Passage

Mrs. Aspinall was shaking her head. “I didn’t see her that day. The nurses told me she’d been in two days before to see him, but I wasn’t there. The last time I saw her was at least a week before that, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

“Actually, it’s your husband we want to talk to,” Richard said.

“Carl?” she said, bewildered. “But he never even met Joanna. I don’t think you understand, my husband was in a semicomatose state until—”

“—the morning of the day Joanna died,” Richard said. “She had a conversation with him that morning, just after he regained consciousness.”

“Are you sure? Carl didn’t say anything about talking to her,” she said and then frowned, “but he was dreadfully upset when I told him about her. I thought it was because he’d been so close to death himself, that he was so frightened of it, but… when could she have seen him? I came as soon as they told me he was awake, and I was with him the rest of the day.”

“At eleven-thirty,” Richard said, hoping he was right.

“Oh,” Mrs. Aspinall said, nodding. “That was just before I got there.” And just after Carl regained consciousness, Richard thought, when his vision would have been fresh in his memory.

“But I still don’t understand,” Mrs. Aspinall said. “You say she was on the track of something regarding your research project? Why would she have told Carl about it?”

“We think — ” Richard began.

There was a sudden loud banging from the next room, like someone hammering. “That’s Carl,”

Mrs. Aspinall said apologetically. “He thumps his walking stick when he needs something. I brought a bell up, but I haven’t been able to find it.” The pounding started again, heavy, rhythmic thumps. “If you’ll excuse me,” Mrs. Aspinall said, standing up, “I’ll be right back.” She went out of the room.

The thumps continued a moment and then stopped, and they could hear a man’s voice saying querulously, “Who’s here? I heard a car in the driveway.”

“Some people from the hospital,” she said, “but you don’t have to see them if you don’t feel up to it, I can tell them to come back when you’re feeling stronger.”

Kit shot an anxious glance at Richard. “I feel fine,” the man’s voice said. “Dr. Cherikov said I was making excellent progress.”

“You are, but I don’t want you to overdo. You were very ill.”

Richard couldn’t hear his answer, but Mrs. Aspinall reappeared. “If you could keep your visit short,” she said. “He tires easily. This conversation you think Dr. Lander and Carl had, what did—?”

Whump, the walking stick thumped, louder than before. “We’re coming,” Mrs. Aspinall said, and led Kit and Richard into a pine-paneled room with a fireplace and wide windows looking out on a calendar view: snow-covered peaks, pine trees, an ice-bound mountain stream. The TV was on, and Richard looked toward the chair in front of it, expecting to see an invalid in a bathrobe with a blanket over his knees, but the chair was empty, and the only person in the room was a tanned, healthy-looking man in a white polo shirt and khaki pants, standing over by the window, looking out. The doctor? Richard wondered, and then noticed the gnarled walking stick the man held. Dr. Cherikov was right, he was making excellent progress.

Mrs. Aspinall walked rapidly to a thermostat on the wall, turned up the heat, and went over to the fireplace. “Brr, it’s so cold in here,” she said, taking a remote off the mantel and pointing it at the fireplace. A fire flamed up.

“Carl,” Mrs. Aspinall said, walking over to the chair. She picked up another remote and muted the TV. “This is Dr. Wright and Ms. Gardiner.”

“How do you do, Dr. Wright?” Carl said, coming forward to shake hands. He looked just as healthy close up. His face was tanned, and his grip when he shook hands with Richard was strong. Except for the dark bruises and puncture marks on the back of his hand, Richard wouldn’t have believed he’d been in the hospital only three weeks ago, let alone in a coma. “Were you one of the doctors who stuck all those needles and wires and tubes in me?” Carl asked. “Or have we met before? I keep meeting people who know me, and I don’t know them from Adam.”

“No,” Richard said. “We’ve never met. I’m—”

“And I know I’ve never met you,” Carl said, stepping past him to shake hands with Kit. “I definitely would have remembered that.”

“How do you do, Mr. Aspinall?” Kit said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Fit as a fiddle,” he said. “Good as new.”

“Sit down, sit down,” Mrs. Aspinall said, motioning them toward the couch. They sat down, and so did Carl, leaning his walking stick against the arm of his chair. Mrs. Aspinall remained standing. Standing guard, Richard thought.

“Mr. Aspinall,” he said, “we won’t take much of your time. We just want to ask you a few questions about Joanna Lander.”

“Do you remember Dr. Lander, Carl?” Mrs. Aspinall asked. “I’ve told you about so many people, I know it’s confusing—”