by MJ Rodgers
“Well then, how can you be bound by the doctor-patient privilege?”
“I became privy to the information I hold because of my close association with another ophthalmologist.”
“Your son?”
“Yes,” John admitted. “It’s Lloyd’s doctor-patient privilege that would be compromised were I to speak. I’m sure you understand why I cannot.”
“Could you use some legal advice on the matter?”
“Legal advice? I don’t follow you, Octavia.”
“John, do you have two dollars on you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Give me one and Brett one and, for the next five minutes, consider yourself our client. That way, anything you tell us will fall under the attorney-client privilege, and if there are any legal steps you should be taking, we can advise you.”
“Octavia, I’m not sure—”
“John, if we don’t know everything, we can’t help Mab. What you could tell us might be crucial. Please.”
“This is legal?”
“As long as we are told this information while we’re acting as your attorneys, we can never repeat what you tell us on pain of disbarment. Plus which, if we did reveal what you tell us, it would be inadmissible evidence in any court of law. And I promise that Brett and I will turn around and donate the dollar you give us to the fund to save the community center.”
John looked uncertainly from Octavia to Brett. “Even under this privilege umbrella, I’m not sure I’m comfortable discussing this with you, Mr. Merlin.”
“I’m after the truth, John. Whatever it is.”
“Are you sure you can handle it?”
“I’m sure I can handle nothing less,” Brett replied without hesitation.
John studied Brett’s face for a moment before nodding and reaching into his pocket.
“All right. It will feel good getting this off my chest, if nothing else. Here’s the money.”
As soon as Octavia and Brett pocketed their respective dollar bills, Octavia looked up at the clock. “The five minutes begins now.”
John leaned his back against the closed door and adjusted the white silk ascot around his clean-shaven neck.
“Two days before Scroogen’s death, his wife brought their daughter, Katlyn, in to see my son. The child had multiple retinal hemorrhages in both eyes.”
“What is the significance of that?” Octavia asked.
“Ophthalmologists can recognize certain patterns in blood vessel breakage in the eyes of children. There was only one explanation for the pattern in that child’s eyes. This girl had been shaken hard, viciously hard. She had ugly bruises on both her forearms where someone had grasped her.”
“Who?” Brett asked, coming instantly to his feet, his hands balling into fists by his side. Octavia could feel the room suddenly heating with his anger.
“Nancy Scroogen gave Lloyd this story about how she looked into the backyard that morning where Katlyn was playing just in time to see a big kid she didn’t recognize running away. She went out to check on Katlyn and found her crying. Nancy said Katlyn told her the boy roughed her up and smashed her toys.”
“But you don’t think Nancy Scroogen was telling the truth?” Octavia asked.
“Once Nancy learned the injury to her daughter’s eyes was not permanent, her biggest concern became that Lloyd not ask Katlyn any questions. She said the incident had already been too upsetting for her child. Lloyd had the feeling that the only reason Nancy didn’t want him asking Katlyn any questions was because the girl would have given him a different story. Lloyd didn’t believe the bruises on Katlyn’s arms were made by any kid.”
“When a doctor suspects child abuse he’s supposed to report it,” Octavia said. “Why didn’t your son contact the police?”
“Because no matter what Lloyd suspected, he couldn’t prove it. There were no documented previous episodes of injury. Contacting the authorities would have been futile.”
“Who does Lloyd suspect really injured Katlyn?” Brett asked.
“Nancy could have fabricated that story to protect any family member—even herself,” John said. “But from the temper I saw Dole display, I say the most likely suspect was Katlyn’s father. Personally, I’m glad Mab whacked him. I only wished she’d done it harder.”
* * *
“THERE IS NOTHING MORE despicable than someone who abuses a child,” Octavia said as soon as they were back in Brett’s car, unable to keep the heat of anger out of her tone. “You didn’t notice her bloodshot eyes?”
“I haven’t seen Katlyn for several days,” Brett said. “I’ve been too busy working for that father of hers.”
“Where are you heading?”
“To talk to Nancy. To find out who did it.”
“Brett, you know you can’t mention anything about this to your aunt. The attorney-client privilege prevents you. I’m surprised—no shocked—that you would even consider it.”
He found a chuckle at the scold in her voice.
“I have no intention of mentioning John or anything I learned in his privileged communication.”
“Then how are you going to question Nancy?”
“I’m about to buy my little cousin a pretty party dress for Christmas. One with no sleeves. You can help me pick it out. Then when she puts it on to show me, I’ll have a perfect opening to ask why she has bruises on her arms.”
“Very devious. I’m impressed.”
Brett smiled.
The car phone rang and Brett picked up the line.
“Brett, it’s Ned Nordix from the Archaeology and Historical Preservation Department.”
Brett lost his smile. He had forgotten all about the stone carving until this very moment—and all about its eventual tie-in to Octavia.
“Yes, Ned,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry.
“I’m at the excavation site. Can you swing by? I think you’re going to want to see and hear this firsthand.”
Brett was sure he didn’t. His eyes darted over to Octavia. “I suppose I could be there in a few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
Brett hung up the phone. “I’m detouring to the construction site next to the community center. Ned Nordix has something he wants to discuss with me. Octavia...”
The words stalled on his lips.
She was looking at him. Directly. “Yes?”
Brett took a deep breath and let it out, very slowly, very carefully. His hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. He returned his eyes to the road.
“Earlier you said you were glad we were on the same side. Just because I don’t believe your grandmother attacked my uncle, that doesn’t change our other...differences. I must abide by the law. And you must be held accountable for your actions.”
He waited. She said nothing. Damn it, he needed her to say something.
He took the next corner so fast the tires squealed.
“Octavia, I can’t protect you.”
“You mean you won’t. Why don’t you drop me at the body shop on your way to the excavation site,” she said. “They’ve agreed to provide me with a vehicle with a phone while I’m waiting for them to fix my car.”
Brett’s teeth were clenched. For some reason he couldn’t seem to unclench them.
“Are you afraid of my driving or afraid of being confronted with what they’ve found at that site?”
“Running from fear only gives it time to grow.”
“Then why did you suggest I drop you off?”
Her voice was perfectly mellow, maddeningly calm. “Because they said the loner car would be ready about now.”
Brett pulled the Bentley over to the curb, shoved on the break and swiveled to face her.
“Damn it, Octavia. Don’t you understand? I’m afraid for you.”
She smiled as she stroked his cheek lightly with the tips of her fingers.
“Thank you for that.”
He captured her hand in his and drew her into his arms, kissing those fin
gertips, then her hair, her forehead, her nose and finally her lips. As always she sighed and melted into him.
He could feel the hunger growing inside him—so wild, so witless. She was so much the exciting woman he wanted and so much the reckless woman he knew he must never have.
When he finally forced himself to pull back, he was breathing far too hard and she was smiling far too much.
“Something to remember me by when I’m in stripes breaking rocks?” she had the nerve to ask.
He rested his forehead against hers and groaned. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
She laughed, a full-bodied, happy laugh that danced down his spine.
He pulled back, exhaling in total frustration as he swiveled to face front.
“I’ll drop you off at the body shop,” he said through clenched teeth. “Then when they slap the handcuffs on, at least I won’t have to be there to see it.”
“Chicken,” she said all too sweetly as she settled back, perfectly poised and self-possessed.
Brett’s foot punched down on the accelerator. She was crazy—totally crazy. And he was crazy wanting her like this. And so damn close to taking her that his hands were shaking.
But he was not going to do it. He was not going to fall for a felon. Not as long as there was one ounce of sense still inside his skull.
* * *
“BRETT, OVER HERE,” Ned Nordix called as he waved Brett to another part of the excavation site.
“You moved the stone,” Brett said as he walked up.
“Yes. That’s what I wanted to show you. Dr. Watson Pacer finally gave us the okay this morning to lift it out.”
The icy rain that had begun as a mere drizzle only moments before started to slice down on them in earnest. Brett and Ned stood beneath it, Brett staring at the large stone slab as the ice crystals branded its face, and his.
“There’s the bottom portion that was obscured by the dirt,” Ned pointed out. “See? It contains two more full lines of images, all different from the ones above it.”
“And as unreadable as the others?”
“So far. But progress has been made. That’s why I called. Dr. Pacer and the team said that the stone definitely had been moved to the construction site recently.”
Brett took a deep breath and shuddered, but not from the freezing air.
“Unfortunately, the construction crew wasn’t too careful when they lifted the stone,” Ned explained, “so the team will never really know for certain when it was brought here. They can only make a guess.”
“Where is the team now?”
“Left. Not much more they can do now. I’m just waiting for a security guard to arrive. I’d better get a tarp and cover it.”
“Yes, best to keep the evidence dry,” Brett muttered.
“What?” Ned asked.
“Nothing.”
Ned led the way to a makeshift tent that had been erected on the construction site and slipped inside. He was out a moment later with a folded blue plastic tarp in his hands. Together they spread it over the stone.
The rain was coming down in stabbing sheets now. As soon as the stone was covered, Ned beckoned Brett back into the shelter of the tent.
“Damn, it’s freezing,” Ned said once they had scurried inside. “There’s coffee left. Want a cup?”
Brett nodded. He cradled the hot mug in his hands, wishing there was a way to melt the icy-cold certainty of impending disaster that had settled in his stomach.
He forced a lightness into his tone he definitely wasn’t feeling. “So, Ned, what did the team find, a Made in Taiwan stamp on the back of the thing?”
Ned laughed. “Would have made determining who carved it a lot easier, that’s for certain.”
“They didn’t find anything beneath it, did they?”
Ned swallowed a sip of coffee. “They don’t know yet. Whoever moved the stone to this site might have buried something beneath it. The team plans to be back in the morning and start excavating, unless the weatherman is right and this ice storm changes into snow. If that happens, I’m afraid we won’t be getting answers anytime soon.”
“Why are they even bothering now that they know the stone was planted here?” Brett asked.
“Why are they even bothering? Brett, they have to have all the answers if they expect to make a decent report.”
And prolong the agony of the inevitable, Brett thought.
“So how long will it take for them to make this decent report?” he said aloud.
“Weeks, hell, maybe even months. These people are sticklers for uncovering every fact.”
“Weeks? Months? Ned, it was planted here. That’s all they need to report.”
“But I told you, Brett. They don’t know when. Or by whom.”
“I know.”
“You know? How can you know? Four different scientists—the top in their field—don’t agree on its antiquity or origin, and you’re standing there telling me you know?”
Brett shook his head in confusion at Ned’s words, certain the rain must have frozen his brain.
“What do you mean they don’t agree on its antiquity or origin?”
“Some think it was carved twenty-eight thousand years ago. Others, only eighteen thousand years ago. That’s a pretty wide spread. Of course, they still haven’t the faintest idea who brought it here or when. That’s why Dr. Pacer approved moving the stone. The team will now sift through the dirt beneath to see what they might find. Although no one has been able to read the markings, they hope that the sun sign does mean a grave is below.”
“Wait a minute,” Brett interrupted. “Am I hearing you right? Are you saying this stone carving is ‘real'—as in, really made by ancient Indians?”
“Well, of course it’s real. At least the experts have been able to agree on that. Brett, you look surprised. Did I forget to mention that?”
Chapter Ten
“I have some preliminary information that ties one of your three suspects to Scroogen,” A.J.’s voice said on the other end of the telephone line.
Octavia took off an enormous, Christmas-tree-shaped rhinestone earring in order to position the car-phone’s receiver closer to her ear. “Which one, A.J.?”
“Constance Kope owned one of the small houses on the same block as the community center. Scroogen bought it from her six months ago way below market rate. It was right after Constance’s husband died. It seems Constance had to sell quickly in order to pay the doctor and hospital bills that had accumulated while her husband was ill. Scroogen took advantage.”
Octavia’s windshield wipers were having a hard time keeping up with the icy rain that stuck like sludge to the glass. The twinkling lights, twisted tinsel and silver bells of the Christmas decorations strewn across the traffic lights were swaying in the wind, blurred by the wetness. She kept a careful watch at the slick street in front of her as she considered A.J.’s words.
“Does Constance know Scroogen took advantage of her?” she asked after a moment.
“She couldn’t help but know. Even the real estate agent told her to hold out for a better offer, but she was desperate to pay off those bills to retain her good credit rating. Definitely an old-fashioned lady. She’s living in a tiny rented apartment now, trying to make ends meet on social security. Since your grandmother is staying with her, I assume you have the address.”
“Yes. Matter of fact, I’m on my way there now. Anything on John Winslow or Douglas Twitch?”
“Douglas seems clean. I have one of my people down in California looking into John’s past. His wife died of an overdose of a pain reliever. She had terminal cancer. The police suspected John assisted in her demise. I really don’t think it has anything to do with current events, but we’ll keep digging. Zane Coltrane and his people are crossing our tracks a lot. You don’t mind that we’re duplicating effort?”
“Coltrane works for Merlin, and his concern is to find out who attacked his uncle. My concern is to clear my grandmother. Our intents are differ
ent and so could be the interpretation of our information.”
“I hear you. By the way, Coltrane’s best female operatives have cozied up to every man you’ve ever dated or even known. They’re after a connection between you and that stone carving.”
“How did you find this out, A.J.?”
“I put people on Coltrane’s people.”
Octavia chuckled at the image of one P.I. shadowing another. “Now, why would you do that?” she asked.
“Christmas time is always our off season. Most of my team are loners by profession and preference. With no family to spend the holidays with, they prefer to be working. Watching Coltrane and his team without getting caught keeps them on their toes.”
“Do me a favor, A.J. There’s someone I would just as soon your competition doesn’t find.”
“Who is it?”
“Gordon Twobrook.”
“I thought I knew all the men in your past, and that name doesn’t sound familiar.”
“I’m glad it doesn’t. There are only two other people who know about him. One won’t talk because she’s my grandmother, and Adam can’t talk without violating the attorney-client privilege. But if by some fluke Coltrane’s operatives—”
“Get anywhere near someone named Gordon Twobrook, I’ll let you know,” A.J. said, accurately finishing Octavia’s sentence. “By the way, I figured turnabout was fair play and assigned someone to check out Merlin’s personal affairs.”
“Learn anything yet?”
“He’s made a lot of money and has recently sunk most of it into a four million dollar, fifty-carat blue-white diamond called Midnight Magic. He outbid a lot of other people to get it.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting. How about women?”
“He’s ultrasecretive about that part of his life. There must be a reason for it. I’ll let you know when I find out what it is. By the way, are you aware his Bentley has been following you since you left the body shop a few minutes ago?”
Octavia glanced over at her rearview mirror to see the trailing headlights. “No, I wasn’t. How did you know?”
“It’s why I get the big bucks. Talk to you soon.”
Octavia smiled as she hung up the phone. As familiar as she was with A.J.’s abilities, the lady still continued to impress her. Octavia turned up the next street and pulled over to the curb in front of Constance Kope’s apartment house. She got out of the car and waited on the sidewalk, her umbrella shielding her against the sleet as Brett made his way over to her.
