"I'm still in."
"And Dr. Najarian?"
"Yes "Very well. Dr. Silver, will you please explain our current position."
Eric gripped the edge of his chair as Joe Silver straightened his notes and adjusted his reading glasses.
"Reed, Eric," he began, "I first want to congratulate each of you for the impression you've made on this committee, and also to thank you on behalf of President Tertensen, the trustees, and all of White Memorial for the marvelous years of service you've rendered here. As you know, the previous associate E.R. director brought us more ill will and bad ink than any hundred other doctors who have ever worked here combined…
Despite the tension of the moment, Eric and Reed exchanged amused glances. Craig Worrell had gone to the well of his perversion once too often, and had been videotaped soliciting sex from a young woman emergency-room patient in exchange for a hefty narcotics Prescription.
He was arrested soon after in his BMW in the hospital garage as he urged the undercover policewoman to hurry up and get on with her Part of the deal so that he could return to duty. The entire Boston press and TV corps seemed to have been present for the bust. A month later, while free on bail, Worrell vanished. Since then there had been rumored sightings of the man, but nothing more.
Silver continued, "We three are understandably, I think you'll agree, reluctant to make a final choice if there is the slightest uncertainty.
We know that you expected a decision today, and we appreciate that this may seem cruel, but we have voted to, ah, put off making our selection for perhaps another two or three weeks. If this decision puts either of you in a position where you need to withdraw your application, please tell us at this time."
Silver's pronouncement hit Eric like an uppercut.
No decision-the one option he hadn't considered. But the committee had made a definite choice. At least, that was what Silver himself had intimated not two days before. What in the hell is going on?
Eric stared at his chief and then, one at a time, at the others on the committee. Their faces seemed plastic, unreal.
Eric'? Excuse me, Eric?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry."
Silver looked at him oddly.
"Eric, Reed here has indicated that he is willing to put matters on hold for two or three more weeks.
We're waiting to hear whether or not you can do the same." Eric battled to bring his thoughts together.
"Of course," he heard himself say. "It's fine with me to wait."
The plastic faces grinned approvingly.
"Excellent," Sara Teagarden said. "Dr. Darden, have you any comments?"
The internist looked first at Reed, and then at Eric.
"I would only beg you gentlemen's forgiveness and understanding in this matter. If it were possible, I believe we would choose to keep both of you. However, things being as they are, and with the trustees and press watching our every move, there are a few more avenues we wish to explore, a few more inquiries to make. If either of you has problems or questions, I am sure any of us would be happy to meet with you."
Without further comment, Sara Teagarden hoisted herself to her feet, shook hands with the candidates, and adjourned the meeting.
"You okay, Eric?" Marshall asked after the others had left. "You look green."
This is bullshit. Absolute, insane bullshit, Eric wanted to holler.
Instead he just shrugged.
"Sure, I'm fine," he said. "I… I had just prepared myself for a decision today one way or the other."
"Me too. I ran into Teagarden just yesterday, and she made it sound as if it was all over. I even had the feeling from things she said that you had gotten the job. I didn't want to say so out there, but it's the truth.
Well, listen, I'm due back at the E.R so I'll see you later.
It's only another couple of weeks." He punched Eric lightly on the arm.
"You keep your nose clean now, ya hear?"
"You too," Eric said. "You never know when big brother-or big, big sister-may be watching."
Eric stood motionless as Marshall hurried off. The two of them had never spent any real time together outside of the hospital. Now, as their time at WMH was nearing an end, he wished they had.
Susan, the receptionist, was watching Eric as he approached.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"It didn't. Nothing happened."
"Well, committees are like that. I've taken minutes at some meetings, and you wouldn't believe how little a group of M.D.'s can get done."
"You said it. Well, see you in a couple of weeks."
"Wait, " she said. "I have something for you."
She handed him a plain envelope. DR. ERic NAJARIAN was printed on it in a meticulous hand. Eric's knee-jerk reaction was that the envelope was a note from her, but he quickly realized from her expression that it was not.
"A candy striper dropped this off for you a little while ago," Susan said. 'She was real cute, but a little too young for you, I think."
Eric was too distracted to pick up the.woman's cue. He fingered the envelope for a moment.
"Thanks," he mumbled, and headed off.
"I'm here all day," Susan said.
Eric turned into the main corridor of the hospital, and then leaned against a wall and tore the envelope open. The note inside was printed in the same hand as was his name.
WEAR THIS, AND WE WILL KNOW, was all it said.
Wedged in one corner of the envelope was something metallic.
His fingers stiff and cold, Eric pulled out the object and held it so that no,passerby could see. it was a stickpin bearing a black oval stone, possibly obsidian. Inlaid in the stone was a finely tooled gold caduceus.
April 9
"Name?"
"Laura Enders. I already told you that."
"No, ma'am. I have your name. I need the name of the guy who's missing."
"Oh. It's Scott Enders. But he's also called himself Scott Shollander."
"A.k.a. Shoflander," the desk sergeant mumbled as he pecked out the name on his typewriter.
Laura was just a few minutes into her session with the Boston policeman, but already she wished she could leave. Although he hadn't introduced himself, his name tag read SGT. THOS. CAMPBELL. He was a red-faced, potbellied man, probably in his late fifties, obviously burnt out and totally unenthusiastic about his job. And the more she listened to her own answers to his questions, the more she knew there was no chance he would be of any help.
"Last seen?"
"Well, actually, I haven't seen him for five months.
"Five… months… " the officer said as he typed.
For all the inflection in his voice, he might have just mitten five days. His manner made it clear that over his years on the force, he had seen and heard everything-which was to say, he had seen and heard enough. "I guess it doesn't make much difference what he was wearing when last seen," he said.
"No," Laura said, her sarcasm ill-disguised. "I think you can leave that line blank."
Boston Police Headquarters was about as far from the clear, crisp beauty of Little Cayman as she could ever have imagined a place could be. The floor in the old building was filthy, and the dim lighting succeeded only in keeping the stains on the walls from being definable.
But most unpleasant of all was the smell. Odors of people-hundreds of them, it seemed-hung in the air like a miasma.
It was just half past four in the afternoon of a somber, drizzly day. A day before, almost to the minute, Laura had left Communigistics and taken her cab to the D.C. address Neil Harten had given her. She'd been unable to find anyone in the small apartment complex who had ever seen or heard of Scott. She'd then checked into a downtown hotel and called il Harten at home to find out if he, or anyone he knew, had ever visited Scott at the apartment. Not surprisingly, his answer was no.