Right to Die

letters, never even answered my question at the library the other night.”
    “How old was Heidi when she died?”
    “How old?”
    “Yes.”
    “Just forty-eight.”
    “Mr. Doleman, I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry? Don’t be sorry. I’ve gotten even.”
    I felt a little queasy. “Even?”
    “You betcha. Marpessa there. I’ve got me somebody now that bitch can’t take away.” Doleman stabbed the book again. “Marpessa can talk but she can’t read, see? Great company, and better than a watchdog at knowing when there are people coming ‘round. Why,.I was to say the magic word, she’d fly in your face right now, rip your eyes out.”
    I was trying not to take that seriously when he said, “Macaws, they live to be eighty, a hundred years old. Marpessa’ll be here long after I’m gone, mister.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll never have another thing in this house that I’ll outlive, see?”
    I thanked Doleman for his time and moved slowly to the inner door. As I opened it, Marpessa looked at me sideways and squawked, “Bye-bye.”

= 15 =

    I drove back into downtown and found a parking space on Charles near Cambridge Street . Stopping in a bookstore, I bought the latest Robert Randisi paperback to see how private investigators in the Big Apple were doing. A couple of chapters went down over lunch at the Sevens, a great neighborhood bar that’s still what the Bull & Finch used to be before the latter went television as Cheers. I tried to wash the taste of Doleman’s bitterness from my mouth with a pub sandwich and draft ale, but they didn’t help much.
    Leaving my car where it was, I walked to Massachusetts General Hospital . Inside the imposing white granite facade, an information volunteer with the demeanor of a kindergarten teacher explained the color-coded lines on the floors of the corridors. Following the path for Internal Medicine, I eventually reached Paul Eisenberg’s office. Or at least the suite that included his office. The waiting area was crowded, some people obviously in serious if not emergent difficulty even just sitting, others at attention, as if to advertise that they were only companions, not sick themselves.
    I went to the reception counter, a harried Hispanic woman looking up from one of twenty or so files teetering next to her elbow.
    “Yes?”
    “Dr. Eisenberg, please.”
    “You have your hospital card?”
    “No, but—”
    “You need to go around the corner, with your Blue Cross/Blue Shield, and get a hospital card. Then come back.”
    “I’m not a patient. I’m just here to see Dr. Eisenberg.”
    “Oh.” She was confused, as though she couldn’t process what I’d said. “Uh, what’s your name?”
    “Cuddy. John Cuddy. I have an appointment.”
    That she could process. “Have a seat. The doctor will see you as soon as possible.”
    I was glad I’d brought a book.

    “Mr. Curry, is it?”
    “Cuddy, Doctor. John Cuddy.”
    Eisenberg looked at me over the half-glasses. “What seems to be the problem?”
    I showed him my ID. Up close, his immaculate hands were steady. The stage fright he’d exhibited at the debate seemed gone.
    Eisenberg closed the holder and handed it back to me. “It’s hospital policy not to discuss cases without our lawyers present.”
    “I’m not here about one of your cases. I’m working for Maisy Andrus on a problem she has.”
    “What problem is that?”
    “She’s been receiving threats.”
    Eisenberg sighed, rolling his shoulders like a weary starter in the eighth inning. “Mr. Cuddy, I really don’t see how I can help with that, and I have an arkful of patients out there that I might be able to help. So, if you’ll excuse me.
    I held out the copies of the threats. “These are what she’s been getting. It won’t take long to read them.”
    Eisenberg sighed again, but accepted the pages. After the first one, the skin on his forehead wrinkled, flexing the bald scalp above it.
    When he got to the fourth one, I said, “That was in one of the books she was given to sign at Plato’s after the debate.”
    “I’m sorry. I can see how she’d be... how anybody would be upset over this kind of thing. I noticed there was something wrong at the signing.” Eisenberg changed tone. “But I still don’t see where I’d come in.”
    “You’re pretty well known for your stands on patients’ rights. I thought you might know of somebody who could have written these.”
    “Hmmm.” He brought the right hand up, combing