The Girl Next Door (15 page)

Quinteros smiled. “I’ve got to get it while I can. When I move back to Santa Fe I’ll
miss it. They don’t do deli out there.”

“Move back?” Nina said.

“Well, my fiancée lives out there. So does most of my family.”

Fiancée, she thought, surprised by a fleeting feeling of disappointment to know that
he was taken. “I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place, Sante Fe.”

“It is,” he said.

The waitress returned and looked at them questioningly,
holding her pad at the ready. “I’m told the pastrami is great,” Nina said with a
smile. “With pickles.” She caught sight of herself in one of the myriad mirrored surfaces
in the huge diner. She looked completely drab and washed out. Exactly the way she
felt.

While Quinteros placed his order, Nina watched him thoughtfully. He was not much older
than thirty, she suspected, but he had what she would call an “old face”—the face
of an old soul. Even when he smiled, his eyes turned down as if he were sad.

The waitress left, and Nina sat up against the cushioned back of the booth. “So, Dr.
Quinteros …”

“Please, Andre,” he said.

“Andre and Quinteros. That’s kind of unusual,” she said.

“My mother is from Quebec,” he said.

Nina nodded. “And you work at the prison.”

Quinteros squinted and calculated. “Three years now.”

“Why the prison?” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking. I mean, not only is it far
from where you plan to live, but I’ve logged a lot of time there. It’s a depressing
place to be.”

Andre nodded in agreement. “It is. It’s dismal. I won’t be sorry to leave it behind
me. But I was idealistic when I finished my residency. I thought I could do some good.
Provide better care than the inmates were used to.”

“Very noble of you,” said Nina, unable to disguise a hint of skepticism.

“No. It’s not noble … I had a brother in that prison,” said Andre. “Herve, the youngest.”

“Had? He’s out now?”

“No, he died in custody, actually. About six years ago.”

Nina was taken aback. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. She recognized his offhand
tone, as if it didn’t hurt him to say the words. She had perfected that tone herself.

“He lived in Newark. He was busted for drugs,” said Andre. “He got into a fight with
another inmate and somewhere in the scuffle he got a ruptured spleen, but nobody knew
it. His abdomen was distended. The doctor at the prison examined him and said he had
gas. Gave him laxatives.”

“Gas? The doctor didn’t know the difference?”

Andre shrugged. “Didn’t know. Didn’t care. He was a hack. An alcoholic. It didn’t
much matter to him. Herve died in his sleep the next night.”

“Oh my God,” said Nina. “That’s awful.”

Andre nodded. “As a matter of fact, your father tried to intervene. He recognized
the misdiagnosis. They put him in solitary for speaking up and making trouble.”

Nina shook her head. “He never told me about that.”

“Well, he wasn’t the one who told me, either. I heard about it from one of the inmates
when I went to work there. But it always made me feel a little bit … indebted to your
father.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me. More than you know. Thanks for telling me that,”
said Nina. For a moment they were silent. Then Nina said, “How old was he? Your brother.”

“Nineteen,” Andre said. “Don’t get me wrong. He was no angel. He had a bad drug problem.
But his death … Well, it devastated my parents.”

“I can imagine,” Nina said.

Andre smiled. “A lot of people thought Herve deserved to die. They don’t know what
prison is like.”

Nina nodded, grateful to be with someone who did know. She fell silent, thinking of
visiting days at the prison. Aunt Mary always made sure she had a ride if she couldn’t
drive Nina herself. Some of the people from Aunt Mary’s church used to drive her,
and Nina would muster some small talk with whoever was at the wheel on the way. But
the ride back was interminable. The drivers never knew what to ask her about her visit
with
Duncan, and she tried not to notice them casting furtive, pitying glances her way.

“Two pastrami sandwiches.” The waitress had reappeared and placed their sandwiches
down in front of them. Andre picked up a half and began to eat it.

Nina stared at the plate. It looked good, and it smelled good, but she still didn’t
feel much like eating.

“Go ahead,” he said, noticing her reluctance. “Get started on that. You need to eat
something.”

“You’re the doctor,” she said, and she picked up half the sandwich.

For a few minutes they ate in silence, and Nina could feel the food actually starting
to settle her stomach. Her strength seemed to return to her with each bite. Andre
watched her, and when she had finished a half, he set down his own sandwich and wiped
his fingers, as if to indicate that it was all right to talk again.

Nina wiped her mouth with a napkin. “So. You said my father called you. What did he
want? Did you have any inkling that he was planning …”

Andre frowned. “To kill himself ?”

Nina nodded.

“No. Actually, that’s why I came to see you. When I read it in the paper I was shocked.
To say the least.”

Nina stared at him. “Everyone says I’m crazy, but I’ve had my doubts about it.”

Andre seized on her remark. “What kinds of doubts? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “There seem to be a lot of people in this town still hating
him for what happened to my mother. Maybe somebody … hated him enough to want him
dead. Or … I don’t know. He always maintained his innocence. Maybe he tried to find
out something about the murder and he
stirred up a hornet’s nest. It’s probably not rational but … but I’ve thought that.”

Andre picked up a plastic-wrapped straw and tapped it on the Formica tabletop. “I
have my doubts, too,” he said.

Nina’s heart started to hammer. “Tell me why you say that.”

“Well, I knew your dad fairly well. He used to work in the infirmary with me and we
would talk. I was teaching him Spanish,” said Andre with a smile. “He was a very intelligent
man. He’d become fluent, actually.”

“Yes, he told me,” said Nina.

“We talked about a lot of things. He talked about you a lot. He adored you …”

Nina blushed, and part of her wanted to hear more about what her father had said about
her, but she was not about to be distracted from her more urgent concern. “What makes
you think he didn’t kill himself ?”

“He was looking forward to getting out …”

Nina interrupted him. “Chief Perry said people don’t realize how tough it’s going
to be. He said it was not uncommon for ex-prisoners to become very depressed when
they finally understood what their life had become.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” said Andre.

“My father had been a doctor. He’d once had money and prestige. Chief Perry said that
would make it all the worse for him.”

Andre frowned and tapped the straw.

“What aren’t you saying?” She could see he was struggling with what to say next. “Do
you know something about this that I don’t?” she persisted.

Andre spoke carefully. “I think you should find out from the police if they have any
evidence at all that his death was not a suicide,” said Andre. “The autopsy may reveal
new information …”

Nina cocked her head and tried to catch his eye, but he avoided her gaze. “That’s
what the police chief said. But you sound as if you already know …”

Andre was silent for a moment, frowning, as if he was struggling with a decision.
Then he sighed. “Nina, your father
had
been suffering from clinical depression. While he was incarcerated. It was severe
at times. In fact, in treating him we had him try a variety of medications.” Andre
looked directly at her. “He never mentioned it to you?”

Nina stared at him and shook her head. “No. I mean, who could blame him for being
depressed. But no. He never said a word.”

Andre frowned again. “I was hoping he might have shared this with you.”

Nina felt disoriented by this new information. “So you’re saying … Wait a minute.
You’re saying … Are you saying that he
did
kill himself ?”

“No,” Andre said sharply. “Just the opposite. Your father had it under control. And
after a few false starts we found a medication that really helped him. By the time
he learned about his parole, he was in very good … mental health. He told me that
every day, every moment was precious to him. He was absolutely determined to make
the best of every moment he had left in his life.”

Tears welled in Nina’s eyes at the thought of her father keeping his despair from
her, not trusting her with it, for some reason. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. He probably didn’t want to worry you. You’d spent so
many years being supportive of him. He didn’t want to burden you any further. There
was no need. I’d arranged for him to renew his prescription with Dr. Nathanson at
the clinic where he was working. He was doing fine, Nina.”

“But maybe once he had to actually cope with his ‘so-called’ freedom, he stopped doing
fine,” she said.

“Your father was a very strong-willed person,” Andre said.

“Or he stopped taking his medication.”

Andre frowned. “Well, that’s a possibility, Nina. Certainly. That’s one of the reasons
I came to see you. I think it would be a very good idea to find out. Once they have
the autopsy results, they will have a toxicology screen, and they will know exactly
what he had in his system. I think it would be a good idea for you to speak to a detective
and find out what those results were.”

“But …” Nina shook her head slowly. “But if the police find out he was … clinically
depressed, they’ll be more certain than ever that he committed suicide.”

“Let’s face it. You and I both know that the death of a convicted murderer is not
very high up on the cops’ list of concerns. They may just want to close the file on
him. The public, the newspapers are not going to care what happened to Duncan Avery.
They’ll think your father got what was coming to him,” he said.

Nina sighed. “You’re right about that.”

Andre leaned forward and held her gaze with his own. “So you have to be his advocate.
Here.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pad and a thin gold pen.
He scribbled something on the pad. “This is the chemical name for the medication he
was taking. If you have your doubts, take this to the police and ask if this chemical
turned up in his system at the autopsy. If this compound was there, in his blood …”—Andre
tore off the piece of paper and handed to her—“that means Duncan was still taking
his medication faithfully. And if that’s the case, I’d be willing to bet anything
that your father did not kill himself.”

A
YOUNG
uniformed officer wearing a humorless expression confiscated Nina’s bag and searched
it while his more pleasant-looking colleague instructed her to pass through the metal
detector arch and wait on the other side. Fortunately, she did not set off any alarms,
and her bag was handed back to her with a brief order to direct her question to the
sergeant on duty. Nina had not been in the police station since the days following
her mother’s murder, and it was clear that in the ensuing years the town of Hoffman
had spared no expense in outfitting the police department for the security demands
of the new century.

Nina approached the sergeant’s desk and waited while the sergeant spoke to someone
on his headset about a prisoner transfer. As she looked around the police station,
once so familiar to her, she thought about her meeting the night before with Andre
Quinteros. Part of her was angry at her father for not telling her about his depression.
Another part kept mulling over
what Andre had said about him. That he was not suicidal. Not at all. That seemed
to validate her own impressions, but still, she had been so shaken by Andre’s information
that she could hardly sleep all night. She couldn’t even remember if she’d said good
night to Andre when he dropped her off at her door.

“Miss? Can I help you?”

Nina started, and then realized that the sergeant was speaking to her. She asked him
if she could speak with Chief Perry. The sergeant frowned, as if this were unlikely,
but he took her name and pressed the intercom. He spoke quietly into his headset and
then turned to Nina. “Go through there,” the sergeant said, pointing to a door on
his left. “Down the hall, third door on the right.”

Nina put her hand on the doorknob, waited for the buzzer, and entered the squad room.
She kept her eyes lowered as she hurried toward the office to which she had been directed.
She knew it was probably paranoia, but she felt as if all the officers in this station
recognized her and knew about her family’s notorious history. As she approached the
door to Chief Perry’s office, she saw that it was open, and that there was a trim
white-haired man in casual civilian clothes leaning against the doorframe, talking
to the occupant. He looked over at her as she approached, and all at once, Nina recognized
his small bright eyes and lined face. It was the detective who had been the chief
investigator on her mother’s case. He had always treated Nina and her brothers kindly,
even though he was busily building a case against their father. “Detective Hagen?”

The man smiled but looked puzzled. “Hello, young lady,” he said.

She realized that he did not recognize her. The last time he’d seen her she was a
teenager.

“You don’t remember me. Nina Avery.”

The old man’s twinkling eyes widened with surprise. “Oh
my goodness, Nina,” he said. He reached for Nina’s hand and shook it. “How are you,
dear?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “And you?”

“Aw, I’m doing okay. Just talking a little golf with the chief here. What brings you
here?”

Chief Perry joined them in the doorway. “Hello, Nina. Come on in. I’m glad you’re
here. Frank, it was good to see you. Don’t you be a stranger now.”