by Rob Cornell
He studied the list in silence for a couple minutes. “I don’t know her,” he said. “But Eddie told me about the Amanda girl.”
“Any of the others?”
“The Warren guy. I think that’s him—” he cut himself short. “I think I recognize the name.”
You didn’t have to be a PI or Wonder Woman with her Rope of Truth to know Shawn had told me a fib. “I know what happened with Warren, if that’s why you’re afraid to talk about him.”
“The stairs?”
I nodded. “Broken arm for a broken arm.”
“And Hunter.” Shawn’s eyes watered. He swiped at them and took a deep breath to knock off the sadness that clearly wanted to lie upon him. “Can we talk about something else?”
I didn’t know what else to talk about, though. He didn’t recognize Bobby. He didn’t know of anyone that might be after Eddie except, perhaps, Warren. I could see the final curve of this circle I had already traveled several times. “What do you know about Warren?”
“What I know about him, I only know because Eddie told me. I’m five years older than Ed and I went to private school.” He shrugged. “Before the funeral, I barely knew him, let alone anyone from his school.”
“How does Hunter fit in?”
“He stood up for Eddie. Who knows why? Hunter had anger management issues. I guess he figured it was a good excuse to get some aggression out.”
Bump, bump, bump went my head against the wall. No point in following a line of questioning about Hunter, unless I wanted to betray Eddie’s secret to Shawn. Which left me back with Warren. Déjà vu. “Did you ever meet Warren?”
Shawn shook his head. “Like I said, I didn’t know the guy outside of what Eddie told me.” He sucked on his teeth, wheels turning. “You think this Warren guy finally made good on his promise?”
Unless Eddie had left someone off his list, someone he didn’t know had a grudge. “I gave the police everything I know, but they’re stuck looking at it as an accident. So if it was Warren, we would have to find out for ourselves.”
“Maybe it was an accident.”
Wouldn’t that make life so much easier? We could blame it on the Arndt family curse. All the Arndts were destined to die of unnatural means because an ancestor had pissed off a troop of gypsies.
I’d run out of questions for Shawn, and didn’t want to overstay my welcome while he mourned the loss of his cousin. “Thanks for letting me grill you. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry I hit you.”
I wished he hadn’t reminded me. The whole one side of my face began to throb at the mention. I stood, and Shawn escorted me to the door. He stopped me before I headed out.
“Eddie had a lot of issues. Who wouldn’t after coming home to find his dad had killed his little brother and mom before offing himself?”
He paused, as if waiting for something from me. I didn’t have much to add.
“I guess what I’m trying to say…he’s been looking for answers for a long time. He talked to me a lot about that day, how he was sure someone else was responsible. Sometimes he almost had me convinced.”
“But?”
“I appreciate you helping Eddie and not charging him for it. I was off base about what I said earlier. You seem to have his best interests at heart. I just don’t want to see you waste your time.”
“I appreciate that, but I’ve got the bee in my bonnet. I’ll see this through to the end if I can.” I turned to leave, stopped short, and turned back. “One last question?”
“Whatever I can do to help.”
“Did you ever notice a torn sticker on Eddie’s bedroom door?”
His brow wrinkled. “A sticker?”
“Guns ‘N’ Roses.”
“You mean back then? While Eddie was still living with his parents?” He shrugged. “Sorry, but it doesn’t ring a bell. He had lots of stickers on his door, though. I remember anything that had a sticky backing went on that door.”
I thanked him again and left.
Chapter 24
Had to be the longest Friday of my life. Which was why I drove straight home, totally forgetting that I had skipped out on the bar’s busiest night of the week. I didn’t realize my mistake until I was already in bed. I was surprised Paul hadn’t called, but he must have guessed the case had me tied up. If I kept this up, I really would have to give Paul a raise. Better yet, I could promote him to manager and not let the bar chew up so much of my life.
These thoughts racing through my head, I fell asleep.
The following morning I woke up to the sun casting a square of light from the window across my face. While in the shower, I took stock.
Shawn hadn’t recognized the sketch of Bobby, which ruled Bobby out as playing Eddie in order to play me. Shawn also claimed he hadn’t spoken to anyone about Eddie’s personal life. On top of that, he didn’t know about the sticker. So, when it came to Eddie’s case, I had nothing except another run at Warren.
Where did this leave me?
I mulled it over as I got dressed and had the answer when I retrieved my phone from the nightstand. The advantage of working two separate cases (now that I’d established these were, in fact, separate cases) was that if you grinded to a halt on one, you could move to the other and let the first sit with the subconscious to have a private chat.
I had forgotten about Sheila’s promised email with the names of Lincoln Rice’s “Club Med.” So I switched horses to see how far I could ride this one. I brought up my email account on my iPhone and found her message in my inbox.
Here are the names, the message read. Some spellings and such might be off.
A list of three names followed. I didn’t recognize any of them, but I never thought I would. Just names. One of them might lead me to my daughter. Now I had the edge in Bobby’s race, had info that he did not. I felt a warm flow of self-satisfaction until I opened the email message that followed Sheila’s. The subject line read: Information About Crime Scene.
I didn’t recognized the address, but the subject line lured me in like it was meant to:
Dear Ridley,
I noticed a bunch of police at your friend’s apartment building. I hope your case with him didn’t end as badly as your race with me will. If it makes you feel any better, I saw who visited him last. Even took some pictures. I think you might recognize the face. It’s been interesting watching you work. Got to get back to my own investigation now.
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.”