“But no more scandal?”
“Not that I’ve heard. I always thought the entire episode was a little pathetic-basically two good people refusing to bend, to the detriment of everyone. A big waste, especially there. That’s one of the best medical outfits around, except for here,” he added with natural pride. “And Shilly could’ve been one of their stars.”
The address Runnion had given me over the phone put me back in the vicinity of Northwestern Memorial, but far from its comforting atmosphere of institutionalized caring. Indeed, the tall modern steel building I entered forty-five minutes later smacked more of wealth, commerce, and business deals than of medicine. Nevertheless, on the thirtieth floor, attached to an elegant hardwood door, was an ornate brass plaque boasting the name KEVIN SHILLY, M.D.-ORTHOPEDIC SPECIALIST.
Beyond this door was no iron-spined harridan ready to throw me out like Hoolihan’s secretary, nor a white-clad nurse asking if I had an appointment. Instead, I was greeted like a guest by an elegant young woman in a business suit who hovered in style between classy receptionist and upscale therapist.
She rose from her desk and escorted me to a ponderous antique table with two ornate chairs, gesturing for me to sit, explaining all the while that her name was Giovanna, that she was delighted to meet me, and that she’d like to know exactly what my problem was and how Dr. Shilly might be of service.
I knew it was so much shellac-a justification for what was obviously the Oscar of medical fees-but it was soothing, flattering, and unique, guaranteed to make the wealthy lame feel they had finally found their proper healer.
I took my seat, therefore, and gazed placidly into Giovanna’s large hazel eyes. “I was wondering what made Dr. Shilly any different from any other orthopedist.”
For all her grace, Giovanna had been drilled with all the zeal of a hard-nosed encyclopedia salesman. “Years ago Dr. Shilly became aware of how shoddily many patients were being treated by the average hospital staff. Despite their pain and anxiety, they were being reduced to mere numbers on an admission form. Often, they were not assigned fully trained physicians, but residents and even interns. They were used as guinea pigs for medical students and exposed to needless embarrassment and harassment as a result.”
“So Dr. Shilly offers something a little more refined,” I interrupted pleasantly.
She smiled. “That’s well put. However, the fact that Dr. Shilly’s service is more supportive and encouraging is a small thing in itself; what he offers above all is possibly the best orthopedic care available in the city.”
“He’s that good, is he?”
She tilted her head to one side and smiled with irrepressible enthusiasm. “He’s wonderful-the most caring man I’ve ever met.”
It was a great show, improved, no doubt, by Giovanna’s conviction that most of it was true.
“I heard he was thrown out of the University of Chicago for playing fast and loose with the rules.”
Her smile froze.
“I’m a policeman, Giovanna-Lieutenant Gunther. I wonder if you could tell Dr. Shilly that I’d like to speak with him?”
She got to her feet awkwardly, her sales pitch forgotten. “Well, I… Does he…? No, I guess not. Could you wait here a sec?” Scratching her head, disturbing that perfectly brushed hair, she left the reception area.
It didn’t take long. Both the message and the messenger were alarming enough to grant me almost instant gratification. Giovanna returned in five minutes and stiffly asked me to follow her down a short hallway to a pleasant and spacious examining room, complete with more antique furniture. There, I was told to wait.
Using a hostile approach had been a calculated gamble, and not one I’d planned before crossing the threshold. But the exclusive layout of Shilly’s practice, combined with what I knew of his past, suggested a man in a permanent dilemma, hanging between an angry, idealistic youth and a crassly exploitative middle age that had made him what he’d hated years ago: a complicated man who deserved a complicated approach.
He entered quickly, nervously, his tanned, urbane, well-tended face a cross between anger and confusion. He looked beautiful otherwise. His clothes were immaculate, the shoes soft Italian leather, the French cuffs of his shirt peeking out just the right amount from beneath a fashionable jacket. He looked like a Neiman Marcus store manager-better than the customers but dependent upon their cash.
His tone did not match his attire. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely.
I emptied my well-traveled envelope and showed him the X-rays. “This knee implant was done twenty-four years ago.” I paused. “Remember it?”
He snapped the pictures into a wall-mounted light box and peered at them in stony silence for a long time. His face, already tense, was otherwise unreadable to me. “Why do you want to know? What’s this about?”
Interesting side step, I thought. “Do you remember the operation?”
He hedged again. “Do you have any idea how many of these I do every year? Multiply that times twenty-four.”
“It was done fast-the cement was mixed with antibiotics so you wouldn’t have to wait for the wound to stabilize. It was the type of showy stunt you became infamous for at the University of Chicago.”
His face reddened. “That’s total crap. I had new techniques they weren’t willing to try, techniques that are common today. I was good and I was right. They threw me out because they couldn’t admit that.”
I nodded my head toward the X-rays. “That’s not a common technique even today; it’s still a risky shortcut. Why’d you take it?”
He hesitated, watching me. This was the break point; he either went for the bluff or he came up with one of his own. “I didn’t,” he finally said, his voice back under control. “I’ve never seen those before.”
I didn’t show my disappointment, although I shouldn’t have been surprised; I should have known that while a risk-taker might age gracefully, he’s not one to deny his own nature. Shilly had just won his bet that I had no proof connecting him to the negatives.
I shook my head, trying a different angle. “That’s too bad. We know your connection to this guy-but we were hoping you’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Obviously not.” I stood up and collected the X-rays off the light box. “I guess we’ll make you a part of the full investigation.” I looked at our opulent surroundings. “And then we’ll see where we all end up.”
I gave him plenty of time to reconsider, slowly stuffing the X-rays back into the envelope, but he held firm, if none too steadily. The sweat on his forehead told me that. I finally headed for the door, opened it, and looked back at him. “You decide to come clean, call Norm Runnion at Area 6 headquarters.” I gestured at the expensive furnishings of the room. “Be a shame to jeopardize all this for such a little thing.”
His eyes widened slightly at the last two words, but he kept silent.
“Good-bye, Dr. Shilly-for now.”
I checked my watch on the elevator, trying to be philosophical about this snag. For some reason, while I knew my mysterious skeleton’s surgeon had played it fast and loose, I’d never actually thought he’d played a criminal role. Now I wasn’t sure. Shilly’s behavior was either the response of a natural gambler, hoping that a denial would be all that was necessary, or he was more involved than I’d thought. A third possibility-that he hadn’t performed the surgery-was no longer feasible. His body language, Hoolihan’s and Yancy’s suspicions, and my own experience had all killed that one.
I reached the lobby and sought out the guard I’d seen stationed at a TV set-equipped console earlier. A pleasant young black man in his twenties, he smiled as I approached. “Can I help you?”
I pulled out my badge and flashed it at him quickly, doing the fingers-over-the-top trick that had worked once before. “Yeah, I was wondering if you could tell me where the residents of this building park their cars.”
He sat back, the smile spreading to a grin. “And why would you like to know that?”