“Well, not the words I would have chosen, detective. I think that some of her colleagues were hoping she would select that course herself. Go back to London, which was something she often talked about doing. You make it sound a lot more sinister than it was. She was a fighter, Gemma, but she was a stunning asset to this hospital community. It’s a tragic loss for us, really.”

Chapman had heard him waste enough of our time. “Then I guess you won’t mind turning over some records the grand jury wants to see. Alex, want to show Mr. Dietrich the subpoenas you brought with you?”

“Sure.” I opened my folder and withdrew the long white sheets of subpoenas duces tecum that Laura had prepared at my request this morning.

“We’d like to have the records of all the students in the neurosurgical program, Mr. Dietrich. I understand that’s a very small number-eight or ten. We’d like to have their applications and transcripts for-”

Both hands were skimming over the top of Dietrich’s head. His brow was furrowed and he stammered as he tried to question us in return. “I-uh-I don’t understand what you’re looking for here. There’s nothing in these-”

I continued on. “This one is for the personnel records of the other faculty members. The request, as you can see, is for all of the documentation of their credentials, information about their salary, any complaints made against them, any correspondence of theirs with the institution concerning Gemma Dogen. The list goes on but it’s quite clear.”

Dietrich was scanning the papers as I handed them across to him. “Obviously, I’m going to have to turn these over to our lawyers. There’s a lot of information here that’s privileged and I won’t be-”

“I expect that your lawyers will want to speak with me, Mr. Dietrich, but there’s nothing in these requests that gets into any area that’s covered by a medical privilege. These aren’t patient records. They only involve internal staff matters and I’m sure your attorneys will tell you that the faster you comply and get these materials down to us, the sooner we get out of your hair.” And one place I didn’t want to be was in Bill Dietrich’s greasy hair.

Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. Chapman had waited until the professional air was cleared before he turned to the personal side.

He had circled the long table and come up behind Bill Dietrich, leaning over with one hand placed on the tall back of the green leather chair. “I know this is rough for a lot of people at the hospital, Mr. Dietrich, but it must be even worse for you.”

The subpoenas were clutched in his hand as he picked his head up and looked around into Chapman’s face.

“We know about your relationship with Dr. Dogen. We need to ask you some questions about that, too.”

Dietrich’s head did a one-eighty as he swung it back to make sure the door was closed behind him. “Look, I don’t know what anyone’s told you about it but Gemma and I haven’t been together for months-six months at least. There’s nothing about it that needs to mix into this ugly matter about her death, nothing at all.” His face colored and his voice rose.

Mercer Wallace calmly picked up the angle Chapman had opened and asked the next question. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what that relationship had been six months ago and what it was these last few weeks?”

Dietrich looked like a caged animal, surrounded by the three of us, unable to walk out the door and explain to the medical school staff that the meeting had broken up because he had refused to answer questions about his personal life.

“It’s very simple. A year ago-maybe it was fourteen months-we’d been spending a lot of time together on a project for Minuit. Planning a forum for the World Health Organization on brain trauma guidelines. Gemma was brilliant, beautiful-and I don’t think you need to know any more than that we had an affair. Left here together one night, I walked her home and she invited me up for a drink. Do you need illustrations, Mr. Wallace, or can you figure the rest of it out for yourself?”

Mercer asked the usual questions about how often they had seen each other, where they had spent their time together, and how the romance ended.

“Gemma wanted out. Frankly, I would have liked to marry her. She’d played with the idea at first but changed her mind rather quickly. Right after the summer, she came back from a trip to England and told me she didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“D’you give it up, just like that?”

“Do you mean, did I make a fool of myself, chasing her around the operating room with a butcher knife? Sorry, gentlemen, no.”

“Didn’t you try to see her again, call her?” I asked.

“Of course I did, in the beginning. But like I’ve said, she was stubborn. She didn’t mind the occasional night together, but absolutely no strings attached. And no discussion of hospital business.”

Wallace was interested. “When was the last night you spent with her?”

Dietrich hesitated as though he was weighing an answer against our ability to measure it through the word of a doorman or a neighbor. “The week before she was killed. Gemma called, asked if I wanted to have dinner. We left here late and stopped at Billy’s, over on First Avenue, for a bite. Then back to her place. Made love, went to sleep. I came home when she got up to jog. End of story. Except that whichever friend of mine put you onto this news,” he said, sneeringly, “has probably told you about the money Gemma loaned me.”

“Yeah,” Chapman lied. “We wondered about it from her bank statements.” We hadn’t-yet-but this would spare us some surprises by the time we were able to get a look at her account information.

“Don’t worry, detective, I’m good for it. The estate will get it back.”

“Was it only that one payment?” Chapman bluffed.

“Yes, last July. Forty thousand dollars.”

I could read Mike’s mind. Forty large. More than most people made in a year. Dogen gave it to him when the courtship was hot and it still wasn’t paid back.

“Did she ask for it?” Mike said. He left unspoken the word “recently.” He wanted to know if the subject had come up at the tryst two weeks earlier.

“Money wasn’t terribly important to Gemma. We’d spent a weekend together in the country, down on the Eastern Shore. Went to an auction of antique cars. I saw a DeLage I fell in love with. Thirty-two, quite rare. She wanted me to have it, I couldn’t afford it. At that moment she meant it as a gift, but by the time I’d made the deal she’d moved on from our relationship, shall we say. Told me I could pay her back whenever I had the money. Surely you know by now she wasn’t materialistic. She had more than enough money for all she needed or wanted to do.”

Dietrich pushed away from the table and got to his feet. “I assume you’ll be back with more questions for me but you might as well get on with the staff. I’ve lined up the people you were interested in and I’d like to get you going with them so they can get back to their patients and assignments. I’ll get over to my office and contact our lawyers about these documents.”

He stroked the side of his head with his left hand before picking up the stack of subpoenas. Then he removed a metal mass from his pants pocket and splayed a handful of keys in his right hand until he held one of them-probably for his office-between his thumb and forefinger.

Bill Dietrich backed away from us without any other comment and I noticed as he did that a replica of London ’s Tower Bridge dangled from his fist. It was a duplicate of Dogen’s key chain that rested on my bureau, the one I had forgotten to return to Mercer. I wondered if Dietrich, too, still had the keys to Gemma’s home.