All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright Mary Faderan and Colin Firth 2017
Bill Gaddis stretched his stocky body over his armchair
and reached for a folder on the desk behind his. “Tom, is this
the Levy folder?”
Tom Ripley looked up from his position by the file
cabinet. “Yes, that is it. What do you need?”
“I’m looking for that interview we were supposed to
have with Dr. Oates. Did that ever happen? I must have
sleepwalked and never filed it.”
“No, it never happened. He would have been the last
one to have gotten a call from you.”
“Damn. I hate that. What happened to me?”
“You had a date with you wife that night. The rest is
conjuncture.” Ripley’s lips curled in a mocking smile.
Gaddis looked foggily at him, and then he reddened.
“Damn.”
“Well, it happens. I could have gone for you, you
know.”
“Well . . .” Gaddis sat back straight in his chair and
picked up the phone. “Hell, I hope he’s at home. Did you get
his cell-phone number?”
“It’s all in there.”
“Nobody’s home. I’ll try his cell.”
There was a pause. Gaddis shrugged and left a
message. “He’s not in close proximity to his telephone nor cell
phone.”
“Try his workplace?”
“Good idea!” Gaddis dialed the hospital and finally
reached the unit where Mike used to work. “Hello, I’m
Detective Gaddis from the NHPD. I’m trying to locate a Dr.
Mike Oates. Happen he’s there?”
There was a pause. Then he said, “OK, thanks.” He
hung up and looked up at Ripley. “Damn.”
“Ok, what?”
“He’s quit!”
“He’s quit?”
“That’s what I said. Yes, the woman said Mike signed
his resignation over to the big honcho there, and now he’s a
free unemployed surgeon.”
Ripley walked to the desk and sat on its edge. A
thoughtful look came over his face. “I’m thinking the same
thing as you, Bill?”
“Depends.” Gaddis slanted a look at his subordinate.
“Well, it’s a bit of a coincidence that Dr. Mike Oates
would resign.”
“It’s not uncommon, is it? Maybe he got tired of the rat
race. Lots of residents burn out.”
“No, this guy, Oates—he’s not a quitter.”
“Says you?”
“I’m not real sure, but I’ve spoken to some of the staff. I
hear some scuttlebutt about the residents, like that other guy
Corcoran. He’s got some Anglo parents in the West Coast.
Lots of money, but he’s always broke.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Ripley!” Gaddis groaned.
“Well, we need to tie up loose ends. I need to find this Oates
guy.”
“Oh, and he’s also been seeing this nurse there—Missy
Wright.”
“You get around, don’t you?” Gaddis laughed.
“She happens to be somebody that had ties to Levy.”
“It’s not in your report, Mr. Ripley. What gives?”
Ripley shrugged. “It’s late. I don’t get home till ten
p.m., and I have to have some time to relax.”
“If Ingraham ever found out that you’re not up to
date—”
“OK, OK, I’ll fill you in. Meantime, where can we find
this Oates now?”
“You tell me, Detective Sherlock.”
There was a silence. “I can’t think,” Ripley said finally.
“OK, let’s put out an APB on Oates. We want him for
questioning mainly because he seems to have two ties to this
murder.”
“Two?”
“Yes,” said Gaddis patiently. “Missy Wright and that
sudden resignation. It stinks that he did this soon after Levy
got murdered.”
Ingraham stood at the door of his office. He coughed
and then said, “I couldn’t help but overhear. This is news. I’m
thinking you two are either on some kind of dope or you are
some kind of psychic.”
The two men he commanded stared at him. “Sir,” said
Gaddis. “Don’t you think this quitting is clearly something to
do with the murder?”
“It’s a long shot, Gaddis,” Ingraham said coldly. “Now,
why don’t you boys find Oates and tell him nicely that we just
want to tie up loose ends?”
He watched the two detectives leave and then went
into his office, closing the door. He sat down behind his desk
and pulled out his cell phone. Ingraham had a small frown as
he dialed a number. “Hello?”
“Hello, Leo, what’s new with you these days?”
Ingraham asked.
“Well, hey, Inspector Ingraham. Haven’t heard from
you since you left my hospital. How’s the old ticker going?”
“Fine, fine. I’m doing fine,” Ingraham said curtly.
“Hey, I’d like to meet for coffee. Are you free by chance later
today?”
“Let me check my schedule,” Leo Bartholomew replied.
In a moment, he said, “I’m free at three thirty p.m. I can’t go
past four p.m. as I’ve got to take my wife to a movie.”
“Really? A movie? What’s this?”
“She really wants to see this movie, and the matinee is
at four thirty.” Leo sounded sheepish.
“The great Leo Bartholomew is playing hooky with his
wife! That’s pretty damn funny.”
“OK, Matthew, you keep this under your belt.” Leo
laughed.
“Fine. See you at three thirty, then.”
The café at the Yale New Haven Hospital was just
refurbished, and it shone like a diamond. The floors,
countertops, and walls were all shiny and clean. The workers
who manned the different food stations were attired in black
aprons and caps, and they had sharp-edged collared shirts
under their aprons. Everyone was in good spirits, and the staff
and nurses and assistants had a great meal here all the time, if
they should need it.
Ingraham stood appreciatively at the entrance of the
café and surveyed it with a wrinkled gaze. His eyes scanned
the personnel until their gaze alighted upon the lean face of
Leo Bartholomew. “Ah!” they both said at the same time, and
they approached each other smiling.
“Hello, you look good!” Ingraham said with a genuine
smile. “You been out in the sun, I see!”
“I got dragged to the Caribbean with my wife. It’s
something she can’t get enough of.”
“Let’s have something, shall we?” Ingraham went
ahead of Bartholomew to the coffee and cakes where each
picked up a latte and doughnut.
Leo looked at Ingraham’s face with a speculative eye.
He said nothing until they sat down in a quiet corner.
“Matthew,” said Leo, “I don’t always get a visit from
the inspector of NHPD unless it’s serious.”
“Oh, come on,” Ingraham said with a wave of his hand.
“I’m just on a visit. Just wanted to ask a few questions.”
“About?”
“Well, what’s new with the department? I know that
you have a lot of residents now that are shipping off.”
“Yes, well, not for a few more weeks. I get a new batch
in July.”
“Oh.”
“So who are you interested in these days, Matthew?”
Ingraham sipped his coffee and ate a piece of his
doughnut before he replied. “Good doughnut.”
Leo preserved his silence and sipped his own cup of
coffee. He glanced at his watch.
“OK, OK,” Ingraham said placatingly, “I’m interested
in this one resident you have. Name of Mike Oates.”
Leo’s eyebrows lifted. He sat back and gave a short
sigh. “Oh. Him. What a hell of a—”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m sorry, this is not my best day of the week. Five
surgeries in a row. I really need this date with my wife. She
loves me to bits. I can’t stand it anymore—why I still work. I
can retire if I wanted to.” He paused. Then he sat forward.
“Look, this Mike Oates. I don’t know, but he was going to be
my next chief resident.”
“And?” Ingraham looked at him innocently.
“He quit yesterday.”
“He did, did he? Maybe he decided it was all too much
for him too.”
“No!” Leo exclaimed. “He wanted it. He was almost
like a puppy trying to fetch and carry for me. The guy wanted
the job. I am sure of it.”
“So what do you think made him quit?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he tell you why he wanted to quit?”
Leo sighed again. “He said something about surgery
not being what he really wanted.”
“Is that right?” Ingraham sounded impressed. “Leo, I
want to talk to your Mike Oates. I can’t find him. Where
would he go?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I’m not their babysitter, Matthew.
Ask . . . ask that guy you call the chief of police. He’s your
guy. Don’t they have enough blues to find people?”
Ingraham suddenly pushed his cup away. “I can’t
stand this coffee now. Hell. I am pretty much of the opinion
that something in this case—”
“Wait, what case are you talking about?”
“Levy’s murder.”
“Hell.”
“Yes, hell indeed.”
“I don’t even think they knew each other. Levy was a
neurosurgeon. Oates would never touch that part of the body.
He’s a heart guy.”
“And he left you. Up and quit.”
“Do you really think there’s a connection?”
“My men think this. I am trying to get to this a different
way. I can’t tell you, but I really need to keep our chat quiet.”
“OK, you got it.”
Ingraham sat back, looking sad. “Well, I need to tell
them to really send out the APB on Oates. I hope he hasn’t
jumped ship and taken a flight to Aruba.”
Leo shook his head. “No, not him.”
“Really?”
“No.” Leo took a breath, then said, “I saw him when he
said he wanted to quit. He really looked like he lost his soul
about surgery. He just didn’t look like he was hungry for it
any longer.”
“Oh. Now that is strange. He’s been hungry, and then
he’s not. What could have happened?” Ingraham’s face
became frozen. “Unless he really had something to do with
Levy’s death.”
“Well, even if he did, I don’t think he’s the kind to ship
out and leave the country.”
Ingraham put his hand around his cup again. He
warmed his hand with it. “I’m afraid this is going to have to
go through channels, Leo.”
“Are you trying to tell me that Oates holds some kind
of special type of treatment and now it’s out of your hands?”
He leaned forward. “Tell me, Matthew. Who’s behind this
special visit from you?”
The inspector shook his head. “Can’t tell you. Maybe
one day.”
“OK, this makes me feel really sad. I now feel like
maybe Oates needs to show up, or else he’ll be churned up
and left to dry in some cell.”
Ingraham stood up suddenly. “I’m going to have to let
your wife have you now. I need to think.”
Leo stood up as well. “OK. I might send someone to
check on Oates’s place and see if they know anything.”
“Oh, that would be good.”
“Yes. Well, I sort of thought he was a gunner, but when
he came to see me yesterday, he seemed like he was a totally
different person.”
The two men said goodbye and left each other.
When Leo got to his office, he closed the door and
picked up his telephone. “Call Dr. Corcoran in, please.”
“Yes, Doctor,” the voice of his secretary replied.
The clock chimed 4:00 p.m., and a chuckle escaped
Ralph Corcoran’s throat. He was holding Rebecca
Bartholomew in his arms as they stood in her office. “You are
so adorable, Rebecca,” he said softly, his eyes devouring her
freckled face. “Why don’t we get married?”
“Oh, well . . . are you proposing, Dr. Corcoran?” she
asked primly.
“I guess I am. We’ve been dating for a few weeks now.”
“And you think that’s all we need? A few weeks of
dating?”
“Why wait? We love each other. Why can’t we get
married?”
“You’re not thinking straight. There’s my father to
contend with.”
Corcoran laughed. “He likes me. I know he likes me.”
“Er . . . no, he doesn’t.” She ducked out of his arms and
stood behind her desk. She wore a lab coat over a nice woolen
dress.
“OK, so he might think I’m a little flaky, but—”
“Flaky is not all you are. You are suspect.”
“Are you telling me this to discourage me? I know I
don’t meet all his expectations as a surgeon. He’s a very, very,
very serious doctor of surgery. I can’t compare to him. No one
can compare to him. In his opinion as well.” Corcoran threw
up his hands. “Listen, are you going to let him get in the way
of our getting married?”
“Have you thought of all that we have to go through in
getting married? I have a job here. I like my job. You . . . you
might be assigned in some out-of-the-way place like . . .
California!”
Corcoran’s mouth fell open. “What’s wrong with
California?”
“It’s too far from here.”
“Too far from Dad and Mom, right?”
Rebecca’s smile dimmed. “Oh, Ralph!” She started to
look like she was going to cry.
“Oh, oh, oh, don’t you cry now!” He went over to her
and embraced her. “OK, look. If you wish, I’ll make us a plan.
And then I’ll go ask your dad to consider me his son-in-law.
What about that?”
She thought for a moment. “OK. It’s just that Dad is so
full of . . . of himself. He scares all my boyfriends off.”
“I’m not just your boyfriend.”
“I know. You are a special, special man, and I do love
you!”
She was about to reach up and kiss him when his
beeper went off. He took it out of his pocket and then said,
“Let me use your phone. Somebody wants me stat.”
“OK.”
He dialed the number and was surprised to hear Leo
Bartholomew’s voice. “Uh . . . hello, Dr. Bartholomew. What
can I do for you?”
“I want you to look into Mike Oates for me. Find him,
please, and ask him to call me stat. If he’s not available, then
see if you can find him where he usually hangs out.”
“OK, sure!” Corcoran hung up and stared at the phone.
“What was my dad wanting?” Rebecca asked.
“He’s looking for Oates.”
“Oates? Mike Oates?”
“Yes, that guy.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But this is strange.”
“Yes. But Dad is a strange one when he gets a bee in his
bonnet.”
They stared at each other for a moment. “Rebecca, I’ll
be seeing you later. I need to find Oates. It seems like
something’s gone off-kilter from Bartholomew’s voice.”
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