“What the hell are you doing here?” he said.
“I was gonna ask you the same question.”
“It’s none of your goddamn business.”
“I figured you might say something like that, but I had to ask. I didn’t know you had so many side gigs. Artist, now a private health clinic in Wicker Park. The big shots at Northwestern know about all your extracurriculars?”
“What the hell do you want?”
“The truth about Tinsley Gerrigan.”
“You don’t work for the family anymore. It’s none of your damn business.”
The fact that he knew this confirmed my suspicions that he and his wife were more intertwined in the family drama than I’d first thought.
“I understand the family sees it that way, but I have a different perspective.”
“Which is?”
“I felt like I was used. I don’t like feeling used.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Weems said. “But I think it’s best you leave this whole matter alone. You got paid for your services. Your services are no longer needed. Just let it go.”
“Did they pay you to say that, or did you think of that on your own?”
“You’re a real fuckin’ wiseass.”
“I’ve been called a lot worse.” I smiled. “Tell me something. Was your wife treating Tinsley with TMS?”
“I’m not gonna answer any questions about Tinsley, and you better stop harassing my wife, asshole.”
I tried to ignore the asshole part. In my younger years of less self-restraint, his jaw would’ve been succinctly fractured and sitting on his left shoulder. I was trying to age gracefully. “I didn’t know that asking your wife a few questions about a missing patient amounted to harassment.”
“She asked you nicely to leave her alone, and you keep bothering her. That’s harassment.”
“I get the whole picture now,” I said.
“What picture?”
“Tinsley was pregnant. You work as an anesthesiologist part time at an abortion clinic. That explains why she called you so much. She was probably conflicted with the decision to go through with it. She relied on you for support. You counseled her through the process.”
“Are you done?”
“Lack of denial is often the mask of admission.”
“Take from it what you want. Tinsley made decisions that were her business and no one else’s, especially yours. This is the last time I’m gonna tell you to leave me and my wife the hell alone.”
He stepped forward into my space, close enough I could smell the coffee on his breath. He had me by a good inch or so. He looked like he had played sports in college, but he had gone soft cramming for med school exams with all those late-night pizzas and sodas.
“Now I’m telling you to back the hell off,” he growled.
“Or what?”
We stared at each other. I could tell he was thinking of his next move. He obviously didn’t want to take it any further. Anyone with real intentions would’ve already taken a swing. It was the most important rule in a fight. You wanted to deliver the first blow, not be the one reacting to it. The muscles in his face softened. He had quickly calculated the odds and wisely concluded that they weren’t in his favor.
“You don’t wanna do it,” I said, stepping back a little and giving him an out. “You took your stand; you can be proud of yourself. Now be a good little doctor and go run along back inside before you won’t be able to even crawl in.”
He squeezed his fist a couple of times with flared nostrils, then let his hands fall by his side. He took one last look at me, then retreated inside. I felt fairly confident that this would get the spider to move.
44
I DECIDED I HAD done enough quivering for the day. I felt confident a response would come, and when it did, it would be loud and clear. I would be ready. After a long morning with very little to eat, it was time to refuel the tank, then fall asleep watching reruns of Barefoot Contessa on the Food Network.
I pulled up to Chilango on Taylor Street, my favorite Mexican street food in the city. The sliver of a restaurant wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but its empanadas were world class. I grabbed two beef and rice and a couple of barbecue chicken so that I could have some left over for tomorrow’s lunch. A tall cup of guava juice to go, and soon I’d be ready for my siesta de la tarde.
The empanadas were the perfect temperature by the time I got home. I poured myself a cold root beer and filled up Stryker’s bowl. I closed the blinds, set the food out on the antique trunk in front of the TV, then stretched out on the couch. Just as I turned to the Food Network, my cell rang.
“I’m parked down here on Elm Street in the Gold Coast just outside of a Barnes & Noble,” Mechanic said.
“One trip to the North Shore, and you’re already turning literary on me?”
“You conveniently forget that I speak three languages fluently to your one,” he said.
“One and a half, thank you. I read somewhere that good sex counts as fluency in the language of love.”
“Across the street there’s a restaurant with a shiny red exterior,” he said. “It’s called Chez Gautier. A few minutes ago, they parked the car with the valet and disappeared inside. There are a couple of tables in the window, but they’re already taken. They must be in the back somewhere.”
“Was it just the two of them?”
“From what I could tell.”
“What about the dog?”
“They didn’t have it with them.”
Of course they didn’t. Something told me it was Tinsley’s dog. They left it at the house. But why would Patel have had Tinsley’s dog? Was she in contact with Tinsley?
“How are they acting?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did they seem tense?”
“They were smiling at each other.”
Trying to make sense of all this was starting to give me a headache. The mistress dropped off the daughter’s dog, picked up the wife; then they went
