F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (19 page)

 
          
Everywhere
she looked, on the walls, on the cork bulletin board, on the refrigerator, the
room was festooned with a child's drawings. A riot of colors. Martha, it
seemed, believed in using every crayon in her box, and it had to be quite a box.
Nor was she exactly traditional in her color designations. In one drawing green
people might stand on yellow lawns next to pink trees under orange skies, in
the next drawing the color scheme would be completely different.

 
          
A
munchkin van Gogh. With a father who obviously adored every squiggle she put to
paper.

 
          
She
looked in the fridge. Lots of prepackaged meals in the freezer.

 
          
Just
what she'd expect with a single father on the go.

 
          
Then
she remembered what Gerry had said about leaving something for her on the
kitchen table. She turned and saw nothing on the table . . . except a sheet of
paper. She recognized it before she picked it up. A death certificate.

 
          
Lisa
Lathram was typed on the name line. Gin noted that the certifier was Stanley
Metelski, MD,
Fairfax
County
coroner at the time of the accident. Which
meant Lisa's death had been a coroner's case. Of course it would be. Any
eighteen-year-old dying suddenly is an automatic coroner's case.

 
          
She
scanned down to the cause-of-death section.

 
          
Immediate
cause of death, Intracerebral hemorrhage.

 
          
Due
to or as a consequence of, Left parietal skull fracture.

 
          
due
to or as a consequence of, Intentional drug overdose.

 
          
Gin
nearly dropped the sheet. A suicide?

 
          
Suddenly
shaky, she lowered herself into a chair and leaned on the table.

 
          
Oh,
God. Poor
Duncan
. No wonder no one wanted to talk about it.
He must have pulled some heavy strings and called in a lot of favors to keep
that last line from getting out to the public.

 
          
Was
that why he ended his marriage, closed up his practice, stopped being a
Virginia
vascular specialist and became a
Maryland
cosmetic surgeon?

 
          
Or
was there more?

 
          
The
drug overdose . . . why? The fall . . . obviously the coroner thought it was a
result of the overdose. Was it?

 
          
Gin
had thought the death certificate would answer some questions, but it only
raised more.

 
          
Rising,
she dropped it back onto the kitchen table and wandered toward the front of the
duplex. She pushed Lisa Lathram to the back of her mind and brought Martha
Canney front and center. Gin had a sudden urge to look in on her.

 
          
She
crept upstairs. Two bedrooms and a bath there. She peeked in the first. In The
dim light seeping up from the first floor she could see Martha's little head
framed by her pillow and the covers. Lots of Disney characters on the walls and
shelves. Gin stepped closer and snugged the covers a little more tightly around
her shoulders. As she turned away she spotted a framed photo standing on
Martha's dresser.

 
          
She
picked it up and angled it toward the light.

 
          
A
pretty young blond. Although they'd moved in entirely different circles during
their high school years, Gin recognized Karen Shannick.

 
          
The
late Mrs. Gerald Canney. Martha's mother.

 
          
God,
she'd been beautiful. Classic, clean, all-American girl looks.

 
          
She
married an all-American guy. And they'd had a child. A Happy Days life until .
. .

 
          
She
thought of Harriet Thompson, also gone, but who'd had seventy-eight years. Poor
Karen had had maybe a third of that. And what a shame she couldn't see the doll
she'd brought into the world.

 
          
Life
really sucked sometimes.

 
          
Gin
stared down at Martha for a moment and was struck by the realization that this
was Gerry's child. His alone. This little person was totally dependent on him,
and he was completely responsible for her.

 
          
She
wondered how that would feel.

 
          
Scary,
she thought. Very scary.

 
          
She
replaced the photo on the dresser but the leg that angled out of the back of
the frame collapsed and it fell flat on the dresser top.

 
          
Gin
winced. Not a loud noise, but it sounded like a gunshot in the little bedroom.

 
          
"Daddy?"
Oh, no.

 
          
Quickly
Gin turned and knelt beside the bed. Martha was sitting up, rubbing her eyes,
not quite awake yet. She looked at Gin.

 
          
"Where's
my daddy?"

           
"He had to go out," Gin
whispered. "He asked me to stay with you. Remember me? Gin? From Taco
Bell
?"

           
"You're the doctor."

 
          
"Right.
What a great memory you have."

           
"Where's Mrs. Snedecker?"

           
"She's away. That's why I'm
here." Am I doing this right? she wondered. If Martha were sick Gin would
know exactly what to do, but she'd never had any younger sibs, so she wasn't
too sure of herself here. Getting her back to sleep seemed like the best thing.
She straightened the covers.

 
          
"Here.
Why don't you just lie back down and close your eyes. I'll be right downstairs.
If you need anything, you just call and I'll be right here. Okay? " Martha
didn't say anything as she lay back and pulled the covers up.

 
          
Gin
adjusted them around her and then, on impulse, leaned over and kissed her
cheek.

 
          
"Good
night, Martha." As she rose and turned toward the door, she heard a sob
from the bed. She knelt back down again.

 
          
"What's
wrong, Martha?"

           
"I get scuh-scared when my
daddy's not here at nuh-nuhnight." She started to cry.

 
          
"He'll
be home soon, Martha," she said, searching for a way to comfort her.
"What if I stay here with you?" Martha sniffled and sat up.

 
          
"Can
you?"

           
"Sure. It'll be fun."

 
          
"Will
you get under the covers?" She wriggled over to make room. Her fears
seemed to have evaporated.

 
          
"This'll
be like a sleep-over." Gin hesitated, then shrugged. Not much room in that
little bed, but what the heck. She kicked off her sneakers and slid under the
covers. Martha immediately nestled into the crook of her arm and snuggled
against her. In minutes she was asleep.

 
          
Gin
lay there and listened to the gentle sound of Martha's breathing.

 
          
She
stroked her soft hair and felt strangely content, at peace.

 
          
Peace
. . . what a strange sensation. It seeped through her like warm water through a
dry sponge. Throughout her brain and her body she sensed all the various
engines that were driving her begin to downshift, finally going into neutral,
idling.

 
          
And
through the peace crept an ancient need, long unnoticed amid the adrenalized
buzz of her day-to-day life.

 
          
She
squeezed Martha closer. Is this what I'm missing? Isn't this what it's all
about? Her throat tightened. A child of my own? God, I'll be thirty next year .
. . Damn! Where are my priorities? What is better than this?

 
          
Gerry
pulled into his parking space in front of the house. Night was leaching from
the eastern sky. Dawn wasn't far off. Somewhere in the trees a bird called.

 
          
He
headed for his front door, bounding over the curb and up the steps.

 
          
He
was pumped. And relieved. A successful operation tonight. At the last minute
the Bureau had called out every available agent, the kidnapper had made a
mistake, and they got the little
Walker
boy back safe and sound.

 
          
Gerry
could have stayed and celebrated with the rest of the guys, but this case had
made him anxious to get back to his own child.

 
          
And
it reinforced his determination to move up to a position with regular hours. And
soon.

 
          
Gerry
stood inside his front door and surveyed the empty living room. Gin's raincoat
was there, but where was she?

 
          
"Gin?"
A little louder.

 
          
Upstairs
with Martha? Had to be. But an unreasoning fear made him pad up the stairs,
taking them three at a time as silently as he could, hurrying to Martha's
bedroom. He stopped at the door, struck dumb by the sight of his child curled
up under Gin's protective arm. Both were asleep, both faces so smooth, so
relaxed, so innocent in the growing light.

 
          
He'd
taken a chance asking Gin tonight. He hadn't known how she'd react, how it
would work out, but he'd sensed a rapport between Gin and Martha during their
first meeting and, well, he'd longed to see her.

 
          
And
who better than a trained physician?

 
          
But
this?

 
          
He
stood staring, captured by the rightness of the scene. It was as if their
little duplex, his and Martha's little world, had changed, their fragmented
family briefly made whole again.

 
          
He
realized that tears were sliding down his cheeks.

 
          
You
belong with us, Gin, he thought.

 
          
He
wiped the tears away and had to fight the urge to crawl in with them. Besides,
there was no room left in that tiny bed.

 
          
So
Gerry pulled up the rocker Karen had bought for nursing Martha and sat there
watching the two women in his life until the sun came up.

THE WEEK OF OCTOBER

           
THE HEARING RELAX, GINA, SENATOR
MARSDEN SAID AS HE GATHered the papers on his desk. "You look as if you're
about to jump out of your skin." His desk was piled high with folders,
reprints, charts, graphs, and detailed analyses of medical statistics. Joe
Blair had been in earlier, reviewing his last-minute strategies on networking
with other chiefs of staff. He was cool and professional toward Gin but
decidedly distant.

 
          
And
Alicia was a whirling dervish, darting in and out of the office like an
overweight hummingbird. She'd conscripted a couple of the officer's legislative
correspondents to field the endlessly ringing phones. This was her big day and
she seemed to thrive on the pressure.

 
          
The
past four days had been a whirlwind of activity. Gin felt as if she'd moved
into these offices. She'd met Charlie and Zach, the other two legislative aides
assigned to the Guidelines committee, and had been impressed with the amount of
research they'd collected. They had copies of guidelines and codes of ethics
from every state medical board in the country.

 
          
The
amount of material to be reviewed and absorbed was daunting. But she'd waded in
with the rest of them.

 
          
"I'll
be fine," Gin told the senator.

 
          
And
she would be. It was just that not only was this her first day of actually
attending a congressional hearing as a participant, but the chairman of the
committee would be depending on her medical knowledge to interpret the
testimony being given, all of which would occur before cameras broadcasting the
proceedings to the nation.

 
          
Nothing
to it.

 
          
Right.
That was why her hands were cold and her palms were sweaty and her stomach had
shrunk to a walnut-sized knot.

 
          
But
she was all set to go, she had a pad, a supply of pens, and she had her brand
new photo-ID badge slung on a chain around her neck.

 
          
"I
know you will. Remember, Your job is to listen and take notes. Alert me
immediately, pass me a note, tap me on the shoulder and whisper, whenever you
think someone's blowing medical smoke my way. And I do mean immediately. I
don't want to find out days later that someone was running double-talk by me.
Your responsibility is to keep the medical testimony honest." She held up her
steno pad and pens.

 
          
She
didn't know shorthand but the steno pad was a convenient size.

 
          
"I'm
ready." She hoped she sounded confident. She was beginning to feel the
weight of the responsibility she'd taken on. And she'd be shouldering it in
public.

 
          
She'd
watched congressional hearings on TV before and seen aides passing notes or
whispering in committee members' ears, hard to believe people would be watching
her doing. the same today. Her father was staying home from the store this
morning to watch C-SPAN.

 
          
Senator
Marsden winked at her. "And maybe when this is over you can write a more
evenhanded op-ed piece for the Tiones-Piaaygne." Gin stiffened. "You
know about that?"

           
"Sure. Joe showed it to me
shortly after the interview. It's his job to background anyone joining my
staff."

 
          
"I
was afraid it might put you off." He rose and tucked a bulging file folder
under his arm.

 
          
"I
spent forty years in business. I learned the worst thing you can do is surround
yourself with yes-men. That's why I like to keep a devil's advocate
around." Gin felt a burst of warmth for this man. Alicia had called him
"one of the good guys" and now Gin believed her.

 
          
"I'll
be it."

 
          
"Then
let's go." The hearing room was gorgeous, paneled floor to ceiling in
gleaming mahogany. The carved ceiling would have been at home in
Versailles
, nearly twenty feet high, white with
delicate, hand-painted blue designs. Rich red carpet stretched wall to wall.

 
          
Three
tall windows ran almost to the ceiling and were trimmed with black crepe in
honor of the committee's departed member,
Congressman Lane
. Set between the windows and all around the
room were giant brass sconces, designed like ornate torches that would not have
been out of place in the Roman Senate. Each flared a wedge of light against the
paneling above it. All the furniture, the curved dais where the committee
members sat like knights of the semicircular table, the witness table, the
visitor chairs, was fashioned of mahogany perfectly matched to the paneling. The
red leather on the seats and backs of the chairs arranged in neat rows for
visitors and witnesses and lined against the wall behind the dais for the
committee members' aides matched the carpet, as did the leather inlays in the
tops of the press tables flanking both sides of the room.

 
          
Chaos
reigned. Photographers were jockeying for position in the space allotted them,
reporters were weaving through the mix of legislators, witnesses, and visitors,
looking for comments, sniffing for rumors, while the C-SPAN technicians made
final adjustments on their cameras, one near the front and the other midline at
the rear.

 
          
Gin
followed Senator Marsden to the dais, why did it feel so special to stroll past
the "Staff Only" sign? , and staked out a chair behind his spot at
the apex of the semicircle. Zach would be with her. Charlie had stayed behind
at the office. While Marsden began arranging his papers, she looked out over
the milling crowd and was shocked.

 
          
Duncan
.

 
          
"Senator,
do I have time to talk to someone?"

           
"Of course," he said,
glancing up at the disorder before him. "We won't come to order for at
least another ten or fifteen minutes." As she stepped off the dais,
someone tapped her on the shoulder.

 
          
Another
familiar face, one she was very glad to see.

 
          
"Gerry!
What are you doing here?"

           
"Just stopped by to say
hello."

           
"But how'd you get in?"

           
He flashed his FBI ID. "Never
underestimate the power of the Department of Justice. I knew this was your big
day and I just wanted to wish you luck. I'd’ve brought flowers but,"

           
"Oh, I'm glad you didn't. I
wouldn't have known what to do with them."

           
He leaned forward and kissed her on
the cheek. "Knock em dead, Gin. "

           
She gave him a hug. "Thanks.
That means a lot." And it did. No one else had wished her luck, or thought
she should even be here. She watched him go, then spotted
Duncan
on the far side of the room. He was talking
to one of the committee members, Senator Vincent. Both looked to be about the
same age, wore suits of similar cut, but
Duncan
's trim figure and aristocratic bearing
somehow left the senator looking like a poor relation. And what had the senator
done to his hair? A permanent?

 
          
She
tapped
Duncan
on the shoulder.

 
          
"Excuse
me, sir," she said in an offcious voice. "Do you have a pass?"

           
Duncan
greeted her with a warm smile and threw an
arm around her shoulders. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Senator
Vincent, I'd like you to meet Senator Marsden's newest assistant, Dr. Gin
Panzella. Also my surgical assistant. In fact, she assisted me on your
procedure."

           
Senator Vincent glanced around
uncomfortably as he shook Gin's hand. "I wish you wouldn't,"

           
"Don't worry, Senator, "
Duncan
said. "Gin is the soul of discretion,
just like everyone else on my staff. You know that."

 
          
"You
look great, Senator," Gin said, and she meant it.

 
          
Except
for the hair. But as far as the surgery, the improvement was remarkable.
Amazing how all that redundant flesh under his chin had aged him. He looked at
least fifteen years younger.

 
          
But
that hair. Ugh.

 
          
"So
I look okay? No sign that I had, that anything was done?"

           
"Not a bit,"
Duncan
said. "I predict you'll be the next
bright star in the C-SPAN firmament." Senator Vincent laughed nervously.

 
          
"I'm
serious,"
Duncan
said. "After your performance today, you're going to be on all the
networks. Mark my words." Just then a beeper sounded.
Duncan
had his hand in his coat pocket.

 
          
Gin
watched him pull out his oversized pager, the same one he'd had on the west
portico of the Capitol . . .

 
          
.
. . the day Congressman Allard fell down the Capitol steps.

 
          
He
grunted and said, "Now, who could this be?" He looked at the display
window and pressed a button. At that moment the hearing room's PA system began
a feedback howl, and Gin noticed Senator Vincent wince and begin massaging the
outside of his right thigh.

 
          
"Something
wrong?" she asked him.

 
          
"I
don't know," he said. "For a second there it was almost like a bee
sting. But it's better now." He glanced at the dock high on the rear wall.
"We'll be starting soon. Excuse me."

           
Gin turned to
Duncan
as Senator Vincent wandered off.
"Anything important?"

           
Duncan
had already pocketed the pager. "One
of my golf foursome. Probably checking on our tee time And may I ask, who was
that man with whom you were engaging in a public display of affection?"

           
"Gerry Canney. An old friend
from high school. He's now an FBI agent."

  
         
"And I suppose you embrace all
your old high school friends whenever you see them?"

           
Gin felt herself blush. "He's
a little more than a friend."

 
          
"I
see,"
Duncan
said, raising his eyebrows. "Well, I'm
happy for you."

           
Gin regarded him. Something
different about
Duncan
this morning. He seemed wound up. Like a Thoroughbred owner before a
big race.

 
          
'"Three
guesses who's the last person I expected to see here this morning."

           
His eyebrows lifted even higher.
"Me? I wouldn't miss this show for the world."

 
          
"It's
the hottest ticket in town. How'd you get in?"

           
"Consider for a moment the
names in my patient files, Gin, and tell me who in this Circus Maximus is
better connected than yours truly." He cocked his head toward Senator
Vincent. "Actually, it was the good senator himself who saw to it."

 
          
"You'd
probably be better off watching it on C-SPAN."