Shock (13 page)

"Now let's find a name for you," Deborah said.

Both women went back to scouring the obituaries. It wasn't until they'd perused six more weeks of papers that Deborah came across another name candidate.

"Prudence Heatherly, age twenty-four!" Deborah read out loud. "Now that name has an interesting ring to it. It's perfect for you, Joanna. It even sounds like a librarian, so it will go with your disguise."

"I don't find that funny in the slightest," Joanna said. "Let me read the obituary." She reached for the paper, but Deborah moved it out of her reach.

"I thought we weren't going to obsess about the details?" Deborah teased.

"I'm not obsessing," Joanna said. "I want to make sure she's not a local celebrity in Bookford. Besides, I feel I have to know something about the woman if I'm going to be borrowing her name."

"I thought these were just names, not people."

"Please!" Joanna enunciated slowly as if losing her patience.

Deborah handed the paper over and watched her roommate's face while she read the obituary. Joanna's expression progressively sagged.

"Is it bad?" Deborah asked when Joanna looked up.

"I'd say it was just as bad as Georgina's story," Joanna said. "She was a graduate student at Northeastern."

"That's getting a little too close to home," Deborah said. "What did she die of, or shouldn't I ask?"

"She was pushed in front of the Red Line subway at the Washington Street station." Now it was Joanna's turn to shudder. "A homeless man with no apparent motive did it. My word! What a tragedy for a parent getting a call saying your daughter was pushed in front of a train by a vagrant."

"At least we have the two names," Deborah said. She snatched the paper away from Joanna and refolded it. She wrote Prudence Heatherly down on the pad below Georgina, then busied herself restacking the papers. Joanna was motionless for a moment but then pitched in to help. Together the women carried the papers back to where they were kept.

Fifteen minutes later, first Deborah and then Joanna exited the library from the same entrance they'd entered. Although they were pensively subdued, they were pleased with their progress. It had only taken an hour and three quarters to get the two names.

"Should we walk or take the subway?" Deborah questioned.

"Let's take the subway," Joanna answered.

From the front of the library it was only a short walk to the inbound T stop on Boylston Street, and the Green Line took them directly to Government Center. When they emerged on the street level they were conveniently in front of the inappropriately modern Boston City Hall, which loomed out of its brick-paved mall like an enormous anachronism.

"Can you tell me where I'd find death certificates?" Joanna asked the receptionist at the information desk located in the building's multistoried lobby. Joanna had waited several minutes before speaking. The woman was involved in an animated but hushed dialogue with her colleague sitting next to her.

"They're downstairs at the Registry Department,' the woman said without looking up and hardly interrupting her conversation.

Joanna rolled her eyes for Deborah's benefit. The two women set out for the wide stairs leading downward. Once on the lower level they found the proper Registry Department window without difficulty. The only problem was there wasn't any personnel in evidence.

"Hello!" Deborah called out. "Anybody home?"

A woman's head popped up from behind a row of file cabinets. "Can I help you?" she called out.

"We'd like several death certificates," Deborah answered back.

The woman ambled around the row of file cabinets, rocking from side to side. She was wearing a black dress that restrained her ample flesh in a series of descending, horizontal bulges. Reading glasses hung around her neck on a chain and rested on the nearly horizontal swelling of her bosom. She came to the counter and leaned on it. "I need to know the names and the year," she said in a bored voice.

"Georgina Marks and Prudence Heatherly," Joanna said. "And both passed away this year, 2001."

"It takes a week to ten days for the certificates to get here," the woman said.

"We have to wait that long to get them?" Joanna questioned with dismay.

"No, that's how long the death certificates take to get here to the registry after the individual dies. I only mention it because if these people you're interested in have just passed away, the certificates won't be here."

"Both these people have been dead for over a month," Joanna said.

"Then they should be here," the woman said. "That will be six dollars each."

"We only want to look at the certificates," Joanna said. "We don't need to remove them from the premises."

"Six dollars each is fine," Deborah interjected. She gave Joanna a jab in the side to keep her quiet.

After writing the names down while eyeing Joanna skeptically, the woman leisurely disappeared behind the file cabinets.

"Why did you poke me?" Joanna complained.

"I didn't want you messing things up to save twelve dollars," Deborah whispered. "If the woman guesses we're here just to get Social Security numbers she might get suspicious. I think I would. So we'll pay the money, take the certificates, and get the hell out of here."

"I guess you're right," Joanna said reluctantly.

"Of course I'm right," Deborah said.

The clerk returned a quarter hour later with the forms. Deborah and Joanna had the money ready and the exchange was made. Five minutes later the women were back outside where each carefully copied down the respective Social Security numbers onto a piece of paper. They pocketed the death certificates.

"I suggest we try to memorize the numbers while we're on the way to the bank," Joanna said. "It might attract attention if we don't."

"Especially if we pulled out the death certificates by accident inside the bank," Deborah said.

Joanna chuckled. "I also think we should start addressing each other with our assumed names. Otherwise we'll forget in front of people and that could be a problem."

"Good point, Prudence," Deborah said with a chuckle of her own.

It was only a ten-minute walk from City Hall to the Charles River Plaza where the local branch of the Fleet Bank was located. For the most part the women were silent while committing the respective Social Security numbers to their memories. When they turned into the Charles River Plaza, Joanna pulled Deborah to a stop.

"Let's discuss this for a moment before we go inside," she said. "We should open these accounts with just a token deposit because we're not going to be able to get this money back out."

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't think it really matters," Joanna said. "How about twenty dollars."

"Fine by me," Deborah said. "But I wouldn't mind hitting the ATM machine on the way in."

"That's not a bad idea either," Joanna said.

Each got several hundred dollars in cash before entering the bank proper. They then went directly to the service desk. Since it was in the middle of the lunch hour, the bank was busy with hospital people from the MGH, and the women had to wait almost twenty minutes before being helped. But setting up the accounts was accomplished quickly since the bank officer whose turn it was to help them was particularly efficient. Her name was Mary. The only minor problem was the lack of any IDs, but Mary solved it by saying they could bring them in the following day. By one o'clock Mary had already excused herself to activate the accounts and get them receipts. Joanna and Deborah were sitting on vinyl chairs facing Mary's desk.

"What if she comes back and says we're dead?" Deborah whispered.

"Then we're dead," Joanna answered. "But that's what we're here for."

"But what are we going to say? We'd have to say something."

"We'll just say we must have been mistaken about the numbers. We'll tell them we'll check them and come back."

"I was enjoying myself a half hour ago," Deborah complained. "Now I'm nervous. We can't tell them a fishy story like that."

"Here she comes!" Joanna said in a forced whisper.

Mary came back clutching the deposit receipts. "I've got you all set up," she reported. "Every thing is just fine." She gave a receipt to each woman along with one of the packets of material sitting on her desk which she'd prepared earlier. "You're all set. Do you have a parking ticket?"

"No, we walked over," Joanna said. For an address the women had given Seven Hawthorne Place, part of the Charles River Park apartment complex behind the hospital.

A few minutes later the women were back out in the May sunshine. Deborah was euphoric. "We did it!" she declared as they walked quickly away from the bank. "I had my doubts there for a minute, but apparently we've got good names and Social Security numbers."

"They're good for now," Joanna said. "But that's going to change sometime in the near future. Let's head back to the apartment, put in a call to the Wingate Clinic, and get the next step out of the way."

"What about a bit of lunch?" Deborah said. "I'm starved. That coffee and pastry we had a little after seven this morning is long gone."

"I could use some food myself," Joanna agreed. "But let's make it quick."

"WINGATE CLINIC," A PLEASANT VOICE SAID CHEERFULLY. It came from the speaker phone in Joanna and Deborah's apartment. The telephone itself was on the couch between the women who were sitting on either side of it. It was two-thirty-five and sun was just beginning to spill onto the hardwood floor through the front windows.

"I'm interested in employment in your institution,' Joanna said. "To whom should I speak?" The women had flipped a coin to see who should make the call. Joanna had won.

"That would be with Helen Masterson, Director of Personnel,' the operator said. "Shall I connect you?"

"Please," Joanna said.

The same elevator music they'd heard the day before drifted out of the phone, but it didn't last long. A strong, deep, woman's voice preempted the Muzak. Both women jumped: "Helen Masterson here. I understand you are looking for employment."

"Yes, both myself and my roommate,' Joanna said as soon as she'd recovered.

"What kind of experience do you and your roommate have?" Helen asked.

"I've had extensive word-processing experience," Joanna said.

"As a student or in a work environment?"

"Both," Joanna said. She'd worked summers during undergraduate school in a Houston law firm with whom her father did a great deal of business.

"Are you college graduates?"

"Yes, indeed," Joanna said. "I've a degree in economics. My roommate, Georgina Marks, was a biology major." Joanna looked over at Deborah who gave her a thumbs-up sign.

"Has she had any laboratory experience?"

Deborah nodded emphatically.

"Yes, she has," Joanna said.

"I must admit you both sound perfect for the Wingate Clinic," Helen said. "How did you hear about us?"

"Excuse me?" Joanna said while making a grimace of consternation for Deborah's benefit. It was a question she'd not anticipated. Deborah fumbled for the pad and pencil on the floor. While Helen repeated the question, she quickly wrote: "A friend saw an ad."

"Word of mouth," Joanna said. "A friend of ours saw an ad."

"Was that a newspaper ad or a radio ad?"

Joanna hesitated. Deborah shrugged.

"I'm not sure," Joanna said.

"Well, it doesn't matter except to know which is more effective," Helen said. "Do you live here in Bookford?"

"We currently live in Boston," Joanna said.

"So you are willing to reverse commute."

"That's the plan, at least for the time being. We'd be driving out together."

"Why do you want to work out here in Bookford?" Helen asked.

"We need to find work quickly," Joanna said. "We heard your organization was in need of help. We just got back from a rather long stay in Europe, and frankly we need the money."

"It sounds like we can help each other," Helen said. "I can either fax you or E-mail you employment questionnaires which you can fill out and send back the same way you got it. Which way would you prefer?"

"E-mail is fine," Joanna said. She gave Helen her E-mail address which conveniently had no association with her name.

"I'll E-mail forthwith," Helen said. "Meanwhile I think we should go ahead and schedule interviews. What would be a convenient date for you and your roommate? Just about any day this week or next week is available."

"The sooner the better," Joanna said. Deborah nodded. "In fact, tomorrow would be fine for us if it works for you."

"By all means," Helen said. "I applaud your eagerness. Would ten o'clock be okay?"

"Ten o'clock will be fine," Joanna said.

"Will you need directions?" Helen asked.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Joanna said. "We're quite resourceful."

"We look forward to seeing you tomorrow," Helen said before disconnecting.

Joanna hung up the phone.

"Very smooth!" Deborah commented. "I think we're in."

"So do I," Joanna said. She unplugged the phone and headed over to the computer. "Let's log on so we can get the E-mail as soon as it comes in."

True to her word, Helen had sent the E-mail within minutes of hanging up the phone, and it popped up on the women's computer screen just moments after they logged on. Fifteen minutes later, Joanna and Deborah had filled in their respective employment forms directly on the screen and E-mailed them back to the Wingate Clinic.

"This almost seems too easy," Deborah commented as she shut down the computer.

"Don't jinx us," Joanna said. "You can call me superstitious, but I'm not going to say anything like that until after I get into the Wingate server room. There's too much that can still go wrong."

"You mean like one or both Social Security numbers suddenly going bad."

"Either that or someone like Dr. Donaldson recognizing us tomorrow morning."

"Let me guess," Deborah said. "You're back to thinking about the disguise idea."

"I've never stopped thinking about it," Joanna said. "And we have the rest of the afternoon. So let's do it. We can head over to the Galleria Mall in Cambridge and, without spending much, get ourselves some new outfits."