With Deadly Intent (6 page)

She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. She didn't need a man. Hadn't Mitch taught
her marriage wasn't the answer to loneliness?

She grabbed the phone receiver and punched in her father's number. “Morning, Dad,” she
said, when he came on the line. “Were you able to get Oren out of jail?”

“Yeah. He's staying at Helen's.” He let out a noisy breath. “The prosecuting attorney
says his apartment is off limits. My house is too since I have physical evidence
pertaining to his case in the basement lab.”

“How's he holding up emotionally?”

“Depressed. And I sure as hell can't blame him for that. He resigned from his job. Said
he didn't want to hurt Senator Halliday's election chances.”

“It's not fair.” She fished an antacid from a bottle on the nightstand. “Simon says even
if he's proven innocent, his career in public relations is over.”

“He's probably right. Worse luck.”

The muscles at the back of her neck drew tight. “Have you processed any of the physical
evidence yet?”

“Not a lot. I have a case waiting on San Juan Island and another on Shaw.” He grunted. “I
have a hunch Tom's farming me out. He figures this case will make him a star. And he
doesn't want me to find anything that'll prove he's all wet. Did you learn anything from
Kittredge?”

As she was about to answer, her alarm went off. She punched the alarm button and got out
of bed. “I have to get ready for work.” She cradled the receiver between cheek and
shoulder and began to pull the blankets into place. “Don't be surprised if you see my
car go down the drive late tonight or early tomorrow. Personnel's been bugging me to use
my vacation time. Think I'll take a couple weeks and come help you.”

“Hallelujah!” B.J. shouted. “Honey, when Tom finds out he's going to turn six shades of
purple. But everybody in this county knows damned well I need an assistant, and they
sure as hell can't object if you're willing to work for free.”

His delighted chuckle bubbled over the line and she smiled. He loved to topple pompous,
self-important people. “See you when I get there,” she said, and hung up.

By the time she'd showered and dressed, the odor of fresh-brewed coffee filtered into the
bedroom. She dabbed on make-up and gave her hair a twitch or two with the curling iron.
When she could think of nothing else to delay her, she squared her shoulders and marched
down the hall. This was her apartment—hiding in the bedroom because of some man was pure
nonsense.

“Good morning,” Simon said, as she appeared. “Sit down. Breakfast's all ready.” His eyes
were clear, his face clean-shaven, his damp hair neatly combed.

“But I don't usually eat...”

“Please.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Consider this a peace offering. After you've
eaten maybe you'll feel mellow enough to forgive me for my big mouth.”

She perched on the edge of the chair, her back ramrod stiff. He must want something,
otherwise why had he stuck around?

He poured coffee for both of them, then opened the oven, took out a saucer-sized cinnamon
roll with melted butter dripping down the sides and set it in front of her.

The spicy fragrance started her mouth to watering. Blast the man, by some strange
coincidence he'd chosen her favorite confection. She took a quick gulp of coffee to stem
sudden hunger. “Mrs. Magee's Bakery is a ten-block round trip. Were you up all night?”

“Nope. Slept good, for a change.” He brought a roll for himself and sat down opposite
her. “I took an early morning run. Haven't felt like it in quite awhile.” He cut off a
piece of the caramelized crust with his fork, took a bite, and a blissful expression
settled over his face. “Just like my mother used to make.” Laughter glinted in his eyes.
“Trite, but true.”

They ate in silence for several minutes. Occasionally, Amy glanced at him through lowered
lashes and caught him doing the same. She almost giggled. Their stiff, standoffish
manner reminded her of her cat, Marcus, when he met up with another tom.

Simon swallowed the last of his coffee and set down his cup. “I've decided to do a
run-down on Elise.”

Amy studied him over the rim of her cup. “You think that's a good idea?”

He leaned forward. “I have to, Amy. She ... she's messed up my head.” The skin of his
face whitened over his cheek bones and around his mouth. “I can't remember Julie right
anymore.”

Amy's throat closed up. Mitch had never loved her like that. Never. Not even in the very
beginning when he'd been so full of pretty words and promises. “Where are you going to
start?” she asked, when she got her voice under control.

“With Dr. Coskun Tambor. I'm going to pretend I'm a patient—at first. If he knows I'm a
reporter, he might not see me at all.”

“What if Elise has told him about you?”

He smiled. “I'm going to use a friend's name and press card. People are strange. Some
will babble away to a reporter when they wouldn't give anyone else the time of day”

Laugh lines fanned out from his eyes and an unexpected dimple appeared in one cheek.
“I'll go early and try a little charm on the ladies in the staff.”

Amy smiled faintly. “Is that ethical?”

He sobered. “I'm prepared to do whatever it takes.”

“Does that include having your blood drawn?”

He looked startled. “My blood! What for?”

She concealed her amusement. “Endocrinologists treat glandular problems. Their tests are
usually done on blood.”

Simon shook his head. “No way. Not on me. I detest needles.”

Amy shrugged, gathered up the last few cinnamon-coated crumbs and licked her fingertip.
“Would you call me, if you learn anything helpful?” She found one of her business cards.
“You can reach me here at the apartment or at the beach house on Lomitas.” She wrote the
number on the back of the card.

He got to his feet. “Thanks for everything, Amy. I'll keep you posted.”

She followed him to the door and stuck out her hand. When he clasped it, she said, “Sorry
I was so touchy last night.”

He gripped her hand hard. “My fault. I'm an insensitive bastard these days. I didn't mean
to insinuate that you pick up men all the time.”

She withdrew her hand. “Did you think I brought you here to seduce you?”

“It happens a lot when you bum around the world.”

She scarcely heard his comment. “Me? Seduce a man?” She made a harsh, bitter sound.
“That's a laugh.”

He cocked his head and peered down at her. “Why not for God's sake? You're an attractive
woman.”

Without any warning at all, her carefully glued edges came unstuck. A terrible quivering
began inside of her, her face wobbled, her bottom lip trembled. “I have to go
very
soon,” she rasped. She managed to get him outside and the key turned in
the lock before the first sob tore loose from her aching chest.

Others followed as she slid down the door and put her head on her bent knees. She
clutched her stomach as sobs convulsed her. They doubled her over in repeated spasms so
excruciating she half expected some vital organ to burst and erupt through her mouth.

At last, drained dry as ashes, she blew her nose and struggled to her feet. As she
started toward the bathroom to bathe her swollen eyes, someone tapped softly on the
door. She steadied her voice. “Who is it?”

“Simon. I forgot my raincoat.”

She opened the door a few inches and thrust out the coat. Simon stuck his foot in the gap
and shoved. “I'm coming in.”

“Go away.” She pushed with all her strength, but proved no match for him.

He eased the door open and she turned her back to him. “Are you all right?” he asked, his
tone soft.

“You heard?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“I guess you loosened a chink in the dam.”

“Shrinks tell me it's good to let go.”

“A lot they know. I feel like I've been run over by a truck.”

He cleared his throat and patted her shoulder. “People need you, Amy—your father, your
aunt, and especially Oren.”

His awkward attempt to comfort her only made her more aware of her shortcomings. She
wagged her throbbing head. “I don't know, Simon. I bolstered Mitch until he sapped all
my strength. I'm not sure I can do it again.”

He turned her around and gave her a stern look. “I may not know you well, but I'd bet
money you'd never let a friend down.”

“I already did. I should have gone to Elise and Oren's apartment Friday night, then all
this might not have happened.”

“And if I'd stayed in town six months ago and done what I should have, Elise might still
be alive. We can't change all that, Amy. Still, if we can find the reasons behind what's
happened, we might help ourselves ... and Oren.”

She managed a half-hearted smile. “I'll do my best, Professor Kittredge.”

He laughed out loud. “I do tend to lecture, don't I?” He grazed her shoulder with a
gentle cuff. “Socks up, partner.” He snatched his raincoat from the floor where it'd
landed and strode out. In a few minutes, his cheery whistle spiraled up the stairwell.

That evening as she and Gail Wong were leaving work and getting off the elevator, Simon
dashed up to them. A green wool driving cap was cocked at a rakish angle atop his head
and excitement glowed in his face. “Let's go grab a hamburger,” he said. “I've got lots
to tell you.”

Gail glanced from Simon to Amy and her mouth rounded into an “O.” Her thoughts showed so
plainly that Amy smiled and introduced her to Simon. “We're working on a private
project,” she said, feeling she had to explain his presence. Too late, she realized her
words would only pique Gail's interest more.

“Call me,” Gail said. She shot Amy a threatening look and scooted out the door.

Amy and Simon located a hole-in-the-wall diner and huddled over a clean but age-yellowed
table splotched with cigarette bums. “A Mrs. Michaels is filling in until the doctor
finds a replacement for Elise,” Simon said. “Evidently she's been with the doctor for
years and practically runs the office single-handedly.”

Amy nodded. “She's the one Elise phoned the night she disappeared. According to her,
Elise sounded terrified of Oren. And she claims Oren had beaten Elise in the past.”

Simon's mouth twisted.
"Yesterday,
I might have believed her story.
Today,
I have my doubts. I asked her if Elise made a habit of associating with abusive men. She
said, ‘Oh, yes. One by the name of Simon Kittredge not only abused her, but cleaned out
her bank account and left her with a pile of bills.'” His fingers curled into a fist. “I
did not mistreat her, and I paid the bills—all of them—from the day she moved in.”

“Perhaps Mrs. Michaels is one of those women who likes to create juicy gossip.”

“Maybe.” Simon narrowed his eyes. “Either way, I don't like it.”

Amy shifted her position to allow a pony-tailed young man with a dishtowel tied around
his waist to set bacon-cheese burgers and cups of coffee in front of them. Silence fell
between them until she roused herself enough to ask his impression of the doctor.

“Nervous.” Simon took a swallow of coffee and set down his cup. “I'd better start at the
beginning. He's one of those dark-haired, melancholy-eyed men that women find so
attractive. Has a trace of an accent. Pakistani, I think.”

Simon took a bite of his hamburger and chewed it thoughtfully. “I try to sense people's
moods, to watch for any inconsistencies that'll give me an edge. The man kept repeating
questions. Never flickered an eyelash when I told him my condition had begun while in
pursuit of a yeti in Tibet.”

Amy giggled. “What condition is that?”

Simon's lips twitched. “Elephantiasis congenita cystica.”

“He really must have been out of it. Any second year medical student knows that's a
tropical disease.”

“Right.” Simon picked up a french fry and used it to accent his words. “Why, I asked
myself, should he be so distracted? I decided a frontal attack might shake loose
something of interest.”

He dunked the french fry in a glob of ketchup and bit off a piece. “I plopped my friend's
press card on the doctor's desk and asked him how well he knew Elise. The man's face
turned the color of wet putty. He said she'd been his nurse for three years, otherwise
he knew nothing.”

A sudden hope electrified Amy. She leaned toward Simon in eager anticipation. “Do you
believe him?”

He shrugged. “Something had him uptight. He kept fussing with the things on his desk and
repeatedly touching a photograph of him, his wife, and six daughters.”

Some of her enthusiasm dwindled away. This wasn't a movie where a new suspect came on
scene just when the star's situation looked hopeless. “Doctors get nervous about
publicity. If it shows him in a bad light, it could affect his practice.”

“Hm-m-m, that could have been his problem. Still, he refused to let me copy Elise's
personnel records, until I pointed out the court would probably subpoena them anyway.
Finally we struck a bargain—the records for my word that he'll not be mentioned in the
article he thinks I'm writing.”

Amy scooted her chair closer. “Anything in the records we can use?”

“Not much. You might be interested in knowing her blood is type B, Rh positive. Seems one
of the doctor's daughters had surgery and all of his employees donated blood. Elise was
thirty-five, I didn't know that. She looked much younger.”

Amy smiled to herself at his remark—applying the right make-up to look younger was a
talent women learned when they saw thirty approaching. “Dad'll be happy to learn her
blood type. He has a number of stains to analyze.”