'I've been thinking about this and it doesn't add up. Anton Popescu doesn't have the profile to hit his wife in the face where it would show, you follow me?'
'So what are you saying?'
'You asked me to get to know them. So, I'm telling you I'm not at all convinced Anton was the one who assaulted Heather. He can be rough and nasty, but he's not the kind of guy who'd want to be known for messing up her face. And now you're telling me there are other prints in the place. So you think there's more to this case, too.'
'Yeah, I do. One more try with them to prove your hunch is right. How about it?'
'I'm a psychiatrist, April. I don't have hunches. Gotta go.' He didn't say he would call, but at eight, right before he was scheduled to go home for his dinner, he dialed the Popescu apartment.
Anton picked up after the first ring. 'Yes, who is it?'
'It's Dr. Frank,' Jason said.
'Who?'
'We met in the hospital.'
'How did you get my phone number?' Anton sounded angry.
'How's Heather doing?' he asked.
'What fucking business is it of yours?'
Good point. 'I'm a doctor. She's hurt and upset. I think I can help.'
'He thinks he can help,' Anton said sarcastically. 'I'm her husband. I can handle this.'
'You have a lot to be upset about, too.'
'Fucking A, I do. I'm suing you for malpractice.'
Oh, shit. Anton Popescu just loved dirty words. Jason didn't think the man could sue him if Anton hadn't hired him in the first place, but he wasn't absolutely sure. April was asking him to do things psychiatrists weren't supposed to do. He wondered if he was a coward. Anton pounced on the silence.
'Ah, I see that got to you. I'll bet you've been sued for malpractice before. It's something I can find out. I'll sue you from here to hell and back,' Anton crowed.
Jason started thinking that it wasn't a good idea for a therapist to be
One had to be innovative from time to time, in dire emergencies. And besides, this guy was pissing him off.
'Mr. Popescu, you're a lawyer. You know much better than I do the legal implications of your case.
You had a baby, but no papers for the baby. Your fingerprints are on the weapon that injured your wife.'
'Shut up. How can you say this? Who told you this? This is a pack of lies. I have all the appropriate papers. Anyway, I don't have to produce any fucking papers. And I didn't hurt my wife. I've never touched her in anger. I would never, absolutely never, never hit my wife with a broomstick.'
'Who said it was a broomstick?'
'It was lying on the floor next to her. It was a fucking broomstick. You think I'm stupid? The thing had blood all over it and I picked it up. Jesus.' Anton's voice broke. Jason could hear him crying. 'Jesus. I picked it up. Okay, maybe I was stupid to touch it. It doesn't mean I hit her with it. Jesus, I never thought anybody would think I hit her with it.'
'Somebody did.'
Anton's voice got very low. 'I saved her fucking life. Don't you understand, I save her twice. She was a nothing, and now she's ruined my whole life.'
'Mr. Popescu, I'm glad you shared this with me. I'm concerned that when Heather recovers, she may be at risk for suicide. You did tell me she'd hurt herself in the past.'
Anton sucked in his breath. 'Yes.'
'Why don't we get together and talk? Maybe I can help you.'
'I don't need help.' Anton wasn't an easy person to talk to.
'The police aren't going away until the baby is found. Don't you want to find Paul?'
'I don't see how—'
'How about my office?' Jason suggested.
'I'm not a nutcase. I'm not going to any fucking shrink's office.'
'If you come to my office, no one will see you. We'll be able to talk privately.' 'The cops have gone. They left an hour ago.'
'What cops?'
'They tapped my phone. It's probably still tapped. Better watch what you say.'
'I have nothing to hide,' Jason said, but he was shaken by the idea of cops taping the call. He wondered if the Popescus' apartment was bugged as well. He wouldn't put it past NYPD.
'This has to be confidential,' Anton was saying.
'Of course,' Jason assured him. Too bad, April.
'Oh, shit, just come to my apartment.'
'No problem. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.' Then Jason called Emma to tell her he'd be late.
Fifteen minutes later a short, fat woman opened the Popescus' front door, looked him over with a sour expression, and disappeared without a word. Jason stood in the foyer until Anton's voice directed him.
'Come in here.'
Jason followed the sound into the living room, which had the look of a professional decorator. Anton was sprawled on one of the green-and-white chintz sofas with his shirt collar open. He looked bad. He picked up the bottle of scotch sitting on the table beside him and refreshed his drink, making a point of not offering any to Jason. 'What do I call you?' he demanded.
'You can call me Dr. Frank,' Jason said.
'Dr. Frank,' Anton mimicked. 'I hate fucking shrinks, did I tell you that?'
'I didn't come here to be abused.' Jason looked around for a stereo to turn on. He didn't see one, decided not to worry about a bug.
'I'm a nice guy. I don't abuse people,' Anton was telling him, not for the first time.
'You've said that before.' Jason sat in a club chair without being asked. Already he was regretting the visit. Anton had clearly downed more than a few and wasn't in the mood to cooperate.
'My mother-in-law is here,' he said bitterly. 'Twenty-eight years in America and she still speaks only about three words of English. It freaks me. The father burps and drinks like a fish. This is the family I married into.'
'Are they staying here with you?'
'They're not here yet. But yeah, I'm sure. Can you believe this? I didn't say they could come. If I weren't such a nice guy I wouldn't let them stay here, now would I?'
'How's Heather?'
Anton drank some scotch. 'I'm so tense. I want my son. What's anybody doing about it? Nothing.'
'How's Heather?'
'I don't know. They won't let me see her,' he complained bitterly. 'I just don't get it. They say she's all right, but they won't let me in. It's the fucking cops. I'm going to sue the city for this.'
Jason didn't say anything.
'You want to know if I hit her, don't you? Well, I didn't hit her.' Anton looked at Jason. 'Want a drink?'
Jason shook his head.
'I'm offering you a drink. Have a drink,' Anton insisted.
'I'm fine,' Jason assured him.
'What's the matter, isn't my scotch good enough for you?'
Jason acknowledged the expensive, unpronounceable single-malt label. 'It's a very good scotch.'
'Damn straight. So don't insult me, have a fucking drink,' Anton insisted.
'You like to get your way,' Jason observed mildly.
'What are you talking about? I'm being nice.
You're being an asshole. How do you expect me to talk to an asshole?' He glared.
'What if I don't want a drink?'
'That's not the point.'
