“That would be Dr. Harrison, sugar,” the operator said in a thick Georgia accent. “Would yew like me to connect ya?”
“Is he the only doctor in town?”
“Only doctor for miles and miles.”
“Then go ahead and connect me, please,” Alex said.
Alex wondered how big Boca Raton really was, especially when, a moment later, the doctor answered his own phone.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Alex said. “I’m calling from New York. Are you the doctor who specializes in tuberculosis?”
There was a long pause on the line and Alex thought maybe the doctor couldn’t hear him. He was just about to shout his question when the man spoke.
“I’m sorry, but I think you mean Doctor Gardner.”
“Is he available?” Alex wondered. “It’s kind of important.”
“Doctor Karen Gardener was an alchemist who lived here. She was the doctor before I moved in. I seem to remember she had a treatment for TB,” Dr. Harrison said. “But she died twenty-five years ago.”
It was all Alex could do not to swear. If he didn’t have bad luck, he wouldn’t have any luck at all.
“Did you pick up her patients?” he asked, grasping at straws.
“Most of them, yes.”
“Can you tell me if you’re treating a woman named King for TB?” he asked.
“What’s this about?” Dr. Harrison said, his tone suddenly suspicious.
“I’m with the assessor’s office here in New York,” Alex lied. “It’s come to our attention that a man named Duane King may be the legal owner of some land up here and I was told that he moved down there to get care for his wife. She had TB.”
Alex crossed his fingers. The trick to a really good lie was to make it as close to the truth as possible, that way it sounded believable and you could keep the details straight if anyone questioned you later.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but Mrs. King died a long time ago. Her husband, Duane, is the one who murdered Dr. Gardner. He claimed she sold him a phony cure. King got twenty years at the state pen.”
“Does he have any family in the area?”
“Used to,” the doctor said. “His boy. Duane King lived with him for a while, but the boy got a local girl in trouble and skipped town.”
“You said King got twenty years for a murder twenty-five years ago? So King is out?”
“I reckon so,” Dr. Harrison said. “Before you ask, though, I know everyone in town and he didn’t move back here.”
“Did you know Dr. Gardner before she died?” Alex asked. “Is it possible she sold Duane King a phony cure?”
This time the silence on the line was palpable.
“Why do you want to know?” Harrison asked. “What does this have to do with King inheriting land?”
Alex thought fast.
“Sometimes in old wills there’s a clause about the recipient being of good moral character. I’m just trying to gather as much information as I can.”
“It’s possible,” Harrison said after another pause. “Dr. Gardner was a fair doctor but her alchemy skills weren’t the best. Of course no one knew that until we got a really talented alchemist in town a few years ago.”
“Thank you, Dr. Harrison,” Alex said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Alex hung up and went to the table to scribble notes in his book as fast as he could. He knew there were alchemical treatments for TB, but they were very expensive. King probably heard that Dr. Gardner had a cheaper formula. Then he sold his house to save his wife and ended up losing her to a quack. Just thinking about it made Alex mad; he had no idea how angry Duane King had been.
Well, he had some idea.
Alex closed his notebook and sat there at the table for a long minute. He dreaded what was going to come next, but putting it off wouldn’t make it go away. With a sigh, he got up, crossed back to the phone, and called the Manhattan Central Office of Police.
“Detweiler,” the pudgy lieutenant’s voice announced once the police operator connected him.
Alex took a deep breath and wished he had more than one cigarette.
“I hear you’ve been looking for me,” he said in his most eager voice.
“Is that you, Lockerby?” he sneered. “You just cost me a five-spot. I bet Callahan that I’d have to drag you in wearing cuffs.”
“Now what would you want to do that for?” Alex asked, pouring on the innocence.
“Don’t get cute with me,” Detweiler snarled. “You’ve been talking to that muckraker at the Sun. You gave him that list of the ghost’s targets and now the Mayor’s involved.”
Alex closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall. He’d forgotten that the Mayor’s wife was one of the people on the list. Worse, someone at the tabloid had it out for her.
He needed to make this go away. Quickly.
If the mayor got involved, Alex could lose more than just his P.I. license, he could do hard time. Taking a deep breath, he put on a smile. Iggy had taught him years ago that your voice changes when you smile. It makes people want to believe you, even if they can’t see you.
“Well then, Lieutenant, I’ve got good news for you,” he said.
“Don’t try to talk your way out of this, scribbler. I warned you that I’d lock you up if you interfered in this case and I’m going to do just that.”
“You might want to hear what I have to say, first.”
The line went silent and Alex tried to remember one of the prayers Father Harry had drilled into his head as a youth.
“You’ve got one minute,” Detweiler said. “Impress me.”
Alex grinned at that. Detweiler had used that one-minute thing on him before, so he’d gotten his explanation down to forty seconds.
Iggy had told him time and again that preparation was everything.
“I know who the ghost is,” Alex said. “I know that he’s only targeting specific people on that list I gave you. I know who those specific people are, and I know why he’s killing them.”
Detweiler growled on the other end of the line. Alex had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing at the mental image of Detweiler trying to decide if he wanted to arrest Alex or catch the ghost. The former would be immensely satisfying for him, while the latter would get his name in the Times instead of the tabloids.
“Fine,” he said, choosing his career over personal satisfaction. “You come down here and tell me what you know.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“Be warned, scribbler,” Detweiler said, his voice dangerous and calm. “If this doesn’t pan out, the Mayor is going to be calling for your head and I’ll be only too happy to give it to him.”
Alex hung up and dialed Leslie.
“That was fast,” she said. “Is this your one phone call?”
“No, but that may be coming soon,” Alex said, only half joking. “I’m on my way over to the Central Office to give Detweiler everything I’ve got on Duane King. In the meantime, I want you to run over to the library and look up everything you can on that tabloid reporter, Billy Tasker.”
“You want the whole works?”
“Everything you can find,” he said. “I need this guy off my back.”
“All right,” she said. “Just remember why I won’t be here if you need someone to bail you out.”
Alex hadn’t thought of that, but shrugged it off. He really didn’t want the Mayor coming after him and if that meant he had to miss his date because he spent the weekend in jail then so be it. Jessica would understand.
You hope.
“Wish me luck then,” Alex said, then he hung up and went to meet his fate.
21
The Chief
The late afternoon sun lit up the Central Office of Police as Alex approached it for the second time that day. This time he wasn’t going to meet Danny, or even Callahan. Callahan disliked P.I.s but still held a fair amount of respect for Alex and his work. Detweiler, on the other hand, viewed Alex as a bungler who was making his job harder through incompetence and leaking to the press. He’d never believe that the information in the Sun had come from a different source.