Eyes Wide Open by Andrew Gross Page A

probably do an iliac bypass in his sleep. Probably even better than I could.
    â€œYou’ll be out by lunch,” I promised. I said I’d have my secretary e-mail over the MRIs with Stacey’s file. “Call me if you need to discuss. And, Avi . . .”
    â€œDon’t even mention it,” he said. “I’m hoping things go well for you and your family out there.”
    â€œNo—I meant, call me as soon as you’re done and let me know how it went,” I said. “But thanks. Thanks a bunch .”
    I told him I’d alert the family to the change.
    My next call was to Kathy.
    My stomach clenched a bit at the thought of having to explain this to her. It was eight fifteen in California. Eleven fifteen back home. I dialed her on her cell and she picked up, from one of the examining rooms.
    â€œHey,” she answered brightly, “I’m in with a very unhappy Lab named Sadie who’s got a big blister on her paw. I got your message last night. You at the airport yet?”
    â€œDon’t be mad,” I said, sucking in a breath. “I can’t make it back today.”
    â€œYou can’t . . . ? ” Her voice sank with disappointment. Maybe an edge of exasperation too.
    â€œLook, I know what you’re thinking, but something’s come up. I just need another day or two, that’s all, to see something through. You trust me, don’t you?”
    â€œSee something through? I thought you had a procedure Friday, Jay. On Marv and Susie Gold’s daughter.”
    â€œI just got Avi to cover it.”
    â€œAvi? And we had the Hochmans coming tomorrow night. All right . . .” She sighed frostily, not even attempting to conceal her frustration. “Jay, I know better than anyone how much you want to do something for them, but—”
    â€œDon’t even go there, Kath. It’s not even about Charlie and Gabby, or what you might think. I just have to see something through. Related to Evan. I’ll explain it all later. I promise.”
    There was a pause, one of those moments when it’s pretty obvious no one wants to say what they’re really thinking.
    â€œLook, I have to get back to my patient,” she said, exhaling. “She’s very impatient. She’s starting to growl at me. We can discuss this later, okay?”
    â€œOkay.”
    Then, almost as a good-bye: “And of course I trust you, Jay.”

Chapter Twenty
    T he county coroner’s office was located twenty minutes away near the sheriff’s department in San Luis Obispo. It was on a remote road a few minutes out of town, tucked dramatically at the base of one of those high, protruding mesas, not exactly your standard police setting.
    A sign on the outside walkway read DETECTIVES UNIT .
    It was strange, but I felt there was only one person I could trust.
    I went up to the front desk. A pleasant-looking woman seated behind a computer asked if she could help me. I said, “Detective Sherwood, please.”
    He was out of the office. The woman glanced at the clock on the wall and said it might be a couple of hours. There was a bench in the room outside. I told her I’d wait.
    It took close to two and a half hours, and maybe a dozen calls from me, for the detective to finally return.
    â€œHey, Carol,” he said, waving to the woman I had spoken to, coming in through a rear entrance off the parking lot. “Calls for me?”
    The secretary pointed to me and he saw me stand, his demeanor shifting. He glanced at his watch, as if he was late for something, then stepped up to me, clearly the last person he was looking to see. “Thought you were on your way home, doc. What brings you all the way out here?”
    â€œI’m not sure Evan killed himself,” I said.
    The detective blinked, as if he’d taken one to the face, and released a long, philosophical sigh. “Killed himself. Fell off a ledge while