The Assailant (24 page)

He said, “Joe, just try to keep them . . . satisfied. Okay?”

“I got your back, buddy. Call me if you need anything.”

 

•

 

The Brentwood Surgical Clinic was near the Galleria mall near the intersection of Brentwood and Clayton. It was a pretty green-and-white building with high-dollar vehicles parked on the side. Hastings remembered coming to another doctor's office not far from here on another case. This had been a couple of years ago. That doctor had murdered two people.

He showed his police identification to the receptionist in the waiting area. The receptionist was a tough-looking girl with a New Jersey accent and she said, “What's this about?” in a blunt voice, and Hastings almost found himself developing a fondness for her.

He told her that it was about a homicide investigation and that it was very important that he speak to Dr. Zoller as soon as possible. Hastings read the girl's name tag and said, “Destiny, I'd like to do this discreetly, without having to bring a lot of uniformed officers and police vehicles around. I assure you it won't take long.”

The girl, whose full name was Destiny Fisher, said, “Homicide? Who got killed?”

“You don't need to know that. If I have to come back here later with more guys, are you going to take the responsibility?”

“Maybe I will,” she said. Then she actually smiled at him and said, “Hold on a minute.”

Dr. Zoller was not quite as cool.

He tried a couple of psych games that professional men sometimes deploy to try to intimidate cops and other little civil servants: leading the cop into his office, sitting behind his desk surrounded by his diplomas and other signs of power and status, acting like he was in a hurry, and so forth. But he was scared and Hastings knew it.

Dr. Zoller said, “So what can I do for you?”

“I'll come to the point, Doctor, as I know you're very busy. We have evidence that you were with Ms. Reesa Woods a couple of weeks ago. You may have dealt with her in her professional capacity, wherein she goes by the name Ashley.”

That was enough. Dr. Zoller was probably a good man overall, and it's not easy to be nonchalant when a policeman confronts you with evidence of soliciting a prostitute.

Zoller said, “Ah . . .”

“She was a prostitute,” Hastings said.

“Uh, yes. I may have—”

“You did,” Hastings said.

There was silence in the little office then. Hastings allowed it
to fill the room with discomfort as he stared patiently at the little man.

“Ah . . .”

“Ashley's dead, Dr. Zoller.”

“I . . . I didn't know.”

“It was in the newspaper.”

“. . . Was it?”

“Yes.”

“I—I didn't know. Listen, Lieutenant, I'm a married man. . . .”

“Of course, sir. I'm not interested—not at this time—about whether or not you violated the laws of public decency or other such things.” Hastings remembered the language from the call girl's Web site. He said, “After all, donations to a lady friend from a gentleman are private business, are they not?”

“I . . . I suppose so.”

“And what two consenting adults do in private should remain private, don't you think?”

“Yes.”

“But this young lady was murdered.”

“Last Friday—”

“Excuse me?”

“Last Friday,” the doctor said. “Wasn't it last Friday?”

“Yes. It was.”

“I was with my wife and family last Friday. My son had a football game. I swear—”

“Football game?” Hastings was not on solid ground here. He
had not advised the man of his Miranda rights. But he had not arrested him either. Hastings said, “Who's your son play for?”

The question could be considered conversational.

“Vianney,” the doctor said.

“Who did they play?” Just chatting now.

“Country Day.”

“What was the score?”

“Score? Oh, God, I don't know. My son's team won. He didn't get to play till the second half. He complained about it—”

“Other people can confirm that you were there?”

“Yes. Definitely. Yes—oh God. Shouldn't I have a lawyer here?”

“Should you?”

“I don't know.”

Hastings said, “Dr. Zoller, are you under the impression that you're a suspect in a murder?”

“No! I mean, God—I'm not, am I?”

“No. But you're a witness.”

“Because I—Look, maybe I should have a lawyer present.”

“For what? Diddling a call girl?”

Dr. Zoller mumbled something that trailed off.

Hastings said, “I told you, I don't care about that. But you knew this young lady was murdered.” Hastings was using the principal's tone of voice now. The tone that police and prosecutors can use on the most powerful of people.
You should know better, mister.
And it seemed to be working on this man.

“Well—”

“And you didn't contact the police. Did you?”

“I wasn't aware that I needed to.”

“You didn't want to help?”

“I've got . . . I'm married.”

“You're married with children and you've got a good practice and probably a lot of nice things. House, cars, boats, and what have you. Your wife finds out you misbehaved, she may file for a divorce. And then you've got a rather large mess on your hands. Am I right?”

“I . . . don't . . . It's possible, yes.”

“It's very possible, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“And you don't want that.” Hastings was counseling him now. In a way.

The doctor's voice was distant, barely audible. “No,” he said.

“I understand that. Believe me, I do. You want to talk about messy private lives, take a look at your average cop.”

The doctor smiled uneasily.

“Always getting in trouble over—well, you know.” Hastings smiled but resisted a wink.

Dr. Zoller stared at him.

“Anyway,” Hastings said, “like I said, I can sympathize. And there's no reason for these sort of indiscretions to come out. I mean, you are cooperating, after all. Right?”

After a moment, Dr. Zoller said, “Yes. Right.” He spoke quickly after he figured things out.

“Good, I'm glad to hear that.” Hastings gave the fellow a moment to breathe. Then he said, “You met Reesa at the hotel, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Was there an Asian woman there as well?”

“Yes. She was pretty, but I . . . I was talking with . . .”

“Ashley,” Hastings said. “You knew her as Ashley.”

“Yes.”

“Who saw you with this woman?”

“Uh . . . well. There was Dr. McGinnis. He was there. And Dr. Sheffield. Wait, Dr. McGinnis left early. Raymond met the women. He spoke with the other one for a while.”

“With the Asian girl?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what name she used?”

“No.”

“Okay. You said something about Raymond. Raymond who?”

“Raymond Sheffield. That's Dr. Sheffield.”

“What did he do?”

“He was with me when I met Ashley. He was talking to her for a while. But he got put off or something. I don't know.”

“What do you mean, he got put off?”

“It's hard to say. I mean, I've only known Dr. Sheffield for a
short time. He's a younger man and I don't think he's been with a—”

“A call girl?”

“Right. I don't think he's done that. If you saw them together, you would have thought that he thought she was just a girl at the party.”

“But you knew better?”

“Yes.”

“Did this Raymond Sheffield seem angry at the girl?”

“Angry? I don't know. I never considered it. He only talked with her for a little while.”

“And then what?”

“Then I talked with her and we—we went upstairs.”

“And he knew it.”

“Well, I presume he did. I never discussed it with him afterward. I mean, what was there to brag about?”

Hastings was a bit surprised by this. Zoller may have had weaknesses, but self-delusion was not one of them.

Hastings said, “What did he do?”

“What did he do? I don't know. I guess he left.”

“He ever say anything about it to you afterward? Like, how was it? Or, you dirty dog . . .?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“He never showed any interest himself?”

“In Ashley?”

“Yes.”

“No. I mean, he was talking to her. But no. He never asked for her number.”

“He never asked you?”

“No.”

“Do you know if he asked her?”

“No. I don't know.”

“I have Dr. McGinnis. I have Raymond Sheffield, who, as I understand it, is also a doctor. Is there anyone else you know that was at this event?”

“No. That was all. I mean, apart from the people from the pharmaceutical company.”

“You say you haven't known Dr. Sheffield very long. What about Dr. McGinnis?”

“I've worked with Don for several years. He's a good doctor.”

“What about Dr. Sheffield?”

“Young, but very competent.”

“Is he a local?”

“No, actually. He moved here from Boston.”

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“Ever been?”

“I don't know. Lieutenant, I'm not sure I'm comfortable answering questions about Dr. Sheffield.”

“Well, it is a murder investigation.”

“I understand that, but Dr. Sheffield is not some sort of derelict. He's a respected physician.”

“Right,” Hastings said. “Was he ever married?”

The doctor gave up. “I don't know. We didn't discuss our private lives.”

Hastings said, “You said a Dr. McGinnis was there, but he left early?”

“Yes.”

“Did he meet Ashley?”

“No.”

“Just you and Dr. Sheffield?”

“Yes.”

“Does he like women?”

“Dr. Sheffield?”

“Yes.”

“I—are you asking me if he's gay?”

“No. I asked if he liked women.”

“I don't know, sir. I have no reason to think that he doesn't like women, no.”

Hastings said, “Do you have a daughter?”

“I don't think that's particularly pertin—”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“How old?”

“She's in college. Brown, to be exac—”

“Would you feel comfortable if your daughter were dating Dr. Sheffield?”

“No, I would not. I don't think this line of questioning is very professional, sir.”

Hastings let the man's indignation exhale. He found that it was often useful to stand back from such things. He was quiet for a couple of moments. Then he said, “Why not?”

“I don't know,” Dr. Zoller said. “I just wouldn't.”

“I understand,” Hastings flipped through his notes, half of the action being pretense, then said, “Well, I guess that's all I have for now. I appreciate your time.”

Dr. Zoller got to his feet. He still seemed upset.

Hastings said, “You understand, of course, that this is a homicide investigation. I have not suggested that your colleague, your former colleague, is a suspect. Nevertheless, we don't want the investigation compromised. Okay?”

“You mean you don't want me telephoning Dr. Sheffield to tell him what you asked me. Is that it?”

“That's it exactly.”

“And if I do, I suppose you'll ruin my reputation with all this business of . . .”

“No, sir. I have not threatened you. Don't accuse me of that. But I assure you it's not in your interest to impede this investigation.”

“Really? Well, I may call
my
lawyer.”

Hastings pulled out a business card and handed it to Zoller. “If he has any questions, he can reach me at this number.”

This took some of the fire out of him, as Hastings suspected it would. He did not begrudge the doctor. He supposed if someone ever brought his daughter into an interrogation, he'd probably get upset too. But Dr. Zoller was hardly the first white-collar professional to try to rattle him with lawyer threats, and he wouldn't be the last.

Out in the reception area, the girl whose tag said Destiny flirted with him, saying, “You weren't too rough on him, were you?” She spoke quietly, having fun but not wanting to lose her job over it.

Hastings held his hands up. “Kid gloves, sis. Kid gloves.”

“I'll bet.” Warmth in her tone now, but it could cool down anytime.

Hastings hesitated for a moment, wondering if she liked him enough to help him. She was waiting for him to say something, he saw. He said, “Could I ask a favor?”

“What?”

“Would you call St. Mary's Hospital for me and find out what hours Dr. Sheffield is working?”

“Today?”

“Yeah.”

She gave him a steady look, one that said that she knew he was requesting something dubious, but she picked up the telephone.

Minutes later, he was in the car. He checked his watch and dialed a number. Klosterman picked up the other end.

“Joe. Raymond Sheffield, M.D. He's an ER physician at St. Mary's. Find out what you can about him. Check with DMV, find out what kind of car he drives.”

“Okay.”

“Do the car thing first. Call me as soon as you have the tag and model.”

Rita Liu said, “I have to work.”

Hastings said, “You mean
work?”

“Yes.”

“You feel comfortable telling me that?”

“You know everything there is to know.”

He was standing in the girl's apartment. She was in a black cocktail dress and her hair was put up. When she opened the door, he didn't recognize her. The transformation was startling. She was model pretty, magazine pretty.