Paige steeled herself for disappointment.
"We found one with traces of chloral hydrate."
Paige closed her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks.
"And there were fingerprints on that glass. We're going to check them against Dr. Mallory's prints."
Paige felt a surge of excitement.
The inspector went on, "When he killed her—if he did kill her—he was wearing gloves, so his fingerprints wouldn't be on the curette. But he couldn't very well have served her a drink while he wore gloves, and he might not have worn them when he put the glass back on the shelf after rinsing it out."
"No," Paige said. "He couldn't, could he?"
"I have to admit that in the beginning, I didn't believe your theory was going anywhere. I think now maybe Dr. Mallory could be our man. But proving it is going to be another matter." He continued, "The district attorney is right. It would be a tricky business to bring Mallory to trial. He can still say that the prescription was for his patient. There's no law against making a medical mistake. I don't see how we—"
"Wait a minute!" Paige said excitedly. "I think I know how!"
Ken Mallory was listening to Lauren on the telephone. "Father and I found some office space that you're going to adore, darling! It's a beautiful suite in the 490 Post Building. I'm going to hire a receptionist for you, someone not too pretty."
Mallory laughed. "You don't have to worry about that, baby. There isn't anyone in the world for me but you."
"I'm dying for you to come see it. Can you get away now?"
"I'm off in a couple of hours."
"Wonderful! Why don't you pick me up at the house?"
"All right. I'll be there." Mallory replaced the telephone. It doesn't get any better than this, he thought. There is a God, and She loves me.
He heard his name called over the PA system: "Dr. Mallory . . . Room 430 . . . Dr. Mallory . . . Room 430." He sat there daydreaming, thinking about the golden future that lay ahead of him. A beautiful suite in the 490 Post Building, filled with rich old ladies eager to throw their money at him. He heard his name called again. "Dr. Mallory . . . Room 430." He sighed and got to his feet. I'll be out of this goddam madhouse soon, he thought. He headed toward Room 430.
A resident was waiting for him in the corridor, outside the room. "I'm afraid we have a problem here," he said. "This is one of Dr. Peterson's patients, but Dr. Peterson isn't here. I'm having an argument with one of the other doctors."
They stepped inside. There were three people in the room—a man in bed, a male nurse, and a doctor Mallory had not met before.
The resident said, "This is Dr. Edwards. We need your advice, Dr. Mallory."
"What's the problem?"
The resident explained. "This patient is suffering from erythropoietic porphyria, and Dr. Edwards insists on giving him a sedative."
"I don't see any problem with that."
"Thank you," Dr. Edwards said. "The man hasn't slept in forty-eight hours. I've prescribed chloral hydrate for him so he can get some rest and ..."
Mallory was looking at him in astonishment. "Are you out of your mind? That could kill him! He'd have a convulsive seizure, tachycardia, and he'd probably die. Where in hell did you study medicine?"
The man looked at Mallory and said quietly, "I didn't." He flashed a badge. "I'm with the San Francisco Police Department, Homicide." He turned to the man in bed. "Did you get that?"
The man pulled out a tape recorder from under the pillow. "I got it."
Mallory was looking from one to the other, frowning. "I don't understand. What is this? What's going on?"
The inspector turned to Mallory. "Dr. Mallory, you're under arrest for the murder of Dr. Kate Hunter."
Chapter Thirty-six
The headline in the San Francisco Chronicle read, DOCTOR ARRESTED IN LOVE TRIANGLE MURDER. The story beneath it went on at length to detail the lurid facts of the case.
Mallory read the newspaper in his cell. He slammed it down.
His cellmate said, "Looks like they got you cold, pal."
"Don't you believe it," Mallory said confidently. "I've got connections, and they're going to get me the best goddam lawyer in the world. I'll be out of here in twenty-four hours. All I have to do is make one phone call."
The Harrisons were reading the newspaper at breakfast.
"My God!" Lauren said. "Ken! I can't believe it!" A butler approached the breakfast table. ' 'Excuse me,
Miss Harrison. Dr. Mallory is on the telephone for you. I believe he's calling from jail."
"I'll take it.'' Lauren started to get up from the table.
"You'll stay here and finish your breakfast," Alex Harrison said firmly. He turned to the butler. "We don't know any Dr. Mallory."
Paige read the newspaper as she was getting dressed. Mallory was going to be punished for the terrible thing he had done, but it gave Paige no satisfaction. Nothing they did to him could ever bring Kat back.
The doorbell rang, and Paige went to open it. A stranger stood there. He was wearing a dark suit and carried a briefcase.
"Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes ..."
"My name is Roderick Pelham. I'm an attorney with Rothman & Rothman. May I come in?"
Paige studied him, puzzled. "Yes."
He entered the apartment.
"What did you want to see me about?"
She watched him open the briefcase and take out some papers.
"You are aware, of course, that you are the principal beneficiary of John Cronin's will?"