“What calibre?” Laurie asked.
“Couldn’t tell from mere observation,” Jack said.
“What did Vinnie say?” Laurie asked. “He’s become pretty good at guessing.”
“Vinnie’s worthless today,” Jack said. “He’s been in the worst mood I’ve ever seen him in. I asked him what he thought, but he wouldn’t say. He told me it was my job, and that he wasn’t paid enough to be giving his opinions all the time.”
“You know, I had a case similar to this back during that awful Cerino affair,” Laurie said. She stared off and for a moment, her eyes glazed over. “The victim was a secretary of the doctor who was involved with the conspiracy. Of course, she’d not had a liver transplant, but the head and the hands were gone, and I did make the identification because of her surgical history.”
“Someday you’ll have to tell me that whole grisly story,” Jack said. “You keep dropping tantalizing bits and pieces.”
Laurie sighed. “I wish I could just forget the whole thing. It still gives me nightmares.”
Raymond glanced at his watch as he opened the Fifth Avenue door to Dr. Daniel Levitz’s office. It was two forty-five. Raymond had called the doctor three times starting just after eleven a.m., without success. On each occasion, the receptionist had promised Dr. Levitz would phone back, but he hadn’t. In his agitated state, Raymond found the discourtesy aggravating. Since Dr. Levitz’s office was just around the corner from Raymond’s apartment, Raymond thought it was better to walk over than sit by the phone.
“Dr. Raymond Lyons,” Raymond said with authority to the receptionist. “I’m here to see Dr. Levitz.”
“Yes, Dr. Lyons,” the receptionist said. She had the same cultivated, matronly look as Dr. Anderson’s receptionist. “I don’t have you down on my appointment sheet. Is the doctor expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” Raymond said.
“Well, I’ll let the doctor know you are here,” the receptionist said noncommitally.
Raymond took a seat in the crowded waiting room. He picked up one of the usual doctor waiting-room magazines and flipped the pages without focusing on the images. His agitation was becoming tinged with irritation, and he began to wonder if it had been a bad decision to come to Dr. Levitz’s office.
The job of checking on the first of the other two transplant patients had been easy. With one phone call Raymond had spoken with the recruiting doctor in Dallas, Texas. The doctor had assured Raymond that his kidney-transplant patient, a prominent local businessman, was doing superbly and was in no way a possible candidate for an autopsy. Before hanging up the doctor had promised Raymond to inform him if the situation were ever to change.
But with Dr. Levitz’s failure to return Raymond’s phone call, Raymond had not been able to check on the last case. It was frustrating and anxiety-producing.
Raymond’s eyes roamed the room. It was as sumptuously appointed as Dr. Anderson’s, with original oils, deep burgundy-colored walls, and oriental carpets. The patients patiently waiting were all obviously well-to-do as evidenced by their clothes, bearing, and jewels.
As the minutes ticked by, Raymond found his irritation mounting. What was adding insult to injury at the moment was Dr. Levitz’s obvious success. It reminded Raymond of the absurdity of his own medical license being in legal limbo just because he’d gotten caught padding his Medicare claims. But here was Dr. Levitz working away in all this splendor with at least part of his receipts coming from taking care of a number of crime families. Obviously, it all represented dirty money. And on top of that Raymond was sure Levitz padded his Medicare claims. Hell, everybody did.
A nurse appeared and cleared her throat. Expectantly, Raymond moved to the edge of his seat. But the nurse called out another name. While the summoned patient got up, replaced his magazine, and disappeared into the bowels of the office, Raymond slouched back against the sofa and fumed. Being at the mercy of such people made Raymond long for financial security all the more. With this current “doubles” program he was so close. He couldn’t let the whole enterprise crumble for some stupid, unexpected, easily remedied reason.
It was three-fifteen when finally Raymond was ushered into Daniel Levitz’s inner sanctum. Levitz was a small, balding man with multiple nervous tics. He had a mustache but it was sparse and decidedly unmanly. Raymond had always wondered what it was about the man that apparently inspired confidence in so many patients.
“It’s been one of those days,” Daniel said by way of explanation. “I didn’t expect you to drop by.”
“I hadn’t planned on it myself,” Raymond said. “But when you didn’t return my calls, I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“Calls?” Daniel questioned. “I didn’t get any calls from you. I’ll have to have another talk with that receptionist of mine. Good help is so difficult to come by these days.”
Raymond was tempted to tell Daniel to cut the bull, but he resisted. After all, he was finally talking to the man, and turning the meeting into a confrontation wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, as irritating as Daniel Levitz could be, he was also Raymond’s most successful recruit. He had signed up twelve clients for the program as well as four doctors.
“What can I do for you?” Daniel asked. His head twitched several times in its usual and disconcerting way.
“First I want to thank you for helping out the other night,” Raymond said. “From the absolute pinnacles of power it was thought to be an emergency. Publicity at this point would have meant an end to the whole enterprise.”
“I was glad to be of service,” Daniel said. “And pleased that Mr. Vincent Dominick was willing to help out to preserve his investment.”
“Speaking of Mr. Dominick,” Raymond said. “He paid me an unexpected visit yesterday morning.”
“I hope on a cordial note,” Daniel said. He was quite familiar with Dominick’s career as well as his personality, and surmised that extortion would not be out of the question.
“Yes and no,” Raymond admitted. “He insisted on telling me details I didn’t want to know. Then he insisted on paying no tuition for two years.”
“It could have been worse,” Daniel said. “What does that mean to my percentage?”
“The percentage stays the same,” Raymond said. “It’s just that it becomes a percentage of nothing.”
“So, I help and then get penalized!” Daniel complained. “That’s hardly fair.”
Raymond paused. He’d not thought about Daniel’s loss of his cut of Dominick’s tuition, yet it was something that had to be faced. At present, Raymond was reluctant to upset the man.
“You have a valid point,” Raymond conceded. “Let’s say we’ll discuss it in the near future. At the moment, I have another concern. What’s the status of Cindy Carlson?”
Cindy Carlson was the sixteen-year-old daughter of Albright Carlson, the Wall Street junk-bond mogul. Daniel had recruited Albright and his daughter as clients. As a youngster the daughter had suffered from glomerulonephritis. The malady had worsened during the girl’s early teens to the point of kidney failure. Consequently, Daniel not only had the record number of clients, he also had the record number of harvests, two: Carlo Franconi and Cindy Carlson.
“She’s been doing fine,” Daniel said. “At least healthwise. Why do you ask?”
“This Franconi business has made me realize how vulnerable the enterprise is,” Raymond admitted. “I want to be sure there are no other possible loose ends.”
“Don’t worry about the Carlsons,” Daniel said. “They certainly aren’t going to cause us any trouble. They couldn’t be any more grateful. In fact, just last week Albright was talking about getting his wife out to the Bahamas to give a bone-marrow sample so she can become a client as well.”