“Of course,” Billie said.
The woman was chirping. Gregor almost laughed.
The nun looked dubious, then turned around and headed back down the hall. Billie opened the door to Sophie Mgrdchian’s hospital room.
“Old bat,” Billie said cheerfully. “She didn’t decide to give Mrs. Mgrdchian a private room and neither did the hospital. We insisted on it. Come in and meet Dr. Halevy.”
Gregor walked into the hospital room and looked around. It was a small room, but big enough to hold several chairs as well as Sophie Mgrdchian’s bed. Sophie lay on her back with her head on a pillow and the top half of the bed raised just a little. There was a tube in her arm, but nothing else. Gregor was a little surprised. He’d expected a lot more technology.
A tall woman looked up from Sophie’s bedside and then came around to greet them. Dr. Halevy was as middle aged and thick as Billie Ormonds, but her hair was pulled back tightly on her head, and she was wearing a stethoscope.
“Mr. Demarkain,” she said. “Right on time. You have no idea what a relief that is. Hello, Billie. It’s good to see you again.”
“Actually,” Billie said, “she wishes she’d never have to see me again. But that’s only because she hates police work.”
“I don’t hate police work,” Dr. Halevy said. “I hate crime. You’d think with all the pain and suffering in the world, people would refrain from causing it when it wasn’t necessary. And it isn’t necessary, pretty much ever, as far as I can tell.”
“Police have to hurt suspects sometimes,” Gregor started.
Dr. Halevy waved this away. “You know what I mean. I’m not talking about the police.” She gestured back to Sophie. “She’s all right for the moment. The nurses have orders to check in on her at least once very fifteen minutes. Let’s go out in the hall for a moment.”
“I thought there was some kind of conference room,” Gregor said.
“There’s a conference room if you want it,” Dr. Halevy said, ushering them all out into the corridor, “but I don’t really know if we need one. I mean, I’ve got only one thing to say, and it doesn’t mean anything, if you believe Billie here. It can’t be used in court, or something.”
“It just doesn’t tell me anything,” Billie said mildly.
“What is it?” Gregor said.
“What it is,” Dr. Halevy said, “is that I have absolutely no idea what happened here. Not one. I’ve got no idea why this woman is unconscious or how she got that way. I’ve done all the usual tox screens. Nothing. We’ve checked heart and lungs. Nothing. We’ve checked for cancer. Nothing. There’s no sign she’s ever had a stroke. There’s no sign she’s ever had a heart attack. There’s no sign of anything at all. It’s like voodoo.”
2
In an Agatha Christie mystery, what was happening to Sophie Mgrdchian would be discovered to be a secret poison—or maybe not so secret, because in spite of the clichés, Dame Agatha didn’t really go in for the more esoteric stuff. She’d have thought of something else, something closer to home. Gregor could not, for the life of him, imagine what it would be.
Instead, he found himself walking down City Ave after his talk with Dr. Halevy, passing the edge of St. Joseph’s University and thinking that he’d soon be at the place where City Ave went to hell after dark. For all he knew, it might go to hell in the daytime, too. He ought to get a cab and get back to Cavanaugh Street.
Instead, he got out his cell phone. He had to be careful with it. For the first six weeks he’d had it, he hadn’t been able to pick it up without “launching the browser,” which apparently meant getting on the Internet. From his phone. Here was something else Dame Agatha hadn’t had to contend with. Still, Miss Marple would not have objected. Miss Marple believed in accepting change and embracing progress, one way or the other.
He was standing on City Ave, thinking about Jane Marple as if she were a real human being. Tibor was getting to him. Tibor thought of all fictional characters as human beings, even if they were hobbits.
Bennis had set up his speed dial list. All he had to do was remember the number he’d given to David Mortimer. Eventually, he gave up trying to remember and just looked at the list instead. The list was interesting. Bennis had given herself the number 3. She’d given Tibor number 1, and his doctor number 2. He’d have to talk to her about that.
He pressed down hard on the number 6 and then held the phone to his ear to listen to it ring. He got David Mortimer on the first ring, which meant that Mortimer did without an assistant. When had they stopped calling them secretaries and started calling them assistants?