Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (19 page)

He pulled a pen from his sport jacket and signed his tab. “Nice consulting with you, Red. You take care.”

With gritted teeth, I tipped my glass at them both. Those were the last words he said to me twenty years earlier. He left them on my answering machine a week before Christmas. That and some nonsense about not being our time.

I took a gulp of wine, trying to look like I could give a shit, and went back to watching Gilbert, my client. He looked stressed and unhappy and in the middle of an argument. Seemed as if Dr. Locke was giving him the business.

Did the doctor steal Gilbert’s egg? And what, now he’s harassing him about it? Someone’s harassing him. Though probably not to his face over short rib empanadas and a butter bibb salad. Besides, if he was telling Gilbert he had the egg, Gil would’ve leapt over the tabletop and searched him.

But something wasn’t right. This was the third time I’d seen them like this. First the emergency room, then the hallway outside the morgue waiting room.

I glanced over to the dining room, involuntarily, and saw a smirky Alicia enjoying a bottle of wine with Ransom.

So I guess the on-the-job part of the evening was over.

I handed over my credit card to the bartender. Time to get out of there.

The sun colored the sky in a mélange of warm hues from burnt orange to velvet red. The sharp salty air blended with crisp pine as the temperatures slowly fell. It was another beautiful evening in paradise.

I hiked across the lot and passed an old Plymouth Fury one row from the Mini. I stopped. I know that car, I thought. It nearly ran me down at Mary-Louise’s house. Seeing it parked so close to the line jogged another memory. The emergency room on day one.

Walking backward, I checked out the license plate. South Carolina plates, not personalized, registration current. I’d write it down when I got back to my car. I walked around the driver’s side and peeked in the window.

Horace Lovecraft popped out of nowhere, his face an inch from the glass.

Oh my God!
I freaked out, clamped a hand over my own mouth to keep my screams inside and flung myself backward into the car in the next spot.

Horace slowly opened the driver’s door and slid out. “You startled me. My keys slid down beneath the floor mat.” He stared down at me, calm expression, hands clasped in front of him. “May I assist you, Miss Lisbon?

My own hands shook as I waved him off. “Nope, I’m good,” I said and again walked in reverse, not wanting to turn my back on him. When I hit the last row, I found the Mini and jumped in.

“I’m out. Forget it. It’s just an egg and no doubt Jaime hid it and it’ll turn up,” I said out loud. I jammed the key fob into the slot and jabbed at the start button. “That dude is way too scary. Probably keeps the bodies in his basement.”

I knew I should feel bad about leaving Gilbert alone to face Horace in the lot, but he had Dr. Locke to help him and I had the Ballantynes and the Tea. I checked my rearview and saw Horace get back into his car, just as I zipped onto Old Pickett Road.

Strange. Unless Horace was leaving the restaurant. Except I sat at the bar with a view of the nearly the entire restaurant and never saw him inside.

Never mind, I thought. I’m not going back.

I flipped the car around before I’d traveled a quarter mile.

What kind of investigator gives up because of a creepy Leland Gaunt-like man? He’s probably the stalker freaking out Gilbert and I practically caught him doing it.

I didn’t want to pull back into the same lot where Horace might see me, but I could get close. Luckily the Wharf is basically on the same property as the Crab Hut with only a thick row of bushes and crape myrtles dividing the two parking lots. I found a spot about halfway down the row and gently clicked my door shut after I got out.

Pushing branches aside, I snuck through the hedge. One whipped back and slapped me in the face, another scraped my forearm. But the soft ground muffled my steps as I crept from one lot to the other.

Horace’s Fury sat right where I left it. And like before, it looked empty.

Fallen keys under the floor mat, my ass.

I crouched down and scurried to a staff car. I peeked over the row and saw Gilbert crossing the pavement. He walked straight to the Fury. The door opened, and this time Mary-Louise popped out. She looked around, quickly, as if making sure they were alone.

I dropped to the gravel and hoped the cars really were staff cars. I didn’t need diners finding me flat out face down by their tires as they exited the grounds. Or one Lieutenant Nick Ransom.

Carefully, quietly, I sat up and knelt on my knees. I had a decent view, even though a thousand shards of gravel stabbed through my thin pants. Mary-Louise and Gilbert stood about two feet apart. Before they could say word one, Dr. Locke appeared.

Interesting. But Mary-Louise didn’t even acknowledge him; he simply pulled Gilbert to the side, and closer to me.

I heard snippets.

Dr. Locke: “…tomorrow…in my office already.”

Gilbert: “…fix it..”

Dr. Locke: “…hospital…pulled files.”

Gilbert: “…got a plan.”

Dr. Locke nodded once and left, ignoring Mary-Louise. A case of see no evil if ever there was one.

As he walked away, the Fury pulled forward out of its space and slowly drove across the pavement. That must have been the cue for Gilbert and Mary-Louise, because they started shouting at one another. Even though I couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, their body language said they were pissed.

I scrambled up and ran over to them.

“How many people you meeting in this parking lot?” Mary-Louise said, checking the area again. “I thought you were alone.”

“What are you doing here?” Gilbert asked me. “Are you spying on me?”

“Of course not. I just had a lovely dinner at the Crab Hut.” I figured neither knew I would rather eat Play-Doh for dinner than seafood. “I heard you yelling. Keep it down, the whole island can hear you.”

“He thinks I killed Jaime,” Mary-Louise said. She looked exhausted. Hair limp and unwashed, clothes wrinkled and unkempt. “I swear on my grandma’s grave, I did not kill her.”

“Well, I think you did,” Gilbert said. “I think that’s why you ran and left me to take the heat.”

“No, Gil, honest,” Mary-Louise said. “I wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“But Bobby would?” I interjected.

“Never. I don’t think so. I don’t know,” Mary-Louise said and started crying. “He can’t be a murderer. I love him.”

“He shot Gilbert and stole his egg, probably killed his wife,” I said.

“Bobby didn’t take the egg,” she said and dug a tissue out of her sweat pants. “But yeah, he shot Gilbert. That doesn’t mean he hurt Jaime.”

“Then you obviously took my egg,” Gilbert said. “And tricked me into thinking Jaime took it.”

“I swear I didn’t steal it. Maybe a trinket, but not the egg,” Mary-Louise said. “I wouldn’t jeopardize your Gil-animals. I know you need the money for the patent.”

“Then why run, Mary-Louise?” I asked. “You called the police, then ran. That makes you look guilty.”

“I know, I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I panicked. Bobby didn’t show up and didn’t call. I thought he was talking to the cops, so I called them to give my side of things. But then, they didn’t have Bobby, they had Gilbert—”

“So you were just going to leave me there?” Gilbert said.

“No! I was heading to the station when Bobby showed up. He came back for me, Gilbert. What could I do?”

I nodded sagely. “Leave with him.”

We stood in a tight triangle alone in the lot, except for Horace driving slowly between the rows. “Where is Bobby now? And why are you here?” I asked.

“I had to tell Gilbert I didn’t hurt Jaime,” Mary-Louise said, pleading at Gilbert.

“And…” I said.

“And I forgot my passport when I left, so I couldn’t go to Canada. Bobby went without me and I came back.”

“I don’t buy it,” Gilbert said. “You can go to Canada without a passport. You only need a driver’s license. You need the passport to come back, not leave. It’s the law.”

“I’m not lying, Gilbert,” Mary-Louise said. “And that’s not true. Bobby said.”

“You can travel to Canada and then back to the U.S. without a passport. It makes it easier,” I said. “Wait, what am I saying! You can’t go to Canada!”

“I’m not,” Mary-Louise said. “I’m going to Mexico. I want to be as far away from Bobby as possible. He might be a murderer.” She put her face in her hands. “I can’t handle this.”

“Mary-Louise, listen to me,” I said. “You have to get in front of this. Or at least as much as you can now. Talk to Lieutenant Ransom or it will be so much worse. You’ll be a fugitive instead of a witness.” I gently put my arm around her. “He’s right inside.”

She jumped back and flung off my arm while Gilbert spun around in a full circle and grabbed at his hair.

“He’s here?” They said in unison.

“Yes, he’s here. See the half-million dollar Mercedes with the personalized license plate that says RANSOM parked in the very first spot?”

“He’ll arrest me!” They again said in unison.

“He won’t arrest either of you,” I said.

“He thinks I killed Jaime,” Gilbert said.

“No, he thinks I killed Jaime,” Mary-Louise said.

“He doesn’t think either of you killed Jaime,” I said. Before the words left my lips, Mary-Louise took off running. The Fury picked her up halfway down the entrance drive and they drove away.

Gilbert ran in the other direction, straight for his car.

“Gil, wait,” I shouted, sprinting toward him. “Why are you running? If Ransom wanted to arrest you, he wouldn’t have let you go.”

“He’s hung up on Jaime’s insurance policy. He doesn’t believe me. I didn’t know. I thought she changed it, made her sister the beneficiary.”

“Didn’t you manage it for her?”

“Originally. But she took it over years ago, wouldn’t let me have anything to do with any of it.”

We stood in awkward silence. Their relationship fell apart years ago if she wouldn’t let her insurance salesman husband administer her own insurance.

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ve got a plan.”

“What’s this plan? Gilbert, I’m the investigator. Let me handle this.”

“Just find my egg. Handle that. I’ve got more than just eggs in the frying pan.” He whipped open his door and climbed inside.

I slowly walked back to the dividing hedge. I wasn’t about to walk up to Alicia Birnbaum in the restaurant sporting two tears in my top and gravel stains on my pants. Not twice in one lifetime. Or at least the same day.

I called Parker instead.

“Let it be known that I’m sharing information as soon as I received it,” I said when Parker answered. “I’m a cooperating investigator.”

“Whatcha got?”

“Mary-Louise Springer is on the island. I just saw her with Horace Lovecraft in his Plymouth Fury. I didn’t get the plate.”

“Got it,” she said. I heard her fingers furiously tapping a keyboard in the background. “When did this happen?”

“Minutes ago,” I said.

“How many minutes?”

“Five. Ish. Nearly almost immediately. I’m cooperating.”

“I’ll tell the Lieutenant. You coming by for a statement?”

“I can tomorrow if you need me. Right now I’m heading to the hospital. Not injury related,” I added before she imagined me beaten on the side of the road. “But I’ll be home after that if you have questions.”

“Got it,” she said again and hung up.

With my civic duty done, I crawled through the stickery bushes. I brushed off the leaves and dirt before getting in my car. It was time to see what Dr. Locke was up to. Him and his “pulled files” and Gilbert’s big plan.

TWENTY-TWO

(Day #5: Tuesday Evening)

Before I hit the road, I searched all things Google on my phone for a listing for Dr. Locke. Nothing, not even with alternate spellings. It occurred to me I never saw him actually treating patients, just saw him in a white coat with a name badge. As someone who has perhaps done an impersonation before, I know better than to trust the validity of every badge pinned to a person.

When he and Gilbert were in the lot, Dr. Locke had said the word hospital, so I drove to Sea Pine Memorial, about a mile down Cabana. The annual board meeting was tonight and Sid would definitely be there.

I texted her from the lobby and met her by the welcome desk. She stuck a visitor sticker on my blouse and we walked toward the elevators.

“You know a Dr. Carl Locke? Gray on top, a little doughy around the middle?”

“Sure, he’s in oncology.”

“So he’s a real doctor? I didn’t find him listed on Google.”

“Yes, a real doctor,” Sid said. “His office is here at the hospital. He doesn’t have a private practice. He doesn’t see a ton of patients, but he’s always around somewhere.”

“He around tonight?”

“You need to talk to him?”

We stood in front of the elevator bank. The halls were quiet, especially on the first floor. The emergency room took up a good chunk of space, along with a bright waiting room, plus offices, labs, a gift shop, cafeteria, and miles of hallways.

“Not exactly.” I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “I’m thinking I need to visit his office.”

“Without him in it.”

“Yep.”

She thought about it for two seconds, then punched the up arrow for the elevator. “He’s on three. I’ll walk you through the maze.”

“You have a key?”

“It’s probably not locked,” Sid said. “Patient records are computerized. These offices generally hold knick knacks and photos. What do you think you’ll find?”

“I’m not sure, but a guess? Something to do with viaticals.” At Sid’s questioning look, I explained. “It’s where one buys the life insurance policy of a dying person, at a discount. Say he’s got a two hundred thousand dollar policy, so a guy buys it for one fifty. Win-win. The dying guy gets to spend his own money while he’s still alive, the buying guy makes a very nice return when the policy pays out.”

“I know what viaticals are, I am technically in the medical field. I didn’t know you knew. But they aren’t all win-win. Some kids get pissed their dad sold out their inheritance.”

“Yeah, but maybe dear old dad spends it all on them. Could do a lot of good, spending time with the family.”

“A trip to Paris for everyone. First Class.”

The doors to the elevator opened on the third floor and I followed Sid through a series of turns and stretches of hallway.

“But wait, there’s more,” I said. “A life insurance buyout can pay for experimental treatment not covered by regular medical.”

“Drug trials do cost a fortune, and hospitals don’t generally offer payment plans.”

“Plus, they can use the cash to pay off his debts early, rather than his family having to wait until after probate.”

“Save your wife’s credit score and your kid’s college education. I can see that,” Sid said. “And you figure Dr. Locke and Gilbert are working on a viatical business?”

“I know Gilbert is, he told me. And who better to supply him with dying clients than an oncologist? The perfect team.”

“Yes, sweetie, but for one thing,” Sid said. “Who issues a life insurance policy on a dying man?”

We approached a closed door at the end of a hallway, directly across from the nurses’ station. A plastic wood-like nameplate was screwed to the door, CARL LOCKE MD etched on the face.

I twisted the handle, but it barely moved. “Locked.”

A doctor in gray slacks and a white coat dropped off a chart on the other side of the nurses’ desk. He scribbled some notes, checked his watch, scribbled some more, then left.

“Should I just pick it?” I whispered.

“You pick locks now?”

“No, I was hoping you’d say you had a key.”

“I can get a key, wait here.”

When I remained next to the door, Sid waved me away. “Not so obvious. Act like you’re on break from visiting a relative or something.”

I paced the hall, trying to blend in. Two doors down was a nondescript visitor’s lounge. An old leather sofa, tan chairs, a low table. Coffee supplies on a cart.

Sid waved from the doorway, dangling a key, and disappeared down the hall. Back at the door, she turned a key in the knob and I was in.

“See you tomorrow at the Tea,” I said.

“Don’t take too long in there,” she said.

“I’m a professional.”

I clicked the door shut behind me. I’m sure most envision a PI rifling through filing cabinets with a mini flashlight in one hand, while the other tabs through row after row of folders. Not so much here. A windowless office allowed me to flip on the lights, and there was no filing cabinet. It looked pretty much like Sid said. Mostly knick knacks and picture frames.

Dr. Locke’s desk took up a third of the room. A reddish maple monster with three drawers, one in the center and two on the side. I started with those.

The top one could kindly be described as a junk drawer. All manners of nonsense were in that drawer. A thousand pens, loose blocks of staples, five kinds of tape (including duct), rubber band balls, Bazooka bubble gum wrappers, dice, what could only be tiddlywinks, golf pencils, and an egg full of Silly Putty. Maybe he treated children?

The bottom drawer held two medical journals. I flipped through the pages and found a folded printout inside. It listed twelve names with a series of columns next to each. Identical diagnoses and blood work. All cancer, all Dr. Locke’s patients, and all the phoniest names I’d ever read. Augustus Boxleitner, Carmine Dolittle, Everest Franken, Gladys Holbrook. All adults, no children.

It would take the authorities all of an hour to nail these two yahoos and crack the case wide open. I skimmed the rest of the names and notes.

Who insures a dying man, Sid had asked? You don’t. You insure a fake healthy man, then diagnose him and give him six months to live. Now you’re in the viatical business. Illegally, of course.

I took two snaps of the patient list with my phone and tucked the info back in the journal, then into the drawer.

Gilbert was having a time of it this week. Now add getting busted for insurance fraud to his list of unfortunate events. Well, possible insurance fraud anyway.

I slipped out the door, making sure it was locked, and turned to face Nick Ransom. He stood statue still five feet away, hands folded in front, no expression.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I looked over the shoulder toward the door, then back to Ransom. “Oh. Just…”

“Just breaking and entering?”

“I had the key, so it’s not breaking and entering.”

“It is when you steal the key.”

I didn’t tell him I wasn’t the one to steal the key. Best to keep my pie hole shut on the whole where-did-the-key-come-from front.

“Parker called,” he said, his voice steely and flat. “You met with Mary-Louise Springer, a fugitive murder suspect, as you well know, and you didn’t tell me?”

“You were at dinner.”

“Forty feet away.”

“No time to tell you. I heard her arguing with Gilbert, so I approached them. We talked for like ten minutes max, then she ran away.” My shoulders started to hunch and I didn’t like the defensive tone my voice started to take on. I took a breath and spoke more slowly, professionally. “I immediately called Parker and told her every detail.”

He stepped closer. “You call the police
before
you engage with fugitives, not after.”

“It’s not written that way in the handbook.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You told her to go to Mexico?” His voice so tight, he mouth barely moved.

“I told her she didn’t need her passport to go to Canada. She brought up Mexico, then I told her to talk to you. That’s when she ran,” I said, looking straight at him, hands on hips. “I assume you found her since you know the details of our conversation, even if they are incorrect.”

“Incorrect, my ass. Gilbert Goodsen told me. Personally. When he walked into the Wharf to report seeing Mary-Louise Springer in the parking lot with Elliott Lisbon, rogue investigator.”

“I’m not rogue, Ransom. I called Parker.” I thought about Gilbert racing to get out of there, mumbling about his plan. I never thought it included the police.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“To arrest you for obstruction of justice. Now I’m adding breaking and entering. Second time I’ve caught you on this case alone.”

“You can’t be serious. You can’t arrest me.”

“I am and I will. You can’t do whatever you want and the law be damned.”

“I’m not damning the law.”

“That’s right, you’re not,” he said. “Not on my watch.”

We stood two feet apart. Him looking down at me, me defiant in his face of barely conceived fury.

“You have no right to threaten me, and you’re sure as shit not arresting me.” I started to walk away. Ransom grabbed my arm and I yanked it right back.

“You owe me, Nick Ransom.”

“That was months ago. I’ve made up for the danger I put you in. We’re square, I don’t owe you.”

I jabbed my finger into his chest as hard as I could. “You broke my heart on an answering machine. We will never be square. You will owe me forever.”

I stalked down the hall, clenching my fists in frustration. I passed Nurse Elaine at the station desk. I looked the other way and hoped she didn’t notice me.

“Hey, Elli,” she hollered. “See you at the Wonderland Tea tomorrow. It’s my first Ballantyne event.”

I waved but didn’t stop until I stabbed at the down arrow on the elevator.

Matty was bringing a date to my Big House and Ransom was pulling rank right to my face.

Boys suck.