“The bikers knew better. They only came around when my dad wasn’t here.” She frowned. “Then Rob Anderson and Nick Hannity used to come in. They’d pay for dance lessons and I’d lead one of them out to the floor but then they’d say, No, they wanted to dance with David. Really embarrass him like that. They thought it was really funny, of course. The people who were here to learn the dances really hated them. I was sort of afraid of what my dad would do to them if I ever told on them. But finally it got so bad with how they were picking on David that I didn’t have any choice.
“He waited until they came in one night and then he took them out into the parking lot. I went out to try and stop him from really hurting them. There were a lot of their friends outside. They were all pretty drunk. My dad knew he’d get in trouble if he hurt them, so what he did was walk up to both of them and spit in their faces. Then he dared them to take the first swing. It was sort of funny because you know how short my dad is. Then he spit on them again. Their friends kept yelling for them to hit him. But they knew what would happen to them if they did. They finally just went away.”
The door opened and a gentleman who had to be seventy-five walked in carefully. Glory jumped up and said, “Here, Mr. Winthrop, let me give you a hand.”
“I’m gonna learn to mambo yet,” the old man said and winked at me. “I’m taking the widow Harper to our class reunion and she says that’s the only dance she likes.”
Glory turned away from him momentarily and said to me, “I hope they find whoever killed him. I just wish they hadn’t repealed the death penalty. I told Dad about David when he called in this morning and he said the same thing. He really liked David.”
The hospital was on the way back to my office, so I stopped in to inquire about the condition of my friend in the white Valiant. The one who liked to play in traffic. “His condition is listed as fair,” said the pleasant woman at the switchboard. She was the mother of one of my high school friends. She was legendary for her cheeseburgers, which she fixed every few weeks during the summer in the backyard whose lawn we all took turns mowing to keep her happy. “I’m afraid he can’t have any visitors, Sam. Well, except for that new district attorney. She’s up there now.”
“She is?”
She smiled. “I can tell you’ve met her. She’s a looker, isn’t she?”
“Oh, she’s all right if you like that much intelligence mixed with that much beauty.”
“Same old Sam. You should settle down and get married like Bill did last year. She’s already pregnant.”
“How’s he like St. Louis?”
“Oh, he’s still adjusting. It’s quite a change from our little town.”
Jane Sykes was outside room 301 talking to a uniformed police officer.
No smile when she saw me approach. Just a barely perceptible nod. A yellow summer dress and a matching yellow straw hat. I was alive to other women and grateful to her for that. But I was also scared as hell, as I always was when I knew I’d already loosened my grip on the self-control handle.
When I reached her, she said, “So if you hear him even so much as mumble, be sure to get in there and try to catch what he’s saying. Even if it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure, Miss Sykes.” His eyes dazzled with fondness for the beautiful, stylish lady in front of him.
She didn’t say anything to me, just nodded at the elevator. The doors were open, so we stepped inside.
“I know you can talk,” I said, “I heard you just now telling that cop something.”
“I’m saving it till we get to the cafeteria. I’m starving.”
The typical hospital cafeteria. The nonmedical staffers sitting together enjoying leisurely lunches. The doctors and the nurses seeming in a bit more of a hurry.
Just once I’d like to play doctor. Walk around with a stethoscope dangling around my neck. In my high school days I’d been convinced that that was the easiest way of all to attract girls. While all the other boys were making fools of themselves trying to attract the most unattainable of girls, there I’d be walking up and down the ol’ high school corridors, very cool in my white medical jacket and ’scope, a perfect combination of raw male sexuality and deep medical seriousness. Dr. Sam McCain, M.D.
She didn’t order as if she were starving. Fruit cocktail, a bowl of chicken-rice soup, and a 7UP. I had a burger and a Pepsi.
“Now can we talk?”
“Sure.”
“Have we found out his name yet?”
“‘We’ certainly have, Sam. James Neville.”
“The same Neville as Richie Neville?”
“Half brother. They share a father.”
“Any kind of record?”
“A long one. The biggest rap was for extortion. Served six years in Joliet. Armed robbery as a juvenile.”
Will Neville, the man who blamed David Leeds for the murder of his brother, hadn’t bothered to mention any James Neville. I’d have to talk to him again.
A doctor interrupted us. Young. Nice-looking. No wedding ring. Leaning unnaturally close to Jane as he spoke. “I hope you got my invitation.”
“I did, Dr. Higham. And I appreciate it.”
“And even more, I hope you’ll consider joining me.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
He glanced at me and said, “I didn’t know that DAs trafficked with defense attorneys.”
Then she won my heart. “When they’re as charming as Sam they do.”
His smile was more of a grimace. Just the way I wanted it. He said good-bye and left.
“He made the mistake of pawing me at the party Judge Martin gave for me. Very possessive. Not the right approach, not for me anyway.”
“Me, either. I hate to be pawed.”
“Very funny, McCain. Now tell me what you’re going to do about Neville upstairs?”
“About Neville upstairs I plan to see his slug of a brother. And then I plan to find this biker.” I told her what I’d heard in the barbershop.
“Now that’s interesting, if it’s true.”
Not until then, me being a slow learner, especially when I’m so taken with a woman, did I realize what was happening here.
“We’re working together.”
“Yes, we are, Sam. And that’s just the way I planned it. I confide in you, you confide in me. Neither Clifford nor Judge Whitney has to know. The point is to serve justice, as stuffy as that sounds.”
“This is like a secret club.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “Here’s my unlisted number at home. You’d better write it down.”
Then she went and spoiled our little movie moment. “And please don’t call me at this number unless it’s business. I need my private time, Sam.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said, though that’s all I’d had since Mary had gone back to Wes. Private time.
I needed more information about James Neville. It was likely he was staying in one of the local hotels, maybe even the one my old friend Dink worked at. I called his home.
“Dink, please.”
“He isn’t here right now.”
“Please, Mrs. Dink—”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“You don’t recognize my voice?”
“The TV’s up too loud.”
“Look, I know he’s there because you won’t let him go out unless he’s going to work.”
“He tell you that?”
“It was my idea.”
“Oh, then this is McCain.”