Dr. Death (33 page)

The table was barely big enough for solitaire. A couple of waiters loitered nearby but neither made a move toward me. Finally, a Hispanic busboy came over and asked if I wanted something to drink. I said I'd wait and he thanked me and brought water.

Ten minutes later, Judy breezed in looking harried. She wore a formfitting, plum-colored knit suit, the skirt ending two inches above her knees, and matching pumps with precarious heels. Her cream-colored handbag had a sparkly clasp that functioned like a headlight, and as she approached at power-walk speed I thought of a little hot rod.

She looked even thinner than I remembered, facial bones expressing themselves sharply under an ash-blond, tennis-friendly cap of hair. Sparkles flashed at her neck, too, and on both hands. As she got closer, she saw me, wiggled two fingers, and picked up speed, playing a castanet solo on the plank floor, hips swiveling, calves defined. The waiters exchanged appreciative glances as they followed her and I wondered if they thought they had her figured out.

Good-looking, wealthy woman out for a night on the town. Little chance she'd be pegged as a presiding Superior Court judge.

I stood to greet her and she pecked my cheek. When I held her chair, she acted as if she was used to it.

"Good to see you again, Alex. Though I'm sure we'd both rather it be under different circumstances."

One of the loitering waiters came over, smiled at Judy, opened his mouth. Before he could speak, she said, "Gin and tonic. Sapphire gin. And no bruising. Please."

He pouted and his eyes found their way over to me. "Sir?"

"Iced tea."

"Very good."

As he walked away, Judy said, "Veddy
good.
I'm so glad the children approve." She laughed. Too loud, too much edge. "I don't know why I suggested this place, Bob and I never come anymore. . . . Pardon me, Alex, I'm feeling mean, need time to wind down and get human. That's one good thing about the drive from downtown. If you don't succumb to road rage, there's plenty of time to decompress."

"Rough day in court?" I said.

"Is it ever sweetness and light? No, nothing extraordinary, just the usual parade of people with unsolvable problems. When things are fairly calm on the outside, I have no problem with any of it. But today . . ." She fingered a diamond ring on her left hand. Big, round solitaire in a platinum setting. Her right hand sported a cocktail piece— yellow diamonds and sapphires formed into a marigold. "I still can't believe this mess with Richard. Did you have a chance to see Eric and Stacy after they took him away?"

"I saw them briefly at the station but didn't have a chance to talk to them. Richard's lawyer— Joseph Safer— called me this morning and told me he expected to get Richard out by today and that Richard would be calling me to talk. I'm still waiting."

It had been a day for waiting. And guesswork. If a hypothesis is formed in the forest and no one's there to . . . After returning from the library, I'd gone over Fusco's file again, no new insights. No new messages from anyone. I hadn't run for a couple of days, forced myself to do it, ended up in the mountains for a long time, got home still wired, did some push-ups, showered, drank water.

At six, despite the dinner appointment with Judy, I broiled two steaks and baked a couple of Idahos. Steak with Robin. I figured on a salad with Judy. Light and healthful me, what a social butterfly.

The drinks came. Judy raised her glass, inspected the contents and sipped. "Joe Safer is a prince— I'm not being sarcastic. The ideal defense attorney: kindly demeanor combined with the single-mindedness of a psychopath. If I were in trouble, I'd want him to talk for me." Her blue eyes clouded for a moment. She drank some more and they seemed to clear.

"Ah," she said. "This hits the spot. I don't ingest enough poison."

"Too temperate?"

"Too weight-conscious."

"You?"

She smiled. "When I was sixteen I weighed a hundred and ninety-seven pounds. In high school, I was a total slug. To be accurate, I was
repugnant.
Walking two steps exhausted me." Another sip. "I guess that's why I could empathize with Joanne . . . up to a point."

"Up to a point?" I said.

"Only up to a point." Angry squint. "Let's just say that where she ended up was a whole different planet." She drank more, licked her lips.

"It's hard to imagine someone deciding to eat herself into a stupor."

"Oh," she said, "Joanne was full of surprises."

"Such as?"

Another squint. "Just that. And unlike me, she started off thin."

Her voice had filled with anger and I decided to veer away. When in doubt, show personal interest.

"How'd you take off the weight?" I said.

"The old-fashioned way: deprivation. Self-denial has become my lifestyle, Alex." She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. "There's no other way, is there?"

"Self-denial?"

"Fighting," she said. "Most people lack the will. That's why we spend gazillions on the so-called war on drugs, preach about smoking and eating too much fat, but never make any progress. People will never stop getting high. People will take comfort where they find it." Another laugh. "Some talk for a judge, huh? Anyway, I take care of myself. For health, not cosmetics. I keep my family healthy."

"Your girls are pretty athletic, aren't they?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I seem to recall pictures in your office— outdoor sports?"

"My, what a memory," she said. "Yes, Ali and Becky like to sail and ski and they're trim now, but both of them have a tendency to pudge. Lousy genetics: Bob and I were both lumpy kids. I stay on them. It's easier now that they've discovered boys." She sat back. "They both have, thank goodness. Does that sound terrible? Perfectionistic mom?"

"I'm sure you care about them."

"That was shamelessly nonjudgmental, Alex. We're diametric opposites, aren't we? I get paid to do precisely what you avoid."

The waiter approached and asked if she wanted a refill.

"Not at this point," she said. "The doctor here will have a look at the menu, but I know what I want. The Tender Greens Salad, everything chopped very fine, no dried apricots or olives or nuts, dressing on the side."

"I'll have the same," I said, "but leave in the nuts."

The waiter glanced at his list of specials and walked away looking miffed. Judy said, "Leave in the nuts? Funny. . . . So— you have no idea how Eric and Stacy are coping?"

"I'm sure it's rough for them. Any further thoughts about Richard?"

"Do I think he's capable of soliciting murder? Alex, you know as well as I do that no one can ever really fathom what goes on in someone's head. So yes, I suppose it's theoretically possible that Richard tried to have Mate killed. But the way they said he did it sounds so damn stupid, and Richard's anything but."

"Joanne was brilliant, too."

Her face tightened. Tiny lines, softened by makeup and indirect lighting, appeared all over the surface of her skin. A woman cracking.

"Yes, she was. I won't profess to understand why she did the things she did."

I waited for the stress lines to fade. They didn't. She was gazing into her gin and tonic, playing with the stirrer.

"I guess we never really understand anyone, do we?"

I said, "Let's assume— for argument's sake— that Richard did pay Quentin Goad. Why would he hate Mate that much?"

She touched a finger to her upper lip, massaged, looked up at the ceiling. "Perhaps he saw Mate as taking away something that belonged to him. Richard likes his possessions."

"Was he especially possessive when it came to Joanne?"

"More than any other alpha male? He's a middle-aged
man
, Alex. He's from a certain generation."

"So he saw Joanne as his."

"Bob sees me as his. If you're asking was Richard pathologically jealous, I never saw it."

"And Joanne chose to exclude him from the most important decision of her life."

She swiped her lips with her napkin. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't understand much about this family, Judy."

"Neither do I," she said, very softly. "Neither do I." The restaurant din nearly blocked out the sound and I realized I was reading her lips.

"Have you ever met Richard's parents?"

"No," she said. "They never visited, as far as I know, and Richard never talked about them. Why?"

"Grabbing any fact I can. Eric told me he's Greek-Sicilian."

"I suppose I was aware of that— Joanne must've said something, or one of the kids did. But I can't recall Richard ever making a thing about it. I never saw grape leaves in the house, or anything like that."

She looked and sounded tired, as if talking about the Doss family drained her.

I said, "As friends and neighbors, they must have been a challenge."

"What do you mean?" she said, in the same sharp tone I'd heard her use on an errant lawyer.

"They're the kind of people to whom things happen. When I spoke to Bob about Joanne's diagnosis, he sounded pretty frustrated about Joanne's condition—"

"Did he?" she said absently. She gazed around the room. A few more tables had filled. "That's just Bob being Bob. He prides himself on being analytic: identify the problem, cut it out."

"Which he couldn't do with Joanne."

"No, he couldn't." She stirred the drink. Eyes down again. Stress lines deeper.

"Bob seems to feel her illness was all emotional depression," I said.

She looked over at a table to the right. Two couples seated a few minutes ago, laughing, drinking. She summoned the waiter over, ordered another gin and tonic.

"Do you agree?" I said.

"With what?"

"That it was all emotional."

"I'm not a doctor, Alex. I couldn't begin to fathom Joanne's motivation." Another glance at the happiness nearby.

"In terms of Eric and Stacy—"

"Eric and Stacy are going to cope and move on, right? That's why I sent Stacy to you."

Her second drink came. We traded courtroom stories and I listened to her go on about municipal politics, the D.A.'s inability to collect child support. That enabled me to steer the conversation back where I wanted it.

"They couldn't get Mate, either."

She stirred gin, nodded.

"I'm not sure Mate was happy about that," I said. "No more prime time."

"Yes, he was a grandstander, wasn't he?"

"The interesting thing is, Judy, he never took credit for Joanne's death. Never even tried, and it's the only case I could find where that was true."

She'd been holding the glass in midair, lowered it slowly. "You've been researching?"

"The police assumed Mate had assisted Joanne, but they never confirmed it."

"I'd say it's a pretty good assumption, Alex. Her body was full of those chemicals Mate used."

Our salads arrived. Big plate of what looked like lawn shavings. A few cashews on mine. My belly was still filled with steak and nothing had transpired to spark my appetite. I pushed leaves around. Judy aimed her fork at a cherry tomato, tried to stab it, but it rolled out from under the tines. For a split second, fury darkened her face. Talking about the Dosses had been an ordeal.

She speared a speck of lettuce. "Even if Richard was stupid enough to give money to that loser, the loser backed out. I'm hoping he didn't try again. After we spoke, I asked around. So far, nothing beyond solicitation. Have you heard anything to the contrary?"

"No," I said.

"Passion, Alex. It makes people do crazy things."

"Richard was passionate about Joanne?"

"I suppose he was." Peeling back her sleeve, she glanced at the Lady Rolex.

"Here comes the egg timer," I said.

She smiled. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm very tired— not hungry, either. Is there anything else?"

"I'd like to know more about Eric."

"Just what I told you the first time. A genius, perfectionistic. Dominant personality."

"Stacy said he and Ali dated."

Pause. "Yes, they did. Year ago. Ali said he was a bit of a control freak— nothing weird, he just proved too intense for her. She broke it off."

Stacy had said Eric had severed the relationship. Teenage soap opera. Did it matter?

I said, "He sounds a lot like Richard."

"He's Richard's boy all the way. Like a little nuclear weapon with legs."

"And Stacy?"

"You're Stacy's therapist. What do you think?"

"Was she distant from Joanne?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because it was Eric who spent time with Joanne during her last days."

She pushed her plate away. "Alex, I think you've gotten the wrong idea about the Dosses and us. We were friends, neighbors, lunched at the Cliffside. But for the most part they kept their problems to themselves and we lived our own life. Richard told Bob that Stacy seemed to be drifting. From the little I saw, she seemed a bit depressed, so I sent her to you. That's all there is. I can't carry any more on my shoulders. I'm sorry I haven't been more helpful, but that's all there is."