‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Just taking your pulse,’ George Wiley said.
‘I think my pulse is perfectly fine.’
‘Just routine,’ the doctor told her.
Mildred sighed.
‘I expect you’ll be glad to get home again,’ Wiley said.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Though right now, I’d settle for some more sleep.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Dr Wiley said. ‘Almost done.’
In the dim light she saw him take something from a pocket of his white coat. ‘What now?’ she asked, a little tetchily.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ he said.
Now he was starting to sound almost like Ethan Adams at his most irritating.
He was holding an ophthalmoscope, bending forward.
‘What are you doing?’ Mildred asked, startled again.
‘Just going to take a quick look at the other eye,’ he said.
‘Doctor Adams said I was here tonight so I could rest. He said he’d be here in the morning to look at my eye.’
‘Please just be still, Mrs Becket,’ Dr Wiley told her.
Mildred felt suddenly too nervous to do otherwise, and she was almost getting accustomed to having her eyes examined, but that didn’t mean she liked it, and certainly not when it wasn’t necessary.
The bright light moved away, and she blinked.
‘And now, we’ll just take a look at this,’ Wiley said.
Maybe, Mildred thought, this was another dream, and if it was, she decided it was probably about time she woke up . . .
The doctor was putting both hands around the back of her head, and she realized that he was feeling for the elastic holding the eye shield.
‘I don’t think you should be doing that, Doctor.’ Now she felt agitated. ‘I was told not to touch that.’
‘Who’s the doctor here?’ George Wiley said.
Not a dream, she knew that now, yet still there was a strangely unpleasant quality to what was happening.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘put it back.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Wiley told her. ‘This is for your own good.’
She did not like his tone at all, and what was for her own good? She wished that David would come back, wished she hadn’t pushed him to go out for dinner.
The shield was off and her eye felt naked, vulnerable.
‘Please, Doctor Wiley, put back the shield.’
‘Now, now,’ the doctor said.
He leaned in closer again, placed one finger of his left hand on her eyebrow and his thumb on her cheek, and began to pull open her eye.
‘What are you doing?’ Mildred asked, alarmed.
‘I told you, don’t be silly, Mrs Becket,’ Wiley said.
And then, with her other, better eye, she saw that he had some kind of instrument in his right hand.
‘Get that away from me!’
The doctor leaned in even closer, and suddenly Mildred knew she had to do something she’d never done before.
She screamed – and then she pushed him away, and as he stumbled, his left hand struck her operated eye and she cried out.
‘You stupid woman,’ Wiley snapped.
The door opened.
‘What’s going on?’ David took in the scene, saw his wife cowering against the pillows, the young doctor standing over her. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
Wiley stepped away from the bed, slid his right hand into his pocket. ‘Your wife’s a little upset.’
‘He had something in his hand, David.’ Mildred was breathless. ‘Some kind of instrument. I could see he was going to poke it in my eye, so I screamed and pushed him away and his hand – his knuckles – hit me.’
‘Nonsense.’ Wiley smiled at David. ‘Your wife was having a bad dream. I saw that she’d pulled the shield off her eye, and I was trying to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself.’
‘That’s a lie,’ Mildred protested. ‘I was asleep until you woke me, and started taking my pulse and shining lights in my other eye.’ She felt something trickle out of her operated eye, gasped, raised her hand . . .
‘Don’t touch it,’ David told her. ‘It looks OK, but best not to touch it.’
He was shaking with fury now, the only thing stopping him from punching Wiley the knowledge that getting himself arrested would not help Mildred.
‘I’d like to see that instrument,’ he said.
Wiley laughed. ‘There was no instrument.’
David turned and pressed the red emergency button on the wall.
‘That’s entirely unnecessary,’ Wiley told him.
All traces of humor gone, anger now in his gray eyes.
Something else there, too, David thought.
The young doctor looked thwarted.
David picked up the phone from Mildred’s bedside table, pressed O and waited briefly. ‘Operator, I need you to find Doctor Adams,’ he said. ‘And this is to inform you that I am about to phone the police to report an assault.’
White-faced, Dr George Wiley quickly left the room.
Sam kept his distance, using the small night vision monocular that Saul had given him last Christmas to take a closer look at the house Toni Petit had entered.
Single-storey, frame construction, shingle roof, the house decidedly shabby on the outside, with some empty land to the right and what looked like a couple of garages.
He moved a little closer.
There were lights on in the front of the house, darkness around the back.
He put away the monocular, took out his phone and called Martinez again, got voicemail, gave his location, told him he was going to talk to Toni Petit now.
‘And by the by, our French pal likes playing cop,’ he added. ‘I caught him tailing me here, just about stopped myself kicking the little jerk’s butt. He’s gone now. I’ll call later.’
He slipped the phone back in his pocket and then, on impulse, took it out again and keyed in Joe Duval’s number.
More voicemail, and didn’t anyone pick up anymore?
‘Hey, Joe, it’s Sam Becket, not really sure why I’m leaving this message. Just sharing a weird little hunch with you. No link at all with our case, but I’m out of jurisdiction, so I felt I should maybe tell you that I just tailed a woman named Toni Petit – that’s Petit as in small – to Foster Avenue, Hallandale.’
He explained, quickly and quietly, about Billie Smith wanting to tell him ‘something’ on Thursday the nineteenth and having been missing since then, and about his sudden, probably irrational, suspicion of Toni, his sense that she might know something about the missing woman.
‘Like I said, I’m almost sure this is nothing, but I’m here now.’
He logged the address, ended the call, looked back along the road, checking for Chauvin’s white car or anyone else who might be watching, then returned his attention to the house.
He could not see or hear anything from out here. No TV or conversation or music, no windows open.
That feeling was still with him, a real buzz of something.
He couldn’t officially call in a ‘feeling’, though, certainly not in Hallandale, and especially when it wasn’t even related to a Miami Beach case.
Time to figure out what to tell Toni when he knocked on her front door.
If it even was her door.
For the second time, David hit the wrong speed-dial key on his phone.
‘Damn thing.’
‘Mind your blood pressure,’ Mildred said from the bed, the eye shield having been carefully replaced by him. ‘I’m fine.’
‘And where the hell is Adams?’
‘He’s probably at home,’ she said, ‘or in some restaurant having a good dinner. I’m sure he’ll come when he gets his messages.’
The door opened, and David swung around.
Neither Wiley nor Adams, but a young fair-haired nurse in a pale blue uniform asking if they needed anything.
‘What we need,’ David said, ‘is Doctor Adams.’
‘Doctor Adams is off duty,’ she said, ‘but we have two other on-call—’
‘We need Ethan Adams here, stat, nurse.’ David’s tone was sharp. ‘I’ve told the operator, and now I’m telling you to inform your boss that there has been an assault on my wife – his patient – by one of his doctors, and I’m calling the police.’
The nurse took another step into the room. ‘Ma’am, are you hurt?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Mildred told her. ‘My husband’s a doctor, so—’
‘Will you please just do as I ask, nurse, and go find Doctor Adams,’ David said.
‘I’ll do what I can, sir,’ the nurse said.
‘Now, please,’ he thundered.
The young woman shot him a look of dislike, and departed.
‘My,’ Mildred said, ‘I don’t think I ever heard you really bellow before.’
David shook his head, returned his attention to his phone and, finally, keyed in Sam’s speed-dial number.
Sam was three feet from the pathway to the Petit house when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
He answered, voice low. ‘Dad? What’s up?’
‘Nothing bad, son, don’t worry,’ his father said swiftly. ‘Mildred’s all right. But we’ve had a problem here.’
‘What kind of a problem?’ Sam retreated a few steps. ‘Dad, I’m in the middle of something. Can this wait?’
‘I don’t think so,’ David said. ‘One of the junior doctors here, a man named George Wiley, just assaulted Mildred.’
‘He what?’ Sam, horrified, moved farther into the darkness to the right of the house. ‘Is she hurt?’
‘Not really, and I’m hoping her eye’s OK,’ David said. ‘But this guy scared her half to death.’
‘Tell Samuel I’m fine, please,’ Mildred’s voice called.
‘She says she’s fine,’ David said. ‘Listen, son, I’ve told them to get Doctor Adams here and that I’m calling the police, but I wanted to run it by you first.’
‘Sure.’ Sam’s mind raced. ‘Dad, like I said, I’m in the middle of something, but since the clinic is in jurisdiction, I want you to call Beth Riley, or even the lieutenant. I’m not sure where Al is right now, but even if he was around, I’d rather not risk him losing his temper with this doctor.’
‘How long will you be tied up?’
‘Hard to say,’ Sam said. ‘Do you have those numbers, Dad?’
‘Right here in my phone, just where you programmed them,’ David said. ‘I’ll try Beth first. I don’t feel right about bothering Mike Alvarez.’
‘He won’t mind,’ Sam assured him. ‘Neither of them will.’
‘I’d still like it if you could come by when you’re free, son.’
‘Try keeping me away,’ Sam said.
He turned his phone to silent.
Walked back toward the front door, and knocked.
Waited a moment, then knocked again.
He heard muffled sounds. Voices, he thought, then movement.
‘Who is it?’
Toni’s voice.
‘Toni, it’s Sam Becket.’
There was a brief silence.
‘Sam, what are you doing here?’ Her tone was unfriendly.
‘Could you open the door, Toni?’
‘Just a moment.’
A bolt slid and the door opened.
Toni still wore her black T-shirt and jeans, but her feet were bare, her toenails unpolished but neatly clipped.
‘How did you know where I live?’ she asked, then realized. ‘Did you follow me, Sam?’
‘I did,’ Sam said.
Something passed across her eyes.
Fear, he thought, or maybe just anger.
‘I was concerned about you,’ he said.
‘Do you always follow women you’re concerned about?’
‘You said you had a bad migraine, and I didn’t like to think of you driving home alone.’ He paused. ‘Can I come in?’
‘To be honest, Sam, it’s getting late, and I think it’s kind of creepy you following me like that.’
‘It was an impulse,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.’
‘You have.’
She was not about to let him in, he realized.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll be honest too. I had a hunch, while we were talking, that something else, maybe something bad, was up with you, and I just wanted to ask if I could help you in any way.’
‘Nothing’s happened,’ Toni said. ‘I don’t need any help, though I thank you for the impulse. It was kind.’
‘How’s the head?’
‘Still aching,’ she said tiredly.
Maybe that was all it was, after all, in which case he should leave her in peace, do what she wanted and go away.
People often said he could be like a dog with a big, juicy bone.
‘I promise I won’t stay long,’ he said, ‘but I’m very thirsty. Could you get me some water, or maybe we could have a cup of tea together?’ He paused. ‘Hey, come on, Toni. I’m not some stranger.’
She hesitated.
‘Tell him to go away.’
Another voice. Female, too, but harsher, throatier, calling from somewhere inside the house.
‘My sister,’ Toni said. ‘She isn’t feeling too good.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Sam said.
Toni turned around, looking, he guessed, at her unwell sister.
Sam took the moment, and stepped past her.
Into the house.
Sam was not the only member of the family prone to intuition. Every once in a while, Grace developed an uneasy sense that something was not right.
At around nine-thirty, with no word from Sam – who’d told her he intended to do no more than drop by rehearsal – it occurred to her that something might have gone wrong with Mildred.
Unlikely, given that she’d been on her way back from recovery when Grace had left the clinic.
But still, Sam might have gone there . . .
She tried his cell phone first, got voicemail, left no message and called David.
‘This is not a good moment,’ he told her, tension clear in his voice.
‘Has something happened? Is Mildred OK?’
‘Yes.’ He sounded preoccupied. ‘I can’t talk right now, Grace.’
‘I’ll let you go,’ Grace said. ‘Is Sam there?’
‘No, he’s tied up someplace,’ David told her. ‘Something going on.’
‘With the case?’
‘I guess.’
It was not like David to be short with her. Nor was it like Sam not to tell her if he was going to be late or out of touch.
On the other hand, she reminded herself, it had become exactly like her these days to start worrying at the smallest provocation.
She did so now.
‘I won’t stay long,’ Sam said, just inside the front door. ‘I only want to see if there’s anything I can do to help.’
‘I don’t need help,’ Toni said. ‘As I told you.’
He cast around in his memory for any mention of a sister.
‘If you and your sister are both sick,’ he said, ‘perhaps it’s the same bug Carla and Jack had.’
‘I thought you said you were thirsty,’ the other voice said.
A woman came from the back of the house into the small hallway.
She wore black too, an ankle length linen shift, with small, neat silver sandals.
‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced,’ she said.
‘Sam Becket.’ He held out his hand.
She didn’t take it.
Sam couldn’t tell if she was older or younger than Toni, partly because of the impenetrably dark glasses she was wearing.
Something clicked into place in his mind.
He’d learned a few tricks over the years when it came to moments of tension. To help calm down telltale physical reactions.
Useful in the kind of situation where you didn’t want others observing you breathing t
oo fast or breaking into a sweat.
He slowed his breathing, focused his thinking.
Looked at Toni.
‘I would appreciate some water,’ he said.
‘Or tea, you said,’ the other woman said.
There was a resemblance between them, Sam registered, but this woman was taller, less fine-boned, her dark hair long, tied back in a ponytail.
‘Sam’s the detective who sings with S-BOP,’ Toni said. ‘I’ve talked about him, remember?’
Warning her sister, Sam thought.
‘How do you do?’ the other woman said. ‘I’m Kate Petit.’
‘I wish you’d just sit down,’ Mildred said. ‘You’re making me feel nervous all over again.’
‘I’m sorry,’ David said.
They were still waiting for the police and Adams, and he kept pacing the room, opening the door and peering up and down the corridor as if that would make them come faster.
If they didn’t show up soon, he was going to get out there himself and find Dr George Wiley, make a goddamned citizen arrest if he had to, and he should have searched the man, found that instrument . . .
‘Please,’ Mildred said.
‘OK,’ he said.
‘Not in the chair,’ Mildred said. ‘I need you closer, old man.’
David exhaled a breath of frustration, sat on the edge of the bed, took both her hands in his and gripped them tightly. ‘It’s just the thought of anyone hurting you.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But I’m OK – at least, I hope my eye . . .’
David glanced back at the door. ‘If I knew where the hell Adams was, I’d go get him myself.’
‘He’ll be here.’ Mildred shook her head. ‘It’s so strange. When I met Doctor Wiley and the other young doctor . . .’
‘Merriam,’ David remembered.
‘They were both so nice, both trying to make me feel better. But then, in the afternoon, when Doctor Wiley checked me over, I wasn’t so sure about him.’
‘You didn’t say anything.’
‘Because I’d already made such a production about Doctor Adams. I didn’t want you thinking I was turning into some old fussbudget.’ She held onto David’s hand. ‘You do know that his knocking against my eye only happened because I pushed him away, made him stumble? I’m not sure that really qualifies as assault.’
David’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. ‘Remind yourself of why you pushed him away, Mildred.’
‘Because I thought he was going to poke around in my eye with that . . .’ She shuddered. ‘Because he wouldn’t stop when I asked him to – told him to. And he told me not to be silly.’ Her expression hardened. ‘He said that twice, and I did not like his tone.’ She took a breath, steadied herself. ‘And then he called me a stupid woman – though that was after I’d pushed him and . . .’
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