The Cradle Will Fall (16 page)
Read The Cradle Will Fall Online
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Thrillers, #Suspense
"GOOD night, Dr. Fukhito. I feel much better. Thank you." The boy
managed a smile.
"I'm glad. Sleep well tonight, Tom." Jiro Fukhito got up slowly
from his desk at the Valley Pines Psychiatric Clinic, where he did
volunteer work. This young man had been in deep depression for
weeks, nearly suicidal. He'd been doing eighty miles an hour in a
car that crashed. His younger brother had been killed.
Fukhito knew he had helped the boy get through it. The work
he did here with disturbed children was so satisfying, he reflected,
as he walked toward the elevator. And now he'd been asked to
join the staff. He wanted to accept that offer.
Should he start the investigation that would destroy him? Edgar
Highley would instantly reveal the Massachusetts case if he found
that Fukhito had taken his suspicions to the police.
He got into his car, sat there thinking. Vangie Lewis did not
commit suicide. She absolutely did not willingly drink cyanide.
She had gotten on the subject of the Jones cult during one of their
sessions. "Those cults, they're all crazy. Remember all those people
who killed themselves because they were told to? Did you
hear the tape of them screaming after they drank that stuff? I had
nightmares about it. And they looked so ugly."
Pain. Ugliness. Vangie Lewis? Never!
Jiro Fukhito sighed. He knew that he had to tell the police
about Vangie. She had run out of his office toward the parking lot.
But when he left, fifteen minutes later, her Lincoln Continental
was still there. There was no longer any doubt in Fukhito's mind.
Vangie had gone into Edgar Highley's office.
He drove out of the clinic's parking lot and turned in the direction
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.