Fountain of Death(72)

Pete Lindner laughed. “Oh, Tony,” he said. “He’ll bring an entourage.”





3


GREGOR DEMARKIAN WOULD HAVE been hard-pressed to explain why he wanted to see Traci Cardinale in her hospital bed. She was wan. She was sick. She was asleep. The little information this provided him with was of no use to him whatsoever. The hospital wasn’t interesting, either. It was more or less standard, as hospitals went—maybe a little more high-tech than average, because this was a teaching and research hospital connected with Yale, instead of just a health care facility. There were too many machines with too many gauges. There was too much white and operating room green. Right outside Traci’s room, there was another of those New Year’s Eve signs, this time written in letters that were supposed to look like dripping blood. “NEW YEAR’S DEAD,” the blood letters said. Gregor thought he would spend this New Year’s Eve locked safely in his own bedroom with a television set and a cup of hot chocolate.

The nurse sitting beside Traci’s bed stood up when Gregor and Philip Brye entered the room. Then there was a movement in the shadows and a small man appeared, dark and diffident and very serious. Dr. Rama Kadhi, Gregor realized. The doctor wore a stethoscope around his neck that had been polished so well it shone. He bowed his head first to Philip Brye and then to Gregor. Then he stepped over to the bed and pointed at the young woman lying in it. Traci Cardinale had an IV drip in her arm.

“Dr. Lindner has told us that this woman may be the victim of a homicide attempt,” Rama Kadhi said very formally. “This is what you are thinking?”

Rama Kadhi was looking at Philip Brye, but Gregor Demarkian answered. “This woman is connected to a case in which two homicides have already occurred,” he said. “We feel we have to be cautious.”

“Ah,” Rama Kadhi said. “I feel I have to be cautious, too. We did start work on her in time to save her. She will be all right.”

“Good,” Philip Brye said.

“In the meantime, there are difficulties,” Rama Kadhi continued. “We are having a difficult time keeping her calm and quiet. It is necessary now that she stay calm and quiet. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Traci seemed calm and quiet enough to Gregor Demarkian. She seemed inert.

“In a different kind of case, we would give her sleeping pills now to help her rest,” Rama Kadhi was going on, “but in this case it is not possible. She is unconscious. It is not indicated to give sleeping pills to a woman who is unconscious.”

“If she’s unconscious, why does she need help to relax?” Gregor asked. “Isn’t that relaxed enough?”

The nurse next to Traci Cardinale’s bed stirred. “She’s having dreams,” she said. “She’s having terrible dreams. She keeps calling out in her sleep.”

Dr. Khadi shot the nurse a disapproving look. “It is not possible to have dreams while unconscious. This I was taught in India. She is quite restless, however. She does cry out.”

“Wood,” Traci Cardinale said, quite distinctly, as if to prove the nurse’s and doctor’s point.

The upright people stared steadily at the bed, but Traci Cardinale didn’t cry out again. She didn’t move. Her face looked as if it had been sculpted from wax.

“Well,” Pete Lindner said. “I told you she wasn’t in a coma.”

“Of course she is not in a coma.” Rama Kadhi said, surprised. “If she were in a coma, we would have put her in the Intensive Care Unit. Right away. The police do not come first here.”

Gregor moved closer to the bed.

“Wood,” Traci Cardinale said again.

Her lips barely moved. Gregor didn’t understand why this was enough “restlessness” to worry about. She wasn’t about to pull the IV drip out of her arm with this.

“Is wood all she ever says?” Gregor asked the doctor and the nurse.

“Wood is all I’ve ever heard her say,” the nurse said. “I’ve been assuming she means wood as in trees. Maybe she’s saying would with a you el. As in she would or wouldn’t do something.”

Rama Kadhi looked disapproving again. “This is very foolish,” he said stiffly. “Why would she said would with a you el? This would not make sense.”

“I don’t think the woman has to make sense while she’s unconscious,” Philip Brye said.

Gregor looked around the room. There was no locked cupboard or personal closet. This was the emergency ward. There was no sign of what he was looking for.

“What happened to her things?” Gregor asked. “What was she wearing when she came in here?”