I paused. Jordon hadn't batted an eye during my speech, and it didn't look as though he intended to say anything now. I needed him to react so that I'd have something on the tape; a word-a tone of voice-anything to indicate, however tenuously, that I'd struck a nerve, and that what I was saying could be true. It was the only thing that could provide a bail situation for Esteban.
Jordon wasn't exactly being cooperative; he continued to sit and stare like a robot. I wasn't even sure he'd been listening.
"You're thinking that all this is going to be hard to prove," I continued, not having the slightest idea what he was thinking-if he was thinking at all. I was fighting off a growing sense of panic. "True. But there have to be records somewhere; records and insurance policies. I'll get to it, Jordon, I assure you. Maybe I won't find out anything, maybe I will. But if you are guilty, you've got an opportunity few murderers do: you can almost square things by giving yourself up. The reason I haven't had time to do any real investigating on you is because I've been working on a case involving a little girl who's dying. Now she's slipping fast, and if there's even a chance that Esteban can give her a few more days, I want her to have those days. You can give them to her. Personally, I doubt that the old man can do her any good. But you'd know better than I would if Esteban has any healing gifts; you kept records on the patients he worked with."
I paused to give Jordon a chance to say something; anything. He sat as rigid and silent as a catatonic. My mouth was dry and puckered, and there was an acid, burning taste at the back of my throat.
"Here's the bottom line," I continued, my voice cracking. I licked my lips and swallowed hard, trying to work up some moisture in my mouth. "If you killed Samuels, I'm going to prove it anyway. If you're guilty, come with me now and give yourself up so that we can get Esteban out of jail. First, you'll be doing yourself a favor; second, you'll be doing me a favor-and I'll do what I can to help you; most important, you'll be doing the child a favor. A friend of mine can-and will-bring a lot of political juice to bear in order to get you the best possible deal. What about it, Jordon? What do you have to say?"
He still didn't have anything to say. He sat in the same position, unmoving, bloodless fingertips pressed tightly together. His face was a pale, ashen gray, and his eyes shone fever-bright. It was then that I knew I was right; but Jordon's appearance was useless to me, because it would be worthless at a bail hearing.
I tried to think of something else to say that might prod him, but came up empty. And my stomach took that moment to knot with the worst pain I'd experienced yet. I gasped and doubled over. At the same time, Jordon abruptly uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and opened a drawer in his desk. When his hand emerged from the drawer, it was holding a small automatic. I tried to bunch my legs under me as I looked for some place to dodge or run. It wasn't necessary; he was no longer interested in me.
In one swift motion, Dr. Eric Jordon put the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 13
The judge was not happy with me.
He was particularly unhappy with the way I'd pressured Jordon, and he made it clear that he considered me partly responsible-in a moral, if not legal, sense-for the physician's death. He was unhappy with the fact that I'd left it to Jordon's hysterical nurse to call the police, and had left the offices before the investigating officers had arrived. Most of all, the judge was unhappy with the fact that no one had told him that Jordon had committed suicide before he'd been startled by the gunshot on the tape recording. He was also unhappy about what he considered the irregularity of the in camera proceeding.
That was for the record. Off the record, he told us he personally did not believe in psychic healing, but was impressed by Senator Younger's sincerity and the fact that Linda Younger was, after all, still alive. The judge attributed this to God's mercy, but conceded that God just might be working through Esteban. He understood the unusual circumstances and the pressure I'd been working under. More important, he agreed that the tape recording represented enough circumstantial evidence to justify a reexamination of Esteban Morales' situation. Esteban was free on cash bond that Senator Younger had put up, on Younger's responsibility.
I could hardly believe I'd pulled it off. In fact, I was in such a mental haze that I remained in my seat, staring at the bench, after the judge had left. People were talking excitedly around me, but I was having trouble connecting words to their meanings. Garth grabbed my arm and started to help me up. I shook him off, rose and followed him out of the courtroom.
Garth drove Younger, Esteban and me to the hospital in a squad car. I was exhausted and in pain, and everything around me segued dreamily into and out of focus. The tension of my confrontation with Jordon had made me temporarily forget just what was the matter with me; now the realization that I was infected with a disease that tore up men's minds before it killed them washed over me like an icy wave. I wasn't exactly following doctor's orders, and I was afraid. I knew I should go home and go to bed, but Kathy was in even worse danger; I had to know what was happening at the hospital, which meant I'd have to hold myself together for another hour or so.
There was something approaching a crowd outside Kathy's room, and there was palpable tension in the air. Joshua Greene was there, along with three other doctors who I assumed were the team of specialists he'd called in. Flanking the physicians were three men in dark, pin-striped suits with name tags that identified them as hospital administrators. None of them looked happy. On the opposite side of the corridor, as if facing off against an opposing team, were Janet and April.
I anticipated problems, but Janet had done her job well; Linda Younger had been given a bed in a private room with Kathy. Indeed, it was Janet who seemed to be in charge of the whole operation-probably understandable since, obviously, no one associated with the hospital wanted to assume responsibility.
As soon as we arrived, Janet took Esteban by the arm and led him into the room. Through the open door I watched him as he stopped between the two beds and stared down at the girls. He spoke cheerfully to Linda Younger, then had a whispered conference with April, who'd followed them in. She nodded, and Esteban came back out into the corridor.
"I can still help Linda," Esteban said to the Senator. "With her, we have more time. But I must work with the little girl immediately."
"I understand," Younger said in a hoarse voice. "Go ahead and do what you have to do. I'm just so grateful-" He turned to me with tears in his eyes. "Frederickson, I'm so. . grateful." He broke into sobs, covered his face with his hands and hurried down the hall toward the men's room at the end.
Esteban went back into the room and turned off the lights. He took off his jacket and shoes, then lay down on the bed next to the pale, comatose Kathy. To me, Kathy already looked dead, but occasionally her chest would rise almost imperceptibly, then fall again as she clung to life.
One of the administrators started to object. April came out into the corridor and silenced him with a reminder that she'd signed a paper releasing the hospital from any responsibility for what Esteban did to her daughter. Then she nodded to Esteban, who, taking care not to disturb any of the tubes connected to her body, picked Kathy up and placed her on his chest. He put his cheek against Kathy's, closed his eyes and began to stroke her body. In the silence I thought I could hear him softly humming to himself. April came over to me, put her arms around me and squeezed hard. Then, without a word, she went into the room and knelt next to the bed on which Kathy and Esteban lay.