Deadly Interest (21 page)

“
Okay, listen,” I said.
“If he comes back, give him my cell phone.”

“
What are you,
nuts?”

“
The best way to handle
this is to make him believe I’m trying to help. Give him my cell
number and get his. Tell him I’ll try to give him a call as soon as
I can.”

Her mouth twisted, skeptical. “You
sure?”

We started moving toward my office. “I’m out
for the rest of the afternoon anyway. I have that meeting at two
and I told Detective Lulinski I’d try to stop by today. Let me just
grab a couple things, and I’ll be out of here.”

“
The sooner you’re out,
away from that guy, the better I’m going to feel,” she said with a
backward glance. Then, “Holy shit.”

I turned to see Barton Vicks exit the
elevator at our second floor landing. He moved with heavy-man
deliberation toward the glass doors, his lips moving in an angry
conversation with no one. Intent on the door, he didn’t notice me
until he’d pulled it open.

“
Hey!”

He immediately picked up his pace and made
his way toward us, looking for all intents like a linebacker about
to go for a tackle. I pulled my arm out of Jordan’s grasp and
decided to meet him head on, closing the gap in three strides.
“Barton?” I said.

“
What the hell is going
on?”

I feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“
You’re avoiding me,
that’s what the hell I mean. I sat out here in your lobby for over
three hours this morning, waiting for you. You said you were going
to help me. This is how you help my mother? The old lady’s dead,
and this is how you treat her son?”

“
Barton—”

He interrupted me, again. The man was
apparently never interested in what anyone else had to say. “Don’t
you give me no lies about how you’ve been working on this and
that’s why you weren’t here. I know that’s the kind of shit you
business people hand each other, but I’m not going to fall for
it.”

“
In all honesty, Barton,”
I said, my voice coming up enough to go over his. I was sick of him
taking the floor with his speeches, “I went out to breakfast this
morning.”

Jordan had moved out of my line of vision. I
caught sight of her again, behind Barton. She picked up the nearest
phone and spoke into it, her left hand cupping the receiver as she
watched us with wary eyes.

Barton took a step forward, his voice
rising. “Out to breakfast, huh? My mother isn’t even cold in the
ground yet and you’re out on a date with the rich bastard she used
to work for.”

“
How the hell do you know
who I went out with?”

His fat face broke into a smile that made me
cringe. “My mother told me she was talking to you. She told me that
the day she died. Said you were going to help her through some of
her problems. Money problems. Well, let me tell you, Miss
Prissy-pants, whatever she told you, you better tell me.”

“
I think it’s time you
leave, Barton.”

“
I’m not going nowhere
until you spill it all.” He took another half-step forward,
planting his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands balled into fists
at his sides. I took a reflexive step back, and as my field of
vision expanded, I noticed that Bass had joined the wide-eyed
audience. He stood directly outside his office, balancing on the
balls of his feet as though ready to step forward to help, then
stopping himself with a jerk and a look of confusion.

Oh yeah, I had a lot of help here.

Bart wasn’t finished talking. “I tried
making this easy for you.” He shifted his weight. To say he towered
over me would be an understatement. He leaned forward—menacingly,
and the only thing that kept me from leaning away was pure
stubbornness on my part. “I tried asking nice for your help the day
of the wake. And what did I get from you? You ain’t done shit for
me. Nothing. Where’s your loyalty to my mother?” His jaw thrust
forward and he worked it. I could feel the tremble in his body—his
need to lash out—to hit something or someone. And since I was the
closest, I figured he would aim at me. His voice dropped to a
growl. “I ain’t going nowhere,” he said again.

“
No, really,” I said in my
calmest voice, as I watched Jordan meet the security team at the
glass doors—three men in beige uniforms, one of them carrying
something yellow and ribbon-like. “I insist. It’s time you
left.”

They grabbed him from behind, pinning his
arms back. Two of the men held Barton as he thrashed, issuing a
scream so primal it made my ears clench and the hair stand up on my
arms. The third uniformed guard wrapped the yellow ribbon around
Bart’s wrists and I saw now it was some sort of plastic
tie-wrap.

They had him out the doors in less than
thirty seconds, but I’d hardly say he’d been subdued.

“
Holy shit.” Jordan
repeated.

I watched him go, quelling my frantic heart
pounding and blowing out breaths to regain some calm. “You can say
that again.”

* * * * *

“
Who you looking
for?”

The elderly security guard behind the
semi-circular desk interrupted me as I consulted the building
directory. Skinny, with a ring of sparse gray hair rimming his bald
pate, he scrunched up half his face as he addressed me again, his
voice weary with impatience. “Just tell me who you’re looking for.
I got it all here.” He tapped his forehead.

Walking over to him, I smiled. “Dr. Thomas
Hooker,” I said.

He leaned backward, eyes wide, giving me a
once-over with undisguised confusion. “Dr. Hooker?” He scratched
the side of his head. “You’re not one of his regulars.”

“
No.”

He waited several beats. Maybe he expected
an explanation for my visit, but I remained silent, smiling,
wishing I’d just gotten the suite number off the directory.

“
Four-oh-one,” he said,
finally. “You sure he’s expecting you?”

I ignored the question, and murmured, “Thank
you,” as I turned toward the two elevators standing open to my
left. Three others juggled passengers somewhere between the ground
and fortieth floors.

Four-oh-one proved to be a small office at
the far end of the corridor. A heavy wood door with the suite
number and “Health Partners, Office of Medicine and Mind,” let me
know I’d found the right place.

There was no receptionist. A tiny,
hand-lettered note tacked to the center of three inner doors
addressed me: “Alex St. James,” it read, “be with you shortly.
Please help yourself to something to drink. Thank you.”

I assumed coffee and water awaited me beyond
the closed door, but I opted to pass. Just as I was about to sit,
the leftmost door opened and a man stepped out, looking
surprised.

He was beautiful. He sported blond hair, cut
Robert Redford style, but he didn’t have the famous actor’s rough
complexion. I guessed him to be just about my age, but with the
smoothest, purest skin I’d ever seen on anyone older than a
toddler. “Dr. Hooker?” I asked, extending my hand.

“
Yes,” he said, as we
shook.

“
Alex St.
James.”

Blue eyes. Bright blue eyes, they clouded in
uncertainty. “I’m just leaving now. Do we have an appointment?”

“
Yes,” I said, my turn to
be puzzled. I pointed to the note. “Two o’clock.”

I watched understanding clear the tight
expression off his gorgeous face. “Oh, I’m sorry. You must mean my
uncle.”

“
Oh,” I said, trying to
mask my disappointment. “I didn’t realize . . .”

“
I know,” he said with a
smile that knocked me for a loop, “it happens a lot around here.”
He pointed back toward the seat I’d almost taken. “I’m late for an
appointment, but I’m sure he’ll be with you in a moment.” He
glanced at his watch, as did I. Five before two. “Don’t worry, he’s
very prompt.”

“
Thanks,” I said to his
departing figure.

Darn. That could’ve been fun.

I sat with a fishing magazine on my lap,
turning pages, reading nothing. At two o’clock Chicago time, it was
noon out in California. As far as I knew the snow hadn’t cancelled
any flights, so William and Miss Caroline were out there now, until
Sunday. I knew I should put him out of my mind, but I couldn’t.

When I turned the page, a large mouth bass
made me think of Bass at work, and I flipped the magazine shut with
a sigh.

The hallway door opened with a quick
click-bump that startled me; I jumped at the noise. A balding man,
with a gray-streaked black beard, wearing blue jeans and a thick
down coat blew in, grinning. He was about six-foot-two, at least
forty pounds overweight and he smelled of smoke. Not like he’d just
finished a cigarette, rather as if he’d just walked in from a
bonfire.

Like David, his voice boomed. “Alex St.
James?” he asked as I stood. “I’m Dr. Hooker.”

We shook hands and I noticed that beneath
the shaggy black eyebrows twinkled eyes of bright blue. He had
ruddy cheeks, and I couldn’t tell if he’d just run a marathon
through snow-covered streets, or if they were that color naturally.
He stripped off the jacket that made him look like the Michelin
Man, and I was surprised to see that he wore a ratty yellow
sweatshirt underneath.

“
Nice to meet you, Dr.
Hooker,” I said.

He nodded and smiled bright teeth at me. The
front two were slightly crooked, just enough to give the appearance
of them coming to a point. Slight imperfection, but a nice one, it
made his smile all the more winsome. “But please, call me Tom.”

He watched me as we talked, and he’d moved
to take my hand in both of his. Friendly, warm, I put immediate
trust in this man, and then shook off the feeling, since we both
knew we were here to find out information from one another. But I
couldn’t repress it entirely. The big man with the booming voice
emanated the enchantment of a well-worn Teddy Bear, warm, safe, and
always willing to listen.

From his youthful demeanor, I would have put
him in his mid-forties, but since I’d met his thirty-ish nephew, he
might have been older. Fifty, maybe. But no more.

“
You found my note,” he
said, leading the way into the door on the far right. “Good. Now,
come on in, we have lots to discuss.”

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, holding a mug of warm
tea up near my face, I interrupted him. We’d discussed everything
from the wicked March snowstorm to his office’s impending
redecoration when he mentioned he’d just come from visiting Diana
in the hospital.

“
Any change?”

Wide smile there. “Big change. She’s
talking.”

“
That’s wonderful,”
Flooded with an immediate sense of relief, I was jarred when the
good feelings washed back far enough for me to realize that if
Diana was now awake and talking, then he didn’t really need me, my
chances of getting information from him were slim to
none.

But since he didn’t seem ready to kick me
out at the moment, I thought I’d stay a while and see where things
led. We waded through a few more safe subjects, each of us
assessing the other as we did so, when Tom started to mention that
he shared the practice with his nephew.

“
I met him,” I
said.

“
Good kid,” he said.
“Needs a few more years under his belt and he’ll be
great.”

Lowering the mug to my lap, I realized how
relaxed I felt. My ankles were crossed in front of me and my butt
was slightly forward on the seat putting me into an oh-so-slight
reclining position. I scooched back.

He grinned and took a loud slurp of the tea
from his own mug. He’d fixed us both some in the tiny kitchen
adjacent to his office. The mystery center door.

“
That was nice of you to
come all the way down from the hospital to meet me. Do you live
nearby?” I asked.

“
Hyde Park,” he said with
a shrug. “I didn’t mind. I looked forward to talking with you. I’ve
heard your name several times during my sessions with Diana, and
after what happened to you both, I knew we needed to
meet.”

“
She talked about
me?”

“
Several times,” he
repeated. “Even before today.” I started to notice the fact that
his eyes squinted almost imperceptibly when he was gauging my
reaction to something.

“
Care to
share?”

The corners of his mouth curled up. I could
tell by the way his mustache spread, just a bit. “As a matter of
fact . . .” He’d leaned back in his armchair, his body taking on a
relaxed pose as well. Warming up to talk, it seemed, he leaned
forward, gripping his mug, resting his elbows on the scuffed-denim
knees. “I think we’re in a position to help one another.”

“
How’s that?”

He captured me with intent blue eyes.
“Detective Lulinski wants to solve his case. I know that. I respect
that.” He tapped a palm against the side of his mug, like a catcher
fisting his glove. “And as much as I hate the idea of a killer
running loose, as much as I want this crime solved—if you and I had
met yesterday, I would have claimed confidentiality when you tried
to get information about Diana out of me. I mean,” he lifted a
shoulder, “even if you asked whether she’s right or left-handed—I
wouldn’t have told you.”

Digesting his little speech, I canted my
head. “Do I sense a ‘but’?”

Smiling, he nodded, never breaking eye
contact. “But.” He took another long drink of his tea, and I sipped
mine. Starting to get cool. “Today, I told Diana that you and I
were scheduled to meet. She’s open to sharing information.”