Clark, Mary Higgins 03 - The Cradle Will Fall Read online

  of the Valley County prosecutor's office.

  SCOTT HELD THE MOCCASIN. RICHARD, Charley and Phil sat around

  his desk. "Let's try to put this together," Scott said. "The last

  known place Vangie Lewis visited was Dr. Fukhito's office. She

  was wearing the moccasins. Somewhere in the hospital she lost one

  of them, and Edna Burns found it. Whoever brought her home put

  other shoes on her to try to cover up for the missing one. Edna

  Burns found the missing shoe. And Edna Burns died.

  "Emmet Salem wanted to talk to Richard about Vangie's death.

  He fell or was pushed to his death, and the file he was carrying

  on Vangie Lewis disappeared."

  "And Chris Lewis swears that he saw Edgar Highley in the Essex

  House," Richard interjected.

  "Which may or may not be true," Scott reminded him.

  "But Dr. Salem knew about the scandal in Christ Hospital,"

  Richard said. "Highley wouldn't want that to come out."

  "That's no motive to kill," Scott said.

  "How about Highley trying to get the shoe?" Charley asked.

  "We don't know that. The woman from his office claimed he

  was opening the drawer. He didn't touch anything." Scott

  frowned. "We're dealing with a prominent doctor. We can't go off

  half-cocked. The big problem is motive. Highley had no motive to

  kill Vangie Lewis."

  The intercom buzzed. Scott switched it on. "Mrs. Horan is here

  to see Dr. Carroll," Maureen said.

  "All right, bring her into my office," Scott directed. "And I want

  you to take down her statement."

  Richard leaned forward. This was the woman who had filed the

  malpractice suit against Edgar Highley.

  The door opened and a young Japanese woman preceded

  Maureen into the room. Her hair fell loosely on her shoulders. Her

  delicate, graceful carriage gave a floating effect even to the inexpensive

  pantsuit she was wearing.

  Scott stood up. "Won't you sit down, Mrs. Horan?"

  She nodded. Clearly nervous, she deliberately folded her hands

  in her lap. Maureen sat behind her with her steno pad.

  "Mrs. Horan, you were Dr. Highley's patient?" Scott asked.

  Richard turned suddenly as he heard Maureen gasp. But the girl

  quickly recovered and, bending forward, resumed taking her notes.

  Anna Horan's face hardened. "Yes, I was that murderer's

  patient."

  "That murderer?" Scott said.

  Now her words came in a torrent. "I went to him five months ago.

  I was pregnant. My husband is a law student. We live on my

  salary. I didn't want to, but I decided I had to have an abortion."

  Scott sighed. "And now you're blaming Dr. Highley?"

  "No. He told me to come back the next day. And I did. He

  brought me to an operating room. He left me, and I knew—I

  knew—that no matter how we managed, I wanted my baby. Dr.

  Highley came back; I was sitting up. I told him I'd changed my

  mind. He said, 'Lie down.' He pushed me down on the table."

  "Was anyone else in the room? The nurse?"

  "No. Just the doctor and me."

  "And you allowed him to persuade you?"

  "No. No. I don't know what happened. He jabbed me with a

  needle while I was trying to get up. When I woke up, I was lying

  on a stretcher. The nurse said it was all over."

  "You don't remember the procedure?"

  "Nothing. The last I remember is trying to get away. Trying to

  save my baby. Dr. Highley took my baby from me."

  A harsh cry echoed Anna Horan's heartbroken sobs. Maureen's

  voice was a wail. "That's, exactly what he did to me."

  Richard stared at the weeping women: the Japanese girl; Maureen,

  with her red-gold hair and emerald-green eyes. And with absolute

  certainty he knew where he had seen those eyes before.

  WHEN Edgar Highley reached the second floor of the hospital,

  he instantly felt the tension in the air. Frightened-looking nurses

  scurried in the hall. A man and woman in evening dress were

  standing by the nurses' desk. Quickly he walked over. His voice

  was brittle. "Nurse Renge, is there something wrong?"

  "Doctor, it's Mrs. DeMaio. She's missing."

  The woman in evening clothes must be Katie DeMaio's sister.

  What had made her come to the hospital?

  "I'm Dr. Highley," he said to her. "What does this mean?"

  Molly found it hard to talk. "Katie—" Her voice broke.

  Her husband interrupted. "I'm Dr. Kennedy," he said. "My wife

  is Mrs. DeMaio's sister. When did you see Mrs. DeMaio, Doctor,

  and what was her condition?"

  This was not a man to be easily deceived. "I saw Mrs. DeMaio

  earlier this evening and her condition was not good. As you probably

  know, she's had two units of whole blood this week. The

  laboratory is analyzing her blood now. I expect the count to be

  low, so I plan to perform surgery tonight. I think Mrs. DeMaio

  has been concealing the extent of her hemorrhaging."

  "Oh, God, then where is she?" Molly cried.

  He looked at her. "Your sister has an almost pathological fear

  of hospitals. Is it possible that she would simply leave?"

  "It's possible," Bill said slowly.

  "Doctor." Nurse Renge spoke up. "That sleeping pill should have

  put her to sleep. It was the strongest one I've ever seen."

  He glowered at her. "I ordered it because I understood Mrs.

  DeMaio's anxiety. You were told to see that she took it."

  "I saw her put it in her mouth."

  "Did you watch her swallow it?"

  "No... not really."

  He turned his back on the nurse and spoke to Molly and Bill,

  his voice reflective, concerned. "I hardly think Mrs. DeMaio is

  wandering around the hospital. Do you agree that she might

  simply have walked out among the visitors?"

  "Yes. Yes. I do." Molly prayed, Please let it be that way.

  "I want to see if her car is in the parking lot," Bill said.

  The car. He hadn't thought about her car. If they started looking

  for her in the hospital now . . .

  Bill frowned. "Oh, hell, she's still got that loan car. Molly, what

  make is it? I don't think I've even seen it."

  "I .. . I don't know," Molly said.

  Edgar Highley sighed. "I suggest that you phone her home. If

  she's not there, go and wait for her to come in. She's scarcely been

  gone an hour now. When you do find her, please insist she return

  to the hospital. Mrs. DeMaio is a very sick girl."

  Molly bit her lip. "I see. Thank you, Doctor. Bill, let's just go to

  her house. She could he there and not answering the telephone."

  They believed him. They would not suggest searching the hos

  pital for several hours. And that was all he needed.

  He turned to the nurse. "I am sure that we'll be hearing from

  Mrs. DeMaio shortly. Call me immediately when you do. I'll be at

  my home." He smiled. "I have some records to complete."

  "WE MUST seize Dr. Highley's records before he has a chance

  to destroy them. Does he keep all his records in his office?"

  Jiro Fukhito stared at Richard. He had gone to the prosecutor's

  office to make a statement. They had listened to him almost impatiently,

  and then Dr. Carroll had outlined his
incredible theory.

  Was it possible? Fukhito reviewed the times when suspicions had

  formed in his mind. Yes, it was possible.

  Records. They had asked him about records. "Highley frequently

  takes files to his home," he said.

  "Have search warrants sworn out immediately," Scott told

  Charley. "I'll take the squad to the house. Richard, you come with

  me. Charley, you and Phil take the office. Pick up Highley as a

  material witness. If he's not there, we'll nab him as soon as he

  gets home."

  "What worries me is that he may be experimenting on someone

  now," Richard said. He wished Katie were here. She'd be relieved

  to know that Chris Lewis had been eliminated as a suspect.

  Dr. Fukhito stood up. "Do you need me any longer?"

  "Not right now, Doctor," Scott said. "We'll be in touch with you.

  If by any chance you happen to hear from Dr. Highley before

  we arrest him, please do not discuss this investigation with him."

  Dr. Fukhito smiled wearily. "Edgar Highley and I are not

  friends. He would have no reason to call me at home. He hired me

  because he knew he'd have a hold over me. How right he was."

  He left the room. As he walked down the corridor, he saw a

  nameplate on a door: Mrs. K. DeMaio. Katie DeMaio. Wasn't

  she supposed to have gone into the hospital tonight? But, of

  course, she never would go through with her operation while

  Edgar Highley was under investigation.

  Jiro Fukhito went home.

  SHE WAS DRIFTING DOWN A DARK CORRIDOR. At the very end there

  was a light. It would be warm when she got there. Warm and safe.

  But something was holding her back. Before she died, she had to

  make them know what Dr. Highley was. Her finger was dripping

  blood; she could feel it. She'd smear Highley's name on the floor.

  He was insane. He had to be stopped. Slowly, painfully, Katie

  moved her finger. Down, across, down again. H . . .

  HE GOT home at quarter past nine. Having at last eliminated the

  final threat, he was feeling buoyant. He had finished eating less

  than an hour ago, but somehow could not even remember the

  meal. Perhaps Hilda had left something for a snack.

  It was better than he had hoped. Fondue. Hilda made remarkably

  good fondue. He lit the Stemo can under the pot, adjusted it

  to a low flame. A crisp loaf of French bread was in a basket, covered

  by a damask napkin. He'd make a salad.

  While the fondue heated, he would complete Katie DeMaio's

  file. He was anxious to be finished with it. He wanted to think

  about tomorrow's two patients: the donor and the recipient. He

  was confident that he could duplicate his success.

  He went into the library, opened the desk drawer and withdrew

  Katie DeMaio's file from its compartment. He made a final entry:

  Patient entered hospital at 6:00 p.m. with blood pressure

  100/60, hemoglobin no more than 10 grams. This physician administered

  the final two Coumadin pills at 7:00 p.m. At 8:30 this

  physician returned to Mrs. DeMaio's room and administered 5-ml

  heparin injection. Mrs. DeMaio awakened briefly. In a near

  comatose state she asked, "Why did you kill Vangie Lewis?"

  This physician left to obtain more heparin. When this physician

  returned, patient had left room in attempt to escape. Patient was

  apprehended and another 5 ml of heparin was administered. Patient

  will hemorrhage to death tonight in Westlake Hospital. This

  file is now closed.

  He put down his pen, stretched, walked over to the wall safe

  and opened it. Bathed in light from the crystal sconces, the buff-

  colored files inside took on an almost golden sheen.

  They were golden: the records of his genius. Expansively he

  lifted them all out and laid them on his desk, savoring his great successes:

  Berkeley and Lewis. Then his face darkened at the sight

  of the failures: Appleton, Carey, Drake, Elliot . . . Over eighty

  of them. But not really failures. He had learned so much, and they

  had all contributed. Those who had died, those who had aborted.

  From somewhere in the distance a sound was beginning to

  penetrate the library: the wail of a siren. He hurried to the window,

  snatched back the drapery and glanced out. A police car had

  pulled into the driveway.

  Had Katie been found? Had she been able to talk? Running to

  the desk, he stacked the files, replaced them in the safe, closed it

  and pushed back the panel. Calm. He must be calm.

  If Katie had talked, it was all over.

  All the possibilities and consequences were exploding in his

  mind. And then it came. The icy calm, the sense of power, the

  godlike omniscience that never failed him during difficult surgery.

  There was a sharp rap at the door. Slowly, deliberately he

  smoothed his hair, then tightened the knot in his tie. He walked to

  the front door and opened it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IN HIGHLEY'S driveway, the two detectives who were in the front

  seat of the squad car jumped out. As he and Scott followed, Richard

  noticed the movement of a drapery in a window at the far

  right of the house.

  They had parked behind a black car with MD plates. Scott

  touched the hood. "It's still warm. He hasn't been here long."

  The younger detective rapped sharply on the front door. They

  waited. The door opened. Edgar Highley was standing in the

  foyer. Scott spoke first. "Dr. Highley?"

  "Yes?" The tone was cold and questioning.

  "Dr. Highley, I'm Scott Myerson, the Valley County prosecutor.

  We have a search Warrant for these premises, and it is my duty to

  inform you that you have become a suspect in the deaths of Vangie

  Lewis, Edna Burns and Dr. Emmet Salem. You have the right to

  consult a lawyer. You can refuse to answer questions. Anything

  you say may be used against you."

  Suspect. They weren't sure. They hadn't found Katie. With controlled

  fury he said, "Come in, gentlemen. I will answer any

  questions you have, and you are welcome to search my home.

  However, when I consult a lawyer, it will be to bring suit against

  Valley County and against each one of you personally."

  He led them into the library. He knew he looked imposing

  sitting behind the massive Jacobean desk. It was vital that he

  unnerve them, make them afraid to question too closely. With a

  gesture of contempt, he waved them to the leather couch and

  chairs. Scott Myerson handed him the printed Miranda warning.

  Scornfully he signed it Myerson and Dr. Carroll sat down; the

  other two did not.

  "We'll proceed with the search," the older detective said politely.

  "Where do you keep your medical records, Dr. Highley?"

  "At my office, of course," he snapped. "However, please satisfy

  yourselves." He stood up, walked to the bar and poured Scotch

  and water into a crystal tumbler. Then he sat down in the high-

  backed striped velvet chair near the fireplace, sipped the Scotch

  and eyed them coldly.

  The questions began. "Did Mrs. Lewis enter your office after

  leaving Dr. Fukhito last Monday night?"


  "As I told Mrs. DeMaio . . ." They had absolutely no proof.

  "Where were you that night, Doctor?"

  "Home. I came home directly after my office hours."

  "Were you in Edna Burns's apartment on Tuesday night?"

  His smile, contemptuous. "Hardly."

  "We'll want some hair samples from you."

  Hair samples. Had some been found in Edna's apartment? But

  he'd been there with the police on Wednesday night. And Vangie

  always wore that black coat to the office. If strands of his hair

  had been found near the dead women, they could be explained.

  "Were you in the Essex House last night after five o'clock?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "We have a witness who is prepared to swear that he saw you

  get off the elevator there at approximately five thirty."

  Who had seen him? He had glanced around the lobby as he got

  off the elevator. He was certain that no one he knew was there.

  Maybe they were bluffing.

  "I was not in the Essex House last night. I was at the Carlyle! I

  dine there frequently; in fact, my medical bag was stolen while I