A Perfect Life by Mike Stewart

“Perfectly correct.”
    Tandy jumped down off the table, shoved his little notebook into a breast pocket, and slammed the door on the way out.
    Scott said, “Good cop, bad cop?”
    “Something like that. Different styles, anyhow.” Cedris circled the table and pulled a chair around with the others. He looked at the older man. “This okay?”
    Reynolds nodded.
    Cedris sat. Then he asked Scott, “Do you prefer doctor or mister?”
    “You can call me Scott.”
    “Okay, Scott. We're going to need you at the downtown precinct tomorrow for a full statement.” He opened a notebook. “For now, please tell me the last time you saw Patricia Hunter.”
    Scott began with his arrival at the hospital Friday afternoon and told the officer everything he could remember about his brief meeting with Mrs. Hunter. He told about the inquisitive little girl; he detailed his brief conversation with Kate Billings; and he named when he could, and described when he couldn't, members of the cleaning staff who came around just after eight.
    Toward the end of Scott's story, Detective Tandy opened the conference room door and stuck his head inside. The ruddy Irish cop looked full and satisfied. He shook his head at his partner and said two words: “Never happened.” Then he left Scott alone with Dr. Reynolds and Lieutenant Cedris.
    When, at the cop's instruction, Scott had repeated everything he knew a second time, Cedris asked the question he'd been waiting to ask. “One more thing. How'd you know to come here tonight?”
    “What?”
    “Just now. Why'd you show up at the hospital at three-thirty in the morning?”
    “I thought you knew. I got a phone call.”
    “Yes.” He flipped back a dozen pages in his little notebook. “You said someone called at three A . M ., stating that Mrs. Hunter had been murdered and asking you to come to the hospital as soon as possible.”
    “Exactly.”
    Cedris smiled. “Okay. Fine. Who was it that called you, Scott?”
    “I don't know.”
    “You don't know?”
    “No, ah, it was just a quick message. Something like ‘Patricia Hunter is dead. She's been murdered. Come to the hospital as soon as you can.'”
    “Anything else?”
    “I'm not sure. The phone woke me from a sound sleep.”
    “Of course it did. But no name?”
    “No.”
    “Man or a woman?”
    “I'm not sure. A woman, I think.”
    “You
think
it was a woman. No title? Nothing like that?”
    Scott shook his head. Something was wrong.
    “And it never occurred to you to call the hospital and verify some of this before you got dressed and drove down here in the middle of the night?”
    “Am I some kind of suspect?”
    Cedris asked, “Should you be?”
    “No.” Scott froze as the weight of the officer's inquiry sunk in. “I shouldn't.”
    “That's strange, Scott. That's very strange since my partner, Detective Tandy, has been searching the hospital for anyone who might have called you about the murder. And guess what?” Cedris paused, but neither Scott nor Dr. Reynolds spoke. “‘Never happened.' That's what he said. ‘Never happened.' But you already knew that, didn't you, Scott? You know damn well that no one called you at—”
    Reynolds blurted out, “That's it! No more questions until hospital counsel is present.” The old man stood. “Come on, Scott. We're getting out of here.”
    Cedris blocked the two men's path. “Scott? Are you refusing to answer any more questions without a lawyer?”
    “Yeah,” Scott said, “I guess I am.”
    “You guess—”
    “I refuse to answer any more questions until I confer with an attorney.”
    Cedris smiled and stepped aside. “That's all I wanted to know. Have a pleasant evening, Scott.” He turned and nodded at the older man. “Dr. Reynolds.”
    The cops left around 5:00 A . M . Scott left a few minutes later, after receiving an awkward bear hug from Dr. Reynolds—a strange and unprecedented act that, more than anything else that happened that night, frightened Scott so