`He happens to be head of the Berne Clinic…'
Two
`Where the hell have you been, Nancy?' Newman demanded. `I've sat here roasting in your Jag. for exactly forty-three minutes. At least I've got the smell of that place out of my system…'
`And how long were you with Rosen?' she flared. 'I might have sat here waiting forty-three minutes for you…'
`Three minutes,' snapped Newman.
`Well, how was I to know? I popped into another department to see an old friend and she had a lot to tell me. I've been away at St Thomas's for a year in case you've forgotten. And do you mind getting out of the driving seat?'
`I'm driving…'
He inserted the ignition keys and switched on the engine. She said something under her breath and her classic, pleated skirt swept high up her long legs as she sat in the passenger seat and slammed the door. She asked the question as he drove smoothly out of the Medical Center.
`What smell were you referring to – the one you got out of your system?'
`Disinfectant. Hospital disinfectant…'
`You hate anything medical, don't you? I can't imagine what you ever saw in me the night we first met in that place in Walton Street. Bewick's, wasn't it?'
`My favourite London restaurant. And I saw your lovely legs. You display them frequently..
`Bastard!' She thumped his shoulder. 'What did Rosen want to tell you that was too spicy for my delicate ears?'
`With my not being a doctor, being British, he wanted to emphasize the conversation had been strictly confidential. He's a careful type, very ethical and all that. Now, guide me to the mansion of Dr Frank Chase…'
Holding the slip of paper Rosen had given Newman in her hands and staring straight ahead, Nancy spoke only to give directions. Sabino Canyon Road starts in a well-populated area on the north-east outskirts of Tucson heading for the Catalina Mountains. It starts as a district for the well-off and progresses up the canyon into an oasis for the wealthy.
Newman noted the houses were getting bigger, the grounds more extensive, and again ahead the mountains danced in the heat dazzle. But the Tucson range was like a series of gigantic, broken-backed dinosaurs turned into rock. Like the Skyline Country Club, the Catalinas were opulent, welcoming and had vegetation.
He accelerated past the Wayne property in case Linda happened to be looking out of a window. Nancy glanced at him with a hint of amusement.
`Why the sudden burst of enthusiasm?'
`So Linda can't phone Chase and warn him we're coming.'
`Robert, you never miss a trick,' she needled him.
She always called him Robert when she was either annoyed or wanted to get under his skin, knowing he disliked his Christian name. He parried the thrust by grinning and not replying. The Jag. went on climbing and behind them the city of Tucson spread out in the bowl formed by three separate mountain ranges.
`Slow down, Bob,' she warned, 'we're close now. That place on the left must be Chase…'
A split rail fence enclosed the property, a large, L-shaped house with two storeys and a green pantile roof. Newman drove through the open gateway and along the drive which divided – one arm leading to the front porch, the second to the double garage at the side of the house. The wheels crunched as they pulled up.
In front of the house the 'garden' was a generous stretch of gravel out of which grew evil-looking saguaro cacti. Shaped like trees, they had a main trunk from which sprouted prickly branches stretching up towards the sky as though trying to claw it down. A man standing by the double garage pressed a button and Newman, who had switched off the engine, heard the purr of power-operated doors closing over the garage. In the the wing mirror he watched the man approaching with a wary tread.
Thirty-two, Rosen had said. The man wore tight blue jeans and an open-necked shirt with a large check design. His face was bony, the skin tanned under a mop of thick brown hair. Seeing only that much in the mirror, Newman took an instant dislike to him. He looked up as the man put a long-fingered hand on the door top. Manicured nails and a strong whiff of after-shave lotion.
`Dr Frank Chase?'
`Yes.'
The word hung in the hot air like a challenge and the brown eyes which stared down at Newman measured him for the operating table. Newman smiled amiably and said the one thing which he thought would throw Chase off balance.
`I don't think you've met Dr Nancy Kennedy. Sister of Linda Wayne. Grand-daughter of Jesse Kennedy. She's about to launch an investigation into why her grandfather was hustled off five-and-a-half thousand miles away without consulting her. This is a lovely place you've got here, Dr Chase.'
`Miss Kennedy, I'm afraid there was no question your grandfather was suffering from leukaemia..' Dr Chase laid a thin, bony hand on the arm of the reclining chair Nancy sat in at the rear of the house by the side of the oyster-shell-shaped swimming pool. His smile was sympathetic but Newman observed the smile did not reach the brown eyes which studied her. 'You see,' Chase continued, 'we had the top specialist in the state examine him. Dr Buhler…'
`Who conveniently died in a car accident,' Nancy interrupted him coldly. 'And even more conveniently had the records of those tests with him so they now no longer exist. The only real evidence, when you get to the bottom line, that he has this disease.'
`Conveniently?' Chase's smile became a little tight. 'I don't quite follow.' His hand clasped Nancy's gently. Here we go with the famous bedside manner, Newman thought as he stretched in his own chair and sipped his glass of bourbon. `Dr Kennedy,' Chase continued more formally, 'I do realize you must be overwrought. You were fond of your grandfather…'
'I am fond of my grandfather…'
She pulled her hand free and swallowed a large gulp of her own drink. Newman stood up and eased his shoulders as though stiff from sitting. He grinned as Chase glanced up at him sharply.
`Mind if I just wander round your place?' he suggested. 'I'll leave you and Nancy to talk this thing out alone.'
`That might be a very good idea,' Chase agreed. 'Feel free.
The obligatory swimming pool and its surrounding patio were tiled with marble. The walls of the house were plaster painted a dark sludge green. The picture windows looking down on Tucson were huge and triple plate glass doors slid open on to the patio. As he wandered towards the side of the house Newman peered inside.
The largest hi-fi system he had ever seen occupied the end wall of the sitting-room. The rest of the furniture reeked of money. He looked back before he disappeared round the garage end of the house and Chase had his back to him, crouched forward as he spoke earnestly to Nancy, whose expression was blank as she listened.
It intrigued Newman that Chase's first action on seeing them arrive had been to close the garage. He may well have recognized Nancy-the Wayne house was full of photographs of her with Linda. His shirt stuck to his back as he shuffled quietly over the gravel which had a gritty feel that seemed to compound the heat.
Holding his glass in one hand, he lifted the lid of the control box attached to the wall. Two buttons, one green, one red. He pressed green. The same purring sound of highly-efficient – and expensive – hydraulics as the doors elevated. He stood staring at the occupants. One red Ferrari. One red Maserati. Blood-red. Very new. A small fortune on eight wheels.
`You're interested in cars, Mr Newman?'
`I'm a car buff, Chase. So, apparently, are you,' Newman said easily.
The doctor had come after him silent as a cat. Even the sneakers he wore should have made some sound on the gravel. He stood looking at Newman and the smile was gone. His right hand held a refilled glass of bourbon. He swallowed half the contents in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand.