Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 02 - The Hustle (24 page)

Your Ex-Friend,

Bobby Quinn

P.S. You need to secure your email account better. It was way too easy hacking in and getting Sheila’s email with those names. :)

I nearly crushed my iPhone with one hand. The tendons in my neck pulled taut. My jaw creaked as I grinded my teeth.
Your Ex-Friend.
Why? What had I done to make him this angry? Hell, I hadn’t spoken with him in years. But I had to beat Bobby at his race first. I could ask why later.

Then Mort’s voice piped up.

The question is always
why
first. Everything follows from why.

A lesson continued from the one about lies. Mort had an infatuation with motive. He insisted it was the key to unlocking just about any case. While I appreciated the advice, right now I couldn’t afford to take it. I had a list of names, people I had to get to before Bobby did. Considering how far ahead of me he appeared at every turn, I didn’t have much time.

First name on the list—Dr. Jayish Kahn, pediatrician. Based on my computer research, he lived and worked in a suburb outside of Detroit named Sterling Heights. Second name—Dr. Oliver Shwineski, an ear, nose, throat specialist here in Hawthorne. Name three—Dr. Patricia Lee, obstetrician from clear up in Traverse City.

How Rice knew this disparate group I didn’t know. Probably a medical conference of some kind. The thought that Dr. Lee would come down to visit from Traverse City—about a four hour drive—seemed crazy. But not, I supposed, if you had a lucrative business partnership (if you could call it that). As an obstetrician, it wasn’t too far a stretch to imagine she could have been involved in Rice’s adoption ring.

Dr. Kahn, on the other hand, wouldn’t have far to drive, and his proximity to Detroit reminded me of the downtown free clinic Rice had used to procure babies. Good ol’ Dr. Rice offered desperate mothers the perfect solution—take the baby off their hands and put a nice chunk of cash into their pockets. Kahn was a pediatrician. He worked with little ones all the time. Not too hard to believe he could have some stake in the black market adoption racket.

The one that didn’t jive was Dr. Shwineski. Ear, nose, throat? It read like a bad joke. An obstetrician, a pediatrician, and an ear, nose, throat doctor walk into a bar… And the odd doc out would receive the butt end of the punch line.

Right now, I didn’t have to make connections. All I needed to do was get in touch with them. All three had numbers listed associated with their various practices. Phone calls were nice and all, but the finesse necessary to get the kind of information I needed from them would work better in person. Calling them up and asking if they participated in an illegal adoption ring probably wouldn’t fly.

But a trip to Traverse City made me tired just thinking about it.

I didn’t have to get all three to talk, though. One with the right information would do fine. Despite his convenient proximity, I decided to leave Dr. Shwineski alone and go straight to Dr. Kahn.

I arrived at Dr. Kahn’s private practice around one o’ clock, my chest burning with reflux from the fast food burger I had consumed on the way. I seriously needed to improve my diet. Someday.

When I reached the sliding glass partition that separated the receptionist from the waiting room, I wrote my name on the walk-in list. The pebbled window slid open and a woman with the tell-tale wrinkled lips of a dedicated smoker smiled and asked how she could help me.

“I’d like to see Dr. Kahn,” I said, returning her smile.

“Okay.” She reached up took the clipboard with the sign-in sheet, glanced at it. “Has Ridley been here before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

They way she looked at me, I almost checked my shoulder for a second head. “I’m sorry, what is the patient’s name?”

“It’s me. I would like to see Dr. Kahn.”

Her lips drew taught, but didn’t smooth the wrinkles all that much. She folded her hands on her desk and coaxed back her smile. “I’m afraid Dr. Kahn is a pediatrician. He doesn’t see adult patients.”

“I’m not a patient. I’d like to talk to the Doctor about my daughter.”

The tip of her tongue poked out ever so slightly while she thought things through. “You didn’t bring your with you?”

“She couldn’t make it.”

“I’m certain Dr. Kahn would like her with you. Why don’t we make an appointment for a day she can make it.” Turned her chair to face her computer, poised her fingers on the keyboard. “When would be a good day to come in?”

“Right now,” I said.

She pulled up short. What little composure she had left tumbled off the table and shattered on the floor. Her wrinkled lips puckered. Her eyes simmered. “You cannot see Dr. Kahn without your daughter. I thought I made that clear.”

“You did. But I need to see the doctor, and he’s gonna want to see me.” Before the heat in her eyes melted them right in the sockets, I added, “Tell him I’m a friend of Lincoln Rice.”

“Who you’re friends with doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. I don’t know who you think you are—”

“Just tell him. You can let the doctor decide if he’s interested in my hill of beans.”

She huffed, stood, and bounded off, leaving her empty chair spinning behind her.

The faint sound of a pan flute leaked into the waiting room from round speakers built into the ceiling. What the hell was up with the pan flute? I hoped to hell it wasn’t making a comeback. I tried to block out the sound by playing a song in my head. I have perfect recall when it comes to songs. They play nearly as clear in my head as they do from an iPod..

I got halfway through “Super Bon Bon” by Soul Coughing before the receptionist returned. She plopped down on her chair. She still had the sign-in sheet on her desk. She picked it up and dropped it back in place outside the window. The clipboard clattered, the sound cutting off the few whispered conversations in the waiting room. The quiet went to near silence, except for that damn pan flute, which I could now hear was playing a fluty rendition of a Kenny G song. The horror…oh, the horror.

The receptionist glared. “Have a seat. He will see you when he has a moment.”

I grinned my disarming grin to little effect. I’d have to work on that. “Thank you.”

She slid the window closed.

I took a seat and endured the pan flute repertoire for almost an hour before a nurse poked her head out and called my name. A few parents stared at me funny as I stood and headed back. I was taking time away from their coughing, sniffling, drowsy kids, and they didn’t like that. Of course, they didn’t know why I was here. They might have a different attitude about wanting to see Dr. Kahn if they knew what sort of racket I suspected him to be involved with.

The nurse guided me down a hall. I almost expected her to make me get on the scale. She didn’t. She guided me into a room and told me the doctor would be right with me. Which meant I had a while longer to wait. I took a seat in a chair next to the examination table.

They had the trusty pan flute music piped into the room. I began to suspect they wanted to make their patients even sicker than they already were, all in the name of making an extra buck. It was the only logical explanation for the wretched music.

Turned out I didn’t even have time to flip through a four year-old copy of
Highlights
in the plastic magazine rack bolted to the wall. Dr. Kahn hurried into the room and closed the door behind him as if worried about letting the outside air in. When he turned to me, his wide-eyed stare made the whites stand out against his dark complexion.

“I had nothing to do with it,” he said.

“You know, I didn’t even ask yet.”

“You’re here about Dr. Rice. I already know what you’re going to ask.”

“If that’s the case, I find it hard to believe you ‘had nothing to do with it.’”

“It’s like I told the other gentleman. I knew about it. But I did not approve. In fact, I cut off all relations with Lincoln and Pat when I found out.”

He had pitched two fastballs right on top of each other, and they both hit be before I could take a swing. I had made photocopies of Bobby’s sketch and had a folded one tucked in my pocket. I pulled it out and showed it to Kahn. “This the gentleman?”

His gaze dipped to the sketch, then lifted back to me. “Is this man some sort of criminal?”

I ignored his question. He’d confirmed with his expression that he recognized the picture. I moved on to the second fastball. “By Pat, you mean Dr. Lee?”

He backed away, hands shaky. “I don’t want any part of this. I’ve already said too much.”

“If you knew about the adoption ring, how come you didn’t report it?”

“They were my friends. I… They said they were helping children of poor, sometimes drug addicted, mothers find healthy homes.”

“And you believed that crap?”

“I had to believe it.”

“Why?”

“Because if I said anything, they were going to…”

I stepped into his personal space and let him smell the onions on my breath from the burger I had on the way over. “They were going to what?”

“I had a small drug problem. Got into forging scripts for myself. Patricia helped me kick the habit. If anyone found out, I would lose my license to practice. I’d have nothing.”

“Then they, what? Invited you in on the action, but you had enough brains to stay out of it?”

“I love children. I want nothing but the best for them. While Lincoln’s reasons were sound, I felt in the long run this could only lead to harm.”

“But your opting out meant they needed assurance you wouldn’t talk.”

“They threatened to expose my drug habit. Though I had long stopped with the drugs and haven’t started back since.”

“You seem awfully loose with the info now.”

“You told Marlene this had something to do with your daughter. The last man said the same thing.”

I clamped my teeth and pushed a fist against the padding on the exam table. “He lied to you.”

“I know he did. I’ve made some bad choices in my time, but I’m not an idiot.” He wanted his personal space back. He tried to shuffle away and came against the counter with the standard sink and glass jars filled with tongue depressors, cotton balls, and the like. “I know a parent when I see one. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

I looked him in the eye. “What do you see here?”

“I’m not a psychic for God’s sake.”

“Then let me enlighten you,” I said. “Lincoln Rice sold my daughter through his noble adoption ring before I ever knew I had a daughter. What’s even worse? She was also
his
granddaughter. And before I could get him to tell me where to find her, he blew his brains out.”

Kahn had begun to tremble. “I’m so sorry.”

“What else did this other gentleman ask you?”

“Can I ask what’s going on?”

“No. You can answer my questions and I’ll keep myself from sticking your head under the faucet there and turning the hot water on full blast.” I wouldn’t really burn his face off like that, but I had swallowed enough anger to let some of it make the threat sound real enough.

He gave the sink a nervous, sidelong glance. “I told him everything I’ve already told you. Nothing more.”

“You sure about that?”

He glanced at the sink again. “There was one other person involved with Lincoln and Pat. Dr. Shwineski.”

“The ear, nose, throat guy?”

Kahn nodded. “From what I had gathered back then, Ollie was their record keeper. Like an accountant. Ollie used to teach mathematics at a community college alongside his practice. I suppose he was perfect for the job.”

“You told this guy,” I shook the sketch in his face, “about Shwineski’s record keeping?”

“He came to see me at home. He got in the door because I believed his story about his daughter at first. Talking to him, I realized he was lying. But it was too late. I’d said too much already.”

“You mean about the drugs.”

“He was very disarming.”

“Well, I’m glad you two got along, but you just put him one step closer to finding my daughter before me.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he want to do such a thing?”

“I wish I knew.” I backed off and gave Kahn some room. “If anyone else comes asking questions like these, do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut.”

He lowered his chin and his gaze with it. “I’m terribly sorry. I tried to do the right thing back then, tried to talk them out of it. But the whole affair was bigger than me. I was one voice shouting in the wind.”

“According to your story, you didn’t shout enough, or to the right people.” I turned to the door, turned back. “You could have saved her.”

He looked up, rubbing at the business end of the stethoscope around his neck like rosary beads.

“If you’d done the right thing,” I said, “my daughter would be with me today.”

“Are you certain? Lincoln’s ego often trumped his morals, but he always had good reasons for what he did. Do you know for sure you would have made a good father for her?”

I pointed a finger at him. “You don’t know anything about me, Doc. Don’t let assumptions give you any comfort. You did wrong. Plain and simple. You did wrong.”

Chapter 25