from behind. They remained crouched down as they moved in hopes of remaining undetected. Eventually they arrived at the very rear of the vehicle and squatted in its shadow.

“I’ll first slip alongside to see if the doors are locked,” David whispered.

Angela nodded and took the shotgun.

David crawled along the driver’s side of the car until he was even with the rear door. Rising slowly, he saw that none of the doors were locked.

“At least something is going our way,” Angela whispered once he came back and told her the good news.

“Okay,” David whispered. “Are you ready?”

Angela gripped David’s arm. “Wait,” she said. “The more I think about your plan, the less I like it. I don’t think we should go up on separate sides. I think we should both go to her door. You open the door, I’ll pull her out.”

David thought for a moment, then agreed. The main idea was to get Nikki away from Van Slyke. With Angela’s plan there was more chance they’d succeed. The problem then would be how to handle Van Slyke once Nikki was safe.

“Okay,” David whispered. “When I give the signal we do it.”

Angela nodded.

David took the shotgun from Angela and held it in his left hand. He moved around Angela so that he was at the right side of the car. Slowly he rounded the car and started crawling along its side, holding the gun up against his chest. When he came abreast of the rear door, he turned around to make sure Angela was right behind him. She was.

David prepared to spring forward by positioning his feet directly under his torso. But before he could give the signal to Angela, Nikki’s door opened and Nikki leaned out and looked back. She was startled to see David’s face so close to her own,

“What are you guys doing?” Nikki asked.

David leaped forward and pulled the door completely open. Nikki lost her balance and tumbled from the car. Angela sprang forward and grabbed her, dragging her onto the grass. Nikki cried out in shock and pain.

David trained the gun on Van Slyke. He was fully prepared to pull the trigger if need be. But Van Slyke didn’t have a gun. He didn’t try to flee. He didn’t so much as move. He merely looked at David; his expression was completely blank.

David warily moved a little closer. Van Slyke remained seated calmly, his hands in his lap. He did not seem to be the agitated psychotic that he’d been less than an hour earlier.

“What’s happening?” Nikki cried. “Why did you pull me so hard? You hurt my leg.”

“I’m sorry,” Angela said. “I was worried about you. The man you’ve been sitting with is the same man who was in our house last night wearing the reptile mask.”

“He couldn’t be,” Nikki said, wiping her tears away. “Mr. Van Slyke told me he was supposed to talk with me until you came back.”

“What has he been talking about?” Angela asked.

“He was telling me about when he was my age,” Nikki said. “How wonderful it had been.”

“Mr. Van Slyke’s childhood wasn’t wonderful at all,” David said. David was still intently watching Van Slyke who still hadn’t moved. Keeping the shotgun aimed directly at Van Slyke’s chest, David leaned into the car for a closer look. Van Slyke continued to stare back at him blankly.

“Are you okay?” David asked. He was at a loss for what to do.

“I’m all right,” Van Slyke said in a calm monotone. “My father took me to the movies all the time. Whenever I wanted.”

“Don’t move,” David commanded. Keeping the shotgun aimed at him, David stepped around the front of the car and opened the driver’s side door. Van Slyke didn’t budge, but he kept his eyes on David.

“Where’s the gun?” David demanded.

“Gun run done fun,” Van Slyke said.

David grabbed Van Slyke by the arm and pulled him out of the car. Angela yelled at David to be careful. She’d heard what Van Slyke had said. She told David that he was clanging; he was obviously still acutely psychotic.

David pushed Van Slyke around so that he was facing the car. Then he frisked him for any weapons. He didn’t find the pistol.

“What did you do with the gun?” David demanded.

“I don’t need it anymore,” Van Slyke said.

David peered into Van Slyke’s calm face. His pupils were no longer dilated. The transformation was remarkable.

“What’s going on, Van Slyke?” David asked.

“On?” Van Slyke said. “On top. Put it on top.”

“Van Slyke!” David shouted. “What’s happened to you? Where have you been? What about the voices you hear? Are you still hearing voices?”

“You’re wasting your time,” Angela said. She and Nikki had come around the front of the car. “I’m telling you, he’s acutely psychotic.”

“No more voices,” Van Slyke said. “I made them stop.”

“I think we should call the police,” Angela said. “And I don’t mean the local bozos. I mean the state police. Is your cellular phone in the car?”

“How did you quiet the voices?” David asked Van Slyke.

“I took care of them,” Van Slyke answered.

“What do you mean you took care of them?” David was afraid to learn what Van Slyke meant.

“They won’t be able to use me as a dupe,” Van Slyke said.

“Who do you mean by they?” David asked.

“The board,” Van Slyke said. “The whole board.”

“David!” Angela said impatiently. “What about the police. I want to get Nikki away from here. He’s talking nonsense.”

“I’m not so sure,” David said.

“Well, then, what does he mean by the board?” Angela asked.

“I’m afraid he means the hospital board,” David said.

“Board sword ford cord,” Van Slyke said. He smiled. It was the first time his expression had changed since they’d confronted him in the car.

“David, the man is not connected to reality,” Angela said. “Why are you insisting on having a conversation with him?”

“Do you mean the hospital board?” David asked.

“Yes,” Van Slyke said.

“Okay, everything is going to be all right,” David said. But he was trying to calm himself more than anyone else.

“Did you shoot someone?” David asked.

Van Slyke laughed. “No, I didn’t shoot anyone. All I did was put the source on the conference room table.”

“What does he mean by ‘source’?” Angela asked.

“I have no idea,” David said.

“Source force course horse,” Van Slyke said, still chuckling.

Feeling frustrated, David grabbed Van Slyke by the front of his shirt and shook him, asking him again what he’d done.

“I put the source and the force on the table right next to the model of the parking garage,” Van Slyke said. “And I’m glad I did it. I’m not a dupe for anybody. The only problem is, I’m sure I burned myself.”

“Where?” David asked.

“My hands,” Van Slyke said. He held them up so David could look at them.

“Are they burned?” Angela asked.

“I don’t think so,” David said. “They’re slightly red, but otherwise they look normal to me.”

“He’s not making any sense,” Angela said. “Maybe he’s hallucinating.”

David nodded absently. His thoughts were suddenly somewhere else.

“I’m tired,” Van Slyke said. “I want to go home and see my parents.”

David waved him off. Van Slyke walked across the street and into his yard. Angela stared at David. She’d not expected him to let Van Slyke go. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

David nodded again. He stared after Van Slyke while his mind began pulling everything together: his patients, the symptoms, and the deaths.

“Van Slyke is a basket case,” Angela said. “He’s acting like he just had electroshock therapy.”

“Get in the car,” David said.

“What is it?” Angela asked. She didn’t like the tone of David’s voice.

“Just get in the car!” David shouted. “Hurry!” He climbed into the driver’s seat of the Cherokee.

“What about Van Slyke?” Angela questioned.

“There’s no time for Van Slyke,” David said. “Besides, he isn’t going anywhere. Come on, hurry!”

Angela put Nikki into the back seat and climbed in next to David. David already had the car started. Before Angela could close her door, David was backing up. Then he made a quick U-turn and accelerated up the street.

“What’s happening now?” Nikki asked.

“Where are we going?” Angela asked.

“To the hospital,” David said.

“You’re driving as bad as Mom,” Nikki told her father.

“Why the hospital?” Angela asked. She reached back and patted Nikki’s knee to reassure her.

“It’s suddenly beginning to make sense to me,” David said. “And now I have this terrible premonition.”

“What are you talking about?” Angela asked.

“I think I might know what Van Slyke was talking about when he referred to ‘the source.’  ”

“I thought that was just schizophrenic babble,” Angela said. “He was clanging. He said source, force, course, and horse. It was just gibberish.”

“He may have been clanging,” David said, “but I don’t think he was talking nonsense when he said source. Not when he was talking about putting it on a conference table that had a model of a parking garage on it. That’s too specific.”

“Well, what do you think he was referring to?” Angela asked.

“I think it has to do with radiation,” David said. “I think that’s what Van Slyke was talking about when he said he’d burned his hands.”

“Oh, come on. You’re sounding as crazy as him,” Angela said. “You have to remember Van Slyke’s paranoia on the nuclear submarine had to do with radiation, so any similar talk probably has more to do with the return of his schizophrenia than anything else.”

“I hope you’re right,” David said. “But it has me worried. Van Slyke’s training in the navy involved nuclear propulsion. That’s driving a ship with a nuclear reactor. And nuclear reactors mean radiation. He was trained as a nuclear technician, so he knows something about nuclear materials and what they’re capable of doing.”

“Well, what you are saying makes sense,” Angela said. “But talking about a source and having one are two vastly different things. People can’t just go out and get radioactive material. It’s tightly controlled by the government. That’s why there is a Nuclear Regulatory Commission.”

“There’s an old radiotherapy unit in the basement of the hospital,” David said. “It’s a cobalt-60 machine Traynor’s hoping to sell to some South American country. It has a source.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Angela admitted.

“I don’t like it either,” David said. “And think about the symptoms my patients had. Those symptoms could have been from radiation, especially if the patients had been subjected to overwhelming doses. It’s a horrendous possibility, but it fits the facts. At the time radiation had never entered my mind.”

“I never thought about radiation when I did Mary Ann Schiller’s autopsy,” Angela admitted. “But now that I think of it, that could have been it. Radiation isn’t something you consider unless there is a history of exposure. The pathological changes you see are nonspecific.”

“That’s my point exactly,” David said. “Even the nurses with flu-like symptoms could have been suffering from a low level of radiation. And even  .  .  .”

“Oh, no!” Angela exclaimed, immediately catching David’s line of thought.

David nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Even Nikki.”

“Even Nikki what?” Nikki asked from the back seat. She’d not been paying attention to the conversation until she’d heard her name.

Angela turned around. “We were just saying that you had flu-like symptoms just like the nurses,” she said.

“And Daddy too,” Nikki said.

“Me too,” David agreed.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot and parked.

“What’s the plan?” Angela asked.

“We need a Geiger counter,” David said. “There has to be one in the Radiotherapy Center for their certification. I’ll find a janitor to let us in. Why don’t you and Nikki go to the lobby?”

David found Ronnie, one of the janitors he vaguely knew. Ronnie was only too happy to help one of the doctors, especially since it took him away from the job of mopping the basement’s corridor. David neglected to mention that he’d been fired from CMV and his hospital privileges had been suspended.

With Ronnie in tow, David went up to the lobby and found Angela. Nikki had discovered a TV and was content for the moment. David told Nikki not to leave the lobby; she promised she wouldn’t.

Angela and David went to the Radiotherapy Center. It only took them about fifteen minutes to find a Geiger counter.

Back in the main hospital building, they met up with Ronnie in the basement. It had taken him a few minutes to find the key to the old radiotherapy unit.

“No one goes in here very often,” he explained as he let the Wilsons in.

The unit consisted of three rooms: an outer room that had served as a reception area, an inner office, and a treatment room.

David walked straight back to the treatment room. The room was empty save for the old radiotherapy unit. The machine looked like an X-ray unit with a table attached for the patient to lie on.

David put the Geiger counter on the table and turned it on. The needle barely moved on the gauge. There was no reading above background even on its most sensitive scale.

“Where’s the source lodged in this thing?” Angela asked.

“I’d guess it’s where the treatment arm and this supporting Column here meet,” he said.

David lifted the Geiger counter and positioned it where he thought the source should reside. There was still no reading.

“The fact that there’s no reading doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Angela said. “I’m sure this thing is well shielded.”

David nodded. He walked around to the back of the machine and tried the Geiger counter there. There was still no reading.

“Uh oh,” Angela said. “David, come here and look at this.”

David joined Angela by the treatment arm. She pointed to an access panel that was attached by four nob screws. Several of the screws had been loosened.

David grabbed a chair from the reception room. He put it just under the arm. Standing on the seat of the chair, David was able to reach the panel. He unscrewed all four nob screws, removed the panel, and handed it all to Ronnie.

Behind the panel he discovered a circular metal plate secured with eight lug bolts. David had Angela hand him the Geiger counter. He pushed it inside the housing and tried again for radiation. There was none.

David moved the Geiger counter aside and reached in and grasped one of the lug bolts. To his dismay, it was loose. He checked all eight. All eight were loose. He began removing them, handing them down to Angela one by one.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” Angela asked. She was still concerned about radiation, despite the readings, as well as David’s questionable handyman skills.

“We have to know for sure,” David said as he removed the last bolt. He then lifted the heavy metal covering and handed it to Ronnie. David peered down a long cylindrical cavity that was about four and a half inches in diameter. It looked like the barrel of a huge gun. Without a flashlight, he could only see a short distance in.

“I’m sure I’m not supposed to be able to look into the treatment arm like this,” David said. “There would have to be a plug to act as a brake to stop the source when it was being moved out to the treatment position.”

Just to be one hundred percent certain, David stuck the Geiger counter into the muzzle of the treatment arm. There was no reading above background.

David stepped down from the chair. “The source is not in there,” he said. “It’s gone.”

“What are we going to do?” Angela asked.

“What time is it?” David asked.

“Seven-fifteen,” Ronnie said.

“Let’s get lead aprons from radiology,” David said. “Then we’ll do what we can.”

They left the old radiotherapy unit and headed straight for the Imaging Center. They didn’t need Ronnie to open the Imaging Center since it was open for emergency X rays, but David asked him to come to help carry the lead aprons. Ronnie didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was he could tell something serious was involved. He was eager to be as helpful as possible.

The X-ray technician was suspicious of David’s request for lead aprons, but he decided that since David wouldn’t be taking them any farther than the hospital next door, it would be okay. Besides, he wasn’t used to contradicting doctors. He gave David, Angela, and Ronnie nine lead aprons as well as one pair of lead gloves used for fluoroscopy. David still had the Geiger counter, as well.

Weighed down with their burden, the three made their way back to the hospital. They got strange looks from the staff and visitors they passed on their way to the second floor, but no one tried to stop them.

“All right,” David said once they reached the door of the conference room. He was practically out of breath. “Put everything right here.” He dropped the aprons he was carrying to the floor next to the closed conference room door. Angela and Ronnie did likewise.

David tried the Geiger counter again. Immediately the needle pegged to the right. “Jesus Christ!” David said. “We couldn’t get any better evidence than that.” David thanked Ronnie and sent him on his way. He then explained to Angela what he thought they should do. David pulled on the lead gloves and picked up three aprons. He carried one in his hands while he tossed the other two over his shoulder. Angela picked up four in her arms.

David opened the door and went into the conference room, with Angela close behind. Traynor, who’d been interrupted in mid-sentence, glared at David. Those in attendance—Sherwood, Beaton, Cantor, Caldwell, Arnsworth, and Robeson—all turned to stare at the source of this rude interruption. As the assembled members of the board began to murmur, Traynor banged his gavel, crying for order.

Scanning the cluttered conference table, David spotted the source instantly. It was a cylinder about a foot long whose diameter matched the size of the bore in the treatment arm he’d examined only minutes ago. Several Teflon rings were embedded in its circumference. On its top was a locking pin. The cylinder was standing upright next to a model of a parking garage just as Van Slyke had indicated.

David started for the cylinder, clutching a lead apron in both hands.

“Stop!” Traynor yelled.

Before David could get to the cylinder, Caldwell leapt to his feet and grabbed David around his chest.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Caldwell demanded.

“I’m trying to save all of you if it isn’t too late,” David said.

“Let him go,” Angela cried.

“What are you talking about?” Traynor demanded.

David nodded toward the cylinder. “I’m afraid you have been having your meeting around a cobalt-60 source.”

Cantor leaped to his feet; his chair tipped over backward. “I saw that thing,” he cried. “I wondered what it was.” Saying no more, he turned and fled from the room.

A stunned Caldwell relaxed his grip. David immediately lunged across the table and snatched up the brass cylinder in his lead gloves. Then he rolled the cylinder in one of his lead aprons. Next he wrapped that apron in another and that one in another still. He proceeded to do the same with the aprons Angela was carrying while she stepped out of the conference room to get the others. David was anxious to cover the cylinder with as many layers of lead as possible.

As David was wrapping the last load of the aprons around the bulky parcel, Angela got the Geiger counter.

“I don’t believe you,” Traynor said, breaking a shocked silence. But his voice lacked conviction. Cantor’s sudden departure had unnerved him.

“This is not the time for debate,” David said. “Everyone better get out of here,” he added. “You’ve all been exposed to a serious amount of radiation. I advise you to call your doctors.”

Traynor and the others exchanged nervous glances. Panic soon broke out as first a few and then the remaining board members, including Traynor, ran from the room.

David finished with the last apron and took the Geiger counter. Turning it on, he was dismayed to see that it still registered a significant amount of radiation.

“Let’s get out of here,” David said. “That’s about all we can do.”

Leaving the cylinder wrapped in aprons on the table, they went out of the conference room, closing the doors behind them. David tried the Geiger counter again. As he expected, the radiation had fallen off dramatically. “As long as no one goes in the conference room, no one else will get hurt tonight,” he said.

He and Angela headed toward the lobby to collect Nikki. Just before they arrived David stopped.

“Do you think Nikki will be okay for a few more minutes?” he asked.

“In front of a TV she’ll be fine for a week,” Angela said. “Why?”

“I think I know how the patients were irradiated,” David said. He led Angela back toward the patients’ rooms.

Half an hour later they collected Nikki and went out into the hospital parking lot. They took the Cherokee back to Van Slyke’s so that David could get the Volvo.

“Do you think there’s any chance he could hurt anybody tonight?” David asked. He motioned toward Van Slyke’s house.

“No,” Angela said.

“I don’t think so either,” David said. “And the last thing I want to do is go back in there. Let’s go to my parents’. I’m exhausted.”

David got out.

“I’ll follow you,” he said.

“Call your mother,” Angela said. “I’m sure she’s beside herself with worry.”

David got in the Volvo and started it up. He looked at Calhoun’s truck in front of him and sadly shook his head.

As soon as they got on the main road, David picked up his cellular phone. Before he called his mother he called the state police. When he got an emergency officer on the line he explained that he wanted to report a very serious problem that included murder and deadly radiation at the Bartlet Community Hospital  .  .  .

David knew he was late as he pulled up to a modest house on Glenwood Avenue in Leonia, New Jersey. He jumped out of the car and ran up the front steps.

“Do you know what time it is?” Angela asked. She followed David into their bedroom. “You were supposed to be home at one and here it is two. If I could get here on time I think you could have too.”

“I’m sorry,” David said as he quickly changed his clothes. “I had a patient who needed extra time.” He sighed. “At least now I have the freedom to spend more time with a patient when I think it’s called for.”

“That’s all well and good,” Angela said. “But we have an appointment. You even picked the time.”

“Where’s Nikki?” David asked.

“She’s out on the sun porch,” Angela said. “She went out there over an hour ago to watch the ‘60 Minutes’ crew set up.”

David slipped on a freshly laundered dress shirt and did up the buttons.

“I’m sorry,” Angela said. “I suppose I’m anxious about this TV thing. Do you think we should go through with it?”

“I’m nervous, too,” David said as he selected a tie. “So if you want to cancel, it’s fine with me.”

“Well, we’ve cleared it with our respective bosses,” Angela said.

“And everyone has assured us that it won’t hurt us,” David said. “And we both feel the public ought to know.”

Angela paused to think about it. “Okay,” she said at last. “Let’s do it.”

David tied his tie, brushed his hair, and put on a jacket. Angela checked herself in the mirror. When they both felt they were ready, they descended the stairs and walked out onto the sun porch, blinking under the bright lights.

Although David and Angela were nervous, Ed Bradley quickly put them at ease. He began the interview casually, getting them to relax, knowing he would be editing heavily as usual. He began by asking them what they were currently doing.

“I’m taking a fellowship in forensic pathology,” Angela said.

“I’m working with a large medical group at Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center,” David said. “We’re contracted out with several HMO organizations.”

“Are you both enjoying your work?” Bradley asked.

“We are,” David said.

“We’re thankful we’ve been able to put our lives back in some sort of order,” Angela said. “For a while, it was touch and go.”

“I understand you had a difficult experience in Bartlet, Vermont,” Bradley said.

Both David and Angela chuckled nervously.

“It was a nightmare,” Angela said.

“How did it start?” Bradley asked.

David and Angela looked at each other, unsure of who should begin.

“Why don’t you start, David?” Bradley said.

“My part of it started when a number of my patients began to die unexpectedly,” David said. “They were patients with histories of serious illnesses like cancer.”

David looked at Angela.

“It started for me when I began to be sexually harassed by my immediate superior,” Angela said. “Then we discovered the body of a homicide victim entombed under our cellar steps. His name was Dr. Dennis Hodges, and he’d been the administrator of the hospital for a number of years.”

With his usual clever questioning, Ed Bradley pulled out the whole sordid story.

“Were these unexpected patient deaths instances of euthanasia?” he asked David.

“That’s what we thought initially,” David said. “But these people were actually being murdered not through some misguided gesture of mercy, but to improve the hospital’s bottom line. Patients with potentially terminal illness often use hospital facilities intensively. That translates to high costs. So to eliminate those expenses, the patients themselves were eliminated.”

“In other words, the motivation for the whole affair was economic,” Bradley said.

“Exactly,” David replied. “The hospital was losing money, and they had to do something to stem the red ink. This was their solution.”

“Why was the hospital losing money?” Bradley asked.

“The hospital had been forced to capitate,” David explained. “That means furnish hospitalization for the major HMO in the area for a fixed fee per subscriber per month. Unfortunately, the hospital had estimated utilization at too low a cost. The money coming in was much less than the money going out.”

“Why did the hospital agree to capitate in the first place?” Bradley asked.

“As I said, it was forced,” David said. “It had to do with the new competition in medicine. But it’s not real competition. In this case the HMO dictated the terms. The hospital had to capitate if it wanted to compete for the HMO’s business. It didn’t have any choice.”

Bradley nodded as he consulted his notes. Then he looked back at David and Angela. “The new and current administrator of the Bartlet Community Hospital says that the allegations you’re making are, in his words, ‘pure rubbish.’  ”

“We’ve heard that,” David said.

“The same administrator went on to say that if any patients had been murdered, it would have been the work of a single deranged individual.”

“We’ve heard that as well,” David said.

“But you don’t buy it?”

“No, we don’t.”

“How did the patients die?” Bradley asked.

“From full-body radiation,” Angela said. “The patients received overwhelming doses of gamma rays from a cobalt-60 source.”

“Is that the same material that is used so successfully for treating some tumors?” Bradley asked.

“In very carefully targeted areas with carefully controlled doses,” Angela said. “David’s patients were getting uncontrolled full-body exposure.”

“How was this radiation administered?” Bradley asked.

“An orthopedic bed was fitted with a heavily lead-shielded box,” Angela said. “It was mounted under the bed and contained the source. The box had a remotely controlled window that was operated by a garage door opener with radio waves. Whenever the port was open the patient was irradiated through the bed. So were some of the nurses tending to these patients.”

“And both of you saw this bed?” Bradley asked.

David and Angela nodded.

“After we found the source and shielded it as best we could,” David explained, “I tried to figure out how my patients had been irradiated. I remembered that many of my patients had been in hospital beds that malfunctioned. They’d wound up being transferred to an orthopedic bed. So after we left the conference room we went looking for a special orthopedic bed. We found it in the maintenance shop.”

“And now you contend that this bed was destroyed,” Bradley said.

“The bed was never seen again after that night,” Angela said.

“How could that have happened?” Bradley asked.

“The people responsible for the bed’s use got rid of it,” David said.

“And you believe the hospital executive committee was responsible?” Bradley said.

“At least some of them,” David said. “Certainly the chairman of the board, the administrator, and the chief of the medical staff. We believe the operation was the brainchild of the chief of the medical staff. He was the only person who had the background necessary to dream up such a diabolical yet effective scheme. If they hadn’t used it so often, it never would have been discovered.”

“Regrettably, none of these people can defend themselves,” Ed Bradley said. “I understand that all of them died of severe radiation sickness despite some heroic measures to save them.”

“Unfortunately,” David admitted.

“If they were so sick how could they have destroyed the bed?” Bradley asked.

“Unless the dose of radiation is so great that it is immediately lethal, there is a variable latent period before the onset of symptoms. In this case, there would have been plenty of time to get rid of the bed.”

“Is there any way to substantiate these allegations?” Bradley asked.

“We both saw the bed,” David said.

“Anything else?” Bradley asked.

“We found the source,” Angela said.

“You found the source,” Bradley said. “That’s true. But it was in the conference room and not near any patients.”

“Werner Van Slyke essentially confessed to us both,” David said.

“Werner Van Slyke is the man you believe was the worker bee behind this operation,” Bradley said.

“That’s correct,” David said. “He’d had nuclear technician training in the navy, so he knew something about handling radioactive materials.”

“This is the same Werner Van Slyke who is schizophrenic and is now hospitalized with severe radiation sickness,” Bradley said. “He’s also the same Werner Van Slyke who’s been in a psychotic state since the night the hospital executive committee got irradiated, who refuses to talk with anyone, and who is expected to die.”

“He’s the one,” David admitted.

“Needless to say, he’s hardly the most reliable corroborating witness,” Bradley said. “Do you have any other proof?”

“I treated a number of nurses with mild radiation sickness,” David said. “They had all been around my patients.”

“But you thought that they had the flu at the time,” Bradley said. “And there is no way to prove that they didn’t.”

“That’s true,” David admitted.

Bradley turned to Angela. “I understand you autopsied one of your husband’s patients?” he asked.

Angela nodded.

“Did you suspect radiation sickness after the autopsy?” Bradley asked. “And if you didn’t, why not?”

“I didn’t because she’d died too quickly to manifest many of the symptoms that would have suggested radiation,” Angela said. “She’d received so much radiation that it affected her central nervous system on a molecular level. If she’d had less radiation she might have lived long enough to develop ulceration of her digestive tract. Then I might have added radiation to the differential diagnosis.”

“What I’m hearing is that neither of you has any hard evidence,” Bradley said.

“I suppose that’s true,” David said reluctantly.

“Why haven’t either of you been called to testify?” Bradley asked.

“We know there have been some civil suits,” Angela said. “But all of them were quickly settled out of court. There have been no criminal charges.”

“With the kind of accusations you’ve made it’s incredible there have been no criminal charges,” Ed Bradley said. “Why do you think there haven’t been any?”

Angela and David looked at each other. Finally David spoke: “Basically we think there are two reasons. First, we think that everybody is afraid of this affair. If it all came out, it would probably shut the hospital, and that would be disastrous for the community. The hospital pumps a lot of money into the town, it employs a lot of people, and it serves the people medically. Secondly, there’s the fact that in this case, the guilty, in a sense, have been punished. Van Slyke took care of that when he put the cobalt-60 cylinder on the conference table.”

“That might explain why there hasn’t been any local response,” Bradley said. “But what about at the state level? What about the state’s attorney?”

“Nationally, this episode cuts to the quick of the direction of health-care reform,” Angela said. “If this story were to get out, people might begin to reevaluate their thinking on the route we seem to be taking. Good business decisions don’t always equate with good medical decisions. Patient care is bound to suffer when the powers that be are too focused on the bottom line. Our experience at Bartlet Community Hospital may be an extreme example of medical bureaucrats run amok. Yet it happened. It could happen again.”

“Rumor has it that you could profit from this matter,” Bradley said.

David and Angela again exchanged nervous glances.

“We have been offered a large amount of money for a made-for-TV movie,” David admitted.

“Are you going to take it?” Bradley asked.

“We haven’t decided,” David said.

“Are you tempted?”

“Of course we’re tempted,” Angela said. “We are buried under a mountain of debt from our medical training, and we own a house that we have not been able to sell in Bartlet, Vermont. In addition to that, our daughter has a medical condition and might develop special needs.”

Ed Bradley smiled at Nikki who immediately smiled back. “I hear you were a hero in this affair,” he said.

“I shot the shotgun at a man who was fighting with my mom,” Nikki said. “But I hit the window instead.”

Bradley chuckled. “I will certainly keep my distance from your mother,” he said.

Everyone laughed.

“I’m sure you two are aware,” Bradley said, resuming a more serious tone, “that there are people who contend that you have dreamed up this whole story to make the TV money and to get back at the hospital and HMO for firing you.”

“I’m sure that those who don’t want the true story out will do what they can to discredit us. But they really shouldn’t blame the messenger for the bad news,” Angela said.

“What about the series of rapes in the hospital parking lot?” Bradley asked. “Was that part of this plot?”

“No, they weren’t,” Angela said. “At one point we thought they were. So did the private investigator who lost his life investigating this episode with us. But we were wrong. The one indictment that has come out of this unfortunate episode is for Clyde Devonshire, an emergency-room nurse. DNA testing has proved he was responsible for at least two of the rapes.”

“Have you learned anything from this experience?” Bradley asked.

David and Angela said yes simultaneously. Angela spoke first: “I’ve learned that as health care is changed, doctors and patients better know all the rules of any supposed cost-cutting plan so they can make appropriate decisions. Patients are too vulnerable.”

“I’ve learned,” David said, “that it is dangerous to allow financial and business people and their bureaucrats to interfere in the doctor-patient relationship.”

“Sounds to me as if you two doctors are against health-care reform,” Bradley said.

“Quite the contrary,” Angela said. “We think health-care reform is desperately needed.”

“We think it’s needed,” David said. “But we’re worried. We just don’t want it to be a fatal cure like that old joke about the operation being a success but the patient dying. The old system favored over-utilization through economic incentives. For example, rewarding a surgeon according to how frequently he operated. The more appendixes or tonsils he removed, the more money he made. We don’t want to see the pendulum swing in the opposite direction by using economic incentives to under-utilize. In many health plans, doctors are being rewarded with bonuses not to hospitalize or not to treat in some specific way.”

“It should be the patient’s needs that determine the level and type of treatment,” Angela said.

“Exactly,” David said.

“Cut,” Bradley said.

The cameramen straightened up from their equipment and stretched.

“That was terrific,” Bradley said. “That’s plenty of material and. the perfect place to stop. It was a great wrap. My job would be a lot easier if everyone I interviewed were as articulate as you folks.”

“That’s sweet of you to say,” Angela said.

“Let me ask you guys if you think the entire executive committee was involved,” Bradley said.

“Probably most of them,” David said. “All had something to gain from the hospital if it thrived and a lot to lose if it shut down. The board members’ involvement wasn’t as altruistic as most people would like to think, particularly Dr. Cantor, the chief of staff. His Imaging Center would have folded if the hospital went under.”

“Damn!” Bradley said after he’d skimmed his notes. “I forgot to ask about Sam Flemming and Tom Baringer.” He called out to the cameramen he wanted to do a little more.

David and Angela were puzzled. These names were not familiar to them.

As soon as the cameramen gave him the cue that the tape was rolling, Ed Bradley turned to David and Angela and asked them about the two men. Both said they could not place the names.

“These were two people who died in Bartlet Community Hospital with the exact same symptom complex as David’s patients,” Bradley said. “They were patients of Dr. Portland.”

“Then we wouldn’t know anything about them,” David said. “They would have expired before we started working at the hospital; Dr. Portland killed himself shortly before we moved to town.”

“What I wanted to ask,” Bradley said, “is whether you believe that these two people could have died from radiation sickness as you allege your patients did.”

“I suppose if the symptoms were the same in type, degree, and time frame, then I would say yes,” David said.

“That’s interesting,” Bradley said. “Neither one of these two people had terminal illnesses or any medical problem other than the acute problem they’d been admitted with. But both had taken out multimillion-dollar insurance policies with the hospital as the sole beneficiary.”

“No wonder Dr. Portland was depressed,” Angela said.

“Would either of you care to comment?” Ed Bradley asked.

“If they had been irradiated, then the motive was even more directly economic than it was in the other cases,” David said. “And it would certainly make our case that much more convincing.”

“If the bodies were exhumed,” Bradley asked, “could it be determined unequivocally whether or not they had died of radiation?”

“I don’t believe so,” Angela said. “The best anyone could say would be that the remains were consistent with radiation exposure.”

“One last question,” Bradley said. “Are you happy now?”

“I don’t think we’ve dared ask ourselves that question yet,” David said. “We’re certainly happier than we were several months ago, and we’re glad we’re working. We’re also thankful that Nikki has been doing so well.”

“After what we’ve been through it will take some time to put it all behind us,” Angela said.

“I think we’re happy,” Nikki said, speaking up. “I’m going to have a brother. We’re going to have a baby.”

Bradley raised his eyebrows. “Is that true?” he asked.

“God willing,” David said.

Angela just smiled.