The Last Clinic (20 page)

“Ah, Detective Darla,” he said smiling. “It is good of you to come.”

He made it sound like she was an arriving dinner guest.

She picked up the phone and dialed #41 for the guard station outside.

“Would you mind turning the thermostat down to sixty-eight?”

“Got it,” the guard said.

She sat directly across from the Doctor so that they faced each other.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked.

“Yes. But would it be possible to speak to you privately, without Detective Reylander observing?”

He nodded to the camera lens mounted at the ceiling angled down at them.

“Tommy?” Darla said, turning her head up and to the camera.

A few seconds later Tommy was at the door, sticking his head in.

“This ain’t no good cop, bad cop deal, if that’s what you’re thinking, Nicoletti. You’re going to have to say what you’ve got to say in my presence one way or another.”

“Yes, I will be glad to speak to you after I have conferred with my attorney. That is my right, as you so skillfully recited, under the American judicial system.”

Tommy patted at the sides of his pompadour.

“I’m just trying to make it easy on you, if you want to know the truth.”

Dr. Nicoletti smiled that small private smile of his, the smile that had Darla so intrigued. “The truth. Yes, I am encouraged that you are so interested in the truth.”

“And shit mouthing me ain’t going to help your cause any.” He looked at Darla. “Sorry.”

Dr. Nicoletti’s smile broadened but still with that same wry upturn. “Forgive me Detective Reylander but I have never felt that you were particularly sympathetic with my cause.”

Tommy took a couple of steps into the room as though he was going to square off with Dr. Nicoletti.

Darla decided it was time to call a halt to their set. Tommy was no match for the Dr. Nicoletti, who had the skill to be caustic and charming in the same sentence. The score would only get more lopsided if they continued.

“Tommy, just a few minutes alone. Okay?”

“Just watch it,” Tommy said to the doctor, his parting shot.

Darla waited until the door was closed, and they had the room to themselves.

 “You realize the severity of the situation,” she said.

“You’re saying my condition is terminal?”

“I’m saying if you don’t reveal the name of the patient you were seeing Monday morning at the time of the murder, Sheriff Mitchell is very shortly going to authorize Detective Reylander to charge you with first degree murder. You’ll be tried and most likely convicted.”

“When my arrest is made and the matter becomes public, as I assume it will be shortly thereafter, my patient will be free to make that decision for herself.”

“This is really very chivalrous of you, Dr. Nicoletti, but murder one is a capital offense. In Mississippi that’s punishable by death. The governor has a box of Cuban cigars in his desk drawer. They say he lights one every time a murderer gets executed. It’s his goal to empty the box before he leaves office. Chances are, up at Larchmont Penitentiary they’re already wiring up Old Sparky for you.”

He smiled at the comment and pointed his finger at her.

“Old Sparky? You mean death by electrocution? What a colorful description. Very good, Detective. ”

Darla scrunched her brow. “The idea of your death, how is it you’re so stoic?”

“Ah, the Stoics, you have read them?”

“Greek philosophers or something like that. Fatalists, right?”

“Very impressive.”

For what? A police officer or a football player’s wife?
she thought.

“I believe, as they believed, that the only thing one can control in life is his or her reactions, and even that takes a great deal of commitment.”

She saw something in his eyes, something deep and remote. Not a secret exactly, more of a story that needed the right time and place to be told.

“I know you’ve seen the DVD.”

“Yes. Marietta was very convincing.”

“Marietta? Not Mrs. Simmons.”

“We were on a first name basis.”

There was a story all right.

“You’re saying you had some sort of a relationship with her?”

“Some sort, yes.”

Darla was getting frustrated with him, his coyness, his cute way with words. It was funny when he pulled the act on Tommy, another when he did it to her.

“Look, you’re Tommy’s collar. I’ve got other things to do. I came down here because you asked for me. I thought there was something you wanted to tell me. Maybe I was wrong.”

She got up to leave.

“Forgive me. Growing up in Italy I was accustomed to dealing with the police in an adversarial manner. Please stay.”

Darla sat down. “I’m not going to play 20 Questions with you.”

“We were lovers, Marietta and I. Not that I expect you to believe me, but we were.”

Considering the aura Dr. Nicoletti and Marietta radiated, it didn’t seem out of the question. They looked and felt like they could belong together.

Darla nodded that he should continue.

“A little over a year ago I made a presentation to the Jackson Humanitarian Council. Marietta was the chairman. I was hoping for funding for our financial assistance program. Many of the women who come to the clinic seeking an abortion can’t afford to pay for one. Many of them are unwed and underage. Many have several children already. Government programs will not cover the procedure. Unfortunately, my presentation was not received well by the organization, but Marietta seemed sympathetic to the situation. She asked for more data, implying that she might be able to sway the council. When I called her with the information, she suggested I come by for lunch at her art studio, a cabin as it turned out, on the reservoir. After a couple of glasses of wine, she told me her real reason for the meeting. She confessed that she and her husband had an arrangement. He had erotic interests in men and wished to pursue this part of his sexuality. But neither of them wanted to give up their marriage. Thus, she was free to see other men so long as she was discreet. She expressed an attraction to me, and that’s how things started.”

“And you were okay with this? Being her little side dish?” Darla thought about her and the doctor together. He wouldn’t be a side dish to her.

“Initially I was, yes. I am a single man, very busy. The clinic is very demanding. A beautiful, accomplished woman has a passion for you and wants nothing from you but to be with you. It seemed ideal.”

“But it wasn’t?” Darla was hoping he’d tell her it wasn’t. Tell her what a disappointment Marietta was and that she was cold, or whiny, or a bitch. A bitch, yeah, that would be best.

“The excitement did not last. Ultimately, the role of a gigolo is not very satisfying. I lost respect for her and myself. After a few months I ended the affair.”

 “How did Marietta handle that?” Darla asked, trying to make herself sound detached, a police officer gathering information.

“She was quite angry. She broke into my apartment. Destroyed some clothing she had given to me as a gift.”

“Did you report it?”

“Of course not.”

“Let’s suppose for a minute your story is true. (Darla felt sure it was.) What kind of verification can you provide that there was an affair or any kind of a relationship? Do you have any letters? Cute little cards?”

“We did not write. No letters. No email. No cards.”

“Phone records?”

“She gave me a cell phone and asked that I use that to call her.”

“If that’s true, we can trace it.”

“I doubt it. At her request, I threw my phone away after I stopped seeing her. As to her cell phone, remember, they own the cell phone company. I don’t think you’ll find any record of the number I called.”

“So, basically, the affair, it’s your word against hers?”

“I’m sorry. I simply wanted you to know what happened. I don’t expect you can do anything about it.”

Darla stood, walked to the end of the room, leaned against the door, and crossed her arms.

 “You better wake up. Your story is not going to hold up in court. The district attorney will slice and dice you. Most of the people in this state think of you as a killer already. You’ll be convicted and executed. But for what it’s worth, I do believe you. I think you’re telling me the truth.”

“It’s worth a lot to me—quite a bit, actually.” He offered her a look that suggested some deep respect.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, she turned and rapped on the glass widow in the door. It was time to leave.

“Perhaps when I’m convicted you’ll be able to come and see me on a less official capacity,” he said as the duty officer opened the door.

A cop and the death row inmate
, she thought.
How cute is that? I think I’ll stick to my dead husband’s highlight reel
.

“Thank you for coming” he said and walked past her.

Standing alone in the interrogation room, she wondered if the camera was still on. If it was, would Tommy and Shelby and the others be able tell what was going through her head? That she wished Dr. Stephen Nicoletti was back in the interrogation room with her so she could smack some sense into him.

20

What Are We Waiting For?

They were sitting in Shelby’s office, the four of them—Darla, Shelby, Tommy, and Uther. Tommy with his hands folded over his belly, his fingers tapping out a tune on his girth. He was singing
“
Jail House Rock”
under his breath.

“Well now, I thought that was a right nice funeral the other day,” said Shelby. “Y’all done Reverend Jimmy real proud. Especially you Tommy, crooning those gospels.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” said Tommy, his favorite words.

“Not a dry eye, especially when you sang ‘My Way,’” Shelby said.

Tommy put his belly bongo on hold and adjusted his string tie in what looked like a show of reverence for the dead.

“That was one of the King’s signature songs from his Vegas show. Did you like the white leathers with the rhinestones? I save that for special occasions.”

He looked across the table past Shelby to sneak a peek at himself in the two-way mirror.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral, Miss Darla, or your compadre here,” Shelby said, nodding towards Uther.

“We were busy,” said Darla.

Shelby was working the pouch of tobacco in his mouth from side to side, spitting every couple of minutes into a jumbo Ole Miss plastic drink cup that had a cartoon on it of Colonel Reb, the former, but still much loved, Ole Miss mascot.

“Pardon me, young man, but I’m not sure we’ve been formally introduced,” said Tommy to Uther. “Are you part of this investigation, or are you just here to service the Sheriff’s tobacco habits? No offense Sheriff.” Tommy winked at Shelby.

“This is our, well, this here is Uther Johnson,” said Shelby.

“Uther Pendragon Johnson,” said Uther.

“So you can differentiate him from all the Uther Johnsons in the phone book,” said Shelby. “He is more or less on loan to us from Jackson State. Uther Pendragon does stuff with the computer. He’s out at the FUSION Center.”

 “Well, beg my pardon, I didn’t know Reverend Jimmy’s murder was an internet crime,” said Tommy.

 “Once again I will ask, what is our mission for this and every other day, my fellow law enforcement professionals?” said Shelby. “That includes you, Mr. Uther.”

“We’re here to make sure you don’t end up looking like a fool,” said Darla.

“Score one for the distaff side,” said Shelby. “And given those marching orders, what is our course?”

Tommy gathered his notes and stood up to speak.

“No need for that,” said Shelby. “This ain’t a high school commencement.”

Tommy looked around once or twice for no good reason, sat down, and began reading from his notes. “We got what we need to charge him. That dirt ball Nicoletti has motive, opportunity, and we have an unimpeachable eyewitness, one of the biggest philanthropists in the magnolia state. Told me to give the reward to the Mississippi Police Officers’ Benevolent Fund. The district attorney, he told me he couldn’t wait to get Marietta up on the stand. Says her testimony alone is enough to convict.”

Shelby looked over at Darla. “In case you’re wondering, this is my one and only venture at consensus management. So object now, or forever…well, you know how the rest goes.

“Tommy’s got a strong case,” she said. “Charge Nicoletti if you want to. I’m sure you can get an indictment and, in this state, maybe even a conviction.”

“That is the general idea behind the initiative,” said Shelby.

“Tell you the best part,” said Tommy. “Those inmates up at Larchmont, as a population, they don’t cotton to abortion. Except for the pimps who don’t want the lost income from a whore’s pregnancy. But most of the inmates is evangelicals and can’t abide the taking of a life. The dago doc better watch his step or he’ll find justice at the end of a shiv.”

“I’m sorry, but this whole thing doesn’t make any sense to me,” said Darla. “First of all, whatever you think of Dr. Nicoletti, he’s not a hothead. He’s not someone who acts without thinking things through. If he was trying to keep the clinic open, what good would it do to kill Reverend Aldridge? That would, in fact, it has made Reverend Aldridge a martyr. House Bill 674 only needs a handful more votes to pass. The newspapers think they’ll get the numbers. Reverend Aldridge’s death hasn’t helped Dr. Nicoletti’s cause. Just the opposite.”

“Who says murder always makes sense?” said Tommy.

“Fair point,” said Shelby. “So what about the so-called mystery money? Do we know any more there?”

“We know a lot more,” said Darla. “We’ve got solid evidence that the bills came from customers at Continental Conway’s. Some of his customers had written their name and phone number on bills they gave Conway’s girls.”

“What’d you do, call the damn numbers?” said Tommy, like it was joke.

“You always want to be careful who you give your phone number to,” said Darla. “Just FYI.”

“This is some interesting police work,” said Shelby. “So how did Conway get a hold of the money?”