Chapter 2 - The First Test
The laboratory report arrived forty-eight hours later.
Arthur read it alone inside his office at Vance Meridian.
The white pill was a standard blood-pressure medication.
The blue tablet contained a concentrated compound derived from digitalis.
In controlled doses, digitalis could regulate certain heart conditions.
In excessive or repeated doses, it could cause nausea, confusion, irregular heartbeat, organ damage, and death.
Arthur read the final paragraph twice.
The concentration found in the tablet was more than six times the normal therapeutic amount.
He folded the report and placed it inside the locked drawer of his desk.
Then he called Dr. Holloway.
The physician arrived at Arthur’s office that afternoon, smiling nervously.
Malcolm Holloway was fifty-four, thin, silver-haired, and respected among wealthy patients who valued discretion as much as medical skill.
Arthur gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.
“Sit.”
Holloway sat.
Arthur opened a folder containing a list of every medication prescribed to him during the previous year.
“Did you prescribe digitalis?”
Holloway adjusted his glasses.
“You have not been prescribed digitalis.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about experimental supplements?”
“No.”
“Blue tablets?”
Holloway hesitated.
Only for half a second.
But Arthur saw it.
“I prescribe several medications that are blue,” Holloway said.
Arthur slid a photograph across the desk.
It showed the tablet Vanessa had given him.
Holloway stared at it.
“I can’t identify medication from an image.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“My laboratory identified it without difficulty.”
The physician’s face tightened.
Arthur leaned forward.
“The dosage could kill me.”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
Holloway stood abruptly.
“If you’re accusing me of misconduct, I want counsel present.”
“Sit down.”
“I’m leaving.”
Arthur pressed a button beneath his desk.
The office door locked with a quiet click.
Holloway turned toward it.
“I asked you to sit.”
The doctor faced him again.
Arthur’s voice remained calm.
“I know about the gambling account in Atlantic City.”
Holloway said nothing.
“I know you owe nearly seven hundred thousand dollars.”
Still nothing.
“I know Julian Cross visited you four times in the last six weeks. Twice at your clinic. Once at the Mercer Club. Once at a private apartment rented through a shell company.”
Holloway’s face had become gray.
Arthur opened another file.
“There are photographs.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
The doctor looked toward the locked door.
Arthur waited.
After several seconds, Holloway lowered himself into the chair.
“Julian asked questions,” he said.
“What questions?”
“About your health. Your heart. Whether symptoms could look natural.”
“Did he mention digitalis?”
Holloway rubbed his forehead.
“He asked how difficult it would be to detect in an older patient with cardiac complications.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That modern toxicology would detect it if anyone knew to look.”
“Did Vanessa speak to you?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Arthur stared at him.
Holloway looked away.
Arthur placed a small recorder on the desk.
“It’s already running.”
The doctor swallowed.
“She called twice,” he admitted.
“What did she ask?”
“The same questions.”
“Did you give either of them medication?”
“No.”
“Did you alter my records?”
“No.”
“Did they pay you?”
Holloway’s silence answered.
Arthur opened a bank statement showing a deposit into an offshore account connected to the doctor.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
Holloway’s hands began to tremble.
“They said it was consulting compensation.”
“Who sent it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“A holding company.”
“Controlled by whom?”
“I never checked.”
Arthur almost laughed.
“Then check now.”
Holloway took out his phone.
Before he could unlock it, the screen lit up with an incoming message.
The physician glanced down.
Arthur saw the name.
Vanessa.
Holloway tried to turn the phone over.
Arthur reached across the desk and took it.
The message contained only seven words.
Did he swallow the blue one tonight?
Arthur showed the screen to him.
Holloway closed his eyes.
“Tell me everything,” Arthur said.
But the doctor shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“They are watching me.”
“Who?”
Holloway looked at the dark windows behind Arthur.
“I don’t know.”
Arthur unlocked the office door.
The physician rose quickly.
At the doorway, Arthur stopped him.
“Malcolm.”
Holloway looked back.
“If I die, every file I have goes to the police.”
The doctor’s fear did not disappear.
It deepened.
May you like
“Mr. Vance,” he whispered, “your death may not be the part they’re afraid of.”
That night, Dr. Malcolm Holloway vanished.
