The Birthday Girl (15 page)

He contacted a company search operation in Wilmington, and in less than a day they'd struck gold - Ventura Investments was indeed a limited partnership. But the only name on file was that THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 117 of a New York lawyer and the only address was the lawyer's Seventh Avenue office. There was no way of telling who the actual principals were, and Nelson knew that it would take more than a phone call to the lawyer to find out. He speared a chunk of tomato and chewed it thoughtfully. New York was closer to home, and he had good contacts in the Big Apple, but whichever way he played it he was going to come up against an impenetrable wall of silence. Impenetrable by legal means, anyway. What Nelson had to decide was how far he wanted to push it. He remembered how nervous CRW's financial director had been during the board meeting. The man was definitely hiding something.

Nelson made up his mind. He reached for his Rolodex. The card containing Ernie Derbyshire's address and phone number was well thumbed. As usual the private detective wasn't in his office, but Nelson left a message on his answering machine.

Nancy looked up, startled, as Tony Freeman entered the waiting room. She positively beamed when she recognised him. 'Mr Freeman,' she said. 'We're not expecting you, are we?'

'No, Nancy, I just dropped by to see Dr Brown. Is he in with a patient?' Freeman could tell from her face that he wasn't, but she quickly recovered and held up a hand like a policeman attempting to stop traffic. There were small scratches on her hand, as if she'd been gripped by strong fingers with undipped nails, and as he got closer to the reception desk Freeman could see a faded yellow bruise under her left eye. She put a hand up to the old injury as if trying to conceal it from his gaze. Freeman smiled to ease her embarrassment. 'I just wanted a few words with him, Nancy.'

'I'll have to ring through first...' she began to say, reaching for the intercom, but Freeman was already on his way to Art's office.

The psychiatrist was sitting on one of his couches, his left leg sticking out to the side. The left trouser leg had been cut up to 118 STEPHEN LEATHER the thigh, presumably to allow for the bandage underneath, and was held together with safety clips. Brown jumped as if he'd been given an electric shock. 'Tony? What's wrong?' he asked.

'Just wanted a few words, Art,' Freeman said, closing the door behind him. 'How's the leg?'

'Healing,' Brown said. 'I was lucky. An inch either way and the bullet would've shattered the kneecap or gone through the artery.'

Freeman sat on the edge of the psychiatrist's desk, crossing his arms, as if it were his office and Brown the visitor. 'I see it hasn't stopped you from working.'

Brown's eyes narrowed, and for several beats the two men stared at each other like poker players trying to get the measure of their opponent. 'I'm cutting back on my workload, Tony,' the psychiatrist said eventually. 'I have to. The assault was a real shock to my system. It's not just the physical damage.'

Freeman nodded sympathetically. 'That sounds like the sensible thing to do,' he agreed. 'But I don't understand why you have to stop seeing Mersiha. I'd have thought that a teenager with her sort of background would have been one of your priorities.'

Brown licked his lips nervously. 'I've given Katherine a list of alternative therapists,' he said. 'They'll be more than happy to take her on.'

'Nancy gave her two names, Art. Two.'

'I'll give you more. There's no shortage of good people in Baltimore.' Brown's cheeks were beginning to redden and he bit down on his lower lip.

'Art, what the hell's wrong with you? You know how important it is that Mersiha feels secure. She can't switch therapists like this. She has to have stability in her life, she has to feel safe. You yourself told me that, right at the start, remember? After what she's been through, she has to know she's safe.'

For a brief second Brown's lip curled up in the semblance of a sneer, but just as quickly it disappeared and was replaced by his professional smile. 'I'll pass on her file, Tony. And you know as well as I do that she's much better than she was.'

'She's still sleepwalking. She's still having nightmares. We still THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 119 don't know what happened to her in Bosnia. She hasn't spoken about it. Not once.'

Brown looked away, unwilling to meet Freeman's accusatory gaze. 'You don't know the pressure I'm under,' he muttered.

'No, I don't,' Freeman said. 'You're turning your back on a teenage girl who needs your help.' There was no reaction from the psychiatrist. Freeman sighed, at a loss for words.

The door opened and Nancy popped her head round. 'Everything all right, Dr Brown?' she asked, in the same tone with which she probably addressed her husband after he'd had a few drinks. Brown nodded, not looking at her. 'It's just that your five o'clock appointment is here.'

'I won't be long, Nancy,' Freeman said quietly.

Nancy hesitated for a moment, as if there were something else she wanted to say, then she closed the door.

'What's wrong?' Freeman asked.

'Nothing's wrong.' Still the psychiatrist avoided looking at him.

Freeman snorted softly, a mixture of annoyance and amusement. It had suddenly occurred to him that Brown was now in the same position as his patients normally were - sitting on the sofa, avoiding eye contact and putting up barriers. But he didn't have the time, or the inclination, to continue probing the man's psyche. 'Okay, Art. This isn't getting us anywhere. Just give me Mersiha's file and I'll be on my way.'

'Impossible,' the psychiatrist said, shaking his head. 'Out of the question. I'll send it on to whichever psychiatrist you decide on, but you can't have it. Medical records are confidential.'

'She's my daughter,' Freeman insisted.

'That doesn't make any difference,' Brown said. 'Children have rights, too. I could be sued.'

'Who's going to sue you, Art? I'm not. I'm sure Mersiha won't. I think you're being a little paranoid.'

'Medical records are confidential,' Brown repeated.

Freeman pushed himself away from the desk and walked over to a bookcase crammed with textbooks, most of them on child psychology. 'I'm going to take over her case,' he said. 'I'll need the file.'

'You're not a psychiatrist.'

Freeman turned to look at Brown. 'I can get her to talk to me. I'll get to the bottom of whatever it is that's troubling her.'

'You could do more harm than good.'

'You think dropping her mid-treatment is good for her, do you?' Freeman asked, raising his voice. 'You don't think that'll harm her?'

'You need a qualified psychiatrist, Tony. A specialist.'

'No. She needs someone to talk to. Someone she can trust.'

Brown sighed and rested his head on the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes as if fighting off a migraine. 'It's not as simple as that. Mersiha has highly developed defence mechanisms. You don't get through them by just talking to her. You have to know what you're doing.'

'So, I'll read the file. That'll be my map.'

Brown shook his head violently, his eyes still tightly closed. 'The file isn't a map. It's a diary. It only records where I've been, not where I'm going.'

Freeman stood looking down at the psychiatrist. He had a sudden urge to kick Brown's wounded leg. 'Give me the file, Art.'

'You're not qualified.'

'I'm more than qualified. I love her.'

'That's the worst possible qualification.' Brown licked his lips, staring at Freeman's anxious face. He slowly shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'It wouldn't work.'

Freeman struggled to stay composed. 'I'll make a deal with you, Art,' he said.

'A deal?'

'Something's bothering you, and to be honest I don't give a shit what it is. All I care about is my daughter. Let me read her file, here and now. Once I've read it, I'll be out of your hair for good. I'll never tell anyone you showed it to me, and I'll never mention it again.'

'And the stick?'

'The stick?' queried Freeman.

'I see the carrot. What's the stick?' *

Freeman smiled without warmth. 'I'll make your life miserable. I'll hound you day and night. Something's worrying you THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 121 and I'll keep digging until I find out what it is. I'll hire detectives, I'll ask questions, I'll keep on at you until I get some answers. I'll speak to whatever professional organisations you're a member of, I'll talk to the hospitals where you're employed as a consultant, I'll pester your patients and I'll speak to the press.'

'I'm not hiding anything,' Brown said defensively.

'I don't care,' Freeman said.

Brown looked at him for several seconds, then inclined his head towards a filing cabinet by the side of the desk. 'Under F. Top drawer,' he said. 'You'll excuse me if I don't get up, won't you?'

Lennie Nelson paced up and down. For the hundredth time he looked up at the announcements board. The train from New York was running ten minutes late and he had to be back in the office within the hour. The slats on the board flickered and whirred and when they stopped moving the delay had increased by another ten minutes. He cursed under his breath. Damn Amtrak and damn Ernie Derbyshire.

The private detective had sounded nervous over the telephone and had insisted on a meeting. He'd wanted to see Nelson in New York but the banker had explained that it was totally out of the question. Derbyshire had reluctantly agreed to come to Baltimore, but had insisted that Nelson pay all expenses. And he'd said that he wanted an extra two thousand dollars. Nelson had protested but the detective had said that the information he had was more than worth it. He wouldn't say any more on the phone.

Nelson decided to have his shoes shined while he waited for the New York train to arrive. It was just after eleven o'clock in the morning so the station was quiet and all three shoeshine chairs were free. Nelson sat in a high chair and opened the Washington Post as the balding middle-aged man worked on his shoes. His mind wasn't on the newspaper. Whatever Derbyshire had discovered, it had to be good for the detective to ask for a 122 STEPHEN LEATHER face-to-face meeting. They'd only ever met once before, several years earlier. Since then all their business had been done by phone or mail. Nelson could feel his hands sweating. Maybe Derbyshire had uncovered the evidence the bank needed to pull the plug on CRW.

Time dragged interminably, but eventually the board whirred again and announced that the train from New York had arrived. The man gave the black Ballys a final polish and Nelson handed him a ten-dollar bill, telling him to keep the change. He climbed out of the chair as the train passengers began to walk through the station concourse. He spotted Derbyshire immediately: a tall, thin man with uncombed greying hair and a stoop. He was wearing a fawn raincoat that had seen better days, and scuffed brown loafers that had clearly never made the acquaintance of shoe polish. He nodded as he got closer to Nelson, but made no move to shake hands. 'How's it going, Lennie?' he said. He looked furtively to the left and right, as if fearing that he was being watched.

'What's wrong?' Nelson asked. 'Is someone after you?'

'Nah,' Derbyshire said. 'I need to visit the men's room. Where is it?'

'Can't it wait?' Nelson asked impatiently. 'I've got to get back to the office, pronto.'

'Jeez, just let me take a leak, will ya? My prostate ain't what it used to be.'

Derbyshire spotted the men's room and headed for it, leaving Nelson standing by the information desk. He looked at his watch and pulled a face. Whatever Derbyshire had, it had better be good. A pretty black girl in a charcoal-grey suit walked by swinging a briefcase. She smiled at Nelson and he grinned back. As she walked outside she looked over her shoulder and gave him another smile. Nelson cursed Derbyshire again.

The private detective came out of the men's room. His hands were still wet and he wiped them on his coat. 'Is there somewhere we can go?' he asked. There were wooden seats all around the waiting area but Nelson realised that the man wanted somewhere private. He took Derbyshire out of the station and down Charles Street to a small coffee bar. Nelson ordered coffee, Derbyshire a THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 123 glass of milk. 'Coffee goes right through me,' the detective said apologetically.

Nelson looked at his watch pointedly. 'What's this all about, Ernie?'

'Have you got my money?' Derbyshire asked. Nelson sat back and folded his arms. He didn't say anything. Eventually j Derbyshire got the message. He reached inside his coat and took out a grubby envelope. He put it on the table in front of � Nelson, but when the banker reached for it, Derbyshire grabbed his hand and squeezed. 'I'm not happy with you, Lennie. Not happy at all.'

Nelson frowned. 'What the hell is up with you?'

Derbyshire nodded at the envelope. 'That's trouble. Big trouble. I should be asking you for more money. Two thousand dollars isn't gonna cover my hospital bills if anyone finds out what I've done.'

Nelson leaned forward. Their waitress returned with a mug of coffee and a glass of milk. Nelson said nothing until she was on her way back to the kitchen. 'Okay, Ernie. Stop playing games. | Spill the beans.'

'"' Derbyshire grimaced. He took a sip from his glass. When he put it back down on the table he had a white foamy moustache on his upper lip. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. 'The agent you gave me, the lawyer, wasn't one I'd worked on before so I didn't have any contacts. Nice office, though. Really prestigious, all the trimmings. It's a small firm. I tried approaching one of the secretaries but she wouldn't have “” anything to do with me and I couldn't risk trying anything else.

That meant I had to do a little breaking and entering ...'

Nelson held up a hand. 'I don't want to hear what you did, Ernie. That's nothing to do with me.' Nelson knew that the private detective had spent two years in prison after a security guard discovered him standing over a lawyer's desk with a flashlight in one hand and a miniature camera in the other. The banker didn't want to hear about any illegal activities. He just wanted the facts.

'Yeah, yeah, I understand,' Derbyshire said. 'Okay, so I got the Ventura file, no problem.' He tapped the envelope. 'There's 124 STEPHEN LEATHER copies in there. There are two investors in the partnership. Russians.'