She squinted into the afternoon sunlight. “You from LA?”
“No, San Diego.”
“And you came up here to see me?”
I nodded.
She sipped from the paper cup. “Well, I guess I should talk to you then.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll bet,” she said, setting the coffee next to her. “I met Randall last year. I knew his name as an employee before that, maybe said hello to him a time or two, but didn’t really get to know him until last year.”
We watched a group spill out from the hotel, deep in conversation.
“He had to come see me about some problems he was having,” she said.
“Drugs?”
She glanced in my direction. “You’ve done your homework,” she said, then after a pause, continued. “The hospital put him on probation because of his drug problem. It’s my job to deal with that kind of thing. Not always fun, but it’s my job.”
“Why wasn’t he fired?” I asked. “Seems like a huge risk keeping a drug-addict doctor on staff.”
She crossed her legs and picked up her cup. “You’d be surprised. A good portion of my job is working with our employees who have what I’ll call issues.” She sipped the coffee. “Alcohol, drugs, marital problems, financial problems. Doctors have it all. They aren’t immune from our cultural pitfalls. I could tell you that they are more susceptible, but that’s just my opinion.”
“The result of a high-pressure profession?”
“Sure. They get sucked in like the rest of us.” She rolled the coffee cup slowly between her hands. “Anyway, it was his first offense, as it were. He was receiving counseling and we kept him away from patients for a while to make sure he didn’t slip up.”
“What was he doing if he wasn’t seeing patients?”
She smiled at me. “Fucking me, mostly.”
I took a drink of my soda and said nothing.
“I was immediately attracted to him,” she said, brushing an auburn curl off her forehead. “I knew he was married and thought a bit of harmless flirting would be just that. Harmless.” She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I’d just gone through an ugly divorce and was not in the right place. He told me the drug counseling was tough on him, that his wife didn’t understand what he was going through.”
I took another drink of the soda and resisted the urge to point out Randall’s obvious lie. If anyone would’ve known what he was going through, it would’ve been Kate.
“He didn’t have a lot to do without patients to see,” Charlotte continued. “Some paperwork, but not much else. He came to my office frequently.” She paused, pursing her lips. “One thing led to another.”
“Were you in love with him?” I asked.
“Thought I was,” she answered. “He’s handsome, charming, intelligent. Gave me back what I’d lost in my divorce. But I started to realize that wasn’t what he was looking for.”
“So did you break it off?”
She finished the coffee, then shook her head. “Not right away. I was enjoying having someone around. I stayed with it until about a month ago.” She paused and set the now empty cup on the ledge. “I realized I wasn’t the only one.”
“You mean Kate.”
She turned to me. “No. I had somehow rationalized having an affair with a married man. Got it in my head that I was the good one, Kate was the bad one. I was the one he needed, not his unsympathetic wife.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand then.”
“He was seeing someone besides me and besides his wife,” she said, sadness in her eyes. “His cell phone was ringing with calls he wouldn’t take in front of me, I was getting hang-ups on my home line. He started making excuses to get out of meeting me. So I asked him.”
“And he didn’t deny it?”
“No,” she said, almost laughing. “Can you believe that? I don’t know if he thought I wouldn’t care or maybe he just didn’t care. I don’t know. I think he was surprised when I said that I was done with the whole thing. But I don’t think he was sad.” She looked at me again. “I could rationalize being the other woman to his wife, but I couldn’t justify being one of the other women. Stupid, but I guess I have my limits.”
“Any idea if Kate knew about the affairs?”
“No,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think she did. That’s why I was so surprised when you showed me that piece of paper.”
“Did you know Kate?”
“Not really. Saw her at a hospital function once or twice.” She smiled ruefully. “Not a great idea to make friends with the wife of your lover, you know?”
“I suppose,” I said.
She looked at her watch and stood. “I’ve gotta get back in there. Time to wow them again.”
“I’m gonna need to tell the police working Kate’s investigation about you,” I told her. “They’ll want to talk to you.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I really am sorry. You shocked the hell out of me when you said she was dead. I don’t feel good about that.”
I nodded and stood. “One more question, Charlotte. Any idea who the other woman was?”
“None,” she said, straightening the folders under her arm. “And that was probably for the best.”
“Why’s that?”
She brushed the hair from her forehead with her free hand. “Because I would’ve done one of two things. One, I would’ve found her and kicked her ass. I was furious when he admitted it and I would’ve confronted her if I could have.” She smiled, but it didn’t seem happy. “Or, two, I would’ve told Kate about her. Just to hurt everybody.” She paused, staring at me. “You ever cheated on anybody, Noah?”
I thought about it and didn’t know how to answer, so I just shrugged.
“Then you haven’t,” she said. “Because the second you get involved in it, the second you can call yourself an adulterer, you change. You know you’re different than you were before,” she said, shaking her head like she wanted to remove the memory from her mind. “And, trust me, it’s not for the better.”
I watched Charlotte Truman walk back into the hotel, taking her guilt with her.
50
The late-afternoon sun burned brightly as I drove back to San Diego. The traffic choked up in the hills of Mission Viejo, and the half-moon-shaped Dana Harbor looked like a bathtub out in the distance, filled with tiny sailboats as I crawled along the winding concrete highway.
I called Liz at the office, but got her voice mail. I told her about Charlotte, explained why she might want to talk to her, and gave my opinion that she probably didn’t have anything to do with Kate’s death. I knew Liz would interview her anyway, looking for something I might have missed. I thought about asking Liz to call me, but instead said, “See ya later.”
I turned Jack Johnson up on the radio, traffic lightening as I passed through San Clemente. I glanced wistfully at the crowded waters at Trestles, which offered arguably some of the most maneuverable waves in southern California. I didn’t have my board or the time, but that didn’t prevent me from momentarily wishing that I could stop for a quick session. Instead, I continued driving and let Johnson’s guitar and smooth vocals wash some of the tension out of my body as I thought about my conversation with Charlotte Truman.
I believed the things she had told me. I could understand how Randall must’ve seemed attractive. Her telling of the story laid most of the blame in her lap, but I knew that Randall was an equal party. There are always at least two pieces to the puzzle. In this case, though, there seemed to be three, and I didn’t know where I was going to find the third.
I pondered that as I walked into Carter’s hospital room. He was staring at the television in the far corner of the room, the remote in his hand.
He motioned to the screen. “I am never going to a game again.”
I saw several Padres players walking off the field, heads hung low, as the entire Dodgers team danced around home plate.