Hemlock Bay (6 page)

She knew Elcott was sixty, but he looked no older than mid-fifties. He’d been a handsome man when he was younger, perhaps as handsome as his only son.

There was a daughter as well. Tansy was her name and she was, what? Twenty-eight? Thirty? Older than Lily, Sherlock thought. Tansy—an odd name, nearly as whimsical as Tennyson. She lived in Seattle, owned one of the ubiquitous coffeehouses near Pioneer Square. Sherlock had gotten the impression from Lily that Tansy didn’t come back to Hemlock Bay all that often.

Elcott Frasier walked to Sherlock and grabbed her hand, shook it hard. “Mrs. Savich, what a pleasure.” He looked ever so pleased to see her. She wondered how pleased he was to see Dillon, since she knew, right to her toes, that Mr. Elcott Frasier had little respect for women. It was in his eyes, in his very stance—condescending, patronizing.

“Mr. Frasier,” she said and gave him her patented, guileless sunny smile. “I wish we could meet again under less trying circumstances.” Go ahead, she thought, believe I’m an idiot, worth less than nothing in brainpower.

“Your poor husband is very upset by all this,” Mr. Frasier said. “Given all that’s happened, I can’t say I blame him.”

Sherlock said, “Certainly he’s upset. It’s good to see you again, Tennyson.” She went directly to sit on the side of Lily’s bed. She lightly stroked her pale hair that was getting oily now. Thick, lank strands framed her face. Sherlock saw the pain in her eyes, how stiffly she was holding her body. She wanted to cry. “Dillon will be back in just a moment, Lily. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.”

“It is about time for a bit more pain medication,” a nurse said as she came through the door, Savich at her heels. No one said a word as she injected the painkiller into Lily’s IV. She leaned over, checked Lily’s pulse, smoothed the thin blanket to her shoulders, then straightened. “The pain will lessen almost immediately. Call if you have too much more discomfort, Mrs. Frasier.”

Lily closed her eyes. After a few minutes, she said quietly, “Thank you, Dillon. It was pretty bad, but not now. Thank you.” Then, without another word, she was asleep.

“Good,” said Savich and motioned for them all to leave. “Let’s go to the waiting room. Last time I looked, it was empty.”

“My wife and I are grateful to you for being here,” Elcott Frasier said. “Tennyson needs all the support he can get. The past seven months have been very hard on him.”

“That’s just what I was thinking,” Savich said. “Lily hitting that redwood gave us just the excuse we needed to come here and support Tennyson.”

“My father didn’t mean it the way it sounded, Dillon,” Tennyson said. “It’s just been difficult—for all of us.” He looked down at his watch. “I’m afraid I have patients to see. I will be back to check on Lily in about four hours.”

He left them with Elcott Frasier, who asked a passing nurse to fetch him a cup of coffee. She did without hesitation because, Sherlock knew, she wasn’t stupid. She recognized the Big Man on the hospital board of directors when she saw him. Sherlock wanted to punch his lights out.

Savich leaned down, kissed Sherlock on the mouth, and said low, “No, don’t belt him. Now, I’ve got all sorts of warning whistles going off in my head. I’m going to look at that car. Grill our brother-in-law’s father, okay?”

“No problem,” Sherlock said.

When Dillon found Sherlock two hours later, she was in the hospital cafeteria eating a Caesar salad and speaking to Dr. Theodore Larch.

“So do you think she was so depressed that she decided to end it? Again?”

“I’m a surgeon, Mrs. Savich, not a psychiatrist. I can’t speculate.”

“Yeah, but you see lots of people in distress, Dr. Larch. What do you think of Lily Frasier’s state of mind?”

“I think the surgical pain is masking a lot of her symptoms right now—that is, if she has any symptoms. I haven’t seen any myself. But what do I know?”

“What do you think of Dr. Rossetti?”

Dr. Larch wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “He’s, ah, rather new here. I don’t know him all that well. Dr. Frasier, however, knows him very well. They went to medical school together, I understand. Columbia Presbyterian Medical School, in New York City.”

“I didn’t know that,” Sherlock said and tucked it away. She wanted to meet this Dr. Rossetti, the pompous man Lily didn’t like and whom Tennyson appeared to be pushing very hard on his wife.

She smiled at Dr. Larch, took a bite of her salad, which was surprisingly good, and said, “Well, you know, Dr. Larch, if Lily didn’t try to kill herself, then that means that just perhaps someone is up to no good. What do you think?”

Dr. Ted Larch nearly swallowed the ice cube he was rolling around in his mouth.

“I can’t imagine, no, surely not—that’s crazy. If she didn’t do it on purpose, then it’s more likely that something just went wrong with the car, an accident, nothing more than a tragic accident.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. Since I’m a cop, I always leap to the sinister first. Occupational hazard. Hey, I know. She just lost control of the car—maybe a raccoon ran in front of the Explorer and she tried not to hit it—and ended up smacking the redwood.”

“That sounds more likely than someone trying to kill her, Mrs. Savich.”

“Yes, the raccoon theory is always preferable, isn’t it?”

Sherlock saw Dillon out of the corner of her eye. She rose, patted Dr. Larch on his shoulder, and said, “Take good care of Lily, Doctor.” At least now, she thought, walking quickly toward Dillon, Dr. Larch would keep a very close eye on Lily because he wouldn’t forget what she’d said. He would want to dismiss it as nonsense, but he wouldn’t be able to, not entirely.

Savich nodded across the cafeteria to Dr. Larch, then smiled down at his wife. Her light blue eyes seemed brighter than when he’d left her, and he knew why. She was up to something. And she was very pleased with herself.

“What about the car?”

“Nothing at all. It’s been compacted.”

“That was awfully fast, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, sort of like cremating a body before the autopsy could be done.”

“Exactly. Dr. Larch thinks Lily is just fine, mentally, thank you very much. Actually, I think he has a crush on her. It’s Dr. Rossetti he doesn’t like, but who knows why? Did you know that Dr. Rossetti and Tennyson went to medical school together? Columbia Presbyterian?”

“No. That’s interesting. Okay, Sherlock. I know that look. You either want me to haul you to the nearest hot tub and have my way with you, or you’ve done something. No hot tub? Too bad. All right, then. What have you done?”

“I planted a small bug just inside the slat on Lily’s hospital bed. I already heard some interesting stuff. Come along and I’ll play it back for you. Hmmm. About that hot tub, Dillon . . .”

They went to Lily’s room, saw that she was still asleep and no one else was there, and Sherlock shut the door. She walked to the window, fiddled with the tiny receiver and recorder, turned on rewind, then play.

“Dammit, she needs more pain medication.”

Savich said, “Who’s that?”

“Dr. Larch.”

“I cut it back, just like you ordered, but it was too much. Listen, there’s no need to make her suffer like this.”

“She doesn’t react well to pain meds, I’ve told you that several times. It makes her even crazier than she already is. Keep the pain meds way down. I don’t want her hurt anymore.”

Sherlock pressed the stop button and said, “That was Tennyson Frasier. What do you think it means?”

Sherlock slipped the tiny recorder back into her jacket pocket.

“It could be perfectly innocent,” Savich said. “On the other hand, the Explorer has been compacted. The guy at the junked car yard told me that Dr. Frasier told him to haul the Explorer in and compact it immediately. Will this thing click on whenever someone’s speaking?”

“Yes, it’s voice-activated. It turns off when there’s more than six seconds of silence. I got it from Dickie in Personnel. He’s a gadget freak, owed me one after I busted his sister’s boyfriend—you know, the macho drug dealer who was slapping her around.”

“Sherlock, have I ever told you that you never cease to amaze and thrill me?”

“Not recently. Well, not since last night, and I don’t think you had the same sort of intent then.”

He laughed, pulled her against him and kissed her. Her curly hair tickled his cheek. “Let’s call Mom and talk to Sean.”

Eureka, California

Clark Hoyt, SAC of the new Eureka
FBI field office, which had opened less than a year before, handed Savich the bottle of pills. “Sorry, Agent Savich. What we’ve got here is a really common antidepressant, name of Elavil.”

“Not good,” Savich said and looked out the window toward the small park just to the left of downtown. The trees were bright with fall colors. If he turned his head a bit to the right, he’d see the Old Town section on the waterfront. A beautiful town, Humboldt’s county seat, Eureka was filled with countless fine Victorian homes and buildings.

“Something I can help you with, Agent Savich? Sounds like something’s happening you don’t like.”

Savich shook his head. “I wish there was something, but the pills are exactly what they should be. I guess it would have been really easy if they were something different. I told you that the Explorer my sister totaled has been compacted. I was really holding out big hopes for those pills. Oh yeah, call me Savich.”

“Okay, Hoyt here. Now, the Explorer—that was done awfully fast.”

“Yes, maybe too fast, but then again, my life’s work is to be suspicious. Maybe it was just very straightforward. As of right now, it’s all a dead end. However, I think it’s time I did a bit of digging on my brother-in-law, Dr. Tennyson Frasier.”

Clark Hoyt, who had heard of some of the exploits of Sherlock, Savich, and MAX, Savich’s transvestite laptop, said, “Don’t tell me that you didn’t do a background search on this guy before he married your sister? Seems to me a brother would have checked out the fillings in his teeth.”

“Well, yeah, sure I did. But not a really deep one. Just that he didn’t have a record, hadn’t ever been in rehab for drugs or alcohol, stuff like that.”

“And that he wasn’t a bigamist?”

“No, I didn’t check on that. Lily told me he’d been right up front about the fact that he’d been married before and that his wife had died. You know something, Hoyt? I wonder now what the first wife died of. I wonder how long they were married before she died.” His eyes brightened.

“Savich, you don’t really think he’s trying to kill his wife? The pills were just what they were supposed to be.”

“They were indeed, and I’m not sure. But you know, information is just about the most important thing any cop can have.” Savich rubbed his hands together. “MAX is going to love this.”

“You know that the Frasiers are a really big deal down in Hemlock Bay and the environs. Daddy Frasier has dealings all over the state, I understand.”

“Yeah. Before, I didn’t see the need to check into Papa’s finances and dealings, but now it’s time to be thorough.”

“Is your sister going to be all right?”

“Yes, she’ll be just fine.”

“I’ve got the names of some excellent psychiatrists in the area—all women, just like you wanted. I hope one of them will be able to help your sister.”

“Yeah, me too. But you know—no matter there’s no proof of any funny stuff, that it really does look like she just drove the Explorer into that redwood on purpose—I simply can’t believe that Lily tried to kill herself. No matter what anyone says, I find myself coming back again and again to the fact that it just doesn’t fit.”

“People change, Savich. Even people we love dearly. Sometimes we can’t see the change because we’re just too close.”

Savich took another look at that lovely park and said, “When Lily was thirteen, she was running a gambling operation in the neighborhood. She would take bets on anything from the point spread in college football games to who could shoot the most three-point baskets in any pro game. Drove my parents nuts. Since my dad was an FBI agent, the local cops didn’t do anything, just snickered a lot. I think they all admired her moxie, but they gave my dad lots of grief about it, called her a chip off the old block.

“When she hit eighteen, she suddenly realized that she liked to draw and she was very good at it. She’s an artist, you know, very talented.”

“No, I hadn’t heard.”

“Actually, her talent comes from our grandmother, Sarah Elliott.”

“Sarah Elliott? Good grief,
the
Sarah Elliott, the artist whose paintings are in all the museums?”

“Yep. Lily’s talents lie in a different direction—she’s an excellent cartoonist, lots of humor and irony. Have you ever heard of the cartoon strip
No Wrinkles Remus?”

Agent Hoyt shook his head.

“That’s all right. It’s political satire and shenanigans, I guess you could say. She hasn’t done much for the past seven months, since the death of her daughter. But she will, and once she gets herself back together again, I’m sure she’s going to be syndicated in lots of papers across the country.”

“She’s that good?”

“I think so. Now, given her talent, her background, can you really believe that she would try to kill herself seven months after her daughter was killed?”

“A girl who was the neighborhood bookie, then a cartoon strip artist?” Hoyt sighed. “I’d like to say no, I can’t imagine it, Savich, but who knows? Aren’t artists supposed to be high-strung? Temperamental? You said she still can’t remember a thing about the accident?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you going to do?”

“After MAX checks everything out, we’ll see. No matter what, I’m taking Lily back to Washington with my wife and me. I think it’s been proved that Hemlock Bay isn’t healthy for her.”

“Everything could be perfectly innocent,” Clark Hoyt said. “She could have simply lost control of the car.”

“Yeah, but you know something? I saw my brother-in-law differently this time. I saw him through Lily’s eyes, maybe. It’s not a pretty sight. I want to strangle him. Actually, I wanted to throw his daddy through the hospital window.”