70

Marta Jones knew that only Wally would ring her doorbell with such persistence. When the ringing began, she was upstairs, straightening out the linen closet; with a patient sigh, she hurried down the stairs, her arthritic knees protesting every step of the way.

Wally’s hands were jammed in his pockets, his head was down. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice flat.

“You know you can come in anytime, dear.”

He stepped inside. “I don’t want to go.”

“Where don’t you want to go, dear?”

“To California. Mom is packing. We leave tomorrow morning. I don’t like to be in the car a long time. I don’t want to go. I came to say good-bye.”

California ? Marta wondered. What is that about? “Wally, are you sure your mom said California?”

“Yes, California. I’m sure.” He fidgeted, then grimaced. “I want to say good-bye to Molly too. I won’t bother her, but I don’t want to leave without saying good-bye. Do you think it’s all right if I say good-bye to Molly?”

“I certainly don’t see why not.”

“I’ll go see her tonight,” Wally muttered.

“What did you say, dear?”

“I have to go. Mom wants me to go to my meeting.”

“That’s a good idea. You know you always enjoy those meetings, Wally. Listen, isn’t that your mother calling you?” Marta opened the door. Edna was standing on the steps of her house, her coat on, looking for her son.

“Wally’s in here,” Marta called out. “Come on, Wally.” Curiosity made her run across the lawn without bothering to get a coat. “Edna, is it true you’re driving to California?”

“Wally, get in the car,” Edna Barry pleaded. “You know you’re late.” Reluctantly he obeyed, slamming the passenger door behind him.

Edna turned to her neighbor and whispered, “Marta, I don’t know if we’ll end up in California or in Timbuktu, but I know I’ve got to get out of here. Every time I turn on the news I seem to hear something else bad about Molly. The latest is that there’s going to be a special meeting of the parole board on Monday. The prosecutor wants her parole revoked. If that happens, she’ll have to serve the rest of her original sentence for killing Dr. Lasch.”

Marta shivered. “Oh, Edna, I know. I heard that on the news this morning, and I think it’s just terrible. That poor girl should be in an institution, not in a prison. But you mustn’t get so upset about it that you let it drive you away from here.”

“I know. I’ve got to go now. I’ll talk to you later.”

When she got back to her house, Marta was chilled and decided she needed a cup of tea. Once it was ready, she sat down at the table, sipping it slowly. Poor Edna, she thought. She’s feeling guilty about quitting her job with Molly, but of course she had no choice. Wally has to be her main concern.

When you think about it, she reminded herself with a sigh, it just goes to show that money doesn’t buy happiness. All that Carpenter family money behind her couldn’t keep Molly out of a prison cell.

Marta thought of the other prominent and wealthy Greenwich family that had been in the news this morning. She had read about Natasha Colbert, who had been in a coma over six years. She had finally died, and her poor mother, prostrate with grief, had suffered a heart attack, and it looked like she might not survive. Maybe God would be doing her a favor if he took her, poor woman, Marta mused, shaking her head. All that grief…

She pushed back her chair and went back upstairs to finish tidying the linen closet. As she worked, a nagging feeling of worry would not leave her. Finally she realized what was causing it. Edna would have a fit if she knew that I told Wally that it would be all right for him to say good-bye to Molly Lasch, Marta thought. Oh well, she decided, it was probably just rambling, like he does so much of the time. Anyway, tomorrow he’ll be gone. No use upsetting poor Edna by mentioning it to her. She’s got enough on her mind as it is.

71

When she left Annamarie’s sister, Fran Simmons sat in her car for a few minutes, considering which might be her best course of action. It was one thing if doctors Gary Lasch and Peter Black had given a patient the wrong medication, something that had put her in an irreversible coma, and then had covered up their mistake. Terrible as that was, it did not compare with deliberately using an experimental drug to end a patient’s life. But that apparently was what Annamarie Scalli believed had happened.

And since she had been there at the time but knew she couldn’t prove her suspicions, how can I possibly hope to prove anything now? Fran wondered.

According to Lucy Bonaventure, Annamarie had said that Peter Black was the one who not only made the mistake, but possibly went on to kill an elderly patient as well. Would that have given Black a sufficient motive for killing Gary Lasch? Lasch’s death did eliminate a credible witness to his crime.

It was possible, she decided. If you believed a doctor could kill in cold blood. But why?

The car was cold. Fran started the engine and immediately pushed the temperature control up to the highest setting and turned on the fan. It’s not just the air that’s chilled me, she thought, I’m cold inside too. Whatever evil was set in motion at that hospital, it certainly has caused many people a great deal of pain. But why? Why? Molly has been punished for a crime I am now sure she did not commit. Annamarie gave up her child and the work she loved just to punish herself. A young woman was put into a vegetative state because of an experimental drug. An elderly woman may have died prematurely as part of the experiment.

And those are just the ones I know about, she thought. How many others might there be? Why, this could still be going on, Fran thought with a start.

But I swear that the key to all this is the relationship or the bond or whatever it was that existed between Gary Lasch and Peter Black. There has to be a reason why Lasch brought Black to Greenwich and literally handed him a partnership in a family-owned hospital.

A woman walking her dog passed the car and looked at Fran curiously. I’d better get moving, she thought. She knew where she had to go next-to talk to Molly and see if she could shed any light on what was behind the Gary Lasch and Peter Black connection. If she could determine what it was that bound them together in the first place, then she might finally start to understand what was going on at the hospital.

On the way to Greenwich, she called her office for messages and learned that Gus Brandt wanted to talk to her, having said it was urgent. “Before you put me through to him, check and see if the research department material on Gary Lasch and Calvin Whitehall came through yet,” she told her assistant.

“It’s on your desk, Fran,” she was told. “You won’t be looking for reading material for a week with that pile to wade through, especially all the stuff on Calvin Whitehall.”

“I can’t wait to get at it. Thanks. Now put me through to Gus, please.”

Her boss had been about to go out to lunch. “Glad you caught me, Fran,” he said. “It looks as if you’ll be visiting your friend Molly Lasch in the slammer by Monday afternoon. The prosecutor was just quoted as saying that he had no doubt that her parole would be revoked. And the minute he gets the official word, she’ll be on her way back to Niantic Prison.”

“They can’t do that to Molly,” Fran protested.

“Oh yes they can. And my guess is, they will. She got off light in the first place because she acknowledged that she had killed her husband, and then the moment she was free, she started claiming she didn’t do it. That in itself is parole violation, baby. With a new murder charge against her, how would you vote if you were deciding whether or not she belongs behind bars? Anyhow, do a piece on it tonight.”