“Is there any way I can help?” she pressed.
I shook my head, apologizing again.
“Damn it!” she barked and hit her desk with her fist. “There must be something I can do.”
“There may be, later,” I told her quickly.
She stared at me for what seemed a long time.
“Let me know,” she ordered, and then turned her face away from mine.
It was all I could do to keep from running out the door of her office. So many people to see; so many people to disappoint.
After a few minutes of deep breathing, I looked up the address of Reed’s office in the phone book I carried in my car. I wished I done it earlier, because Reed’s office was back in Abierto. And I was going to visit his office. I made fists of my hands. Yes. I could do it. I just hoped there was no one like Dr. Yamoda there to upset.
I had learned something, I told myself as I drove back to Abierto. Dr. Sandstrom had been a complicated man, with his share of aesthetics, anger, and goodness. Now I had to figure if it was one of those attributes that had gotten him killed.
Dr. Reed Killian’s workplace was not salmon and teal. It was glass and metal, ostrow, killian and feldman, the plaque on the front door read. I opened it to a reception area filled with more glass and metal. There was no fragrance of apple-cinnamon here. Even the antiseptic smell was missing. I saw a glass counter, computers, metal sculptures, and two stylishly dressed women busily tapping keyboards.
“May I help you?” one of the women asked, standing. She was young, with auburn hair and large, green eyes. She might have been a model. But then, a plastic surgeon had to have beautiful employees, just as much as Natalie Miner’s office had to be cozy. If nothing else, I was learning about marketing today.
“I’ve come about Dr. Killian,” I told her.
She grimaced, then tried to smooth her features once more.
“Dr. Killian is no longer available,” she informed me. “But I can recommend Doctors Ostrow and Feldman.”
“No,” I corrected her. “I’ve come to talk about Reed Killian’s death.”
That was too much for the young woman.
She sank into her chair with a thud that didn’t match her stylish ensemble.
“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“I was a member of Reed’s deer group,” I told her. “I’m trying to find out who murdered him.”
Tears rushed to the young woman’s eyes. “Reed, he was a wonderful man. A true gentleman,” she mumbled through her tears.
Where had I heard this before? Avis, that’s where. Was this woman one of Reed’s many lovers?
“I’m married now, but Reed…” She swallowed the rest of her words as if swallowing the sorrow his death had brought her.
“I have a list of the deer group members,” I told her. “Can you tell me if any of them were patients?”
“We’re not allowed to—” she began.
“For Reed,” I pressured.
It worked. I recited names and she checked files. Finally, she shook her head. “None of them—”
“Who are you talking to, Cindy?” a voice behind me barked.
The man who owned the voice wasn’t a good advertisement for plastic surgery. He was red-faced, with small, close-set eyes that made his face look mean. Or maybe his face just reflected his temperament. For that, he’d need more than plastic surgery.
“Just a friend of Reed’s, Doctor,” Cindy answered, lowering her eyes.
“You haven’t been gossiping, have you?”
“No, Dr. Ostrow,” Cindy assured him.
I shook my head in confirmation. She hadn’t been gossiping, just sharing confidential information.
“Come with me, Ms…Ms…”
“Jasper,” I supplied.
I went with him into a sterile room with comfortable black leather chairs in front of and behind his glass-and-metal desk. I’d barely sunk into my chair before the doctor began to talk.
“Reed Killian has never been anything but trouble. The man cared more about skiing than he did about plastic surgery,” Dr. Ostrow began. “Not to mention hang-gliding, traveling, gardening, music, womanizing—anything but his work.” And he had prohibited Cindy from gossiping?
“Then why was he made a partner?” I asked quietly. I wanted to keep the man on a roll.
“Because of his father,” Dr. Ostrow told me. “Man’s dead now. Now, he was a surgeon and a helluva good one. He put up the money for Reed’s partnership before he died. But Reed never took his good luck seriously. He just floated through life, like…like, I don’t know, a feather or something!”
“Did he have…relations with his female patients?” I prodded.
“God, I hope not,” Dr. Ostrow said. He sank back into his own chair, his face going from red to a mild green. “Our firm is a professional one, at least now.”
If there was someone with a motive for murdering Reed, I was sitting in front of him. But he hadn’t been in the deer group.
“Did you happen to know anyone in the Deer-Abused Support Group that Reed was teaching?” I asked hopefully.
“Of course not,” Dr. Ostrow retorted. “I’m a busy man. I do not indulge in hobbies.”
“Jerry!” another voice burst in from behind me. “Cindy said there was some investigator here…”
Then the owner of the voice saw me. He was a short, slender man with matinee-idol features.
“Dr. Feldman,” he introduced himself and extended his hand. I shook it. Somehow, a man with those looks shouldn’t have had clammy hands, but he did. “And you are?”
“Kate Jasper,” I told him. Name, rank, and serial number.
Dr. Feldman sidled up closer to me, and I smelled the distinct scent of marijuana. Apparently Reed Killian hadn’t been the only partner causing problems for Dr. Ostrow. Were Dr. Feldman’s good looks enough to get him past his all too pungent drug habit?
“Well, Ms. Jasper,” Dr. Feldman said, “I’m sure Jerry and Cindy have told you all you need to know about Reed and his association with our firm—”
“Actually, I have a few questions for you,” I put in.
“I’m afraid I just don’t have time,” Feldman told me, glancing at his wristwatch as if he’d just now noticed it.
“Reed loved gardening,” I murmured, smiling. “Weed seems more in your line.”
Dr. Feldman stiffened, and the scent of perspiration mingled with that of marijuana.
“Just what are you implying?”
“Nothing, just that I’d like a few answers.”
I had his attention now. As Dr. Ostrow made blustering noises from across the desk, I recited the names of the deer group members again.
“Do you know any of these people?” I asked sweetly, adding, “I can always check, you know.”
“No, I don’t!” Dr. Feldman burst out. Then he closed his eyes, opened them again, and smiled, an advertisement for good DNA. Finally, he turned with deliberate grace and swept back out of the office.
On my own way out of Ostrow, Killian and Feldman, I nodded encouragingly at Cindy and reminded myself never to even consider plastic surgery.
But I still didn’t know who had killed Dr. Sandstrom or Dr. Killian.
I pulled into my driveway, depressed by the day’s interrogative haul. Depressed that Wayne’s car wasn’t in the driveway. I was walking up the steps to my deck when I saw Maxwell Yang at my door.
I was alone, I realized, alone with a suspect. For some reason, Maxwell Yang’s lack of irrational characteristics made him seem all the more dangerous a personality. I stared briefly at his impish face and wondered what all the smiling cost him. My fight or flight indicators pointed toward flight: sweaty hands, dry mouth, nervous belly. But how do you flee your own home?
“Been waiting long?” I asked instead, glancing down to make sure Maxwell wasn’t carrying a blunt object, and hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“I was just about to ring the bell,” Maxwell answered, his
smile deepening. He had noticed.
“Oh, Wayne should be home soon,” I lied brightly.
“Ah,” Maxwell replied. “Then we can talk.”
So I opened my house to him, a possible murderer.
Before long, we were seated, in opposing swinging chairs. Maxwell didn’t want any tea. He wanted information.
“I know you’re investigating,” he began. His habitual smile wavered. “And so am I.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“Dr. Sandstrom…” Maxwell sighed. Was he really at a loss for words? A man who made his living with words? “He could be abrasive, but he was a good man—”
There was that word again. “Good.”
“And I was once an investigative journalist, a competent one, I hope. I can’t just let his death, his and Reed Killian’s slide by.” He bent forward from his swinging chair. “You, of all people, should understand.”
I surrendered to his logic, if it was logic. Because I couldn’t let the deaths slide by either.
“What have you learned?” I asked.
Maxwell seemed to relax. He pushed off with his feet and let his chair swing gently back and forth.
“I asked a couple of investigators that work for the show to check out Dr. Sandstrom’s patients,” he told me. “They’ll start on Killian’s tomorrow. As far as Sandstrom went, they dug up a few disgruntled patients, people who weren’t happy with the doctor’s down-to-earth approach. He’d been sued more than once for telling people they were hypochondriacs, for instance.”
“Any tie-in with a member of our group?” I prompted eagerly.
Maxwell shook his head. “None that they can uncover, and these investigators are good at their jobs.”
“Any significant suits, deaths?” I pushed on.
Maxwell shook his head again. So much for investigators. So much for doctors. So much for Maxwell.
“Why were you at Lisa’s today?” I said, changing the subject. “Did she ask you there?”
Maxwell laughed. “No, she didn’t,” he admitted. “And I wasn’t just in the neighborhood either. The guy at the gate recognized me from my show and let me in. I suppose there was some intelligence to his decision. He knew who I was.” He looked me in the eye. “How about you?”
“Lisa invited me to tea,” I explained, feeling suddenly defensive.
“Tea,” he murmured. “Quaint.”
“Lisa is…” I struggled for a word.
“Strange,” Maxwell supplied.
“Maybe,” I conceded. There was something about Lisa’s childlike nature that brought out a protective streak in me.
“Well, aren’t we all?” he murmured, and was out of his chair before I could ask him any more questions. In fact, he was out of my front door before I even had a chance to say goodbye.
I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved when I heard him drive off. I was still trying to decide a few moments later when the doorbell rang.
I approached my door cautiously, opening it a few inches.
Lieutenant Perez stood on my doorstep, looking in, his beautiful brown eyes desperate.
- Twenty-One -
I didn’t want to disappoint one more person. So I invited Lieutenant Perez in and told him everything I knew. It was only as I spoke that I realized how little that really was.
“Dr. Sandstrom’s kids inherit,” I began as he sat on the denim couch. I lowered my own, suddenly tired body into a swinging chair. “But his kids don’t seem to have motives or any connections to anyone in the deer group.”
“We knew that,” the lieutenant informed me glumly.
“Oh.” I stared down at my hands, unable to look the lieutenant in the eye.
C.C. came galloping into the room with a meow on her little lizard lips. Then she stopped in her tracks to stare at the lieutenant. Was it love?
“Dr. Sandstrom has been sued by patients,” I tried again. “But none of them have any apparent connection to anyone in the group either.”
“Right,” the lieutenant murmured. Now he was staring at his hands.
C.C. rubbed up against his ankles.
I sighed. Should I give him the personal stuff I’d learned? Obviously, his men could, and had checked out who inherited, and who was suing, and who had records for murder, and…whatever. He wanted something else from me.
“Reed liked women,” I offered hesitantly. “He, he…”
I couldn’t tell him about Avis.
“Your friend Ms. Eldora has disclosed her relationship with Reed Killian,” Perez assured me. “Don’t worry.” That was kind of him.
C.C. looked up at the lieutenant, silently begging to sit in his lap. He ignored her. I could have told him that wasn’t enough to stop a cat like C.C, but he’d probably find out soon enough.
“I think Reed’s had a lot of affairs, but all the women were happy,” I went on. “The receptionist at his office, for one.”
“Any connection to the deer group?” Perez asked, his eyes suddenly alive. I felt my own pulse speed up for a moment, till I thought out my answer.
“I doubt she has any connection. And anyway, she’s married now.”
“Marriage doesn’t always stop a woman.” Now his eyes were on mine.
I squinted. There was an insinuation in his words, but I couldn’t quite make it out. I wasn’t—Then I flushed. Right, I was a married woman now. That’s what he meant.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t interested in Reed,” I fired back. The lieutenant was still looking at me. “Listen, Reed’s partner, Dr. Ostrow, didn’t like him.”
The lieutenant tilted his head. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Any connection to the—”
But his inevitable question about the deer group was cut off by C.C.’s leap into his lap. She was in love. But Lieutenant Perez definitely wasn’t. He reached for a gun I hadn’t realized he was carrying as she landed, panic in his eyes for a moment.
“She’s a cat,” I reminded him, hoping he wouldn’t shoot.
“Right,” he muttered and reholstered his gun while C.C. got down to some serious thigh-clawing. I was surprised he didn’t reach for the gun again. I knew what those sharp little claws felt like.
“I don’t think Dr. Ostrow was connected to the group,” I plodded on. Then I got a little braver. After all, this man was intimidated by my cat. Of course, I was intimidated by my cat. “Natalie Miner had a crush on Dr. Sandstrom,” I offered.
“So I’ve noticed.” Distaste showed in the lieutenant’s handsome face. “She doesn’t try to hide it.”
“Did you know that Felix Byrne and Maxwell Yang were patients of Dr. Sandstrom’s?” I tried.
He only nodded. C.C purred and nuzzled his waistband.
“Maxwell’s investigating too,” I added.
“Now that I didn’t know,” the lieutenant murmured. He straightened his shoulders. I pushed off in my chair, swinging back and forth, unaccountably pleased by my one bit of new information. I could feel warmth as I passed in and out of the window’s slanting light.
“Why’s Yang investigating?” he asked.
I stopped swinging and started squirming. I hadn’t meant to get Maxwell into any kind of trouble.
“I think he felt some kind of affection for his doctor,” I answered finally.
“Not very many people did.”
“No,” I argued. “I’ve talked to a lot of people, and for all the unpleasantness the doctor caused in the deer group, he was well-loved by the people he worked with.”
“Hrmphh.”
I took that to mean the lieutenant didn’t believe me.
“Have you talked to his partner, Dr. Yamoda?” I asked. “She thought he was great.”
“So she says.”
I opened my mouth to argue again, but gave up. How could I explain the mixed feelings Dr. Sandstrom had provoked?
“All right,” I admitted. “A lot of people don’t like doctors. A lot of people in the deer group didn’t like doctors.”
�
��Who?” the lieutenant asked quickly.
“Oh, Jean Watkins and her granddaughter. And Lisa Orton.”
“That doesn’t sound like a lot. That sounds like a few.”
“Gilda Fitch,” I added, remembering her words at the veterinarian’s. C.C. mewled as if remembering the place, if not the person.
“But then again,” I pointed out, “if you had to classify people who didn’t like doctors, you’d probably end up with half the population in that classification.”
“That’s for sure,” Perez agreed. I had a feeling I knew what half of the population he belonged in.
“So what about you guys?” I asked, peering at him sideways. “Did you find out anything?”
“Oh, loads,” he answered. Was that sarcasm? “Anyone could have hit either of them. No particular strength was needed. And almost everyone was a gardener. Strong arms. The murderer was right-handed.” He paused provocatively. “But then, everyone in your group was right-handed.”
“I didn’t know that,” I whispered, amazed that I had missed something so elementary.
“That reporter friend of yours is a P.I.A.,” he added, his olive skin darkening.
“A P.O.W?” I asked, confused.
“No ma’am, a P.I.A., pain in the ass.”
“Oh, right.” It was my turn to be unsurprised.
“Any reason your friend would kill the two doctors?” he asked.
“Felix?” I don’t know why I was astounded, but it was a stretch from P.I.A. to murderer, and one I was sure Felix could never make. “Believe me, Felix could only talk you to death. He doesn’t have the stomach for violence. He fainted over both bodies.”
“And he was right there on top of both bodies,” Perez shot back.
My adrenaline started to pump for Felix’s sake.
“Come on, we were all there—”
The doorbell cut off my defense. That was good. I didn’t want to get into the habit of defending Felix.
Actually, I didn’t want to get in the habit of anything to do with Felix, I decided as I opened my door. Because of course it was Felix on my doorstep.
“Hey, howdy hi,” he greeted me, sliding through the doorway with his mouth moving, never noticing I already had a visitor. “So, Sherlock, how’s the friggin’ sleuth-the-truth going. And don’t give me any gonzo excuses. I know you’re probably trippin’ on the murderer right now. And those potato-heads at the Abierto cop shop are sitting on their duck bottoms, diddlin’—”
Murder, My Deer (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 22
