'Thank you,' they said in unison.
They sat in a circle of three straight chairs and spoke about the 'obscenity' of Charlie's murder and about his having been 'a self-made man.' David, while preoccupied with the better fit of Bernie's tuxedo, suddenly snapped to attention when he saw him check his watch.
'That's about it,' Bernie said. He got up and disappeared in the crowd only to return twenty seconds later to add, 'Glad to have met you, Doctor. I'll be in touch, Robert.'
What's going on with right wrists these days? David tried to act inconspicuous as he got up and looked around the room to determine that as many people held their glasses in their left hands as in their right.
Focusing again on Robert, David said, 'He's in quite a hurry, I see.'
'Who, Bernie? Oh, yeah, he has a flight to catch. One of them business trips.'
'What's his business.'
'He went to school to be an engineer but now I think he's … he's a little bit of everything. You know, trading. Yeah, he's into trading.' He flashed a tobacco-stained smile.
'What's he trade.'
'He tells me he trades everything.'
'Where's he flying to?'
'Tokyo. Got some kinda plant there. He's part owner, you know.'
David sat again and edged closer to Robert. 'And what's your line of work?' he asked.
'Me? I'm in the box factory. Packaging.' He rocked in his chair and whined, 'They know me as Charlie's son or Bernie's brother.'
'Robert,' David said, pausing, 'look, this may be the wrong time to bring this up, but I'm assisting in the investigation of your dad's death. I understand he lived alone.'
'Yep, like my brother said, Mom died. I was in high school.'
'Would it be possible for me to visit his place? Just to browse around. It could give me a clue or a lead.' David knew a search warrant could be obtained if he needed one. He lowered his eyes and flipped open his notepad hoping it might underline the importance of his request. He could feel Robert's silent once-over.
'My dad said he liked you, Dr. Brooks. And he told me about you being a doctor and a private eye and everything like that.'
David stalled as long as he could before looking up. He thought it best to proceed with another question. 'He lived at the Highland Estates, right?'
'He was even there when it started. Maybe … I'm gonna say … twenty years now.'
'You have a key?'
'Sure. So does Bernie.'
'Well?'
'Dr. Brooks, if it'll help in finding the son-of-a-bitchin' butcher what killed him, sure, you can go there.'
'I'd feel better if you came with me, Robert. When do you get off from work Monday?'
'Three-thirty. That's when I punch out.'
'Good, I'll call you. You live in Hollings?'
'Yep, my apartment's on Chestnut street. Over there near the hospital. Dad owns-uh-owned the building.' Robert's eyes refilled.
'I'll call you at four. Then I can pick you up.' David gave the son one final expression of sympathy before seeking out Alton Foster.
'Alton, thanks. Is there anything I can do?' David asked.
'Like what?' Foster said, smiling.
'I don't know. Like parking cars or putting rock salt on the ice out there.' David didn't wait to see Foster's expression. He spotted Kathy and signaled he was leaving, then thought better of not conversing with her. Sidling over, he said, 'I've had enough of this charade. I'll call you.'
'Learn anything?' Kathy said.
'I'll call you. And, oh, I have a question.'
'What's that?'
He lowered his voice. 'In this huge collection of humanity, guess who loves you?'
He zigzagged through the gathering, bounded up the step to the foyer, asked the guy with the ascot for his scarf and gloves, and then felt like he was doing a Bernie Bugles when he returned to Foster.
'Incidentally, Alton,' he said, looking around, 'wasn't Victor Spritz here?'
'Yes, but he didn't stay long,' Foster replied.
Once alone on the front stoop, just this side of a chilling rain, David filled four pages of his notepad with notations and sketches.
The next morning, the tower clock registered eight-fifty. David got out of his car and hurried to the cafeteria to pick up coffee and a doughnut.
At the cash register, he heard the page operator scream, 'Dr. Brooks, stat! Dr. Brooks, stat!' David had heard plenty of pages before, but they never quivered with such emotion.
'Paging me?' he said aloud.
He bolted to the nearest wall phone. 'Dr. Brooks, here.'
'They want you at the parking gate.'
'Who's 'they'?'
'Security police. Said it's something serious. They saw you drive in earlier.'
'Thanks, Helen.' He was about to hang up the receiver. 'Wait,' he said, 'which gate?'
'Doctors' parking lot.'
David heaved his breakfast into a trash container, and, Friday in hand, burst through the cloakroom and out into a gloomy drizzle. Shallow mounds of snow rimmed the lot. Ahead, stem faces huddled around a late model white Cadillac parked directly opposite the card machine at the toll gate. Its arm was in the up position.
A security guard met him halfway. 'We opened the door to see if we could help the guy, Doc, but it was no use. We probably got our prints all over. Looks like a single bullet through the temple. The police are on their way.'
At the driver's side of the car, several resident physicians and nurses separated for David. He noted the window in the opened door was down. He saw a man slumped over the passenger seat, his face twisted back and to the left. David leveraged himself on the headrest and leaned forward to get a better look. It was Dr. Everett Coughlin.
Chapter 9
David straightened when he heard sirens getting closer. He reached over and palpated unsuccessfully for a carotid pulse, careful to avoid the sliver of crimson that crusted Coughlin's jaw above. Turning, his left foot slipped to the side and, after catching himself, he bent to verify that the corner of a shiny object wedged between the front wheel and a clump of snow was worth identifying. It was a laminated plastic entry card bearing Couglin's name and the designation, 'Courtesy Staff.'
Face hardened and flushed, David clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the passenger side. He peered through the wet front window as he put on his gloves, and he carefully opened the door. The body's head and neck were now more clearly visible. There was a small round wound above the left ear but no tattooing, soot smudge or burn. A slender ribbon of blood was caked down the ear. He didn't disturb the head to examine it for an exit wound.
Three police cruisers, flashing lights cutting through the raw grey morning, funneled to a screeching stop along with a small van and several nondescript cars. Kathy, Nick, Sparky, a technician, the medical examiner, two deputies and a handful of uniformed police officers piled out. One officer ran back to the parking lot entrance to cordon it off with yellow tape. Others ran tape from both corners of the nearby hospital wing to trees deep in the woods on the opposite side. Another sealed off the entrance from the hospital itself. David rubbed his nose,
