by David Bishop
Jack agreed.
Nora started opening the boxes before asking, “Would you like to see the new outfit I got for my appointment with Dr. Karros?”
“Sure,” Jack said after she had already yanked the taped tissue paper free and folded it back.
“A friend is going to help me with my hair. We’re going for that just got out of a passionate-bed look. I’m using the name Candice Robson—my friends call me Candy.”
“How’d you pick that name?”
“It makes me sound kinda like a centerfold babe, don’t you think?” She grinned.
Jack smiled but kept his thoughts to himself.
Nora held the dress just below her bust while dangling a new pair of patent leather, open-toed high-heeled shoes from the fingers of her other hand. The dress had a high bottom and a low top. “I’ll paint my toenails after my hair’s done.” She put down the shoes and held up a matching handbag. “All business expenses, of course.”
“Of course,” Jack replied, with a gentle shake of his head.
She laid the dress across the open box and modeled a shiny black hat with a wide brim. Then she held up a Beretta Tomcat, thirty-two caliber pistol, saying, “And no modern girl’s outfit is complete without a pretty-woman gun.”
After Nora left his office Jack tried to picture how she would look dolled up as Candy Robson—no doubt more stimulating than Sweet Connie.
Chapter 37
Nora plumped up her breasts using her fingertips, checked to be sure her pretty-woman gun didn’t bulge her soft fabric purse, popped a piece of gum in her mouth, tossed her head back to capture a little attitude, and opened the door to the office of John Karros, Doctor of Psychiatry.
The receptionist sat behind her desk in a sleeveless dress, eating from a bowl of what looked to be plain yogurt sprinkled with crushed Oreos—a health food and pig-out meal rolled into one. Despite her unusual eating habits, she was a solid woman with bodybuilder biceps. She picked up her intercom line.
“Ms. Candice Robson is here for your ten-thirty, doctor.”
A moment later, a door opened off to the side of the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Dr. Karros. Please come in, Ms. Robson.” He held the door open causing her to turn slightly to move past him. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and was fashionably dressed with a splash of expensive cologne.
She sensed his eyes on her fanny as she walked deeper into his office.
“Please take a seat, wherever you’ll be comfortable.”
Nora chose a chair not visually blocked by his desk. Dr. Karros took the chair across from her and crossed his legs, taking a moment to straighten the crease in his pleated taupe trouser leg.
“My receptionist tells me you called yesterday and got an appointment for this morning. Why don’t you begin by telling me why we had to meet so quickly?”
Nora took two chews on her gum and wriggled in her chair; the doctor watched the jiggle in her abundant cleavage. “Well, Dr. Karros, I’m from Jackson Hole. That’s the Jackson Hole in Wyoming. I come to DC once a year, and also the Big Apple, that’s New York City, once a year. I tell the folks back home the trips are about visiting museums and historic buildings, but the truth is I come to kick up my heels and have a good time.”
“Were you born in Jackson Hole?”
“Oh, gosh, no. My folk’s place, where I was born, was a little dirt-water town outside Jackson Hole, so tiny you’d miss it if you blinked driving through. I met my old man in the local tavern where I worked and he drank. My husband, a much older man than me, died a few years ago. Anyways, he left me about four million in bonds and cash. I always envied them rich folks living in the Hole, so I moved into town and started getting involved in civic stuff.”
“I see.”
She crossed her legs. “I’m a single woman now. Well, actually a widow.” She stood, put her hands on her hips, and turned in a tight circle being careful to keep the brim of her hat between her face and the camera position Jack had described. “I can’t wear no outfits like this back home. You like it?”
“It’s very nice, Ms. Robson.” He smiled. “But how does all this bring you to me?”
Nora leaned forward as she retook her seat. “Well, Doctor, you help folks with their thinking, don’t you? I mean, folks who are troubled by somethin’ in their past, things that’s keeping them awake nights. Stuff like that. Right?”
“You could say it that way. Yes.”
“Good. Now, I can’t be talking about this to nobody in Jackson Hole. I head back there in a few days. Anyways, that’s why I needed your help right now. Today.”
“Then we should get started. Be assured whatever you say is confidential.”
“It’s like this.” She put her hands flat on her lap, letting her thumbs circle down the inside line of her thighs. “Four days ago I was driving down some street. I don’t remember the name of the street, not sure I ever knew it. Anyways, some old lady just comes out in front of me. I mean like right in front of me. In the middle of the block, not in no crosswalk where she shoulda been. Anyways, I hit her. That is, my car hit her.”
“Was she all right?”
“I didn’t stick around, but I doubt it. I felt the bumps. My car went all the way over her. It scared me so I kept going. There were people around who coulda done anything I coulda done. The papers said she died.”
“What have you done since?”
“I had my friend’s car steam-cleaned; I forgot to tell ya, I was driving his car, not my rental.” She crossed her arms below her breasts and shuddered; he watched. “I feel like a criminal, Dr. Karros, and it weren’t my fault. She shoulda been in the crosswalk.”
Karros uncrossed his legs, this time without concern for the creases in his trousers.
Nora put her fingers to her lips and stretched her chewing gum out from her teeth that held the other end. “The article in the paper said she was eighty-two and had that Alzheimer thing. So the old lady probably didn’t know what happened anyways.” Nora shrugged dismissively. “I mean, if my mind went, I doubt I’d wanna live. Heck, she just mighta been glad it happened. Anyways, that’s what I need you to do. Make it get out of my head.” Nora ended her statement with a perfunctory nod.
Dr. Karros’s eyes widened. “It doesn’t work like that, Ms. Robson. Have you considered talking to the police?”
“Lord no.” She popped her gum. “If that old woman’s family were to find out I had a healthy chunk of change, they’d sue me and take it all. Then how would I live? I ain’t going back to hustling drinks. I mean, it’s not like I meant to hit the old broad. Besides, like I said, she shoulda been in the crosswalk.” Nora hung her head and waited for Karros to ask more.
He ran his fingertips through the hair above his ear. “Where were you coming from when you hit her?”
“Now that’s a bit embarrassing to talk about.”
“Everything you say is confidential. It might help me figure how I can help you.”
“Well, okay. I was out the night before partying some. You understand. I spent the night in a hotel, don’t remember which one. I was with some other folks. I got us the penthouse. We stayed up almost all night. When I came to, everyone had split. Don’t you go misunderstanding now. I was always faithful to my old man. But now he’s gone, so what’s the harm in me having some real fun a couple of weeks a year when I get outta Jackson Hole?”
She pursed her lips, then continued. “Anyways, in the mornin’ I headed back to where I’m staying with a friend. A man friend. He don’t like me giving out his name or nothing, so you gotta use this here cell phone number.” She snapped open her purse, slid a piece of paper part way out, and read him the number.
“I believe my receptionist has your number.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. So, whatdaya think? Can you give me a pill? Maybe a shot. Or one of them exercise things they do in the horror movies? Hypnotize me. Something?”
Dr. Karros closed his eyes for a moment. “What you’re feeling isn’t a sympt
om that a pill can stop. What’s keeping you awake is your inner voice telling you to take responsibility for your part in what happened.”
Nora made a tisking sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Didn’t you hear me, Doc? It’d cost me big time. I can’t be taking that chance. I mean, the old lady weren’t no healthy mother with young’ns to raise. Her life was about over anyways.”
They sat looking at each other until Nora suddenly stood and huffed. “Dr. Karros, I’m disappointed. Truly, I am. I thought you was reputable. I mean, the yellow pages says you are. I’ll never come back or send any of my friends.” She reached for the doorknob and then turned back. “That confidential thing still goes, right?”
“Right.”
She stomped out, wagging her behind.
Chapter 38
“Jack, some guy named Dean Trowbridge is on hold,” Mary Lou said. “He’s angry, yelling and demanding to speak with you. He claims he’s Allison Trowbridge’s father.”
Allison Trowbridge was the patient of Chris Andujar Nora had called on without being expected. Jack had been guessing Ms. Trowbridge may have been blackmailed over an IOU from Luke Tittle’s casino. If he had that right, it would establish that Tittle’s records had not been lost.
“Mr. Trowbridge. Jack McCall. How may I be of help?” Nora had stepped in Jack’s office when she heard Mary Lou say the name Trowbridge.
His voice sounded like a load of gravel sliding off the back of a truck. “Mr. McCall, do you know who I am?”
“Mr. Dean Trowbridge, father of Allison Trowbridge. At least that’s the name you gave when you called. Who are you?”
“I am Dean Trowbridge, a member of the board of directors of First International Bancorp and a major owner of real estate in and around the District of Columbia.”
“Mark me down as impressed, Mr. Trowbridge, if that’s who you are. Now, what can I do for you?” Jack wanted to stick a pin in the stuffed shirt, but decided it would be best to first learn whether Trowbridge would admit or deny Jack’s suspicion.
“One of your detectives came to my daughter Allison’s home a few days ago. I demand you leave her alone.”
“Listen. First off, I don’t know you are Dean Trowbridge. Until I do, I’ll not discuss this with you. If you are who you say and this is important to you, come down here and show your identification. Then we’ll talk. If you are Allison’s father, you know what I’m saying is for her protection. Anyone could claim to be you on the phone.” Jack put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Let’s find out how concerned he is.”
“I’m not used to being spoken to in that manner, Mr. McCall.” Jack moved the phone from his ear when Trowbridge raised his voice. “I’ve been an advisor to the last three presidents.”
“Then call one of them, but if you wish to talk with me, you have my conditions. Call back when you’re ready to meet them.” Jack hung up confident the passion he had heard over the phone would not allow Trowbridge to let the matter drop.
Max, who had walked in just before Jack hung up, said, “A progress report, boss. The owners of Clark’s Janitorial go to and from work. Other than that, they’ve gone out to dinner and a movie. Donny’s routine remains the same. He works, and every few days a different one of his dancers waltzes him home.” Max groaned gleefully. “This fellow has captured the real meaning of being an equal opportunity employer. I gave Nora all the written reports and the time sheets for my crew, and the pictures we’ve taken. I don’t believe there’s anything there that would interest you. Do we keep it up?” He unscrewed the cap off a bottle of spring water and took a drink.
“Keep it up on Donny. Drop the Clarks and put that manpower on Art Tyson. He’ll be more adept at spotting a tail. If we’re lucky, he’s arrogant enough not to notice. And be sure to use men who are not chummy with Tyson.”
Mary Lou stuck her head through the door. “Mr. Trowbridge is back on the phone.”
Jack put the call on a speaker phone. “Mr. Trowbridge, when would you like to come in?”
“If you’ll send a car, I’ll come now. I don’t appreciate your style, Mr. McCall, but your point regarding whether or not I am Dean Trowbridge is valid.”
“Thank you for that, sir, but we don’t have cars and drivers to pick people up. You’ll have to get here on your own.”
“I don’t drive myself and I won’t ride in a common taxi. My chauffeur has my limo in for servicing. It’s urgent that we talk.”
Max signaled that he would go.
“I’ll send Max Logan,” Jack said. “Mr. Logan is a detective in our firm. He is not a chauffeur, so don’t expect him to kowtow.”
“I will even open the door to his automobile myself, Mr. McCall. I’ll be ready in two hours. I gave my address to your receptionist. Is that agreeable?”
“Mr. Logan will ask for your identification after you get in his car, before he begins to drive.” Jack looked up at Max and grinned. “Mr. Logan will be there in two hours.”
“Trowbridge is here, boss,” Max said. “I put him in the small conference room up front. I ain’t never seen a man more full of himself than this jerk-off. Like you suggested, I let him open the car door himself. He pushed it open with the side of his hand, as though doing so would somehow soil him. On the way here he ran his mouth about why he’s a blue-blooded American.”
“Describe him.”
“Had a face lift—too few wrinkles and no eye bags, white hair, trimmed eyebrows, brown eyes, and Clark Kent glasses. I’d put him at six feet with a drinker’s gut, and tiny everywhere else. Hands are heavily arthritic. He’s wearing a black custom-made suit, and a white shirt with black accessories. And he’s as nervous as a blind cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Socks?”
“Now, you’re testing me, boss. They was gray. He holds ‘em up with them little garter belts for men. When we got here, I surprised him by opening his door. He flashed ‘em when he stepped out.”
Jack grinned and motioned for Max to take a seat. “I think his daughter’s been blackmailed over IOUs to Luke Tittle. Were you familiar with Luke’s Place?”
“As a cop and a time or two as a customer, they poured my favorite Irish.”
“Give me an overview of his joint.”
“Weren’t no joint.”
Eric Dunn had made that same point.
“Luke’s Place was one of the Beltway’s fanciest. He also ran a small, classy backroom casino offering roulette, craps, and blackjack every night. Tuesdays and Fridays featured high-stakes poker. No slots. Only serious, well-heeled gamblers walked the red carpet into Tittle’s backroom.”
“The police give him trouble?”
“Nope. Luke’s had a reputation for being safe for the wealthy with the weakness. The fix was in. We never raided the place until after Harry Mandrake became chief.”
Jack put his hand on Max’s shoulder. “Come in with me. I’d like your read on this guy’s story.”
“And yank his chain by having the driver sit in.”
Jack laughed. “That too. This guy’s used to having his own way, so let’s keep him a little off balance. We need to establish that he’s not in charge.”
“Like you done on the phone.”
Jack nodded as they walked out of his office.
Mr. Trowbridge was holding his hat when Jack and Max entered, an unlit cigarette moving in the corner of his mouth like a fishing bobber in a choppy lake. He gave Jack the up-and-down look as if he were about to recommend a new haberdasher.
“Are you Jack McCall?”
“Yes. How do you do, Mr. Trowbridge.”
“Your man here wouldn’t let me smoke in his car. You mind?” He jutted out his jaw that held the white cylinder between his bleached teeth.
“Our office is nonsmoking.”
Trowbridge jerked the cigarette from his lips and stuffed it into a silver case he took from his inside pocket.
Jack made a dismissive hand gesture. “I apologize for all this
ID stuff. I had to be certain before discussing your daughter.”
Trowbridge glared at Jack and cleared his throat. “May we speak in private?”
“This is as private as it gets. I need a witness as to who said what. Mr. Logan stays.”
With that Max stepped over and offered to take Trowbridge’s coat. The older man unbuttoned the front and turned with the familiar grace of one accustomed to having others remove his coat. “Please be careful,” he said, “the coat’s imported cashmere. I bought it last spring in London.”
“I’ll hang it on this here coat tree.” Max pointed the hanger. “Would that be all right, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you, my good man.”
Trowbridge made himself comfortable in a swivel chair, turning it just far enough to angle his back toward Max. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and intertwined his gnarly fingers.
“As much as it pains me to admit it, Mr. McCall, you were right. You had no way of knowing that I was the Dean Trowbridge.” He cleared his throat and firmly pushed his glasses tight against his face. “I will not permit you to tape this conversation. I’m here to demand you cease harassing my daughter.”
Jack sat still for a moment before saying, “Our meeting is not being taped. Mr. Trowbridge, you’re a successful man. I respect your accomplishments, but knock off the demanding. That style doesn’t work here.”