Part 26 (2/2)

I went back to my office. There was a call waiting from Harvey the Hacker. One of the things he told me almost certainly ended Viviase's plan to get Trasker legally out of Hoffmann's house. The other thing he told me confirmed what I had pretty much figured out about who had been taking shots at me.

I called Ames at the Texas Bar and Grill and told him about the Laundromat.

”Can you ride shotgun for me for a few days?” I asked.

”No problem,” he said. ”Be right over.”

”I'll pick you up.”

Ames was waiting outside when I got there. The sky was still overcast, but it wasn't raining and he didn't need his slicker for anything other than covering his shotgun.

He climbed in and sat back. I had brushed off the front seat as much as I could, but I'd still have to answer to Fred and Alan. Ames didn't ask where we were going, which was just as well because it was probable we were headed for the two places Detective Etienne Viviase most wanted me to stay away from.

Stop number one was less than five minutes away, the office of Dr. Obermeyer. This time there were two patients waiting in the reception room, an ancient, little, bent-over woman who tilted her head upward and glared at an equally old man directly across from her, who met her glare for glare.

Neither of them looked up at us when we entered.

Carla the receptionist, hair eater, however, did. Her glare was even better than the old couple.

”I'm calling the police,” she said.

”First give Dr. Obermeyer a name,” I said. ”I don't think he'll want the police coming to talk about it and I don't think he'll be happy with you if you call the police before you give him the name.”

She hesitated.

”I'm sorry if I got you in trouble the last time I was here,” I said. ”You've got your job and you were just trying your best to do it.”

She picked up the phone and pushed a b.u.t.ton.

”That man with the baseball hat is back,” she said. ”With another man. He says I should give you a name.”

She looked up at me.

”Dutcher,” I said.

”Dutcher,” she said into the telephone. ”Yes.”

She hung up.

”He'll be with you in a minute,” she said.

I sat. Ames stood. It was less awkward to stand when you had a shotgun in your jacket. We watched the old couple glare at each other across the room for just about a minute. Then the door to Obermeyer's office opened and a well-dressed, slender woman came out. She was probably in her late forties. She was certainly not happy.

”The tests results will be back in three days,” Obermeyer said, gently touching the woman's shoulder. ”I'll call you immediately. I don't think there's anything to be concerned about. We just want to be careful.”

The woman glanced at Ames and me as she went out the door, and Obermeyer said, ”Mr. and Mrs. Spoznik, I'll be with you in just a moment.”

The glaring couple gave him no sign that he had penetrated their concentration.

Obermeyer nodded at Ames and me and we followed him into his office. He moved behind his desk, a barrier from patients and intruders like me. Ames sat in one chair, right leg not quite bent, and I sat in the other.

”You mentioned a name,” Obermeyer said.

”Dutcher,” I said. ”You know it, don't you?”

”I'm not sure,” he said.

”Kevin Hoffmann's real name is Dutcher, Alvin York Dutcher,” I said.

”So?” he asked.

”He had a sister, Claire Dutcher,” I said.

”Interesting,” he said. ”But-”

”Fraud, murder,” I said. ”And you're a party to it.”

”Wait,” Obermeyer said, quickly standing. ”I had nothing to do with any fraud, any murder.”

”William Trasker's not too sick to me moved, is he?” I asked.

”In my opinion...” Obermeyer began, reverting to his role as confident physician.

”It's all going to come apart in the next few days,” I said. ”You'll go down with it.”

Obermeyer sat down again.

”William Trasker is a very sick man,” he said. ”I've kept him comfortable and sedated. He is dying.”

”But if he wasn't sedated,” I said, ”could he get up, walk, talk?”

”How long has he got, Doc?” Ames asked.

Obermeyer looked at Ames with surprise.

”That's difficult to determine,” the doctor said. ”As I told Mr. Fonesca, probably a few days.”

”If a group of cancer experts looked at him,” I said, ”what would they say?”

Obermeyer sunk back.

”I don't know,” he said with a sigh.

”He can function, move, make decisions?” I asked.

Obermeyer nodded and said, ”I told you, he is heavily sedated.”

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