“Why was there animosity between those two?” Angela asked.
“Robertson blamed his wife’s death on Hodges,” Douglas said.
“Was Hodges Robertson’s wife’s physician?” Angela asked.
“No, Hodges’ practice was minuscule by then. He was running the hospital full time. But as director he allowed Dr. Werner Van Slyke to practice even though most everybody knew Van Slyke had a drinking problem. Actually Hodges left the issue of Van Slyke’s privileges up to the medical staff. Van Slyke bungled Robertson’s wife’s appendicitis case while under the influence. Afterward, Robertson blamed Hodges. It wasn’t rational, but hate usually isn’t.”
“I’m getting the feeling that finding out who killed Hodges won’t be easy,” Angela said.
“You don’t know how right you are,” Paul said. “There’s a second chapter to the Hodges-Van Slyke affair. Hodges was friends with Traynor who is the present chairman of the hospital board. Traynor’s sister was married to Van Slyke, and when Hodges finally denied Van Slyke privileges . . .”
“All right,” Angela said, holding up her hand, “I’m getting the idea. You’re overwhelming me. I had no idea the town was quite this byzantine.”
“It’s a small town,” Paul said. “A lot of families have lived here a long time. It’s practically incestuous. But the fact of the matter is there were a lot of people who didn’t care for Hodges. So when he disappeared, not too many people were broken up about it.”
“But that means Hodges’ murderer is walking around,” Angela said. “Presumably a man who is capable of extreme violence.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
Angela shivered. “I don’t like it,” she said. “This man was in my home, maybe many times. He probably knows my house well.”
Paul shrugged. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “I’d probably feel the same way. But I don’t know what you can do about it. If you want to learn more about Hodges, go talk to Barton Sherwood. As president of the bank he knows everyone. He knew Hodges particularly well since he’s been on the hospital board forever and his father had been before that.”
Angela went back to her office and again attempted to work, but she still couldn’t concentrate. It was impossible to get Hodges out of her mind. Reaching for the phone, she called Barton Sherwood. She remembered how friendly he’d been when they bought the house.
“Dr. Wilson,” Sherwood said when he came on the line. “How nice to hear from you. How are you folks making out in that beautiful house of yours?”
“Generally well,” Angela said, “but that’s what I’d like to chat with you about. If I were to run over to the bank, would you have a few moments to speak with me?”
“Absolutely,” Sherwood said. “Any time.”
“I’ll be right over,” Angela said.
After telling the secretaries that she’d be back shortly, Angela grabbed her coat and ran out to the car. Ten minutes later she was sitting in Sherwood’s office. It seemed like just yesterday that she, David, and Nikki were there, arranging to buy their first house.
Angela came right to the point. She described how uncomfortable she felt about Hodges having been murdered in her house and about the murderer being on the loose. She told Sherwood she hoped he would be willing to help.
“Help?” Sherwood questioned. He was leaning back in his leather desk chair with both thumbs tucked into his vest pockets.
“The local police don’t seem to care about solving the case,” Angela said. “With your stature in the town a word from you would go a long way in getting them to do something.”
Sherwood thumped forward in his chair. He was clearly flattered. “Thank you for your vote of confidence,” he said, “but I truly don’t think you have anything to worry about. Hodges was not the victim of senseless, random violence or of a serial killer.”
“How do you know?” Angela asked. “Do you know who killed him?”
“Heavens no,” Sherwood said nervously. “I didn’t mean to imply that. I meant . . . well, I thought . . . there’s no reason for you and your family to feel at risk.”
“Do a lot of people know who killed Hodges?” Angela asked, recalling David’s theory of down-home justice.