Remember me?"
The woman took only a second. "Of course. You were with Mr. Samuels four-no, no, — three nights ago. Right?"
"Exactly. You have an excellent memory."
"An elephant, " Sally Bicknell said, tapping one finger against her temple. "This is my husband, Jared, Miss Bicknell. Mr. Samuels's son."
"Pleased to meet you." The woman took the hand Jared offered. "We don't get too many evening visitors here at Stonefield. In fact, we don't get too many visitors at other times, either." She looked around. "Sort of a forgotten land, I guess."
"Miss Bicknell, we came to see my husband's sister."
The woman's expression clouded. "I… I'm afraid I don't understand."
Kate felt an ugly apprehension set in. "Lindsey Samuels, " she said, a note of irritation-or was it panic? — in her voice, "the girl we saw Monday night right over there." She pointed to the blue velvet curtain.
Sally Bicknell looked at her queerly and then ushered them over and drew back the curtain. "Her? " The girl was there, lumbering about exactly as she had been before. "Yes, exactly, " Kate said. "That's her, Jared.
That's Lindsey."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Samuels, but you're mistaken. That girl's name 1S Rochelle Coombs. She is sixteen years old and has a genetic disease called Hunter's Syndrome."
Kate stopped herself at the last possible moment from calling the woman a liar. "Could I see her medical records, please?"
The nurse snapped the curtain shut. "Her medical records are confidential. But I assure you, her name is Rochelle Coombs, not-what did you say?"
"Lindsey, " Jared said, "Lindsey Samuels." It was, Kate realized, the first time he had spoken since just after their arrival. "It is not Lindsey Samuels." Sally Bicknell completed her sentence. In that moment, Kate realized what had bothered her so about the girl the first time she had observed her. She was too young to have been Jared's sister. Far too young. Her thick features and other physical distortions added some years, but not twenty of them. The girl's grote. Rnlleness had made her too uncomfortable to look very closely. Had I Win Samuels counted on that? Silently, she cursed her own Stuplulty. Helpless and beaten, she could only shrug and shake her head. "Will there be anything else?"
Bicknell asked. Kate looked over at Jared, who shook his head. "No," she said huskily. "We're… we're sorry for the intrusion."
"In that case, " the woman said, — "I have rounds to make." She turned and, without showing them out, walked away. Kate felt far more ill than angry. As they approached the car, she handed Jared the keys. "You drive, please. I'm not up to it. Your father told me it was Lindsey, Jared. I swear he did. And that woman was right there when he said it."
There was, she realized, no sense in discussing the matter further. Win Samuels had set up a no-lose situation for himself. Either she would be impressed by his demonstration, in which case she might have agreed to back off at the hospital and, as he wished, turn her attention to domestic issues, or she would be angered enough to do exactly what she had done. His son, already in doubt about her, would be drawn further away from their marriage and toward a political future, unencumbered by a wife whose priorities and mental state were so disordered. All that for only the price of a tankful of gas and whatever it cost to buy off Sally Bicknell. Nice going, Win, she thought. Nice goddamn going. She sank into her seat and stared sightlessly into the night.
Friday 21 December
She is out, suspended, finished. I did it, Norton Reese boasted exultantly. "Yesterday afternoon. I tried to call you then, but there was no answer."
Still in his bed at the Ritz, Arlen Paquette squinted at his watch, trying to get the numbers in focus. Seven-thirty? Was that right?
Was goddamn Reese waking him up at seven-thirty in the morning9 He fumbled for the bedside lamp, wincing at the shellburst in his temples Somewhere in the past four hours, he had passed from being drunk to emg hung over. His mouth tasted like sewage, and his muscles felt as if he had lost a gang fight. "Norton, just a second here while I wake up a little bit." He worked a cigarette from a wrinkled packet and lit it on the third try Over the H past week, his smoking had gone from his usual four or five cigarettes a ay to three packs. For a moment, he eyed the half-empty quart of ewarrs on the bureau. "No, goddamn it, " he muttered, "At least not yet. It took two hands to hold the phone steady against his ear. "Now 1! sir, just how did you go about accomplishing this remarkable feat of yours?"
Paquette listened to Reese's excited recap of the events leading to the unofficial suspension of Kate Bennett by her chief, Stan Willoughby. By the time the administrator had finished, Paquette had made his way across to the scotch and buried half a water glass full. The story was disgusting. A woman had lost her breast unnecessarily, and another had been professionally destroyed, and he, as much as the idiot on the other end of the phone, was responsible. As he listened to Reese's crowing, a resolve began to grow within him. He picked up a picture of Kate Bennett from the floor by his bed, wondering briefly how it had gotten there.
"Norton, " he said cheerfully, "you've done one hell of a job there. Our friend's gonna be pleased when I tell him. Real pleased. Say, listen.
Are you going to be at your office for a while… Good. I'd like to stop by and get some of the details in person. Probably be nine-thirty or so… Great. See you then."
He hung up and studied the picture in his hand. The scotch had stilled the shakes and begun to alleviate the pounding in his head.
"I think you've taken enough shit from us, Dr. Bennett, " he said. "It's time someone helped you fight back."
A glance at his watch, and he called Darlington. His wife answered on the second ring. "Honey, have the kids left for school yet?… Good.
They're not going. I want you to pack them up and drive to your mother's house… Honey, I know where your mother lives. If you step on it, you can be there by dinner time. There've been some problems here with old Cyrus, and I just want to be sure you and the kids are safe… Maybe a few days, maybe a week. I don't know. Please, honey. Trust me on this one for a little while. I'll explain everything. And listen, I love you.
I'm sorry about the other night and I love you. Not a word to anyone, now. Just get out and go to your mother's." Paquette showered and then shaved, taking greater pains than usual not to nick himself. He dressed in a suit he had just bought, eschewing the vest in favor of a light brown cashmere sweater. Some Visine, another shot of scotch, some breath mints, and he was ready. On his way to the hospital, he would attend to one final item of business, stopping at an electronics store to purchase a miniature tape recorder. "Okay, Doctor, " he said to Kate's picture,
"let's go get us some evidence." He glanced at the mirror. For the first time in nearly two weeks he liked what he saw., Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to hold. The thoughts, the futility, kept intruding on Kate's efforts to wring another hour, even another half hour, of sleep from the morning They had spent the night-what was left of it after their return from Stonehill-in separate beds.
Or, perhaps Jared hadn't slept at all. She had offered him food, then company, and then sex, but his only request had been to be left alone.
After an hour or so of staring at the darkened ceiling over their bed, she had tiptoed down the hall and peeked into the living room. He was right where she had left him, on the couch, chewing on his lower lip, and studying the creases in his palm. Her immediate impulse was to go to him, to beg him to believe her, to plead for his faith. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. If their marriage had come down to beggings she was beaten. Aching with thoughts of what he was going through at the choices he was trying to make, she had crept quietly back to bed, hoping that before long, she would feel him nudging his way under the covers. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to hold. The ringing of the phone interrupted the litany. Kate glanced at the clock.