Deadly Interest (22 page)

The best news I’d heard all day.
“Excellent,” I said, placing my mug on a nearby table. Time to get
down to it. “Then tell me about Laurence Grady.”

Dr. Tom Hooker was a man who reacted with
small movements. A job requirement, I supposed. One black eyebrow
twitched as though it had been about to fly upward but caught
before it could move.

“
Well, aren’t you direct?”
he said with amusement.

“
Part of my
job.”

“
I imagine it
is.”

We sat for a few beats as the second-hand on
the clock over the doorway took silent steps past two and
three.

“
First,” he said. “Tell me
about the night you were attacked.”

I hesitated. Not because I was reluctant to
relive the experience, but more because I didn’t have much
recollection of Diana’s state of mind during the encounter. And
except for her refusal to get her ass out of the house when we had
the chance, I didn’t have much to add about her participation. How
was that going to sound to a shrink? Placing blame. All her
fault.

Then again, I rationalized that he was the
expert and we were here today in the spirit of ‘one hand washes the
other.’ And so I began with my aunt’s request to take Diana home
and finished with the arrival of the paramedics. Through it all, he
nodded. He took no notes.

“
I’m wondering if Laurence
Grady might have been the man who attacked us,” I said,
finally.

He nodded, his face solemn, open—encouraging
further explanation.

“
According to Detective
Lulinski this Grady fellow and Diana have a history
together.”

The doctor nodded. “Go on.”

“
And,” I strove to put
weight into my words, “Grady is out on parole. He could’ve been the
person who murdered Mrs. Vicks. He could be coming back for
Diana.”

I waited, but the good doctor effectively
waited me out.

“
That’s why I want to know
about him. What Diana can tell us that might shed some light on the
situation. There might be more here going on than she
realizes.”

“
I don’t think Grady is
your man.”

“
Why not?”

He pursed his lips then—thoughtful fashion,
but remembering the magazine from the lobby, I thought he looked
like a fish pressing up against a glass bowl. Not a pretty sight.
He sucked in a breath through his puckers. “I’m not at liberty to
say at the moment.”

My “Oh?” came out in a skeptical tone—which
was exactly how I meant it. “How convenient.”

“
Diana gave me
authorization to tell you anything you want to know—as long as it
relates to the murder.”

I felt my brow furrow. “Who makes the
distinction?”

“
I do.”

I shook my head, concealing my growing
frustration. “What if something’s germane and you don’t know
it?”

He spread his hands before him. “It’s a risk
you’ll have to accept. I’ll be in contact with Diana, myself.
Regularly. I’ll monitor all of this. She’s suffered a trauma, and
I’m not telling you anything new, I believe, when I say that she’s
a fragile soul.”

Fragile soul. Exactly how I’d describe her.
“I certainly don’t want to jeopardize her recovery,” I began.

“
Good,” he said. “And
everything you’ve told me about the night you two were attacked is
immensely helpful. I’m very glad we’ve connected.”

“
Doctor,” I said, to
finish the thought I’d begun, “Diana may be the key to all this.
Even though you might not think that her friend Grady is involved,
I hope you’ll not withhold potentially important
information.”

His eyes bored into mine. “Diana is giving
you more than most patients would. I think you need to be cognizant
of what she’s risking by doing so.”

I took a deep breath at his gentle
admonishment before responding. No sense in alienating him. Not yet
at least. But I’d still gotten very little bang for my buck. “Of
course,” I said. “And if I have specific questions—more than you’re
willing to answer—I can always just talk with her directly.” I
wasn’t exactly asking his permission, but I wanted him to know I’d
be working every angle open to me.

“
I’d prefer you
don’t.”

He’d prefer. My knee-jerk reaction was to
tell him that I didn’t care a whit what his preferences were, but I
found, to my surprise, that I actually did care. The man engendered
trust. I knew I could trust him and I wanted him to trust me. It
scared me. But I had a job to do.

“
Sorry, no promises,” I
said, smiling to take the warning out of my words.

He grinned as we stood, and he took my right
hand again in both of his. “It was wonderful meeting you, Alex. We
will be in touch. I have time Friday afternoon if you want to come
by. We can discuss this further.”

I’d gotten precious little information from
him, but he’d gotten plenty from me. I wondered how much he charged
per hour. Whatever it was, this guy’s clients were getting off
cheap.

I didn’t get to Detective Lulinski’s station
till the following morning.

“
You met with Hooker?” he
asked by way of greeting when he came down to get me from the
reception area. He waved for me to follow him.

“
Yesterday. Two o’clock.
As ordered.”

He turned at my verbal jab, and I thought I
caught a smile on the laconic detective’s face. “And?” he
asked.

I double-stepped to catch up with him by the
elevator. “Don’t you want to walk up? It’s just one flight.”

He was saved from reply as the elevator
dinged its arrival and the doors slid open and he made the
universal arm movement of “after you.”

“
Truth is,” I began as we
made our way to interview room, surprisingly vacant, “I got nothing
out of him except for the fact that he doesn’t believe it was
Laurence Grady who attacked us.”

“
Let him stick to his
shrink business, and let me take care of the police work,” Lulinski
said as he rolled weary eyes. “Everybody’s a detective.” He sat at
his desk and gestured for me to take the chair I’d occupied last
time. “So?” he said, leaning backward, lacing his fingers behind
his head. “What else?”

I hesitated. “Not much.”

One eyebrow rose. “Uh-huh.” His mouth
twisted to the side as if cradling an imaginary cigarette. “You
don’t sound very convincing.”

I waved away importance and took a deep
breath. “Barton Vicks came to see me.”

Lulinski sat up. “When?”

“
Yesterday, at work.” I
launched into a quick narrative and included the fact that Bart had
apparently known my comings and goings, as evidenced by his comment
on my breakfast meeting. Lulinski’s face remained impassive, but I
watched his eyes flick as key points registered.

“
What happened when they
took him away?”

I started to laugh as I remembered Bass’s
sudden spurt of courage as they dragged Big Bart out the doors. My
diminutive boss had trotted after them, face red, finger-shaking,
issuing warnings against bothering his employees ever again. He’d
built up such a head of steam that when the security staff stopped
to readjust their unwilling captive, Bass’s momentum had nearly
made him stumble against the big man’s ample gut.

The detective’s stern expression stopped my
amused reverie and we both looked up when the room’s back door
opened and an older-gent janitor walked in, dragging his wheeled
cart of cleaning supplies behind him. He nodded to us, and set to
his work, emptying trash cans and mopping around the chairs and
desks with a heavy rag mop.

“
So,” I continued, “my
boss, Bass, decided to file a complaint against Barton. Beside a
restraining order, keeping him away from the station and all its
employees, he had Barton arrested for criminal trespass and
disorderly conduct.”

Both eyebrows shot up this time. Lulinski
reached for the phone. “Hang on, I’ll find out what happened from
there.”

He held the phone snugged between ear and
shoulder as he flipped through a file of pages, searching for
something. Answering with one-word affirmations, he sent me a look
of boredom and mouthed something I didn’t catch. A half-minute
later he nodded, said, “Sure,” and told me he was on hold.

“
By the way,” I said, “any
information from the autopsy or from forensics that you can share
with me?”

“
Nope.”

“
Nope, you have no
information, or nope, you can’t share?”

He grinned. “While we wait,” he said,
pulling a single sheet of paper from the stack, “let me have you
look at a few pictures. See if any of these guys look familiar.
Maybe we’ll find out who it was that accosted your sister
yesterday.”

As he slid the laser-printed sheet my
direction, I had my doubts that any face on it would ring a bell.
After all, it’d been dark, and my glimpse had been fleeting, at
best. Plus the fellow had worn a knit cap which meant I couldn’t
depend on style of hair to help me. I blew out a breath and glanced
downward. My hand flew up. I pointed. “That’s him!” I said,
surprising myself. “Oh my God, that’s really him.” I never would
have guessed it. Five black and white, none-too-flattering mugshots
graced the top third of the white sheet of paper. All five men were
white, dark-haired, and had a frightening expression of malevolence
leaching from their eyes. But only one was familiar.

My jaw had dropped when I saw his picture
and I shut it, amazed at the recognition. No mistake. I couldn’t
say for sure how I knew, I just knew it was the man. The shape of
his nose, perhaps—it was long with a ball-shaped tip and it looked
as though it might have been broken once. His slightly wide-set
eyes, maybe. I didn’t know specifically what feature of his made me
certain, but I knew it was the same man the moment his angry gaze
stared up at me.

The person on the other end of Lulinski’s
line came back to talk. Grabbing a pen and paper, he started to jot
down information, but then relaxed his hand as he fell back into
the rhythm of grunting affirmation. The detective was nothing if
not terse. After a brief conversation with the arresting district,
he dropped the receiver back in place and leaned forward on his
elbows as he turned my direction. “Barton Vicks is back out. Got
released this morning on an I-bond.” Lulinski fixed me with a
stare. “If he spent a night locked up, he’s going to be one angry
son-of-a-bitch today. I’d keep as far away from the asshole as
possible. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“
Is he your primary
suspect?”

“
I can tell you we’re
looking at him.” Lulinski shook his head. “Guy’s gotta be hard up
for cash. He could’ve bonded out last night with a hundred bucks,
but I guess he didn’t have it on him.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t have either.”

“
You don’t carry at least
a hundred dollars on you at all times?”

“
Not even close. Twenty.
Maybe.”

He shook a finger at me. “You should. What
happens if you get arrested? If you didn’t carry enough cash, you’d
have to spend the night in lock-up just like your friend Big Bart
did yesterday.”

“
I don’t plan on getting
arrested anytime soon,” I said.

“
Nobody ever
does.”

I was spared further admonishment by
Lulinski circling the mugshot I’d indicated.

“
Who is it?” I
asked.

“
Who do you
think?”

“
Laurence
Grady?”

Lulinski didn’t even have to answer. For a
slim man, he sure could make himself look imposing. I suppressed a
shudder. Grady had been talking to Lucy. The scumbag had been
talking to my sister.

Lulinski said, “I’m going to follow up from
this end—check with his parole officer—see what I can dig up. You
have my cell phone number?”

“
Yeah.”

“
You see him again, you
call me. Right away.”

“
I will,” I
said.

He smiled then, as if to reassure me, but
the forced look served only to remind me of the very real danger
that surrounded us all: Mrs. Vicks’ murder, my own encounter, and
now definitive proof that Laurence Grady had been talking with
Lucy. As though a drain suddenly pulled all life from me, my mind
shut out all sound, all feeling, all sight for an extended
moment.

Detective Lulinski leaned forward. “Are you
okay? You’re not going to faint, are you?”

“
No.” I tried a reassuring
smile of my own. “I’m fine.”

He placed a restraining hand on mine, like
he thought I might bolt that minute, and he turned to speak to the
only other person in the room. The janitor’s head popped up, as did
mine, when Lulinski addressed him in Polish.

As the man scurried back out the way he
came, Lulinski turned to me. “Stan’s going to get you a glass of
water,” he said.

“
I know, I heard you ask
him,” I said. “You speak Polish?”

“
Do you?”

Stan came from behind me this time, and
handed me a paper cup of cold water, his calloused fingers grazing
mine as he did so, a concerned look on his face. Feeling myself
again, I thanked him in Polish and was gratified to see my use of
his native tongue brought a smile to his face. He cautioned me to
take it easy and then set back to work, picking up the mop from the
floor where he’d dropped it in his haste to get moving.

Lulinski shook his head. “Well, aren’t you
full of surprises?” He twisted his mouth off to the side again.
“Your color is back,” he said. “You went pale on me for a minute
there.”