Terminal

“Quiet!” a person behind Sean snapped.

“When I took the position as director of the Forbes Center,” Dr. Mason continued, “I knew the institution was in financial difficulty. Restoring the institution to a solid financial basis was a goal consistent with my desire to work for the good of mankind. I’ve given this task my heart and my soul. If I’ve made some mistakes, it is not for lack of altruistic motives.”

There was spotty applause when Dr. Mason paused and fumbled with his manila envelope, undoing the string that held it closed.

“This is a waste of time,” Sean whispered.

“That was just his introduction,” Brian whispered in return. “Pipe down. I’m sure he’s about to get to the meat of the news conference now.”

“At this time I would like to take leave of you,” Dr. Mason said. “To those who have helped me in this difficult period, my heartfelt thanks.”

“Is this whole rigmarole so he can resign?” Sean asked out loud. He was disgusted.

But no one answered Sean’s question. Instead, gasps of horror rippled through the audience when Dr. Mason reached into the envelope and pulled out a nickel-plated .357 magnum revolver.

Murmurs crescendoed as a few people nearest the podium rose to their feet, unsure whether to flee or approach Dr. Mason.

“I don’t mean for people to become upset,” Dr. Mason said. “But I felt . . .”

It was clear Dr. Mason had more to say, but two reporters in the front row made a move for him. Dr. Mason motioned them to keep away, but the two men edged closer. Dr. Mason took a step back from the podium. He looked panicked, like a cornered deer. All the color had drained from his face.

Then, to everyone’s dismay, Dr. Mason put the barrel of the revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through his hard palate, liquified part of his brain stem and cerebellum, and carried away a five-centimeter disk of skull before burying itself deeply into the wooden cornice molding. Dr. Mason fell backward while the gun was propelled forward. The revolver hit the floor and skidded beneath the first row of seats, sending the people still seated there scattering.

A few people screamed, a few cried, most felt momentarily ill. Sean, Janet, and Brian looked away at the moment the gun went off. When they looked again the room was in pandemonium. No one knew quite what to do. Even the doctors and nurses felt helpless; clearly Dr. Mason was beyond help.

All Sean, Janet, and Brian could see of Dr. Mason were his shoes pointing upward and a foreshortened body. The wall behind the podium was splattered as if someone had hurled a handful of ripe red berries against it.

Sean’s mouth had gone dry. He found it difficult to swallow.

A few tears welled in Janet’s eyes.

Brian murmured: “Holy Mary, mother of God!”

Everyone was stunned and emotionally drained. There was little conversation. A few hearty souls, including Sterling Rombauer, ventured up to view Dr. Mason’s corpse. For the moment most people remained where they were—all except for one woman, who got up from her seat and struggled toward an exit. Sean saw her pushing dumbfounded people aside in her haste. He recognized her immediately.

“That’s Dr. Levy,” Sean said, getting to his feet. “Somebody should stop her. I’ll bet she’s planning on fleeing the country.”

Brian grabbed Sean by the arm, preventing him from giving chase. “This is not the time or place for you to play a paladin. Let her go.”

Sean watched as Dr. Levy got to an exit and disappeared from view. He looked down at Brian. “The charade is beginning to unravel.”

“Perhaps,” Brian said evasively. His legal mind was concerned about the sympathy this shocking event was likely to evoke in the community.

Gradually, the crowd began to disperse. “Come on,” Brian said. “Let’s go.”

Brian, Janet, and Sean shuffled out in silence and pushed through the subdued crowd gathered at the hospital entrance. They headed toward Brian’s car. Each struggled to absorb the horrible tragedy they’d just had the misfortune of witnessing. Sean was the first to speak.

“I’d say that was a rather dramatic mea culpa,” he said. “I suppose we have to give him credit for at least being a good shot.”

“Sean, don’t be crude,” Brian said. “Black humor is not my cup of tea.”

“Thank you,” Janet said to Brian. Then to Sean she said: “A man is dead. How can you joke about it?”

“Helen Cabot is dead, too,” Sean said. “Her death bothers me a lot more.”

“Both deaths should bother you,” Brian said. “After all, Dr. Mason’s suicide could be attributed to all the bad publicity Forbes has received thanks to you. The man had reason to be depressed. His suicide wasn’t necessarily an admission of guilt.”

“Wait a second,” Sean said, bringing the party to a halt. “Do you still have any doubts about what I’ve told you concerning this medulloblastoma issue after what we just witnessed?”

“I’m a lawyer,” Brian said. “I’m trained to think in a specific fashion. I try to anticipate the defense.”

“Forget being a lawyer for two seconds,” Sean said. “What do you feel as a human being?”