information whatsoever. We do know that an autopsy is scheduled for
tomorrow morning, and we assume that ballistics will answer the
question.’
Taylor turned down the sound on the television, then picked up his
drink. Walking to the window, he gazed out at the angry, dark sea.
Franconi’s death could mean trouble. He looked at his watch. It was
almost midnight in West Africa.
Snatching up the phone, Taylor called the operator at GenSys and told
him he wanted to speak with Kevin Marshall immediately.
Replacing the receiver, Taylor returned his gaze out the window. He’d
never felt completely comfortable about this project although
financially it was looking very profitable. He wondered if he should
stop it. The phone interrupted his thoughts.
Picking the receiver back up, Taylor was told that Mr. Marshall was
available. After some static Kevin’s sleepy voice crackled over the
line.
‘Is this really Taylor Cabot?’ Kevin asked.
‘Do you remember a Carlo Franconi?’ Taylor demanded, ignoring Kevin’s
question.
‘Of course,’ Kevin said.
‘He’s been murdered this afternoon,’ Taylor said. ‘There’s an autopsy
scheduled for the morning in New York City. What I want to know is,
could that be a problem?’
There was a moment of silence. Taylor was about to question whether the
connection had been broken when Kevin spoke up.
‘Yes, it could be a problem,’ Kevin said.
‘Someone could figure out everything from an autopsy?’
‘It’s possible,’ Kevin said. ‘I wouldn’t say probable, but it is
possible.’
‘I don’t like possible,’ Taylor said. He disconnected from Kevin and
called the operator back at GenSys. Taylor said he wanted to speak
immediately to Dr. Raymond Lyons. He emphasized that it was an
emergency.
NEW YORK CITY
‘Excuse me,’ the waiter whispered. He’d approached Dr. Lyons from the
left side, having waited for a break in the conversation the doctor was
engaged in with his young, blond assistant and current lover, Darlene
Poison. Between his gracefully graying hair and conservative apparel,
the good doctor looked like the quintessential, soap-opera physician. He
was in his early fifties, tall, tanned, and enviably slender with
refined, patrician good looks.
‘I’m sorry to intrude,’ the waiter continued. ‘But there is an emergency
call for you. Can I offer you our cordless phone or would you prefer to
use the phone in the hall?’
Raymond’s blue eyes darted back and forth between Darlene’s affable but
bland face and the considerate waiter whose impeccable demeanor
reflected Aureole’s 26 service rating in Zagat’s restaurant guide.
Raymond did not look happy.
‘Perhaps I should tell them you are not available,’ the waiter
suggested.
‘No, I’ll take the cordless,’ Raymond said. He couldn’t imagine who
could be calling him on an emergency basis. Raymond had not been
practicing medicine since he’d lost his medical license after having
been convicted of a major Medicare scam he’d been carrying on for a
dozen years.
‘Hello?’ Raymond said with a degree of trepidation.
‘This is Taylor Cabot. There’s a problem.’
Raymond visibly stiffened and his brow furrowed.
Taylor quickly summarized the Carlo Franconi situation and his call to
Kevin Marshall.
‘This operation is your baby,’ Taylor concluded irritably. ‘And let me
warn you: it is small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. If there
is trouble, I’ll scrap the entire enterprise. I don’t want bad
publicity, so handle it.’
‘But what can I do?’ Raymond blurted out.
‘Frankly, I don’t know,’ Taylor said. ‘But you’d better think of
something, and you’d better do it fast.’
‘Things couldn’t be going any better from my end,’ Raymond interjected.
‘Just today I made positive contact with a physician in L.A. who treats
a lot of movie stars and wealthy West Coast businessmen. She’s
interested in setting up a branch in California.’
‘Maybe you didn’t hear me,’ Taylor said. ‘There isn’t going to be a
branch anyplace if this Franconi problem isn’t resolved. So you’d better
get busy. I’d say you have about twelve hours.’
The resounding click of the disconnection made Raymond’s head jerk. He
looked at the phone as if it had been responsible for the precipitate
termination of the conversation. The waiter, who’d retreated to an
appropriate distance, stepped forward to retrieve the phone before
disappearing.
‘Trouble?’ Darlene questioned.