Dogs on Melrose? Say eleven-thirty to beat the crowd?”
“Can I bring my lawyer?” Avery asked.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Do you know what I look like?”
“Of course. See ya at Pink’s. Take it easy.”
There was a click on the other end of the line.
“Was anyone following you?” Sean asked. She locked her office door, and they started down the corridor toward the back stairs.
“Yeah, but I think I lost him.” Avery reached for Sean’s briefcase.
“I got it, thanks,” she said, briskly. Sean had a strange, all-business energy about her this morning. And she’d barely even made eye contact with him so far. “I’ve been a busy girl,” she announced, starting up the car and backing out of the space. “I called your Dr. Nathan. He faxed me a list of employees at the clinic and the lab— everyone who had access to your sperm samples. Gene Clavey is on the list, so he’s no phony. I think he’s this overweight man I saw there the other day.” From the alley, she merged into traffic. “Six employees have either been let go or quit since you and Joanne started going to the clinic. If those samples were tampered with, my guess is that one of these six ‘former employees’ is the responsible party.”
She glanced in her rearview mirror. “By the way, keep your eyes peeled for any ‘rental mentals.’”
“Will do.” Avery checked the side mirror, and didn’t see anything.
“I called that hotel in Idaho where Dayle’s detective pal is staying,” Sean went on. “But he wasn’t in. How much further to this Chili Dog place?”
“A few more blocks,” Avery said. He stole a glance at her. “Are you okay, Sean? You seem a bit distant this morning.”
“I’m fine,” she answered, staring straight ahead. “I actually cooked pancakes for my kids before they went to school. And my husband slept through the night. So I have no complaints. How’s your wife doing?”
“Better. She let one of the nurses feed her some dinner last night. I’ll know more this afternoon when I call for an update.” He caught her eye and smiled sadly. “It’s ironic we got thrown together—with our similar situations.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said coolly.
“Well, sure you do. In fact, I think that’s why we’re drawn to each other. I understand what you’re going through, because our situations—”
“I don’t agree at all,” Sean said, eyes on the road.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your wife has been sick, what, a week? And she has a very good chance of getting well. My husband won’t be getting well. For the past year, he hasn’t been able to walk, eat, breathe, shit, or pee without some kind of assistance. In all that time, I haven’t heard him laugh or say my name. He can’t even squeeze my hand. Our situations are different, Avery.”
He stared at her. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just—”
“I’m your attorney, Avery,” she continued. “I don’t need you understanding me—or trying to understand me. My job here—my main concern—is proving your innocence in this murder case. Can we please keep this on a professional level?”
Frowning, Avery sat back. “I didn’t know it was against the rules for us to be friends.” He nodded at the upscale greasy spoon on the corner of Melrose, half a block away. “That’s Pink’s Chili Dogs on your right.”
Sean steered into the parking lot. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. They climbed out of the car, and walked around the squat chrome, glass, and neon diner to the front entrance.
“Mr. Cooper?”
Both Avery and Sean turned. A rotund man waved at them from one of the outside picnic tables. The sun reflected off his glasses, and illuminated the sweat on his forehead. He had a beard, and wild, curly strawberry- blond hair that needed trimming. He took up nearly half a picnic bench, which seemed ready to splinter from the strain.
“Are you Gene Clavey?” Avery asked.
“Yes, sir.” He made a token attempt to stand up by leaning forward as he pumped Avery’s hand. “Sorry I acted so weird over the phone. My boss was in the room, and I didn’t want him knowing about this.” He glanced at Sean. “You’re the lawyer. I saw you in Keefer’s office the other day.”
She nodded. “Sean Olson. Yes, I remember. Pleased to meet you.”
Again, he inched up for a second, then shook her hand. “They’ll be coming out with my food soon. You can order here. Sit. Take a load off.”
They sat down across from him.
Gene grinned at Avery. “You know, I’ve lived in L.A. for over two years, and you’re the first movie star I’ve ever met. It’s kind of a kick.”
“Well, the thrill’s all mine—depending on what you have to tell me. You examined those specimens for Dr. Nathan’s clinic?”
Gene nodded. “I saw the newspaper yesterday, and realized why you were asking about those samples a couple of days back.” He smiled at Sean. “After you showed up at the lab, I snuck a peek at your business card on Keefer’s desk. You folks think somebody stole one of those sperm samples and planted it in the dead woman. The old turkey baster transfer. Am I right?”
“Something like that, yes,” Sean said. “The report we received from Dr. Nathan was that all nine of Avery’s sperm samples matched.”
“It figures.” Gene scratched the side of his beard with his big, chubby hand. “Keefer must have covered it up and lied to Dr. Nathan. He’s probably afraid you’d sue—and you should.”
“Then the samples didn’t match?” Avery asked.
Gene chuckled cynically. “Hell, those nine samples were like a Kellogg’s Variety Pack. Only two were from the same donor—you. Someone must have switched the labels on the other seven.”
Sean grabbed Avery’s arm and squeezed it. He patted her hand, and she didn’t pull away. “Do you have proof?” he asked.
Gene took a folder out from under his thigh. “Presto chango. The lab report.” He handed it to Sean.
A waitress arrived with a tray of three chili dogs, large fries, and a supersize soft drink. Avery ordered a chili dog and a Coke; Sean asked for a hot dog and a Sprite. Once the waitress left, Sean opened the lab folder. “That’s an original,” Gene said, nibbling a fry. “The copy I made is in the files at Kurtis Labs. I hear photocopied documents don’t stand up in court.”
“You’re a very smart man, Gene,” Sean said, studying the report.
He bit into his chili dog, then wiped some food off his beard. “You might not understand the lingo,” he said. “Basically, I reported that only two of the nine samples are from the same donor—Avery Cooper. I think it’s on page four that I describe the other specimens. But this wasn’t just a plain old switcheroo, folks. It’s far more—um,
They waited while Gene took another bite of his chili dog. “Hell’s bells,” he said finally. “When you stop to think that some of these samples might have been used to inseminate
“What do you mean?” Avery murmured.
“I ran some tests. One of the more healthy bogus specimens was from a black man with hepatitis. So if your wife became pregnant from that specimen, odds are your baby would have been black—a sick little black baby at that.”
“And wouldn’t the tabloids have had a field day?” Sean remarked.
Gene nodded over his hot dog. “Four specimens were infected with HIV,” he said, his mouth half-full. “The other two samples contained a German measles bacteria, which would have insured your baby was born retarded or deformed. Somebody was really out to destroy you and your wife, Avery.”
A napkin clenched in his fist, Avery slowly shook his head.
“Do you have any idea when a switch might have taken place?” Sean asked. “An educated guess?”
Gene sipped his Coke. “The two most current specimens—both around mid-September—are yours.” He
