The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [68]
Sara Duhey studied the older woman, then nodded. “All right.”
“Thank you,” Armstrong whispered.
The two women left Room 133 together. Outside, the storm had intensified and wind gusted with a fury that shook buildings.
CHAPTER XIV
“A crack that had the habit of looking like a rabbit …” David repeated the words over and over as he studied the series of thin lines that gerrymandered his living room ceiling.
“… had the funny habit of looking like a rabbit.” Where had he read that? What were the exact words? No matter, he decided. None of the cracks looked anything like a rabbit. Besides, the super had promised they would be plastered over, so it was a fruitless exercise anyhow.
He rolled to one side, tucked an arm under his head and stared out the window. The outlines of buildings across the alley undulated through a cold, driving rain.
It had been nearly two days since the nightmarish session with Dockerty. The morning after the inquiry David had tried to conduct his affairs at the hospital as usual. It was like working in an ice box. No virus could have spread through the wards faster than news of the tacit indictment brought against him. Most of the nurses and medical staff took special pains to avoid him. Some whispered as he walked past and one nurse actually pointed. Those few who spoke to him picked their words with the deliberateness of soldiers traversing a mine field.
By early afternoon he could take no more. Aldous Butterworth and Edwina Burroughs were the only two patients he had in the hospital. Butterworth was essentially Dr. Armstrong’s problem again. The circulation in his operated leg was better than in his other one. Edwina Burroughs was anxious to go home and probably as ready for discharge now as she would be in the morning. David wrote a note in Butterworth’s chart instructing Dr. Armstrong to arrange for his sutures to be removed in three days; then he made out a list of directions for Edwina Burroughs and sent her home.
He was walking, head down, toward the main exit when he collided with Dotty Dalrymple. They exchanged apologies, then Dalrymple said, “Heading to the office?”
David fought the impulse to brush aside her courtesy with a lie. “No,” he said. “I’ve canceled the rest of the day. Actually, I’m going home.”
He was surprised at the interest and concern in her eyes. Although the two of them were acquainted, they had never talked at length.
“Dr. Shelton, I want you to know how distressed I am about last night.” She was, David realized, the first person all day who had openly said anything to him about the session.
“Me too,” he muttered.
“We haven’t had the chance to get to know one another very well, but I’ve heard a great deal about your work from my nurses—all of it highly complimentary.” David’s face tightened in a half-smile. “My praise plus a dime gets you a phone call. That’s what you are thinking, isn’t it?” she said. David’s smile became more open and relaxed. Dalrymple rested a fleshy arm against the wall. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of cheery news for you, but I can tell you that Lieutenant Dockerty was in to see me this morning. Your name came up only briefly and, for what it’s worth, I think he is not at all convinced of your guilt despite that circus last night.”
“From the reaction around the wards this morning, Miss Dalrymple, I’d say that if that’s the case he’s in a tiny minority. All of a sudden, I feel about as much control over my life as a laboratory mouse. At the moment Lieutenant Dockerty is very low on