My cell phone rang.
“She’s on the move,” Mechanic said. “Black Audi A8. Sports package. She’s heading to the Eisenhower.”
“Is she alone?” I asked.
“Just her and one of those tiny yelpy dogs sitting on her lap. Damn hot for a doctor.”
“Times have changed since we were growing up.”
“Getting a little sick might not be so bad if she’s the one taking care of you.”
“Actually, it would be,” I said. “She’s a head doctor, not a urologist. Keep close, but be careful. She’s a firecracker. I’m over here in Wicker Park. The husband is inside a building next to a wireless store and guitar shop. No signage and bars across the windows. Let’s see what surprises our dynamic duo has in store for us.”
“Copy that.”
I pulled up the browser on my phone and googled the address. It brought up a street map that had a photo of the front of the building as well as the rest of the block. I moved the arrow on the screen, which moved the images and my point of view several blocks west of the building as if I were actually driving down the street. I reversed course and held down the opposite arrow. This brought me back east all the way to the expressway. There was no name or any other identifier to the building other than the address painted on the corner.
I dialed Carolina’s number. She answered on the second ring.
“You’re awake,” I said.
“Barely,” she replied. “Why are you up so early on a Saturday?”
“Quivering a radiation.”
“Which would be?”
“Pursuing a persnickety physician.”
“Alliteration so early in the morning?”
“I’m constantly in search of new ways to impress you.”
“Dinner last night wasn’t a bad start.”
“Wait till you get all seven courses.”
She laughed, and I wondered how nice it would be waking up next to her every morning. But it was only a fleeting thought. I was in no mental state to handle a commitment right now.
“I need you to check out an address for me,” I said.
“Saturdays I get time and a half,” she said. “And home-baked desserts. I’ll text you when I have my computer up and running and a cup of coffee in hand.”
Just as I disconnected the call, Mechanic was on the line.
“We’re still on the road,” he said.
“Where in the hell are you going? Canada?”
“Feels like it. She just took the Edens Expressway heading north. She’s been on the phone the entire time. She’s a really fast driver to be a doctor.”
“They’re the worst,” I said. “Everything they tell their patients to do, they do just the opposite. Every time my father gets behind the wheel, he thinks he’s at the Indy 500. There’s something about all that medical knowledge that makes them feel invincible.”
“I feel that way with no medical knowledge.”
“Which is why I always pick you on my team.”
I decided to try a different surveillance position. I moved the car toward the corner of Division, then turned it facing south on Wood. I could see the front of the building as well as the entrance to the parking lot in the rear. There were two cameras posted along the roofline and one posted on the corner near the walkway that led down the side of the building. What kind of building sitting in the middle of a small row of storefronts needed this kind of security? A steady stream of foot traffic passed, most of it going into the wireless store, but no one going into the middle building. Then an Uber pulled up and stopped in front. A young girl got out carrying a canvas duffel bag. She hesitated once she closed the car door, looking left, then right before walking quickly down the pathway.
Fifteen minutes later, a taxi pulled up. The back door opened, and a well-dressed Latina woman somewhere in her forties got out, followed by a girl with a backpack who looked exactly like her, except she was a couple of inches taller and thirty pounds on the lighter side. They made a beeline to the side entrance.
My phone rang.
“We just got off the expressway,” Mechanic said. “Some exit called Willow Road. Not only is she a fast driver, but obviously no one ever taught her how to use turn signals.”
“She still on the phone?”
“Hasn’t gotten off since she got in the car,” Mechanic said. “Damn, these houses are gigantic up here.”
I had a good idea where the good doctor might be going, but it didn’t make complete sense.
“Stay on her, but be easy up there,” I said. “They have a lot of security patrols that don’t take too kindly to us city folk driving through their leafy neighborhoods. Let me know when she reaches her destination.”
I kept watching the front of the building. No one else had gone in, and no one had left. However, a constant flow of people continued to enter the wireless store. I sent the photographs I had taken to Carolina’s cell phone, then turned on Drake’s “God’s Plan” in my playlist. He started rapping about being calm and not wanting trouble and how much of a struggle it was for him to remain peaceful.
Several minutes later, Carolina texted me back. She was logged in to her database and asked me for the address. I sent it to her. She promised to get back to me as soon as she had something. I had visions of her curled up in a chair with one of my shirts draping her toned body, her scent clinging to the fabric inside of my collar. Plans.
Drake belted through my speakers about his lover coming over early in the morning for romance.
Mechanic’s call interrupted the song.
“She just pulled into a big place,” he said. “I can’t see the house from the road, but I can tell it’s a monster. Intercom system attached to the driveway columns. A ton of cameras sitting on top. I stayed back as much as I could, but I’m not sure if they got me or not.”
“What road are you on?”
“Sheridan.”
“Can you see the address from where you are?”
“Give me a sec. I’m gonna use my ’nocs. Place is a damn fortress. Ten thirty-five.”
He confirmed only what I had already suspected. Dr. Gunjan Patel was making a house call to Randolph Gerrigan.
43
CAROLINA CALLED ALMOST TWO hours into my watch. One more girl had gone down the walkway to the building. She was alone. No one had left. Dr. Weems’s Mercedes was still shining out back.
“That building is owned by Good Family Health LLC,” Carolina said. “It’s a Delaware-registered company that has a single proprietor. Her name is Dr. Patricia Whiting, with an address in Lincoln Park.”
“But owns a building in Wicker Park. I wonder what kind of doctor she is.”
“I’m one step ahead,” Carolina said. “Dr. Whiting is an obstetrician who specializes in high-risk pregnancies.”
“Is she a lone wolf or is she part of a medical group?”
“No academic appointments from what I can tell. But I found her name on some pro-life website.”
“She’s a crusader.”
“She is, but for the other team. She performs legal abortions.”
“Thus all the cameras, no signage, and the hidden entrance.”
Why was a big-time Gold Coast doctor like Weems working in this part of the city at an abortion clinic? Was it a coincidence that he’d had so many conversations with Tinsley and that she was pregnant? I suddenly started seeing things differently.
It made perfect sense that their relationship was based on more than art. Weems could’ve counseled Tinsley on abortion and given her access to an out-of-the-way place where she could have one performed. She’d had the abortion and then went away to recover but didn’t tell anyone. Her father, the emergency contact, knew about the pregnancy and abortion, which is why he was so calm about it all. Violet was the anxious one, the one who had taken it upon herself to hire me—and to fire me.
Which meant both parents knew what had happened to their daughter, had probably even been in touch with her. The pregnancy,
the abortion—they wanted all of it to be buried.
It all started coming together.
“Are you still sitting outside?” Carolina said.
“For the time being.”
“Now what will you do?”
“Other than kick the door down like they do on TV?”
“Yes, other than that.”
“I’m gonna quiver another radiation and see if the spider moves.”
“THE GATE IS STARTING to roll back,” Mechanic said, checking back in.
It had been an hour since Dr. Patel had entered the Gerrigan compound.
“Did it just start?”
“Yup. It’s a damn big gate.”
“Whoever’s coming out won’t be there for another thirty seconds or so,” I said. “The driveway loops more than a quarter of a mile off the road. Can you get a good shot of the entrance with your phone?”
“Not really. I’m too far away. It’s grainy at full mag.”
“You have your big camera?”
“Sitting right beside my piece.”
“Whoever or whatever comes through that gate, I want you to shoot. That is, with the camera.”
“Just when I thought I was gonna have a little fun,” Mechanic said. “Hold on while I switch you to Bluetooth.” I heard him moving in the car, then a small crackle and whoosh of air. “Okay, I’m locked in with my camera,” he said. “I can see the nose of the Audi starting to come out the driveway.”
I could hear several clicks in rapid fire.
“She’s turning in my direction.”
Several more clicks.
“Will she be able to see you?” I asked.
“I’m parked behind a delivery truck,” he said. “Wait, there’s someone else in the car with her.”
I heard the shutter going off in rapid fire again.
“You sure they won’t be able to see you?” I asked.
“They’ll see the car, but not me.” Several more clicks. “Wait a sec. I’m putting the camera down.”
“Could you see the passenger?”
“It was a lady. White. Middle aged. Rich looking.”
“What did her hair look like?”
“She needs a new hair stylist.”
“Why?”
“Because one side was a lot longer than the other.”
“Jesus Christ! That’s Violet Gerrigan.”
“The girl’s mother?”
“Bingo.”
“But I thought the old man was messin’ around with the Indian doctor.”
“That’s what Burke told me.”
“And now the wife and mistress are sitting in the same car?”
“So it seems.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never pretended to understand rich people.”
“I think she’s heading back to the expressway.”
“Don’t lose them. Call me back when you know something.”
I LOCKED THE CAR and walked toward the clinic. The wireless store was buzzing. I hugged the corner of the building, then hustled down the walkway. The door was locked. I pushed the intercom button.
“How can I help you?” a woman’s voice came back.
“I’m here to see Dr. Weems,” I said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“It’s a personal matter. I’m here to repossess his car.”
“Repossess his car?”
“Yes, we have a crew on the way to tow it in the next fifteen minutes. Talking to him might save him a lot of embarrassment and a long walk home.”
“Sir, I can’t let you in without an appointment.”
“Then you’ll be nice enough to give Dr. Weems a ride back to Oak Park.”
“One minute, sir.”
It took more like three.
Her voice was a little more anxious this time. “He said to meet him in the back.”
Just as I was turning the corner, Dr. Weems walked out the back door, wearing a different set of scrubs. He frowned when he recognized me. I tried my most charming smile.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said.
“I was gonna ask you the same question.”
“It’s none of your goddamn business.”
“I figured you might say something like that, but I had to ask. I didn’t know you had so many side gigs. Artist, now a private health clinic in Wicker Park. The big shots at Northwestern know about all your extracurriculars?”
“What the hell do you want?”
“The truth about Tinsley Gerrigan.”
“You don’t work for the family anymore. It’s none of your damn business.”
The fact that he knew this confirmed my suspicions that he and his wife were more intertwined in the family drama than I’d first thought.
“I understand the family sees it that way, but I have a different perspective.”
“Which is?”
“I felt like I was used. I don’t like feeling used.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Weems said. “But I think it’s best you leave this whole matter alone. You got paid for your services. Your services are no longer needed. Just let it go.”
“Did they pay you to say that, or did you think of that on your own?”
“You’re a real fuckin’ wiseass.”
“I’ve been called a lot worse.” I smiled. “Tell me something. Was your wife treating Tinsley with TMS?”
“I’m not gonna answer any questions about Tinsley, and you better stop harassing my wife, asshole.”
I tried to ignore the asshole part. In my younger years of less self-restraint, his jaw would’ve been succinctly fractured and sitting on his left shoulder. I was trying to age gracefully. “I didn’t know that asking your wife a few questions about a missing patient amounted to harassment.”
“She asked you nicely to leave her alone, and you keep bothering her. That’s harassment.”
“I get the whole picture now,” I said.
“What picture?”
“Tinsley was pregnant. You work as an anesthesiologist part time at an abortion clinic. That explains why she called you so much. She was probably conflicted with the decision to go through with it. She relied on you for support. You counseled her through the process.”
“Are you done?”
“Lack of denial is often the mask of admission.”
“Take from it what you want. Tinsley made decisions that were her business and no one else’s, especially yours. This is the last time I’m gonna tell you to leave me and my wife the hell alone.”
He stepped forward into my space, close enough I could smell the coffee on his breath. He had me by a good inch or so. He looked like he had played sports in college, but he had gone soft cramming for med school exams with all those late-night pizzas and sodas.
“Now I’m telling you to back the hell off,” he growled.
“Or what?”
We stared at each other. I could tell he was thinking of his next move. He obviously didn’t want to take it any further. Anyone with real intentions would’ve already taken a swing. It was the most important rule in a fight. You wanted to deliver the first blow, not be the one reacting to it. The muscles in his face softened. He had quickly calculated the odds and wisely concluded that they weren’t in his favor.
“You don’t wanna do it,” I said, stepping back a little and giving him an out. “You took your stand; you can be proud of yourself. Now be a good little doctor and go run along back inside before you won’t be able to even crawl in.”
He squeezed his fist a couple of times with flared nostrils, then let his hands fall by his side. He took one last look at me, then retreated inside. I felt fairly confident that this would get the spider to move.
44
I DECIDED I HAD done enough quivering for the day. I felt confident a response would come, and when it did, it would be loud and clear. I would be ready. After a long morning with very little to eat, it was time to
refuel the tank, then fall asleep watching reruns of Barefoot Contessa on the Food Network.
I pulled up to Chilango on Taylor Street, my favorite Mexican street food in the city. The sliver of a restaurant wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but its empanadas were world class. I grabbed two beef and rice and a couple of barbecue chicken so that I could have some left over for tomorrow’s lunch. A tall cup of guava juice to go, and soon I’d be ready for my siesta de la tarde.
The empanadas were the perfect temperature by the time I got home. I poured myself a cold root beer and filled up Stryker’s bowl. I closed the blinds, set the food out on the antique trunk in front of the TV, then stretched out on the couch. Just as I turned to the Food Network, my cell rang.
“I’m parked down here on Elm Street in the Gold Coast just outside of a Barnes & Noble,” Mechanic said.
“One trip to the North Shore, and you’re already turning literary on me?”
“You conveniently forget that I speak three languages fluently to your one,” he said.
“One and a half, thank you. I read somewhere that good sex counts as fluency in the language of love.”
“Across the street there’s a restaurant with a shiny red exterior,” he said. “It’s called Chez Gautier. A few minutes ago, they parked the car with the valet and disappeared inside. There are a couple of tables in the window, but they’re already taken. They must be in the back somewhere.”
“Was it just the two of them?”
“From what I could tell.”
“What about the dog?”
“They didn’t have it with them.”
The Unspoken Page 21