A Perilous Conception Page 13

  ***

  Granted, I was not supposed to make any waves, but since everything I knew about the goings-on in Hearn’s lab had come from Laurie Mansell, and since it had been on Mansell’s recommendation that the Supervisor from Hell had been hired, I thought it might be interesting to hear how other people in that lab had seen things. Ms. Mansell didn’t look overjoyed to see me as I came through the door, but she was cordial, and told me I could use her office to interview the four techs.

  The first three gave carbon-copy replies to all my questions, no deviations off the shorter accounts they’d given me right after the Kennett-Hearn disaster. They’d been at work when they heard shouting, then gunshots, and then the lab went nuts. When I asked about the accident the prior August, none of them remembered anything. Not unreasonable, given that Mansell had told me she and Wanego were working adjacent to the alcove, and the other techs were a room away.

  The fourth tech was George Altgeld, a nice looking kid, deep blue eyes, big nose, lots of dark hair curling over his ears. Tall, muscular, spine straight, all his movements smooth, graceful. Most people look uncomfortable when they get called in for a police interview, but this guy didn’t appear to be the least bothered. I decided to try a different tack with him. “Where do you work out?” I asked.

  Which got me a conditional grin. “How’d you know I work out?”

  “My job.”

  He shrugged. “I go to the Emerald Athletic Club, down on Westland Avenue. It’s close enough, I can run over during lunch hour.”

  “So, how was it, working for Alma Wanego?”

  Life’s just one non sequitur after pork chops. He blinked. “Huh?”

  “How’d you like working for Alma Wanego? What’s complicated about that?”

  Altgeld tried to figure out where I was coming from. I motioned with a hand: Give.

  “Well…okay, you want to know, I can tell you pretty quick. It was a bitch. She was a bitch. I got it worse than anybody else, right from Day One, but I’ve got some pride, and I decided she wasn’t going to send me out with my tail between my legs.” Now, he grinned with all his heart. “And I’m still here, and she’s not.”

  “You got it worse than the other techs? Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “That’s why I asked you.”

  He ran his lips through a quick set of push-outs. “Okay, then. Here’s how it was. I’m the only male tech, and Wanego didn’t much like men. No, let me say it straight-out. I don’t think she ever saw a pair of balls she didn’t want to bust. Talk was, she had something going with Dr. Camnitz, but I never could buy that. If Wanego ever had a heart, it would have belonged to Laur…”

  If he could have swallowed that last sentence, he would have. “Ah, shit,” he muttered.

  “Mansell?” I asked. “Her heart would have belonged to Laurie Mansell?”

  Altgeld sighed. “That’s what I said.”

  “But Laurie Mansell’s married and has two kids.”

  Bingo. His face broadcast contempt for the dumb old cop. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Hey, this stuff happens nowadays. A gay guy or woman gets married, and thinks that’ll take care of things, but it doesn’t. They know they’re playing on the wrong team.”

  “Any proof?”

  “If you mean did I ever see them in the sack together, no. But the two of them always worked on the same projects, and, well…little things. The way they’d sometimes touch each other. The way Wanego talked to Laurie, nothing like how she talked to the rest of us. And since Wanego got the job here because of Laurie, and then got promoted over Laurie to supervisor, you’d figure Laurie’d be pretty pissed off, wouldn’t you? Well, she never said a word about it.”

  “Sounds to me like if she had, she’d have been out the door before the word was out of her mouth,” I said.

  Altgeld nodded vigorously. “Yeah, sure. But there were other things. One day, I walked past where they were working, and Laurie pulled out a book of matches to light a burner, then dropped the matches on the desk. They were from the Venus Lounge.”

  The Venus Lounge was a lesbian spot on Wesley Street, up on Capitol Hill, the major gay section of Emerald.

  “And one time, when I came back early from my workout, Wanego and Mansell had their heads together over a petri dish, and they jumped like I’d goosed them. I pretended not to notice anything, but Wanego had a smear of lipstick on her kisser, and she never wore makeup.”

  “Did you ever talk to the other techs about this?”

  “No way. I’m not dumb enough to lie to a cop who’s asking me questions, but for all I hated Wanego, and I’ll tell you, that was plenty, I’d never want to do anything to hurt Laurie. I could care less if she swings both ways. It’s her business, and besides, she’s a sweetheart. She should’ve been made supervisor in the first place, not the Witch of the Northwest. I’d work for Laurie anywhere, any time. Hey, I sure hope you’re not going to do anything to hurt her.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I’ll do my best. I’ll also do what I can to make sure she doesn’t know the information came from you.”

  He looked relieved. “I’d really appreciate that.”

  ***

  I’d talked to the techs from behind Laurie Mansell’s desk, but when I asked Ms. Mansell to come in, I moved to the visitor’s chair. She settled in, smoothed her skirt, and asked whether my interviews had been helpful. “Sometimes we don’t know right away,” I said.

  Which set off a wobbly little smile. “I understand.”

  “Now, I’ve got a question for you. How did you feel when Ms. Wanego was promoted past you to be supervisor?”

  She shook her head and waggled her palms. “Oh, I guess a little resentful.”

  “Just a little?”

  A shrug. “Yeah. No point making a big deal about it.”

  “Even though she’d gotten her job here in the first place because of your recommendation?”

  Her mouth formed a neat O. “How—”

  “It’s in her file at Personnel. How’d you happen to know her?”

  She could tell where I was headed, but wasn’t about to come along if she could help it. “I met her, oh, five years ago, at the Annual Convention of Cytogenetics Lab Technicians. We got to talking, and she said she wasn’t happy where she was working. I thought she seemed very competent, and I knew one of our techs was moving to Denver, so I spoke to Dr. Hearn, and she said why didn’t I have Alma put in an application.”

  “And the rest is history. Ms. Mansell, you’re not leaving anything out, are you?”

  “I don’t think so…like what?”

  “Like why you happened to meet someone at a convention, then gave her a strong enough recommendation that she got a job in your lab, and before her suitcase was unpacked, everybody in the place hated her. And then, when this person nobody could stand got to be the next supervisor, jumping right over your back, you felt maybe only a little resentful.”

  “Mr. Baumgartner, what are you trying to say?”

  “That it is odd you weren’t bothered more when you were passed over, and that you seem to be the only person around who wasn’t put off by Ms. Wanego’s lack of interpersonal skills.”

  “There was no point being bitter. Dr. Hearn explained to me that Dr. Camnitz had insisted Alma be appointed supervisor, and there was nothing we could do about it. But she did manage a little raise for me.” Mansell sighed. “And anyway, I got along with Alma all right. She had another side that not many people could see.”

  “But you could.”

  Ms. Mansell’s face went the color of beef in a butcher’s display case. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. I paused, felt like a bastard, but pushed ahead. “Do you have another si
de, too? One that fit with Ms. Wanego’s.”

  Up out of her chair, just this far from tears. “You don’t have any right—”

  “Venus Lounge.”

  Like I’d shot her. She fell back into her chair, slumped. Tears started.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “Why don’t you tell me what really happened at that convention?”

  She pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes. When she looked back at me, it was with an expression I’ve seen before, one that says I’m finally about to hear the real story. “I was at the bar in the evening with a few friends. Alma came up and introduced herself, and then, when my friends took off, she asked would I like to come up to her room and talk. I knew…of course I knew. The way she’d been looking at me. So, I went with her. Later, she told me she was hunting for a job. I talked to Dr. Hearn…and I’ve told you the rest.”

  “Not all of it. If what you’ve been telling me is true, how was it that Ms. Wanego was carrying on an affair with Dr. Camnitz?”

  “It was Alma’s idea, strictly business. Lab techs work on soft money, and if a grant runs out and the investigator can’t get a renewal or a new grant, some techs are going to be out of work. Alma said she could get job security for the two of us, and she’d give me half the raise that’d come with the supervisor’s job. With that and the raise I got from Dr. Hearn, I was actually making almost as much as Alma.”

  “Did she follow through on her promise?”

  “Every month, like clockwork.” Mansell started to cry again, quietly. “We made a little ceremony out of it. Once a month, on payday, we’d go out and have a nice dinner, and then go back to her place, or get a room. I told my husband we had monthly lab staff dinner meetings, and every now and then, I said there was a weekend retreat.” She covered her face; her whole body shook. “He was always…so…nice about it.”

  I pulled a couple of tissues from the box at the corner of her desk, and pushed them into her hands. “I can’t begin to imagine how tough that was.”

  She nodded, wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. “If my husband wasn’t so nice, I’d have told him what was happening, and maybe Alma and I could’ve found our own place. But I loved my husband—I still do. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him or Alma. Going to a motel felt so cheap, though, and planning visits around that snippy little roommate of hers was a real nuisance.”

  “Katie Corrigan?”

  She nodded. “She didn’t like me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well…I can’t say for sure, but I think maybe she had a little crush on Alma, herself.”

  I remembered Katie telling me about her expensive Labor Day weekend at the coast with a boyfriend, right before Ms. Wanego had vanished. Maybe Mansell was being overly sensitive about the person she had to work around to visit Wanego. I apologized for having made her so uncomfortable, said I didn’t have any more questions right then, and left her trying to get herself together before she had to face her lab crew.

  Cops develop thick skin. They have to. But some stuff still gets through. I’ve known guys who were cheating on their wives, and a few women who were sneaking behind their husbands’ backs, but I’d never met anyone in Laurie Mansell’s situation. I could imagine, a little too easily, how I’d feel if Irma told me she was leaving me for another man, but what if it was for a woman? Would that be different? Better? Worse? I didn’t know.

  While I waited for the elevator, a thought hit me. Katie Corrigan didn’t tell me she’d gone to the shore with her boyfriend. She said she went with her sweetie.

  ***

  The Medical School’s Office of Continuing Medical Education was next to the Dean’s Office, three stories down from the OBGYN Department. The young Latina woman behind the desk flashed teeth as I came through the door. “Yes, sir. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I’m Dr. William Francis, I do OBGYN. I’d like some information about a conference that was held in Norway last September.”

  All the time I talked, she watched me. When I finished, she asked, “Are you on our staff, Dr. Francis?”

  “That’s in process,” I said. “I’ve just moved here…” I looked toward my wedding ring, felt a little catch in my throat, good timing. “…for my wife’s health. She’s got a condition, and she’s not doing well with the Minnesota winters. I just picked up staff membership papers, and I thought as long as I was here, I’d check into that September conference. Might be a good one for me to go to this year, you know, get to touch base with some of the old friends I had to leave behind in the snow.”

  The clerk was all sympathy. “Sure, sure. I understand. Let me go check the files.” She sashayed across the room to a file cabinet.

  In less than two minutes she was back, waving a color brochure in my face. “This the one you’re thinking of?”

  I scanned the two pages. Society of Gynecological Cancer Surgeons…September 2-5, 1976, Oslo, Norway…best time of year in Scandinavia…beautiful Midnight Sun Hotel. I nodded to the clerk. “Right, that’s it. They don’t have this year’s brochure yet, do they?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Much too early for that. But if you’d like, I can make you a copy of this one.”

  “That’d be great.”

  ***

  I got a handful of coins at the cafeteria, then slid into a phone booth in the corridor and dialed the phone number on the brochure for the beautiful Midnight Sun Hotel. After a long sequence of bings and bongs as I dropped quarters, dimes, and nickels into the slots, I heard that funny ring they use on phones in Europe. When a man filled my ear with a string of words starting with something that sounded like “Midnight Sun,” I said, “English, please. Do you speak English?”

  The Norwegian accent was thick as cream cheese, but no trouble understanding him. “Ah, yes. I beg your pardon, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Dr. Gerald Camnitz. I attended the Cancer Surgery Conference at your hotel last September.”

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “I know it’s been a while, but I just noticed something I need to check on. My wife made some charges to the room, and I’m not sure all of them are valid. Is there a way you could check the bill for me?”

  “For that, sir, you would need to speak to someone in the Business Office, but I regret they are now closed for the day. They’ll open at eight in the morning. Can you call back then?”

  “Yes, thank you. What time is it in Oslo now?”

  “Nearly eight in the evening, sir.”

  Coming up on eleven a.m. here, nine hours’ difference. “Thank you for your trouble.”

  “We’re always glad to be of help, sir.”

  ***

  I found Charles Rapp in the Anatomy Department, working a mop across a laboratory floor, between two rows of stout tables with tarps draped over their tops. I tried not to think about what was under those covers. “I’m looking into a missing persons case,” I said, and held my ID out to him. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  Rapp leaned the handle of his mop against the wall. “Don’t mind taking a break.” He swung a finger around the room. “Christ on a crutch. These med students, it’s like they were brought up in a barn. They drop a Kleenex or a gum wrapper, they ain’t gonna bother to pick it up. Let the goddamn janitor…excuse me, the goddamn ‘housekeeper’ do it. Bet their mothers never made them clean up their room. Sometimes I even find a finger on the floor, or a piece of guts, or God knows what. Can you believe that?”

  “Sure, why not? They’re in training to be doctors. Soon as they’ve learned how to get a good table in a restaurant, they take a course in how to make sure someone else picks up after them.”

  He took a moment, then cut loose a horse laugh. “You’re okay.” He pointed toward the professor’s desk at the front corner of the room. “Let’s take a lo
ad off.”

  “Suits me.”

  Rapp settled into the straight-backed wooden chair with an “Ooomph.” I perched on the corner of the desk. “Whaddaya wanna know?” he asked.

  His voice was like ground glass in a mixer. He was a big man in his mid-fifties, with gray eyes and scanty straight gray hair on top. A thin scar ran from the corner of his left eye to the angle of his jaw. A faded tattoo of an anchor decorated his left biceps. Navy, World War Two. “I understand you’ve worked here for a half-year, little more,” I said.

  “Here in Anatomy? Yeah. But I been pushing brooms and mops for Washington Public U coming up on eighteen years.”

  “And before Anatomy, you worked in OBGYN, right?”

  “Ten years.”

  His eyes told me exactly what he was feeling. “And you didn’t leave there by your request.”

  “No. That cunt, Wanego…sorry, Detective.”

  “A rose by any other name,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The right corner of his mouth turned upward. “Yeah. Well, she was some piece of work, all right. Tried to get me fired for not opening up a clogged washbasin fast enough, and didn’t give a flying fuck that a doctor countermanded her order.”

  Countermanded. Yep, Navy. “Why did a doctor countermand her order?”

  I thought Rapp might spit on the floor. “How’m I supposed to know that? I figured he wanted me to finish putting up the fire extinguisher and get all my crap cleared outa the hallway. That’s what I was doing when Wanego grabbed me. Wasn’t my place to ask questions, but it seemed like a doc would outrank a lab supervisor.” He snapped his right hand to his forehand in a crisp military salute. “I thought when I got outa the Navy I was done havin’ to say, ‘How much and how high, sir?’ when an ensign not old enough to shave said ‘Shit.’ At least in the Navy, you know who outranks you, but here, it seems like everybody outranks everybody else, but for goddamn sure, they all outrank me.”

  He blew out two lungfuls of exasperation, shook his head. “Yeah, that Wanego, I never in my life seen the likes of her. Good-lookin’ woman, I’ll give her that, but I wouldn’t have stuck it to her with a ten-foot dick. She chewed me out every which way to Sunday, and next morning I was down to Personnel. They didn’t want to hear nothing I had to say, just told me I had a clean record up till then, and they thought it’d be better if I didn’t work around Wanego no more. I felt sorry for Miss Walker—she was the head of Personnel. Everyone knew she had the Big C. She told me she’d assign me to Anatomy, so I said thank you and that’s fine. And it’s as good here as any other place, lot better’n some. Anything else I can tell you?”