Deadly Interest (28 page)

Like a slow-motion, silent mirror, he gently
set his mug down near mine. Working his tongue around his teeth he
stared down at the brew for moment, then up at me, eyes all serious
now. “Since Diana is my patient, and Larry is not, I am allowed to
tell you this, but I’m treading carefully here . . .” He held up a
finger. “I’ve been counseling Diana now for about two years.”

“
Larry?” I asked,
surprised. “You called him Larry.”

Hooker opened his mouth. Closed it again
before speaking. “Good catch.”

“
You’ve
met
him?” I asked. “Has
he come here for counseling?”

I’d have to classify Hooker’s reaction as a
wince. “No. Not exactly. Here’s where my dilemma lies. If Larry
were a patient, I couldn’t tell you that. I can tell you that he’s
accompanied Diana occasionally since his parole release.”

“
But you’re not treating
him.”

Hooker smiled, canted his head, answered
slowly. “No.”

“
You mean, not
officially.”

He spread his hands. “I can only reiterate
that he is not a patient of mine.”

Pressing fingers into my brow bone, I hissed
out a breath from between clenched teeth. “Okay . . .” I said. “So
why does he come?”

“
We make it worth his
while. And, I think he likes the idea that he’s helping Diana in
some way.”

“
I don’t buy that,” I
said. Granted, I’d only met the scumbag once, but in that darkened
garage, with one hand clamped around my arm and the other over my
mouth, he came across touchy-feely all right, but not in any
cerebral sort of way. “That man has issues. He was angry. Two more
minutes with him, and they would’ve been rushing me to the
hospital’s emergency room.”

Hooker had stubby fingers—hairy ones that
now stroked his shiny head as if remembering days of his hirsute
youth. “Alex,” he began, straining so far forward at the edge of
his chair that I thought he might jump out at me if I tried to
interrupt, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that so much has
happened to you. And in so short a time.” The lower lids of his
eyes crinkled up, his stare immobilizing me in my seat. “I am so
sorry. More sorry than you can even know. But . . .” He licked his
lips as words failed him.

“
But?”

Working his fists and looking away, his face
made a contortion that telegraphed pain. He nodded to himself,
several times before meeting my gaze once again.

“
But,” he said, “you’re a
strong young woman. Stronger than most would be in such
circumstances. And you have to believe me when I tell you that
Larry—Grady—isn’t your man.”

“
I believe he’s capable of
killing.”

Hooker shook his head. “I don’t think
so.”

“
God, you’re smug,” I
said, not even trying to keep the thought from blurting
out.

“
Not smug, but I know
people. That’s my job. That’s yours too, isn’t it?”

“
Yeah, and I know you’re
toying with me. Why won’t you just tell me what you do know? Make
it easy on both of us.”

He gave me a look like a teacher might give
to a student who’d failed an important exam. I half-expected him to
wag a finger at me. Instead, he scratched his beard. “You know I
can’t do that, Alex. Even if Diana has given you permission to talk
with me, it goes against everything I stand for to put her life on
display for you to tear apart.”

A thought that had occurred to me earlier,
bubbled back up. “Diana is not a wealthy girl.”

He sat back, folded fingers across his ample
stomach. “No, she’s not.”

With a show of looking around his office, I
pressed on. “You’ve got a Loop address. That means high rent,
doesn’t it?”

He acknowledged my point with a nod.

“
So how does Diana afford
your prices?”

He didn’t answer.

“
Who’s paying the bills?”
I asked.

“
That, I won’t tell
you.”

The hell with being polite anymore. We were
wasting my time. I had a goddamn date tonight and I wasn’t about to
spend my night with Buddha here. I glanced at my watch.
Five-fifteen. I was supposed to meet David at his bank in fifteen
minutes. It’d take me ten minutes to walk, but I could always call
and be picked up here, if need be. David’s secretary had helpfully
provided me his cell phone number.

“
Listen, Dr.
Hooker—”

“
Really, Alex, I’d prefer
you call me Tom.”

I ignored that. “Forget everything else.
Just answer this, and explain it to me like I’m a four-year-old
because I’m about to ask you the same question for the third time.
How can you possibly know that Grady didn’t kill Mrs. Vicks?”

“
I don’t know. We can
never know. But from what I’ve come to understand of the man, he’s
hardened all right, and he’s angry, but he’s no killer. I’d stake
my professional career on that.”

I stood up, bit the insides of my cheeks.
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said. “The next time he grabs me in
some dark parking garage.”

* * * * *

By the time I got to Banner Bank, I’d
exorcised the bulk of my anger by making the ten-minute walk in
just under seven minutes. Grateful that the recent forty degree
warm spell had puddled the icy sidewalk that would have otherwise
set me on my ass, I’d pounded out a tempo brisk enough to soothe my
frazzled nerves.

Chilly gusts whipped my hair at each
intersection where the tall buildings couldn’t offer protection and
I tried to picture my tension taking flight out of my head and into
the atmosphere where it wouldn’t grate on me at every turn.
Visualize, I told myself, and I took a deep, cleansing breath.

Maybe everyone else was right. Maybe I
needed this night out.

David’s office was on the building’s eighth
floor. My first visit to this part of the bank, it smelled richer
than the other areas I’d encountered. Lots of glossy wood trim,
sage-colored walls, and carpet so thick I couldn’t hear my own
footsteps.

The woman at the nearer desk was most likely
the assistant I’d spoken to earlier. I took a cue from the look on
her face. “I guess I need to take a minute,” I said, running an
embarrassed hand through my hair. “Is there a washroom nearby?”

David waved away my concerns. “You look
wonderful,” he said. “Like a spirit that just blew in from
above.”

I sent his assistant a girl-to-girl look.
She stood. “Hi, I’m Linda Farrell,” she said as we shook hands. “We
spoke on the phone.”

“
Good to meet you,” I
said.

Her face matched the smooth, cheerful voice.
With wavy red hair cropped close to her head and a petite build,
this forty-something woman meshed efficiency with warmth in a tidy
little package. “Come on,” she said. Gesturing to David that he
should wait, she walked briskly back toward the elevator corridor.
“I’ll show you the way.”

“
Whoa,” I said as we
stepped inside. This wasn’t a washroom, it was a women’s lounge,
much like the ones in the fancy Michigan Avenue stores like
Nordstrom and Lord & Taylor with inviting couches, pale
wallpaper, and all sorts of female doo-dads like hairspray and
deodorant aligned neatly on the granite counter.

“
Yeah, it’s nice,” she
said, watching me as I tried to settle my hair back into decent
shape. “You have no idea how glad I am that Mr. Dewars is taking
you out tonight.”

Puzzled by the non-sequitur, I met her eyes
in the mirror. “Really? Why’s that?”

She made a face. “It’s none of my business,
of course,” she began.

My ears perked up.

“
It’s just that he’s been
under a lot of stress lately. He’s such a sweet man, and so
easy-going—he doesn’t usually flip out over small things, you
know?” she asked.

“
Mm-hmm,” I said, to keep
her talking

“
Maybe I’m wrong, but
since Mrs. Vicks got killed, God rest her soul,” Linda laid a hand
across her chest, “he’s been impossible to deal with. Not only is
he broken-hearted about her death, he’s also very worried about the
bank surviving this.”

I turned to her. “That’s what I don’t
understand. Why would any of this reflect badly on the bank? It
doesn’t make sense to me.”

She pulled her lips in tight for a moment,
considering this. “You’re in the media, aren’t you?”

“
Yes.”

“
But you’re going out with
Mr. Dewars socially, right? You’re not covering any kind of
investigation of the bank, are you?”

Here was a woman who wanted to spill the
goods, all right. I just needed to appease her protective
instincts.

“
I’m sure we’ll talk about
Mrs. Vicks tonight,” I said. “And I know he has those records you
mentioned for me . . .”

I let the thought hang, but she didn’t pick
it up.

“
Beyond that,” I added, “I
don’t think the bank is any of my concern.”

“
Good, that’s what I
thought,” she said. In a belated move, she poked her head around
the wall that separated the gathering area from the stalls.
Glancing back at me, she grinned. “Nobody here.”

I smiled encouragement.

“
It’s this audit,” she
said.

“
I thought it was
scheduled, right? A routine audit.”

Her expression said, so-so. “It was
definitely ‘scheduled,’ but only because the FDIC started coming
down hard on us. Wanted us to explain a bunch of discrepancies that
they thought they found.” A roll of her eyes told me exactly what
she thought of these requests. “They threatened us with big
penalties if we didn’t comply with their request for a full audit.
So . . . here we are. But, technically, we scheduled it. Allowed
them to come in as of last Monday.”

When she looked backward to lean against the
countertop, I shot a surreptitious glance at my watch. Five-forty.
David said he wanted to be out the door by quarter to six. I
pictured him staring down the hall where we’d disappeared into this
female haven, tapping a foot. Probably muttering.

Oh well.

“
Same day as Mrs. Vicks’
funeral,” I said, just to prod Linda along.

“
As a matter of fact, that
became a very big deal, too.” She held up quote-fingers at the
words “very big,” and her eyes widened as she spoke. “Mr. Dewars
was very upset that he had to miss it. If it weren’t for this damn
audit, we’d all sleep a little better at night. Anyway,” she
continued, “It’s looking like somebody was messing with accounts.
We’re not sure who, just yet.”

“
But you have a
guess.”

“
I shouldn’t tell you this
but . . .” she said. “A woman in the loan department that Evelyn
Vicks worked for. And if we find out that it’s true, and there’s
the kind of money missing that it looks like . . .” She shook her
head, a dire look on her face. “It’s going to look real bad for the
bank that Mrs. Vicks was killed just then.”

A woman in the loan department. A woman Mrs.
Vicks worked for.

“
I don’t know,” I said,
feeling her out. “I know I’ve only met Maya a couple of
times—”

“
I didn’t say it was
Maya,” Linda said quickly, nearly jumping from her perch against
the granite. “I never said her name.”

“
It’s okay,” I said,
raising a hand to calm her. “I’m not going to say anything. I
promise. I just guessed.” Turning back to the mirror, I strove for
nonchalant. As if that bit of information didn’t faze me at all.
But I could feel the prickle of something growing in my busy little
brain. This was worth examining later.

The startled panic in her eyes began to
dissolve as she leaned back again. “Wow. Good guess. But now you
understand where Mr. Dewars is coming from?”

“
I do,” I assured her,
smiling. “And I’m really glad you told me. Maybe tonight will take
his mind off his troubles.”

I’d said the right thing, apparently. She
pushed forward again as I finished my makeup and hair
ministrations. “That’s what I’m hoping for,” she said, smiling like
we were old girlfriends now. “I swear, the only time he’s in a good
mood lately is when he’s talking about you.”

“
You look great,” he said,
when we emerged from the washroom. “Let’s go, we’re running
behind.”

“
Sorry,” I
said.

He touched his hand to my right shoulder
blade, guiding me toward the back of the building, through a dark
utility corridor. He pulled at a gray painted metal door, sending a
hot whoosh of air at us from the vent above, mixed with the cold
from the outside. David’s car, the SUV, idled in the alley with
Roger at the wheel.

When we appeared, the chauffeur stepped out
of the car, held the passenger door open for me, and I shot David a
surprised glance when he climbed into the driver’s seat.

As if he read my thoughts. “This is a date,
Alex; I prefer to drive myself.” He winked. “It’s not like we need
a chaperone.”

Roger tipped his hat to us in an informal
salute as we took off through the alley, headed for Navy Pier.

David shared moments from the day’s
off-campus seminar. The man certainly had a talent for making dry
situations sparkle. He talked, maintaining control of the road even
as he conversed, totally at ease.

“
So,” he said, his voice
as relaxed as his demeanor. “You and Linda were in the washroom for
a long time. Should I be concerned about her spilling all my deep
dark secrets?” He shot a high-wattage smile my
direction.