A Night at the Operation Read Online Free PDF Page B

help the patient calm down and deal with it more rationally. There’s nothing criminal about it.”
    Dutton nodded. “That’s true. But here’s the thing: the diagnosis was wrong.”
    “What do you mean, wrong?” I asked.
    “Wrong, as in, there wasn’t anything growing in Russell Chapman’s brain. The records at Dr. Simon-Freed’s office confirmed it. Chapman was clean as a whistle. Something got screwed up. He wasn’t dying, but Sharon told him he was, according to Chapman’s daughter. And then he went home and killed himself. You might see the problem.”
    “Problem, yes. Crime, no. At worst—and I’m willing to bet this isn’t the case—that might constitute malpractice. But it sure as hell isn’t murder, and there would be no reason for Sharon to skip out. It’s not her nature. I think you’re fishing here, and you’re looking in the wrong pond. A guy swallowed some pills because he had a wrong diagnosis. Maybe it’s Sharon’s fault and maybe it isn’t, but it’s not a crime. My guess is that she heard about the suicide and went someplace overnight to decompress. It would be more her style to do that. She’ll be back to see patients by tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Dutton said.
    “She’s got hours on Saturday, Chief. People still get sick on the weekend.”
    I got out of Dutton’s town-issued Crown Victoria (his personal car is a Honda) and closed the door. He lowered the passenger window from his side so I could hear him.
    “It’s not that simple, Elliot. The receptionist at Sharon’s office said Sharon hadn’t heard the news of Chapman’s suicide before she left. And when they called, her cell phone was already turned off. So she’s not somewhere trying to get past the consequences of her diagnosis, unless she knew what effect it would have before she gave it to him.”
    I leaned into the car, giving the people on the sidewalk the best possible view of my butt, but also giving me a chance to warm my already freezing ears. “Okay, riddle me this, Batman. What possible reason could Sharon have had to want to get Chapman to kill himself? You’re saying she knew before she told him he was dying that he would be suicidal. Why would she do that?”
    “Chapman had a lot of money,” Dutton said. “Made himself a pile when he invented a new kind of tortilla.”
    “A new kind of . . .”
    “It’s better not to think about it. Anyway, he was pretty loaded, in the many millions, and there’s talk that he had promised some of it to Dr. Simon-Freed in his will. Going to build her a children’s clinic, or something.”
    The voice that came out of my mouth sounded like a rusty oboe played by a man with an upper respiratory infection. “Are you serious?” I asked. “You think Sharon manipulated this guy into killing himself so she could have some of his money? Because she’s not doing well enough on her own yet?” Sharon had a house about sixteen times fancier than the mostly empty town house in which I “lived,” and was in fact paying me alimony. I’d never heard her complain or worry out loud about money.
    “As a matter of fact, I don’t believe that,” Dutton told me. “But there are people who do, and I have to investigate. It’s very suspicious that your ex-wife isn’t answering her phone right now, Elliot.”
    I tried to look nonchalant. I’m not very good at that when I don’t mean it, so I suppose I appeared as chalant as the next guy. “It’s not a mystery, Chief,” I said. “I told you: Sharon’s upset about what happened, and she’s off somewhere regrouping. If you don’t hear from her by tomorrow, then I’d be worried. But you will. Thanks for the ride, though, and thanks for easing my fears. For a while there, I thought this really was going to be a bad day.”
    I turned and walked to the theatre. I didn’t look back, but I could hear the window on Dutton’s Crown Vic going back up, and I could picture the look on his face as he undoubtedly