He rounded his back slightly, lowering his chin much like a challenged gorilla. Apparently the doctor wasn’t accustomed to people questioning him. “I know this is awkward, but I was hoping to ask you out.” He held out the flowers, which looked like a variety of daisies in plastic paper. From the grocery store?
“No, I don’t think so.” There were kinder words to use, but she wasn’t up to par. Her wrist hurt and the case was not coming together as she’d hoped.
Nester cleared his throat. “We executed a warrant, and your credit card receipts came through this morning, Dr. Keyes. I’m confused why you didn’t tell the FBI that you had an alibi for the murder of Christine Franklin.”
Dr. Keyes turned the color of a fresh burn. “I . . . for goodness sake.”
“What is the alibi?” Laurel asked.
“It isn’t what you think,” the doctor protested, pulling the flowers back toward his chest.
Laurel nodded for Nester to continue.
“The good doctor spent about ten thousand dollars in the last few days with the North Side Escort service. Man, you must be taking some serious pills.” Nester shook his head.
“It’s not true—” the doctor protested.
Laurel held up a hand. “It’s a crime to lie to the FBI. Just tell me the truth so I can cross you off my list of suspects.” The blowhard had seemed like a possible suspect, but she didn’t see him wanting to have sex in the snow. A hot tub maybe, but not the freezing snow.
“Fine. I like Candy and Strawberry, and sometimes both at the same time.” His eyes sharpened. “They’re from a reputable company and they like me, too. So I have an alibi and we can move on from there.” He thrust the flowers toward her, and Nester moved out from the doorway.
What was it about men trying to protect her all of a sudden? “As an agent investigating you, I can’t accept such a gift.” She strode toward the door. “Nester will take the information about Candy and Strawberry, and then we’ll follow up with the two ladies.” She paused, her mind severing certain connections. “You mentioned before that you’d met Tommy Bearing when he brought in Mr. Brewerston for appointments. Are you sure you have never met a kid named Davie Tate?”
“I don’t remember the name,” the doctor said, looking at his rapidly wilting flowers. He scrunched up his face. “I guess Tommy had a friend with him once or twice. Dark-haired guy. I honestly didn’t pay much attention, since they stayed in the waiting room.”
“Thank you. You said you never saw Tommy accompany his father on appointments. What about the dark-haired kid?” Laurel asked, her instincts humming.
The doctor’s nose twitched as if he needed to sneeze. “I don’t remember, but I doubt it. The mayor came in by himself except for the surgery, when his wife and Sharon accompanied him. That’s how I met Sharon.”
If either Tommy or Davie had been in the cardiac wing at any time, they could’ve seen Christine Franklin. “Thank you. Nester will also need you to verify your alibis for the other crimes.” She turned and walked toward her office, already forgetting Dr. Joseph Keyes. He most likely suffered from narcissistic personality disorder, like many highly successful people. Plus, he seemed like a jerk. He had served a purpose in the investigation by revealing a possible connection that both Tommy and Davie might have to Christine Franklin.
But he wasn’t the killer.
* * *
Huck’s headache was getting worse by the heartbeat, but he forged on, sifting through Davie Tate’s phone records. His weapon felt solid at his hip, and his hands were steady, so it was just a little headache. “So far I haven’t found anything interesting.”
Laurel looked up from reading through the newest victim’s phone records, her eyes unfocused. “Me either.” She stretched her neck. “The dentist didn’t appear to have a very active social life.”
Huck sighed. They didn’t have any other leads to pursue right now.
She glanced at her wristwatch. “When is your follow-up appointment with the doctor?”
He shrugged.
“You’re going. I need your brain to be working when we finally arrest this maniac.” She flipped a page over.
“There’s no need to nag me,” he drawled, reaching for a yellow highlighter to mark a couple of numbers he didn’t recognize. They didn’t have names next to them, and they’d called Davie, so they were probably spam.
She read quickly and flipped another page over. “I don’t nag. I just shoot.”
He turned the page, scanning quickly and then pausing. “Hello.”
“What?” She wiped dust off her fingers.
He turned the paper around to show her. “Davie Tate called Dr. Charlene Rox a couple of weeks ago.” He scanned the older records. “In fact, he called her office regularly, and he received calls from there. Probably confirmation calls for appointments.”
“That’s interesting, isn’t it.” Laurel took a drink of her water. “Davie said he didn’t recognize Dr. Rox’s picture when I showed it to him.”
