“In what country, may I ask?”
“Mine,” Boone says. “If you don't want it, the seagulls will.”
She closes the plate and tosses it over her shoulder into the back of the van. He shrugs and eats as he drives back up to La Jolla Village. The burger tastes great and makes the drive back there go quickly. As they pull into the parking lot of Teddy's building, Boone calls information and gets Teddy's number.
“You're phoning?” Petra asks.
“Hard to put one over on you, Pete.”
“Why not just march in there and demand to speak with him?”
The receptionist has the perfect cultured voice, and Boone guesses that she has the perfect chiseled face to match. As the first face you'd see when you walk into a cosmetic surgeon's office, she has to be perfect.
“May I help you?”
“I'd like to speak to Dr. Cole,” Boone says.
“Do you have an appointment for a telephone consultation?”
“No,” Boone says.
“Are you a patient? Is this an emergency?”
“I'm not a patient, but I'd really like to talk to him.”
“Let me see… Dr. Cole had a cancellation in May. I could perhaps squeeze you in.”
Boone says, “I was thinking more like now.”
“Now?” she asks incredulously.
“Now,” Boone says.
“That would be impossible.”
“Tell Teddy that Tammy Roddick wants to talk to him.”
“Dr. Cole is in a consultation,” the receptionist says. “I am not going to interrupt him.”
“Yeah, you are,” Boone says. “Because if you don't, I'll call Teddy's house and see if Mrs. Dr. Cole would like to talk with Tammy. So unless you want to make the current Mrs. Cole the next ex-Mrs. Cole, with all the hassle and alimony that entails, not to mention the potentially deleterious effect on your next Christmas bonus, I suggest you get Teddy on the horn and interrupt his consultation. I'm betting he'll thank you.”
There's a long, stony silence.
She breaks first. “I'll see if he wants to be interrupted.”
“Thanks.”
She comes back on a second later with a voice edged in aggravation. “Can you hold for Dr. Cole?”
“Oh, you bet.”
A few seconds later, Teddy comes on the line. “This is Dr. Cole.”
“My name is Boone Daniels,” Boone says. “I'm a private investigator representing the law firm of Burke, Spitz and Culver. We have reason to believe that you might have information as to the whereabouts of Tammy Roddick.”
“I don't think I know a Tammy Roddick,” Teddy says smoothly and without hesitation. He's used to denying knowledge of women, not only to the gossip media but also to his wives and girlfriends.
“Think some more,” Boone says. He describes Tammy, then continues: “A guy named Mick Penner says she dumped him for you. It's credible information, Doc-everyone knows you have a thing for strippers.”
“Boone Daniels…” Teddy says. “You have a friend who's a prodigious eater.”
“Hang Twelve.”
Teddy says, “I was there that night. I lost two hundred bucks.”
“Can we quit paddling around, Doc?” Boone asks. “It's important we find Tammy Roddick. There's good reason to believe she's in serious trouble.”
Silence while Teddy thinks about this. And silence isn't the response you'd expect, Boone thinks. Usually if you tell a guy something like this, he instantly asks, “Trouble? What kind of trouble?” So maybe Teddy already knows.
“In any case,” Teddy says. “I don't have to talk to you.”
“No, you don't,” Boone says, “but you should. Look, if I figured you out, the cops are going to be about a half step behind me. And there are other parties…”
“What other parties?”
“I think you know Dan Silver.”
Another silence, then:
“Jesus Christ,” Teddy says. “Strippers are always trouble. If it's not one thing, it's another. If they don't want a free boob job, then it's a nose job. Or they're knocked up, or they want to go into therapy. Or they want to get married, or they threaten to call your wife…”
“What are you going to do?” Boone asks.
“Right?”
“No,” Boone says. “I mean, what are you going to do? Look, Teddy, of the possible choices of people you can talk to, I'm the least worst option. The cops will charge you with impeding an investigation, and you don't even want to know what Dan might do. He's sort of a cosmetic surgeon himself.”
“I see what you mean.”
“You're in the deep water,” Boone says. “I can pull you out. You and Tammy.”
More thinking.
“Can I get back to you on this?” Teddy asks.
“ Right back?”
“Five minutes.”
“Sure,” Boone says. “I'm in my office. Use this number.”
He gives Teddy his cell number.
“Five minutes,” Teddy says before he gets off the phone.
“You don't think he's actually going to ring you back?” Petra asks. “I told you we should have just marched right in there.”
She starts to open the door.
“Don't do that,” Boone says.
“Why not?”
“Because we're not looking for Teddy,” Boone says. “We're looking for Tammy.”
“Symmetrical and yet cryptic,” Petra says. “But what do you mean?”
“I mean, sit tight.”
She shuts the door, then asks, “‘Deleterious’?”
“Means having a negative or destructive effect,” Boone says.
“You've been holding out on me, ape man.”
“You don't know the half.”
Teddy D-Cup comes out of the building and strides toward his car.
44
Teddy Cole is a beautiful man.
Literally.
Teddy is a living testament to the reciprocal professional courtesy that exists among top-line plastic surgeons. Teddy's been chin-sculpted, Botoxed, nose-jobbed, skin-peeled, hair transplanted, eye-tightened, face- lifted, tummy-tucked, dental-worked, lasered, and tanned.
A walking advertisement of his own trade.
He's about five-ten, slim, his skin glowing with artificial health, the muscles under his black Calvin Klein silk shirt showing hours at the gym. His hair is blond with ash tips, his eyes blue, his teeth perfectly white.
Teddy has to be in his late fifties, but he looks like he's in his early thirties, except that his face has been lifted so tight and high that his eyes have a slightly Asian look to them. Boone's afraid that if Teddy smiles too wide,
