“And let the doctor check him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When the two of them left, what was their demeanor?”
“You mean were they in a good mood?”
“Or any other kind of mood.”
“Hmm,” said William, “I really couldn’t say. Nothing stands out in my mind one way or the other. Like I said, it was busy.”
Baker said, “But you noticed them leaving.”
“Because he’s a celebrity,” said William. “Was. I don’t know much about his music, but one of our bookkeepers is in her fifties and was really excited he was staying here.”
“Any idea why Mr. Jeffries was in Nashville?”
“Actually, I do,” said William. “I believe there’s a benefit concert at the Songbird, and he was going to sing. The performance list, according to the same bookkeeper, is quite impressive.” Deep sigh. “I know he brought his guitar with him. Bellboys were competing to carry it.”
William’s eyes rose to the glass coffers. “The doctor brought one, too. Or maybe he was just carrying Mr. Jeffries’s spare.”
“A doctor roadie,” said Baker. “What’s this person’s name?”
More fooling with the computer. “Alexander Delaware.”
“Another state of the union heard from,” said Lamar, cuffing Baker’s shoulder lightly. “Maybe he’s from The Nations.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” William was humorless. “He lists his address in Los Angeles. I can give you the zip code and his credit card information if you like.”
“Maybe later,” said Baker. “Right now, give us his room number.”
3
Room 413 was a short walk from the elevators, down a silent, plush hallway. The corridor was empty save for a few room-service trays left outside doors.
Nothing outside Dr. Alexander Delaware’s door.
Baker knocked lightly. Both detectives were surprised when a voice answered right away. “One second.”
Lamar checked his watch. It was close to six in the morning. “Guy’s up at this hour.”
Baker said, “Maybe he’s waiting for us so he can confess, Stretch. Wouldn’t that be nice and easy?”
Muffled footsteps sounded behind the door, then a blur washed across the peephole.
“Yes?” said the voice.
Baker said, “Police,” and placed his badge a few inches from the hole.
“Hold on.” A chain dropped. The doorknob rotated. Both detectives touched their weapons and stood clear of the door.
The man who opened was forty or so, good-looking, medium height, solidly built, with neatly cut dark curly hair and a pair of the lightest gray-blue eyes Lamar had ever seen. Wide eyes, so pale the irises were nearly invisible when they engaged you straight on. In the right light, that Orphan Annie thing. They were slightly red-rimmed. Boozing? Crying? Allergies brought on by Nashville ’s high pollen count? No sleep? Pick a reason.
“Dr. Delaware?”
“Yes.”
Lamar and Baker stated their names and Delaware offered his hand. Warm, firm shake. Each detective checked for fresh cuts, any evidence of a struggle. Nothing.
Delaware said, “What’s going on?” Soft voice, low-key, kind of boyish. “Is Jack okay?” He had a square jaw, a cleft chin, a Roman nose. Dressed for lounging around, in a black T-shirt, gray sweats, bare feet.
As Lamar peered past the guy, into the room, Baker had a second look at the hands: smooth, slightly oversized, with a faint spray of dark hair across the top. The nails of the left hand had been clipped short but those on the right grew just past the fingertips and were tapered to the right. Possibly a classical guitarist or some other type of fingerpicker. So maybe the second guitar was his.
No one had answered Delaware ’s question. The guy just stood there and waited.
Baker said, “Any reason Mr. Jeffries wouldn’t be okay?”
“It’s six in the morning and you’re here.”
“You’re up,” said Baker.
“Trouble sleeping,” said Delaware. “Jet lag.”
“When’d you get in, sir?”
“Jack and I got in at eleven yesterday morning and I made the mistake of taking a three-hour nap.”
“May we come in, sir?”
Delaware stepped aside. Frowning as he ushered them in.
Smallish, standard room, nothing fancy about it. A neat-freak, Lamar decided. No clothes in sight, every drawer and closet door shut. The only way you’d know the room was occupied was the guitar case near the bed, pillows propped up against the headboard and the comforter slightly mussed- indented where a body had reclined.
On the nightstand was an old-fashioned glass in which two ice cubes melted, a minibar-sized bottle of Chivas in the wastebasket. There was also a large-format magazine- American Lutherie.
Another music wannabe? Lamar waited for Baker’s reaction. Baker was impassive.
Lamar had a closer look at the mini-bottle. Empty. Doctor mellowing out from insomnia with a drink and a read? Or calming himself down?
He and Baker pulled up chairs and Dr. Alexander Delaware perched on the bed. They gave him the bad news straight out and he placed a palm to his cheek. “My God! That’s horrible. I’m…” His voice trailed off.
Baker said, “How about filling us in?”
“About what?”
“For starters, how about why Mr. Jeffries travels with a doctor.”
A deep sigh. “This is…you’ve got to give me a few minutes.”
Delaware went to the minibar and took out a can of orange juice. He drank it quickly. “I’m a psychologist, not a medical doctor. After a helicopter mishap several years ago, Jack developed a phobia of flying. I was treating him for it. Nashville was his first actual flight after the near crash and he asked me to accompany him.”
“Leave all your other patients and go with him,” said Baker.
“I’m semi-retired,” said Delaware.
“Semi-retired?” Baker said. “That would mean you work sometimes?”
“Mostly police work for LAPD. I’ve been consulting on and off for several years.”
“Profiling?” said Lamar.