stiff with anger ... and there was an undercurrent of fear. 'Is that a threat?'
'No,' Billy said wearily. 'Just don't go all prissy on me, Mike. Tell me what's wrong with Hopley and that'll be the end of it.'
-'Why do you want to know?'
'Oh, for Christ's sake. You're living proof that a man can be just as dense as he wants to be, do you know that, Mike?'
'I don't have the slightest idea what
'You've seen three very strange illnesses in Fairview over the last month. You didn't make any connection among them. In a way, that's understandable enough; they were all different in their specifics. On the other hand, they were all similar in the very fact of their strangeness. I have to wonder if another doctor - one who hadn't discovered the pleasure of plugging fifty dollars' worth of cocaine up his pump every day, for instance * might not have made the connection in spite of the diverse symptoms.'
'Now, wait just a goddamn minute!'
'No, I won't. You asked why I wanted to know, and by God, I am going to tell you. I'm losing weight steadily - I go on losing weight even if I stuff eight thousand calories a day down my throat. Cary Rossington has gotten some bizarre skin disease. His wife says he's turning into a
sideshow freak. He's gone to the Mayo Clinic. Now, I want to know what's wrong with Duncan Hopley, and secondarily' I want to know if you've had any other inexplicable cases.'
'Billy, it's not like that at all. You sound like you've got some crazy idea or other. I don't know what it is -'
'No, and that's all right. But I want an answer. If I don't get it from you, I'll get it some other way.'
'Hang on one second. If we're going to talk about this, I want to go into the study. It's a little more private there.'
'Fine.'
There was a click as Houston put Billy on hold. He sat in the phone booth, sweating, wondering if this was Houston's way of ditching him. Then there was another click.
'You still there, Billy?'
'Yes.'
'Okay,' Houston said, the note of disappointment in his voice both unmistakable and somehow comic. Houston sighed. 'Duncan Hopley has got a case of runaway acne.'
Billy got to his feet and opened the door of the phone booth. Suddenly it was too hot in there. 'Acne!'
'Pimples. Blackheads. Whiteheads. That's all. You happy?'.
'Anyone else?'
'No. And, Billy, I don't exactly consider pimples off the-wall. You were starting to sound a little like a Stephen King novel for a while there, but it's not like that. Dunc Hopley has got a temporary glandular imbalance, that's all. And it's not exactly a new thing with him, either. He has a history of skin problems going back to the seventh grade.'
'Very rational. But if you add Cary Rossington with his alligator skin and William J. Halleck with his case of involuntary anorexia nervosa into the equation, it starts to sound a little like Stephen King again, wouldn't you say?'
Patiently Houston said: 'You've got a metabolic problem, Bill. Cary ... I don't know. I've seen some -'
'Strange things, yes, I know,' Billy said. Had this cocaine-sniffing gasbag really been his family doctor for ten years? Dear God, was that the truth? 'Have you seen Lars Arncaster lately?'
'No,' Houston said impatiently. 'He's not my patient. I thought you said you only had one question.'
Of course he's not your patient, Billy thought giddily, he doesn't pay his bills on time, does he? And a fellow like you, a fellow with expensive tastes, really can't afford to wait, can he?
'This really is the last one,' Billy said. 'When did you last see Duncan Hopley?'
'Two weeks ago.'
'Thank you.'
'Make an appointment next time, Billy,' Houston said in an unfriendly voice, and hung up.
Hopley did not, of course, live on Lantern Drive, but the police chief's job paid well, and he had a trim New England saltbox on Ribbonmaker Lane.
Billy parked in the driveway at dusk, went to the door, and rang the bell. There was no answer. He rang again. No answer. He leaned on the bell. Still no answer. He went to the garage, cupped his hands around his face, and peered in. Hopley's car, a conservative cordovan-colored Volvo, was parked in there. FVW 1, the license plate read. There was no second car. Hopley was a bachelor. Billy went back to the door and began hammering on it. He hammered for nearly three minutes and his arm was