he asked.
She handed back the ID. “You don’t have to have a bad leg to walk with a cane. And you hardly hear that expression anymore, ‘come calling.’ ”
She had a point. Two points.
“I’m Officer Linda Lapella,” she said. “Beth told me about you, but I needed to be sure. She had a bad night. The doctor gave her something, and she’s been asleep for about an hour.”
“What did McGregor tell you about this duty?”
“Nothing other than to come here and guard the—the woman in this room until I’m relieved.”
“He tell you to watch out for anyone in particular?”
“No. He doesn’t tell me much going into things. Usually I get a certain kind of make-work assignment, then I’m left alone so I’m out of the way. He tells me later where I fouled up.”
“This isn’t that kind of assignment,” Carver said in a voice harder than he’d intended. His tone made Officer Lapella stare at him.
“Okay,” she said.
Carver described the crew-cut WASP type who had entered Beth’s room.
“Beth mentioned him before she fell asleep,” she said. “She didn’t know anything about him. Can you tell me anything?”
“Only that he’s not FBI, and the nurses didn’t know him as an employee or visitor. So maybe he’s something else.”
“Big hospital,” Lapella said skeptically.
“Big world of possibilities.”
She smiled with her tiny, perfect teeth. There was a lipstick stain on one of the front ones. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Mr. Carver.”
“Fred.”
“Then it’s Linda. And don’t worry about Beth. I’m not the screw-up Lieutenant McGregor might have described.”
“I didn’t think so. He’s not lavish with his praise. Now that we’ve met, though, I feel better.”
“Me too,” Linda said. “McGregor wasn’t very complimentary when he told me about you.”
Carver told Linda to let Beth know when she woke up that he’d been by while she was sleeping, then he rode the elevator down and used a pay phone in the lobby to call Women’s Light.
A recording informed him that the clinic on de Leon Boulevard was temporarily closed and gave him another number to call. When the phone was answered by a woman, Carver asked to speak to Dr. Benedict, then realized he was speaking to another recording. This one told him that Women’s Light patients were being referred to A. A. Aal Memorial Hospital. As Carver was standing in the lobby of said hospital, he phoned the information desk and asked for Dr. Benedict. He was transferred to surgery and told by a nurse that Dr. Benedict wasn’t on duty today. He asked for the doctor’s home number but was politely refused. After hanging up, he looked up Dr. Benedict’s home number and address in the phone directory and was surprised to find them listed.
Detective work.
14
D R. L OUIS B ENEDICT’S ADDRESS belonged to a low, modern ranch house on Macon Avenue in what Carver thought of as an upper-middle-class neighborhood. The grassy area between curb and sidewalk was lined with palm trees, front yards were large, and the homes were set well back from the street and often secluded behind trees and shrubbery.
The Benedict house, however, was plainly visible at the end of its long, straight driveway. The carpet of lush green lawn sloping uphill toward it was unbroken except for a circular flower bed vivid with the bright colors of geraniums and yellow and red roses. The house itself was mostly brick, vast planes of tinted glass, and angled exposed beams. There was a two-car garage attached to it by what looked like a breezeway that had been converted to an additional room. Money here, Carver thought, but nothing grand.
He parked the Olds in the street so it wouldn’t drip oil on the pristine concrete driveway, then used a stepping-stone walk parallel to the driveway to go up to the long front porch. There was so little overhang on the roof that there was no shade on the porch, and the late morning sun bore down on Carver’s bald pate
She handed back the ID. “You don’t have to have a bad leg to walk with a cane. And you hardly hear that expression anymore, ‘come calling.’ ”
She had a point. Two points.
“I’m Officer Linda Lapella,” she said. “Beth told me about you, but I needed to be sure. She had a bad night. The doctor gave her something, and she’s been asleep for about an hour.”
“What did McGregor tell you about this duty?”
“Nothing other than to come here and guard the—the woman in this room until I’m relieved.”
“He tell you to watch out for anyone in particular?”
“No. He doesn’t tell me much going into things. Usually I get a certain kind of make-work assignment, then I’m left alone so I’m out of the way. He tells me later where I fouled up.”
“This isn’t that kind of assignment,” Carver said in a voice harder than he’d intended. His tone made Officer Lapella stare at him.
“Okay,” she said.
Carver described the crew-cut WASP type who had entered Beth’s room.
“Beth mentioned him before she fell asleep,” she said. “She didn’t know anything about him. Can you tell me anything?”
“Only that he’s not FBI, and the nurses didn’t know him as an employee or visitor. So maybe he’s something else.”
“Big hospital,” Lapella said skeptically.
“Big world of possibilities.”
She smiled with her tiny, perfect teeth. There was a lipstick stain on one of the front ones. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Mr. Carver.”
“Fred.”
“Then it’s Linda. And don’t worry about Beth. I’m not the screw-up Lieutenant McGregor might have described.”
“I didn’t think so. He’s not lavish with his praise. Now that we’ve met, though, I feel better.”
“Me too,” Linda said. “McGregor wasn’t very complimentary when he told me about you.”
Carver told Linda to let Beth know when she woke up that he’d been by while she was sleeping, then he rode the elevator down and used a pay phone in the lobby to call Women’s Light.
A recording informed him that the clinic on de Leon Boulevard was temporarily closed and gave him another number to call. When the phone was answered by a woman, Carver asked to speak to Dr. Benedict, then realized he was speaking to another recording. This one told him that Women’s Light patients were being referred to A. A. Aal Memorial Hospital. As Carver was standing in the lobby of said hospital, he phoned the information desk and asked for Dr. Benedict. He was transferred to surgery and told by a nurse that Dr. Benedict wasn’t on duty today. He asked for the doctor’s home number but was politely refused. After hanging up, he looked up Dr. Benedict’s home number and address in the phone directory and was surprised to find them listed.
Detective work.
14
D R. L OUIS B ENEDICT’S ADDRESS belonged to a low, modern ranch house on Macon Avenue in what Carver thought of as an upper-middle-class neighborhood. The grassy area between curb and sidewalk was lined with palm trees, front yards were large, and the homes were set well back from the street and often secluded behind trees and shrubbery.
The Benedict house, however, was plainly visible at the end of its long, straight driveway. The carpet of lush green lawn sloping uphill toward it was unbroken except for a circular flower bed vivid with the bright colors of geraniums and yellow and red roses. The house itself was mostly brick, vast planes of tinted glass, and angled exposed beams. There was a two-car garage attached to it by what looked like a breezeway that had been converted to an additional room. Money here, Carver thought, but nothing grand.
He parked the Olds in the street so it wouldn’t drip oil on the pristine concrete driveway, then used a stepping-stone walk parallel to the driveway to go up to the long front porch. There was so little overhang on the roof that there was no shade on the porch, and the late morning sun bore down on Carver’s bald pate
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