Two Graves by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Page A

to say… well, that I’m so very sorry. Sorry for everything.”
    Constance looked at him with her disquieting eyes but did not reply.
    “I know what pain and suffering—and mortification—I must have caused you, and I need you to understand something: that is the
last
thing, the very last, I would ever want to inflict on a patient.”
Especially a patient as unique as yourself
, he thought.
    “Your apology is accepted,” she said.
    “In my eagerness to help you, I let down my guard. I allowed myself to be deceived. As, in fact, we all allowed ourselves to be deceived.”
    This last bit of face-saving elicited no response.
    He added a solicitous note to his voice. “Are you feeling well, Constance?”
    “As well as could be expected.”
    Felder winced inwardly. For a moment, silence settled over the small room as he considered what to say next.
    “I made a mistake,” he said at last. “But I’ve learned from that mistake. Remembered something, actually. It’s a maxim we were taught in medical school: there are no shortcuts to effective treatment.”
    Constance shifted slightly in the chair, moved her hands. For the first time, Felder noticed the bandage on her right thumb.
    “It’s no secret that I’ve taken a particular interest in your case,” hewent on. “In fact, I think I can safely say that no one is more sympathetic to or understanding of your condition than I am.”
    At this, a brief, cold smile appeared. “
Condition
,” she repeated.
    “What I am asking you is whether we can pick up the treatment where we left off, start work again in the spirit of—”
    “No,” Constance interrupted. Her voice was muted, but there was nevertheless such a ring of iron to it that Felder was immediately chilled.
    He swallowed. “I’m sorry?”
    She spoke quietly but firmly, without once taking her eyes from his. “How could you even think of continuing your so-called treatment? Because of your lack of judgment, I was abducted and assaulted. Because of your overwhelming eagerness to involve yourself professionally with a patient you perceived as exotic, I was held captive and nearly perished. Do not insult my intelligence by making me complicit in your failure. How could you expect me to ever trust you again—and isn’t trust the fundamental requirement for therapeutic treatment? That is, of course, assuming I need therapeutic treatment—an offensive presumption on your part.”
    As quickly as the passion had come, it was gone. Felder opened his mouth, then closed it. There was nothing to be said.
    Into the silence came a knock. “Dr. Felder?” Ostrom’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. “Your ten minutes is up.”
    Felder tried to say good-bye but found he couldn’t even manage that. He inclined his head slightly, then turned toward the door.
    “Dr. Felder,” came Constance’s quiet voice.
    Felder turned back.
    “It is possible I have spoken too harshly with you. You may visit me from time to time, if you wish. But you must come as an acquaintance only—not as a doctor.”
    Felder felt a sudden, overwhelming relief—and gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, wondering at his own rush of feeling as he stepped out into the relative brightness of the hall.



5
    D ’AGOSTA HAD COMMANDEERED THE MAIN CONFERENCE room of the Detective Bureau at One Police Plaza. After the autopsy, he made the mistake of drinking three doppios and downing two crumb cakes at the Starbucks in the lobby, and now something was going on in his stomach that did not seem related to normal digestion.
    Twelve fifty-five PM . Christ, it was going to be a long day. The problem was, despite the progress they’d made, he had a bad feeling about this case. A very bad feeling. Once again, he wondered where the hell Pendergast was. He’d love to just run the evidence by him, for an informal opinion. This case was right up his alley. Proctor, fresh out of the hospital and back at the Riverside Drive mansion, had heard