In Plain Sight

by Fern Michaels

  “We should put our shields on a lanyard. Do you have any in the car, Nikki? This way, when we make our entrance, the shields will speak for themselves.”

  “Sorry, Myra, I don’t carry lanyards in my car, but we can stop at the first drugstore we see and get three of them. Good idea, Myra. What your eyes see first is what sets the tone for what is to come. What do we do if there are still patients in the building when we get there?”

  “We dismiss them and tell them to call to reschedule. I say we gather all the personnel together, scare the hell out of them, then zero in on the good, or not so good, doctor. As to the associates, if they’re there, then we make short work of them. These shields will scare anyone into instant obedience,” Annie said.

  The women batted their entrance scenario around for the rest of the ride into the District. The stop at a Rite Aid drugstore barely ate into their time, and they arrived at Dr. Mattison’s office right on schedule.

  “Eleven cars in the parking lot. Six staff, the two associates, the doctor, and possibly two patients. Ooops, make that possibly one patient. Someone just got into one of the cars.

  “Pricey real estate,” Myra said. “Did Abner tell you what the doctor’s income is?”

  “Close to $3 million. He’s up there with the movers and shakers. One of his usual golfing buddies is the President’s personal physician.”

  The women climbed out of the car. Nikki locked it. And then, as if on cue, all three adjusted their gold shields hanging from leather lanyards around their necks.

  “If I’m not mistaken, here comes patient number two. We are good to go, ladies. We can admire the architecture another time. Step lively now.” They did wait at the door to see if the elderly gentleman was indeed headed to the burgundy-colored Saab in the patient section of the parking lot.

  Annie opened the door and walked straight to the counter, where a young woman sat typing into the computer. She only looked up when Annie cleared her throat.

  “Office hours are over, ma’am. I can make an appointment for you if you like.”

  “We don’t need an appointment, young lady. We’re here to see Dr. Mattison. Call him. Then gather up the staff and have them here front and center. Do it now!” Annie wiggled the gold shield for the receptionist’s benefit. Her eyes grew wide, and she opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  Nikki backed up and locked the door to the lobby.

  “Now means now!” Annie said. “Or I can do it for you.”

  “I think you should do it,” Myra said.

  Annie brought her fingers to her lips and let loose with a shrill whistle that was deafening. Running feet from every direction could be heard.

  “There is an intercom, Annie, that could have gotten the same result,” Myra said. Annie shrugged.

  The lobby, which had looked so spacious, all of a sudden looked crowded as everyone skidded to a stop and stared at Myra, Annie, and Nikki, who all were holding up their gold shields for inspection. The questions that were about to erupt died in the staff’s throats.

  “What’s the meaning of this intrusion? Who are you people, and what are you doing here?” a distinguished man dressed in a white lab coat barked.

  “Dr. Mattison, I presume. We ask the questions, we don’t answer them. Sit down and don’t move until I tell you to move. And do not speak.”

  Nikki looked at the staff. “Gather up your things and leave the building. Listen to me very carefully now. You are not to speak to anyone about what you’ve just seen and heard. If you do, you will be arrested and held for seventy-two hours without the aid of an attorney. That means you are not to speak of this to your family, your friends, your spouses, or your partners. Raise your hand to indicate you understand what I just said.” Every hand in the room shot in the air. “If you do speak and mention this, you will need to engage the services of an attorney at the end of the seventy-two hours, and that will cost you, bare minimum, fifty thousand dollars. I doubt very much that your boss, Dr. Mattison, will want to spring for your retainers. Raise your hands to tell me you all understand what I just said.” Again, every hand in the room shot up in the air.

  “Before you leave, each of you write your name, address, phone number, cell-phone number, the make of your car, the license-plate number, and make a photocopy of your license and one credit card. Hop to it, ladies. You too, gentlemen,” she said, addressing the new young associates.

  Dr. Mattison started to mutter and mumble. Myra raised her index finger for silence as she watched the staff scurrying about under Annie’s and Nikki’s watchful eyes.

  The two associates, both young men, kept glancing at their boss to see his reaction and wondering if they would have a job the following day. One of them looked at Nikki and asked if they should report to work in the morning. Nikki laughed out loud. The associate’s face turned red as he shot an ugly glare at his boss.

  Annie carefully scrutinized the paperwork she was holding. Satisfied that everything was in order, she stuffed it all into a manila folder she picked up from the desk. “Get your things, people. Do not leave anything behind. One more time, do you all understand the rules as I’ve presented them to you? Raise your hands.” Again, every hand in the room shot upward. She nodded to Nikki, who unlocked the front door and waited till everyone was out of the room before she closed and locked the door and lowered the blind over the door.

  “Show time, Dr. Mattison!” Myra said, a lilt in her voice. “Take us to your office, please.”

  “What gives you the right to invade this office?”

  “This is what gives us the right,” Nikki said, shoving the gold shield up against the doctor’s face. “The lady told you to move, so move, or I will move you myself.”

  Mattison was a tall man, probably in his mid-fifties, with a full head of iron-gray hair, blue eyes that owed their color to contact lenses, tanned, and sculpted. He’d had some kind of facial surgery to tighten up his features, Myra thought. He was wearing a spotless, crisp, white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging out of one of the pockets. He wasn’t exactly eye candy, but he was easy on the eyes. And he did look every inch like the professional doctor he was.

  “Whatever this is all about, I would like to have my lawyer present, if you don’t mind. I have some very influential friends in this town, and I resent this invasion. You have no right to do this, and I don’t care what those things around your necks say.”

  “Unfortunately, Doctor, what they say is we’re in control, and you aren’t. There’s no one here but you and us. No lawyer. As to all those influential friends in this town, how’s that working for you, Doc?” Nikki asked. “Oh, feel free to vent, resent, whatever you want. Now, this is what we want from you. A list of each time you treated Amalie Laurent Moss. By that I mean those secretive house calls you made to Glenwood Drive when Lincoln Moss called you. Shame on you, you didn’t report even one of those visits.”

  Mattison’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really! Well maybe this will refresh your memory.” Annie slapped down a sheaf of papers, printouts, thanks to Abner, of Lincoln Moss’s canceled checks, the dates, and the doctor’s personal bank-account statements.

  “Where did you get these? That is personal, private, and privileged information. I want a lawyer.”

  “We hear that a lot. About wanting a lawyer. This,” Nikki said, waving the gold shield, “allows us to do whatever we want. For instance, if I suddenly get the crazy urge to find out if you wear boxers or tighty-whities, this shield will let me march into your house and go through your dresser drawers. Not that I would ever want to do that, I’m just saying. Now, we want Amalie Laurent Moss’s medical records. Hit the keyboard, Doc.”

  “I will do no such thing. A doctor’s records are sacred. I will tell you nothing. It goes under patient-doctor privilege. Even a court order won’t make me tell you.”

  “You sure about that, Doctor?” Annie asked. “Or are you protesting beca
use Amalie Laurent Moss’s records are not in your computer since you did not want anyone to know about those little visits out to Glenwood Drive? We can just take the whole computer with us when we leave. Oh, did I mention you will be going with us?”

  Symon Mattison licked at his bottom lip. Clearly, he was agitated, and he also clearly did not know what to do. Finally, he came to some kind of decision and nodded.

  “We know you like going to the White House. We know your wife likes to boast to her fellow bridge players that she gets invited there. We get all that. What we don’t get, Dr. Mattison, is why you did nothing to stop the abuse. Amalie Laurent, she doesn’t like to be called Moss these days, is prepared to testify against you. She said you did what her husband told you to do. You could lose your license; your new trophy wife, social climber that she is, will divorce you; and your children will become outcasts. That is the reality of what you are looking at. Ask yourself if your friendship with Lincoln Moss is worth the loss of all you hold dear,” Annie said.

  “Has something happened to Amalie?” Mattison asked nervously. “I haven’t seen her in over five years, maybe longer.”

  “Are you asking us if he killed her? That’s always been your fear, right. Still, you did nothing. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? He finally did it, that kind of thing.”

  “There was always an excuse, a reason given by Amalie herself for her injuries,” Mattison whispered. “Lincoln said if I ever told anyone, he’d ruin me. I kept a separate file on Amalie.”

  “To cover your own butt, right?” Nikki bellowed.

  “Yes, but for Amalie as well. I knew in my heart someday that this might happen.”

  “You could have reported him anonymously,” Myra said.

  “No, I couldn’t. I was the only one who knew other than the little Mexican maid. And she was too scared to even look at me. I don’t even know if the maid spoke English because I never heard her speak. She seemed to understand when I told her what she had to do for Amalie, however.”

  “And you just walked away and took his money and kept silent.”

  “Yes. And I am not proud of it. I did what I could for Amalie. Not that this means anything, but I despise the bastard.”

  “Where are the records?” Annie asked.

  Symon Mattison pulled a key ring out of his pocket and opened his bottom desk drawer. He pulled out a thick file folder. He stared at it for a long moment, drew a deep breath, and handed it to Myra, who was the closest to him. “What happens now?”

  The three women looked at one another. “We can’t tell you that, Doctor. But would you like some advice?” He nodded.

  “If I were you, I’d pack up that trophy wife of yours, close down this office, and get the hell out of Dodge. You’re a wealthy man; it’s time for you to give back. Do what you can do medically and expect nothing in return. The advice is free. And the same thing applies to you, Doctor, as the advice we gave to your staff. One word, and we’ll be back. No matter where you go, we can find you. We will find you if you open your mouth about any of this to your buddy Moss.”

  “He’s not my buddy, so please stop saying that. Okay, okay, I’ll do what you say.”

  “Don’t get up, Doctor, we can find the way out. By the way, nice digs you have here. Should bring a pretty fair amount to your coffers when you put it up for sale. That’s not a suggestion, it’s an order. Remember, we will find you,” Annie said coldly.

  Outside in the hot, humid air, the three women looked at one another. “It’s just another nail in Lincoln’s coffin. It pains me to see how thick this file is,” Annie said.

  “It went well, all things considered. The man will be on a plane somewhere with or without the trophy wife by this time tomorrow. By Monday morning, this building will have a FOR SALE sign on it, and the staff will be on the unemployment line.” Nikki looked at Myra and Annie to see if they agreed. Both women nodded. Myra yanked at her pearls and removed the lanyard, then stuffed it along with the gold shield into her pocket.

  “Let’s go home, girls.”

  “I’m driving,” Annie said, making a beeline for Nikki’s Beemer. The only other car in the parking lot was a silver Porsche. She jerked her head in the direction of the parked car, and said, “Betcha we could get that set of wheels for pennies on the dollar tomorrow.”

  “That’s a sucker’s bet, and you know it,” Myra said, laughing so hard Nikki had to push her into the backseat.

  Chapter 19

  Clyde Entwhistle, President Knight’s chief of staff, looked up at the President and did a double take. The leader of the free world looked ... Presidential. Today POTUS was dressed in a Savile Row suit, the crease in the trousers knife sharp. He was wearing a blood-red power tie. The shirt under his jacket was blinding white. Entwhistle looked down at the floor. The shoes were new, too, John Lobbs if he wasn’t mistaken. What the hell happened overnight that he wasn’t privy to? Gabriel Knight just looked so damn Presidential. It must be true what the fashion magazines said, clothes did indeed make the man.

  What Entwhistle found the most startling though was what else he was seeing. A certain quietness of the man who was suddenly in total control of his whole being and his emotions, something he’d never seen before.

  It wasn’t that the President never dressed well, he did. Today, though, there was something different about his boss. He wondered if that ride on the John Deere had anything to do with it. Or the absence of Lincoln Moss at the White House of late. Then again, maybe the First Lady had gone shopping. It was a well-known fact that Emma Knight did all the President’s shopping. Probably all of the above, Entwhistle decided.

  Rarely was Entwhistle at a loss for words or anything else for that matter, but this morning he felt flummoxed for some reason. He looked over at the President, and because he couldn’t think of a thing to say, said, “You’re early this morning, Mr. President.”

  “I know. I took the liberty of ordering coffee and pastries. I guess you’re wondering why this meeting is being held here in your office instead of the Oval Office.”

  “The thought did occur to me, Mr. President.”

  “This is how I see it, Clyde. Everyone knows this is where it all goes down. The Oval Office is for show. That’s where we do meet and greets, shake hands, smile, do photo ops. This office, your office, is where we get down and dirty, where we get to play hardball and piss everyone off. Today, I am going to unpiss off a lot of people, and I wanted it to go down here. That okay with you, Clyde?” The President’s tone clearly said he didn’t give a good rat’s ass if Clyde liked it or not, this was where the meeting was going to be held and where he was going to unpiss everyone off.

  Entwhistle nodded. “It might help, Mr. President, if you told me what this sudden meeting is all about. I am your chief of staff. You’re supposed to clear these things with me first, and as protocol goes, I set up the meeting.”

  “I just did,” the President said calmly.

  And that was the end of that.

  This all must have something to do with that lawn-mowing stunt the President had pulled before anyone could stop him, Entwhistle decided. “Can I at least ask who is coming to this meeting?”

  “You’ll see when they get here. Stop acting like some old fuddy-duddy, Clyde. I’m not going to press the red button, and I’m not going to mow the lawn again. I have to say, though, that ride on the John Deere took fifty pounds of stress off my shoulders. I felt like a human being for two whole hours. Do you mow your lawn, Clyde?”

  “Don’t have one, sir. I live in a condo.”

  The President himself opened the door when he heard the soft knock to admit one of the stewards pushing a linen-covered dolly. Cups of fine china were set up on the conference table at the far end of the room. Followed by fine china plates, sterling silver, and linen napkins with the Presidential seal embroidered on one corner. Three platters of pastries sat under crystal domes, with a set of sterling silver tongs next to each.

  The President eye
d the chairs at the table. Satisfied, he nodded to Entwhistle to escort the attendees to the room. He moved to the head of the table, where he always sat, but waited until everyone was in the room before he sat down. There was no tried-and-true seating arrangement, but the people in the room had been there often enough that they always took the same seats.

  The President looked around and greeted each person by name. Gerald Bryce, the National Security Advisor; Louella Laird, the first female Director of the CIA; Jack Sparrow, Director of the FBI; Harold Montgomery, the Secretary of State; Mitchell Palmer, the Secretary of Defense; General Dylan Davis, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; and, of course, Clyde Entwhistle, chief of staff.

  All the chairs at the table held a body except for the one to the right of the President’s chair. As much as the people seated at the table tried not to look at the empty chair, their eyes kept going to it.

  The chair that Lincoln Moss always sat in. While it was a nice chair, softly padded with shiny wood armrests, it now looked like some ugly thing that didn’t belong. No one said a word when the President’s leg shot out from under the table, giving the chair, which was on wheels, a fierce kick and sending it rolling back to the wall, where it bounced, then slid farther down the room out of sight. The gesture was enough to inform the others that Lincoln Moss would not be attending this particular meeting.

  The President took his time as he looked at the people, good people, loyal people in the eye, and said, “I want to apologize to all of you. Just because I’m the President of the United States doesn’t mean I don’t make mistakes. I’m here today to tell you I’ve made some serious ones, but I recognize that now, and I’m not too proud to admit them and to ask for your help. Starting today, things are going to be different around here. Better late than never.