Chapter 19: Suspended

At seven on Monday morning the clinic's waiting room held nine patients, two nurses, a state investigator and me.

The investigator was a small woman in a gray raincoat, with a leather folder and eyes that missed nothing.

Beside her stood a gray-haired man from the medical board, who had given his name once and said nothing else.

Sam had laid every chart on the reception desk in a neat row.

I had my phone in my hand.

At ten past seven the front door opened, and the Huntington doctor walked in with his black bag.

He saw the room and stopped.

Then he smiled, the same smile he had given me on a lawn.

"Mrs. Salisbury," he said. "Dr. Burdick. What a surprise. I have a letter for the clinic from the Huntington family regarding Mrs. Salisbury's care."

"Good morning," the investigator said. "Are you the physician who has treated Matilda Huntington for six years?"

"I'm the family doctor, yes."

"Specialty?"

He faltered.

"Internal medicine."

"And you diagnosed a thin uterine wall."

"I did."

"On what imaging?"

"It's in my notes."

"Which are in a locker in Providence station," I said.

His head turned.

I held up my phone, and I pressed play on the recording from his own mouth on the lawn.

"The first one gave us the most trouble," the doctor's voice said, tinny and clear in the waiting room.

Everyone in the room heard it.

One of the patients, a young woman with a toddler on her lap, turned and looked at him.

He reached for the phone, and the investigator stepped between us.

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