Doleman gave no indication that he noticed the bird. "Heidi took sick. Doctors said they didn't know what, but they did. They just didn't want to tell me. Didn't want me to know what they told Heidi. She was a brave girl, none braver. She never wanted me to worry. But you could just see it in her. The way she didn't have any get-up-and-go. Didn't want to eat, losing weight." Doleman rested his forehead in an upturned palm. "Was the leukemia."
I said gently, "And when was that, Mr. Doleman?"
"Started a year ago, a year ago this month. They took her to the hospital, then she'd be home, then in again. The MTA and the folks at her job, they took care of most of the bills. The doctors said there wasn't anything to be done. But they was wrong!"
Doleman seemed to come back to life, fill himself with a past energy. "Heidi was a strong girl. She'd survived before, in Germany, when everybody around her was dying. Strong and brave. She could have beaten it, weren't for her."
The way Doleman pronounced the last word, there was no question who he meant.
"She wrote this!" He stabbed the book with his index finger so hard I was afraid he'd jammed the knuckle. "This piece of deviltry. Of despair. Don't fight, she says in here. Don't resist the Reaper. And don't just give in. Help him along. Take your own life because it belongs to you, not to anybody else, like your family who loves you and depends on you. Oh, no. It's okay to be selfish, see? It's okay to give up."
"Your daughter read the professor's book."
"She did. I didn't know a thing about it. Can you believe that? Me, her own father, Heidi never told me. Just let on how she was a burden, how it was hard for her to do things anymore. But not a word, not one word about suiciding herself."
I thought back to Beth. The conversations we had, the idea just below the surface. I had the feeling Heidi told her father as best she could, but that he just hadn't been listening.
"One morning in August I got up, didn't smell the coffee. Heidi always brewed the coffee, strong enough to knock you over. Well, I got up that day and didn't smell it. Didn't know what was wrong at first, because it was something that wasn't there instead of something that shouldn't have been there, like a noise. Then I realized I couldn't hear her either. I went to her door, knocked like I always did since she was old enough to… old enough anyway, and I didn't hear her and I knocked louder. Still nothing, so I opened it. And there she was, in her bed, covers up over a nightgown I never saw before. Her hands were folded on top of her chest, and her mouth was open a little, nothing coming out. I touched…"
Doleman's Adam's apple rode hard at his collar. "I touched her hands and I knew… knew she was gone. Then I saw the little pill thing next to her, vial or whatever you call it, clear so you could tell it was empty. Sleeping pills. And the book. The goddamn book with her note sticking out of it. The note said, 'Papa, please forgive me. Please read this and maybe you'll understand. I'm sure I'm going to be with Mama, and we'll look after you always. Heidi.' "
I changed positions in my chair, Marpessa making a clucking noise behind me.
Doleman fixed me with his eyes. "Well, mister, I started reading this book. Chapter a night, every night. Still read it. Still trying to figure out what the devil's bitch could have said to make a fine girl like Heidi turn her back on her family and take her life like that. But I can't. And that bitch can't either. Never answered my letters, never even answered my question at the library the other night."
"How old was Heidi when she died?"
"How old?"
"Yes."
"Just forty-eight."
"Mr. Doleman, I'm sorry."
"Sorry'? Don't be sorry. I've gotten even."
I felt a little queasy. "Even?"
"You betcha. Marpessa there. I've got me somebody now that bitch can't take away. " Doleman stabbed the book again. "Marpessa can talk but she can't read, see? Great company, and better than a watchdog at knowing when there are people coming round. Why, I was to say the magic word, she'd fly in your face right now, rip your eyes out."
I was trying not to take that seriously when he said, "Macaws, they live to be eighty, a hundred years old. Marpessa'll be here long after I'm gone, mister." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll never have another thing in this house that I'll outlive, see?"
I thanked Doleman for his time and moved slowly to the inner door. As I opened it, Marpessa looked at me sideways and squawked, "Bye – bye."
15
I DROVE BACK INT0 DOWNTOWN AND FOUND A PARKING SPACE on Charles near Cambridge Street. Stopping in a bookstore, I bought the latest Robert Randisi paperback to see how private investigators in the Big Apple were doing. A couple of chapters went down over lunch at the Sevens, a great neighborhood bar that's still what the Bull & Finch used to be before the latter went television as Cheers. I tried to wash the taste of Doleman's bitterness from my mouth with a pub sandwich and draft ale, but they didn't help much.
Leaving my car where it was, I walked to Massachusetts General Hospital. Inside the imposing white granite facade, an information volunteer with the demeanor of a kindergarten teacher explained the color – coded lines on the floors of the corridors. Following the path for Internal Medicine, I eventually reached Paul Eisenberg's office. Or at least the suite that included his office. The waiting area was crowded, some people obviously in serious if not emergent difficulty even just sitting, others at attention, as if to advertise that they were only companions, not sick themselves.
I went to the reception counter, a harried Hispanic woman looking up from one of twenty or so files teetering next to her elbow.
"Yes?"
"Dr. Eisenberg, please."
"You have your hospital card?"
"No, but – "
"You need to go around the corner, with your Blue Cross/Blue Shield, and get a hospital card. Then come back."
"I'm not a patient. I'm just here to see Dr. Eisenberg."
"Oh." She was confused, as though she couldn't process what I'd said. "Uh, what's your name?"
"Cuddy. John Cuddy. I have an appointment."
That she could process. "Have a seat. The doctor will see you as soon as possible."
I was glad I'd brought a book.
"Mr. Curry, is it?"
"Cuddy, Doctor. John Cuddy."
Eisenberg looked at me over the half-glasses. "What seems to be the problem?"
I showed him my ID. Up close, his immaculate hands were steady. The stage fright he'd exhibited at the debate seemed gone.
Eisenberg closed the holder and handed it back to me. "It's hospital policy not to discuss cases without our lawyers present."
"I'm not here about one of your cases. I'm working for Maisy Andrus on a problem she has."
"What problem is that?"
"She's been receiving threats."
Eisenberg sighed, rolling his shoulders like a weary starter in the eighth inning. "Mr. Cuddy, I really don't see how I can help with that, and I have an arkful of patients out there that I might be able to help. So, if you'll excuse me."
I held out the copies of the threats. "These are what she's been getting. It won't take long to read them."
Eisenberg sighed again, but accepted the pages. After the first one, the skin on his forehead wrinkled, flexing the bald scalp above it.
When he got to the fourth one, I said, "That was in one of the books she was given to sign at Plato's after the debate."
"I'm sorry. I can see how she'd be… how anybody would be upset over this kind of thing. I noticed there was something wrong at the signing." Eisenberg changed tone. "But I still don't see where I'd come in."
"You're pretty well known for your stands on patients' rights. I thought you might know of somebody who could have written these."