The Vanishers Read Online Free PDF Page A

there are other medications… I’d rather not commit myself until I’ve checked some authorities, Mr. Helm. Do you really suspect, shall we say, foul play?”
    I said, “I’ll grant that it seems a clumsy way to commit murder. But our organization does make enemies, Doctor; and we like to investigate any mysterious accidents or illnesses involving anyone associated with us, even temporarily.”
    A lean dark gent in a white coat, he studied me shrewdly with cynical brown eyes. “I didn’t catch exactly what your organization is.”
    I grinned. “You weren’t supposed to. But if you’re worried about my credentials, I’ll give you a number to call in Washington and let my chief reassure you.”
    He regarded me a moment longer, and laughed shortly. “I guess that won’t be necessary. We’re not dealing with state secrets. I’ll do a little research and let you know what I find out. You’ll be around for a few days?”
    “Until Mrs. Watrous is released.”
    “We want to keep her long enough to make certain there aren’t any more surprises and that she’s recovering well from this one. And that the new treatment is doing its job.”
    “If her attack was artificially induced, will she be able to stop taking pills eventually, or is her pulse-rate mechanism, whatever you call it, permanently screwed up?”
    “If a cardiac accelerator was used, the patient should be able to come off the medication fairly soon. But frankly, Mr. Helm, I’m not taking the possibility very seriously. It seems pretty cloak-and-dagger to me.”
    “That’s the name of the game, sir.” I hesitated. “There’s no way somebody could have given her a fake quinine reaction, I suppose. Or a real one?”
    He looked shocked. “Here in the hospital? I think your melodrama is running away with you! But I’ll look that up for you, too, just to set your mind at rest.” He smiled sourly. “And mine, now that you’ve made the suggestion,”
    I found Astrid Watrous’ car in the staff parking lot. A dignified maroon color, it was a plushy Buick sedan that, although smaller than the impressive barges that used to wear the name, felt like an aircraft carrier after what I’d been driving.
    But I wasn’t too preoccupied with driving the unfamiliar car to note that a white Honda had been behind me from the moment I left the hospital. On that short run, it could have been a coincidence, but I wouldn’t have bet a lot of money on it.
    Mrs. Watrous’ room had, of course, been tidied up. The beds were made and the loose clothes that weren’t on hangers were folded on a chair. Her nightie hung on a hook behind the bathroom door, presumably the work of a conscientious maid, since it seemed unlikely that she’d have taken time to dispose of it so neatly, herself, when the heart-flutters hit. It was, I noted, being that kind of a guy, quite a pretty nightie. Packing it away in her suitcase, I saw some other intimate stuff that also looked sexy and expensive. A satin-and-lace lady after my own heart, I reflected; but I wished I were as sure of her motives as I was of her lingerie.
    With her smart brown spring coat over my arm and her suitcase in my hand, I left the room. I made my way to my own and managed to work the key in spite of my burdens. Entering, I turned to set the suitcase back by the door where it would be out of the way.
    “Just stay like that, right there!” said a strained voice behind me. “I have a gun! Don’t straighten up! Don’t move a muscle!”
    “Is it okay if I breathe?” I asked.

3
    The shaky voice told me that I had an amateur behind me, and a female amateur at that. Under the circumstances, there were various actions I could have taken with some hope of success. Although we’re taught that docile submission to a firearm is seldom an acceptable option, Hollywood and the cops to the contrary notwithstanding, I could have played along a bit, hoping to get close enough to disarm her. Or I could have slung the suitcase