The weekend passed without further incident, with one exception. Madison ran into Matt Prisco late Sunday afternoon while wheeling the recycling and garbage bins out to the curb. His neighbor was polite, but wanted to know what had happened yesterday with “that looker.”
Madison, in turn, was curious as to what Harding had said to him before storming his driveway.
“Something about you being a pervert,” Prisco said. “I don’t know, Phil, she was raving mad. To be honest, with Scott standing right there, I didn’t want to provoke her. She seemed a bit off.”
Prisco was a psychologist, and although Madison didn’t know him professionally, he was impressed that he’d pegged her that quickly.
Madison’s face flushed deep red. “Honestly, Matt, I don’t know how much you saw or heard, but I haven’t got a clue as to what she was talking about.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
He explained in a few sentences who she was and the problems the Consortium had been having with her. Although Prisco listened intently and appeared to understand, Madison couldn’t help but notice something on his neighbor’s face that indicated a shred of lingering doubt. He knew what Jefferies must have been thinking: Harding might be “a bit off,” but that doesn’t mean that what she was ranting about didn’t really happen.
Madison made the long walk back to the house, hoping that Jeffrey would return to town in time to talk with him tonight. He wondered what course of action his friend had in mind.
Monday morning was overcast and unusually humid. As Leeza helped Elliott get ready for school, Jonah sat in front of the TV watching Sesame Street in the playroom on the second floor. Madison was knotting his tie when he heard a knock at the door. Leeza, thinking it was their car pool, allowed Elliott to answer the door. She was in the kitchen when she heard him shout to her. “Mommy, there’s a policeman at the door. And a girl, too.”
“A policeman,” Leeza said as she wiped off her wet hands and walked toward the entryway. “Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Madison?” asked the man in the suit, holding up a badge.
“Yes.”
“Detective Coleman, Sacramento Police Department. This is Detective Valentine,” he said, nodding toward his female partner. “Is your husband home? We’ve got a few questions for him.”
“Elliott, run upstairs and get your father. Hurry,” she said, giving him a slight push on the buttocks.
“What’s this about?”
“We’d rather discuss it with your husband. No offense, ma’am.”
“Offense taken,” she said, turning and walking back toward the kitchen.
Madison came trudging down the stairs, Elliott following closely behind, almost hiding behind his father’s legs.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you Phillip Madison?”
“Yeah, what can I do for you?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions about Brittany Harding.”
He shot a glance at Leeza across the hallway, then looked over at Elliott, who was staring with fascination at the gun that was planted in the male detective’s holster inside his suit jacket.
“I have to get to the office, can this wait-”
“It’ll only take a few moments, sir.”
He sighed, reasoning that he was just as curious to find out what this was about as they were to ask him the questions.
“Come in here,” he said, leading them into his den. As they walked into the richly appointed room complete with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases and a matching desk, Leeza came over. He motioned with a nod of his head for her to look after Elliott, then settled into his large leather seat. “Please,” Madison said, gesturing to the guest chairs.
As they sat, the male detective said, “Mr. Madison, I’m Detective Paul Coleman and this is Detective Kimberly Valentine.”
“It’s Doctor, ” he corrected, “and it’s good to meet you.”
“We have a complaint sworn by Brittany Harding. Do you know her?”
“Just what kind of complaint are we talking about?”
“Do you know her?” Coleman pressed.
“Yes.”
“Where were you on the night of September eleventh?”
“Why?”
“We’ll ask the questions, sir,” Valentine said.
“Not without my attorney present.”
Valentine glanced over at Coleman, an I told you so look on her face.
“Fine,” Coleman said. “Call him. We’ll see you at the station in a couple of hours,” he said as he handed Madison his card. They stood up and left, leaving him sitting behind his desk, staring at the card, pondering what wonderful surprises were in store for him now.
CHAPTER 20
When he walked into his office through the back door to the orthopedic clinic twenty minutes later, he saw the red light blinking on his phone. He picked it up and retrieved his voicemail messages. Jeffrey had called, apologizing that he had not returned home earlier last night. He had hit three hours of traffic and did not get in the door until midnight.
As Madison moved a hand toward the phone pad to dial, his intercom buzzed. “Doctor, we have Jan Harvey, Bill McNally, and Loril Kennedy waiting. They’re in rooms and ready to go.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Thanks, Monica. I just need to make a quick call.” He glanced at the clock and, seeing that he was already running behind, buzzed her back. “Who’s first?”
“Jan. Room One.”
He walked out of his office and grabbed Jan Harvey’s file that was in the receptacle on the exam room door. He hated waiting, so he made it a policy not to do it to his patients. Their time was valuable, too.
He forced a smile and opened the exam room door. “How are we doing today, Jan?”
The busy afternoon was a welcome stimulant for him. It took his mind off his collateral personal problems, and it invigorated his spirits. Contact with his patients was one of the more rewarding parts of practice for him.
At noon, he tried Jeffrey. “He’s just walking out the door, Doctor,” said the receptionist.
“Catch him, please. This is important.”
He heard a click and he was placed on hold. He was not sure if she had hung up on him because she did not like his tone, or if she was actually retrieving Jeffrey before he was out of reach.
“Phil,” came the voice at the other end of the phone. “I got in late-”
“Yeah, I know. Listen, I’ve got a problem, and not much time to explain. What are you doing now?”
“I was on my way out to get a bite.”
“Meet me at Spinelli’s?”
“Sure, but I have to be back at one-thirty to prepare-”
“I’ll see you in ten,” he said, and hung up. He threw his lab coat on the chair behind him and buzzed Monica to tell her he was leaving.
“I was able to get the Pincer surgery rescheduled for tomorrow morning,” she said.
The Pincer surgery. He thanked Monica, then headed out the door. He had Brittany Harding and the police breathing down his neck for some godforsaken reason and he had to worry about performing major surgery in twenty hours. He rubbed hard at his temples to ease the developing headache. If only the human body had an emotional on-off switch somewhere, one that the great anatomists and physiologists of the world had long
