Prophet (53 page)

He smiled courteously. “I’m not going to be able to say much about it. The information is confidential.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful. I was just wondering—”

“Now wait a minute . . . What business brings you here anyway? Just who am I talking to?”

She smiled, feeling awkward. “Well . . . this is going to sound funny, but . . . I’m Leslie Albright, and though I work for Channel 6, I’m not here as a reporter for them. I’m here on my own.”

The light dawned. “Oh, yes! I’ve seen you on NewsSix. I thought you looked familiar.” He chuckled. “Now I know I’m not going to have anything to say.”

Leslie chuckled only to keep things loose and friendly, if that was at all possible. “Doctor, I assure you there are no cameras . . .” She opened her suit jacket. “No hidden microphones either. I’m not after a scoop.”

Dr. Matthews looked at his watch, making sure she saw that he was looking at his watch. “You have one minute to clearly state your business.”

Leslie spotted a chair near the door. “Um . . . may I sit down?”

He extended his hand toward the chair, offering it to her. She sat.

“Of course,” she began, “everyone has been told that Hillary Slater died from an overdose of warfarin, resulting in a hemorrhage from her uterus.” She could see the immediate tension in the doctor’s face. Her
time with this man was going to be quite limited, she could feel it. “Um . . . that’s what the death certificate indicates.”

“That’s correct,” he replied, and his tone indicated he hoped that would be the last word on the subject.

“Well . . . I did a little checking with the Records Department—I was trying to find out who did the autopsy, and that’s how I found you—and I happened to find the transcriptionist who transcribed your remarks. She remembered it right away. It was a big deal, you know, the governor’s daughter and all. It was easy to remember.”

He looked at his watch again and began to clear his desk. “I have to be going.”

Leslie started talking faster. “Well, before you go, sir, could you help me out with one thing?”

“I doubt it,” he quipped, his eyes on his papers and paper clips, not on her.

“The transcriptionist thought the autopsy report was quite remarkable, especially since it contradicted the death certificate. According to her, your finding was that Hillary Slater died from . . . uh . . . ‘exsanguination’ . . .”

“That’s correct,” he said crisply, rising from his desk and stashing some reports in a file drawer.

“Uh . . . due to hemorrhaging from the uterus . . .”

He kept filing as if not hearing her.

“Due to . . . incomplete removal of the placenta and the products of conception. An incomplete abortion, in other words.”

Suddenly he turned and just locked eyes with her. She couldn’t tell if he was going to admit it or throw her out or both.

“I’m sorry,” he said firmly, deliberately. “The autopsy report and everything connected with it is confidential, and I cannot discuss it.”

“Well, without discussing the report itself . . .” Leslie stood up, planning to block the doorway if necessary, for as long as she could get away with it. “. . . I noticed that the governor’s doctor, Dr. Leland Gray, signed the death certificate as the certifying physician. Apparently he was content with the warfarin story, but . . . could you explain the discrepancy between the autopsy findings—which we won’t discuss—and the cause of death indicated on the death certificate?”

He stopped on his way to the door. He was apparently a gentleman—he
didn’t trample her. He seemed to be thinking about what she’d said, reviewing his options. “I really can’t explain that.”

“Well . . . without discussing the report itself . . . were you aware, sir, that Hillary Slater had received an abortion the day she died?”

He shook his head and took one step toward the door. “I can’t discuss that.”

She held her hand up in one last hope of detaining him. “Off the record, sir, off the record . . . if . . . if I were to believe that Hillary Slater had an abortion the day she died . . . would you have trouble with that?”

“I can’t discuss it! Now if you’ll please step aside—”

“Don’t tell me she did or didn’t! Just . . . just for my own peace of mind in this, okay? If I . . . okay, if I thought Hillary had an abortion that day, would you have trouble with that? Would I be all wet?”

He smiled at her tenacity. She was thankful he was smiling at all.

“Ms. Albright, you can think whatever you want. It’s a free country. Now . . .” He motioned with his hand for her to step aside.

She held both hands out pleadingly. “Just one more question . . . Just one more . . . Please.”

“It doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer.”

“Off the record . . .”

“Off the record.”

“If . . . if I were to say to you that Hillary Slater didn’t die from a warfarin overdose but from a botched abortion, would you . . . and you don’t have to say if she did or didn’t . . . would you have any trouble with that?”

He pointed his finger right at her nose, so close she almost crossed her eyes to see it. “Ms. Albright, you learned nothing new from me today, isn’t that correct?”

She took a quick inventory and then replied, “Yes, that’s correct.”

“I’ve told you nothing you didn’t already know?”

“Correct.”

He looked directly into her eyes with a gaze that seemed it would push her backward. “The answer to your question is no. I wouldn’t have any trouble with that. All right?”

She maintained a meek and courteous stance, and she truly was grateful. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for your time.”

He stepped past her, took just a few steps down the hall, and then turned and pointed at her with that same forceful gaze. “Now don’t bring this matter into my presence again, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned his back on her and hurried down the hall.

She turned away, used the doorpost to keep her balance, and mimed a wide-eyed, silent whistle.

THE NURSE/RECEPTIONIST
sitting in the little glass window at Dr. Leland Gray’s private practice took the call, made a note of it, and then informed Dr. Gray the moment he’d finished with a patient. “Dr. Gray, you received a call from Dr. Matthews at Bayview. He’d like you to return his call ASAP.”

Dr. Gray was an older man with thinning gray hair combed straight back, a firmly set jaw, and cold blue eyes that could stare down an army. Upon hearing this message, he maintained an even, general-like demeanor, but did take a peek through the window to see who was out in the waiting room. Mm. Nothing urgent.

“Mrs. Demetri is next?” he asked.

The nurse consulted her chart. “Yes. She’s complaining of a sore throat.”

“Mm . . . okay . . . I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“All right.”

He walked, almost marched, into his office and closed the door behind him. He quickly banged out a staccato tune on his touch-tone phone and waited while the other end whirred a few times.

“Dr. Matthews,” a voice answered.

“Harlan, this is Lee.”

“Lee . . .” There was an uncomfortable pause.

“Well, come on, man, I have patients waiting.”

“Bad news, Lee. I had a reporter from Channel 6 drop by my office. She’s been sniffing around and knows about the Hillary Slater thing.”

Dr. Gray’s eyes narrowed, but his spine stayed straight.

“What reporter?”

“Leslie Albright.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s no big name or anything, but she does news reporting for Channel 6.”

“So what does she know, what did she ask, and what did you tell her?”

Matthews fumbled a bit at the rapid-fire questions.

“Well . . . first of all . . .”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her nothing, Lee. I told her I could not discuss the case.”

“So what does she know?”

“She knows . . . or at least she’s in the process of finding out . . . the cause of Hillary’s death.”

Gray was getting angry. “Well, can’t she read? The death certificate is quite clear!”

“She knows it doesn’t line up with the autopsy report.”

“How does she know that?”

“Well, I didn’t tell her—I want to make that clear.”

“Then who did?”

Matthews was getting flustered. “Lee . . .”

“Who did?” Then Gray spiced his question with some cursing, which underlined his impatience.

“I’ve got an autopsy to do, so I haven’t had time to ask around. Albright said it was the transcriptionist who typed up the autopsy report.”

Now Gray just cursed without saying anything else.

Matthews kept going while he had the chance. “I do not know what got this Albright woman started on this, especially after all this time, but . . . obviously, there’s been a leak somewhere, and I’ll be direct about this—it didn’t start with me. She already had her information before she came in here.”

“Well, who’s the transcriptionist?”

“I’m going to find that out.”

“When you find out, tell me.”

“I’ll do that. Any other suggestions?”

“None at this time except keep your &$#@! yap shut!” Gray slammed down the receiver, thought a moment, and then picked it up again.

MISS RHODES, GOVERNOR
Slater’s secretary, answered the phone at her desk. “Governor Slater’s office.” Upon hearing who the caller was, she put the call right through.

Governor Slater picked up the receiver and then swiveled his big chair toward the window, the high back hiding him from the rest of the office. “Yes, Lee.” He listened intently for a few minutes, his face turning grim, his hands making and unmaking fists on the arms of the chair. Looking out his window toward the capitol dome, he suddenly felt naked before the world and swiveled toward his desk again. “Thanks, Lee.”

Less than three minutes later Devin rushed to the governor’s office, strode in fast enough to kick up a breeze across Miss Rhodes’s desk, and closed the door behind him.

“Sit down, Martin,” said Slater.

Devin knew from the governor’s face that there was trouble. The governor couldn’t even come around to speaking for a moment, but brooded and steamed and then slammed the desk with his fist as he barked out a curse.

“Sir, what is it?”

Slater flopped back in his chair, his hand over his mouth, his eyes scanning the desktop as if it were covered with tiny pests he wanted to squash. “Martin . . . I’m afraid our wall has been breached.”

Devin felt a spear go through his stomach. He knew what was coming. “What is it, sir?”

“I just got a call from our family doctor, Dr. Gray. As you know, he was there when Hillary died. He determined the cause of death and filled out the death certificate. He did what he could to protect my family’s privacy.”

Devin nodded. He’d been a party to all this.

The governor was seething and trying very hard to control his voice. “All it takes is an election year!” He cursed, and not too quietly. “Of all the years for her to die, and die this way, it had to be an election year!” Then he winced at his own words and backed down a little. “Aw, Hillary, I’m sorry.” He seemed to be praying, addressing his daughter through the ceiling. “It wasn’t your fault, I know.” He looked at Devin.
“But sometimes I can’t believe my bad luck.” He leaned over the desk and delivered the news. “Dr. Gray just got a call from the pathologist who did the autopsy—what was his name . . . ?”

“Uh . . . Matthews, I think. I have the records in my office—”

“Matthews, that’s right. Matthews says a reporter from Channel 6 came by to see him. She was asking questions about Hillary’s death and seemed to know what the real cause was!”

Now the spear in Devin’s stomach twisted painfully. “Oh no . . .”

The governor just kept leaning over the desk with fiery eyes, so Devin had to ask the question. “You did say Channel 6?”

“Channel 6.”

“Which reporter?”

“Albright. Do we know anyone named Albright?”

Devin nodded. “Why . . . yes . . . She was the one at the rally. It was her report that we . . . spiced up a little.”

Slater reared up on his haunches and gestured widely. “Martin, how in the world did she find out? No one was supposed to know! Not even my wife knows!”