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Authors: Les Standiford
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that
he
was the one under suspicion. A couple more outbursts, they’d find a safe place for the agitated Mr. Deal.
Deal took a breath, turned back to the release form he’d been holding. “This was at eight o’clock last night, right?”
The doctor nodded warily, as if it were something that might be litigated. “If that’s what it says on the paper,” he added.
“And she didn’t say where she was going?”
The doctor shook his head, tight-lipped.
“You know,” Driscoll’s voice cut in, booming around the sizable waiting room, “the man’s just trying to find out what’s happened to his wife. You might show a little compassion.”
They both turned to stare at him.
“How’d you feel, Doc, show up with flowers and candy, find out your wife left the place where they were supposed to take care of her?”
The doctor started to say something, took another look at Driscoll, who’d sucked in his gut, seemed to grow a couple of inches as he came toward them. The doctor turned back to Deal, his voice softening.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Deal. Your wife has been depressed, but she is, in my opinion, fully in control of her actions. She cares very deeply for you and your daughter. I’m sure she will be in touch with you. I’d stake my professional career on it.”
Deal nodded.
His professional career
. The guy couldn’t wait to shoo him and Driscoll out of the waiting room, get back to the other troubled souls in the back. So what if one of his charges had flown the coop. She’d used her insurance ID, signed the right name, everything was hunky-dory, next patient, please.
“You could call us, couldn’t you,” Driscoll had his arm around Deal’s shoulder, testing the anger there, just being ready, Deal thought. At the same time, the ex-cop extended a card to the doctor in his thick fingers. “If Mrs. Deal should get in touch with you, you could tell her that my client is worried about her, wants to talk to her, you could do that much, couldn’t you?”
His
client
? Deal was thinking. Driscoll was his
neighbor
, just come along to say hi.
The doctor took the card. “Of course.” He turned to Mr. Deal. “And I am truly sorry, Mr. Deal.”
Deal glanced at him, nodded. For a moment he thought the doctor was about to add, “And if you feel in need of a little tune-up yourself…,” but instead they simply shared a glance, and then Driscoll was guiding him out the double doors of the clinic.
***
They hadn’t gone a half-dozen blocks, on their way back to the fourplex, were about to turn off Le Jeune and join the river of northbound traffic on US 1, when it struck Deal. Nearly overcome, he began jabbing his finger out the passenger window toward the gas station on their right.
“Stop the car,” he said abruptly.
“What?” Driscoll said, swerving to the curb. He glanced toward the station pumps, where a burly guy was gassing up a landscaping truck. “Janice? You see her?”
Deal didn’t bother to answer. He was out the door and across the sidewalk before it closed behind him, on a gallop toward the pay phone he’d spotted. He dug frantically in his pockets, spilling his keys, a mass of pennies, his battered Swiss Army knife, until finally he found a quarter and managed to guide it into the slot. As the coin dropped, he jabbed in Mrs. Suarez’s number so hard his finger ached.
He had to wait what seemed like minutes for the connection to complete, then fumed again as the ring signals mounted in his ear. Driscoll had made it out of the car and had nearly joined him at the phone stanchion by the time Mrs. Suarez finally picked up.
“
Sí, Señor
Deal,” she said, cutting into his torrent of fractured Spanish.
“
La señora
,” he repeated. “If my wife…” He broke off, then began again. “
Cuando mi esposa
…” He glanced at Driscoll, but what help did he expect there? Driscoll had learned to say
cerveza
, could buy a beer anywhere in South Florida. Thirty years living in a
he
was the one under suspicion. A couple more outbursts, they’d find a safe place for the agitated Mr. Deal.
Deal took a breath, turned back to the release form he’d been holding. “This was at eight o’clock last night, right?”
The doctor nodded warily, as if it were something that might be litigated. “If that’s what it says on the paper,” he added.
“And she didn’t say where she was going?”
The doctor shook his head, tight-lipped.
“You know,” Driscoll’s voice cut in, booming around the sizable waiting room, “the man’s just trying to find out what’s happened to his wife. You might show a little compassion.”
They both turned to stare at him.
“How’d you feel, Doc, show up with flowers and candy, find out your wife left the place where they were supposed to take care of her?”
The doctor started to say something, took another look at Driscoll, who’d sucked in his gut, seemed to grow a couple of inches as he came toward them. The doctor turned back to Deal, his voice softening.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Deal. Your wife has been depressed, but she is, in my opinion, fully in control of her actions. She cares very deeply for you and your daughter. I’m sure she will be in touch with you. I’d stake my professional career on it.”
Deal nodded.
His professional career
. The guy couldn’t wait to shoo him and Driscoll out of the waiting room, get back to the other troubled souls in the back. So what if one of his charges had flown the coop. She’d used her insurance ID, signed the right name, everything was hunky-dory, next patient, please.
“You could call us, couldn’t you,” Driscoll had his arm around Deal’s shoulder, testing the anger there, just being ready, Deal thought. At the same time, the ex-cop extended a card to the doctor in his thick fingers. “If Mrs. Deal should get in touch with you, you could tell her that my client is worried about her, wants to talk to her, you could do that much, couldn’t you?”
His
client
? Deal was thinking. Driscoll was his
neighbor
, just come along to say hi.
The doctor took the card. “Of course.” He turned to Mr. Deal. “And I am truly sorry, Mr. Deal.”
Deal glanced at him, nodded. For a moment he thought the doctor was about to add, “And if you feel in need of a little tune-up yourself…,” but instead they simply shared a glance, and then Driscoll was guiding him out the double doors of the clinic.
***
They hadn’t gone a half-dozen blocks, on their way back to the fourplex, were about to turn off Le Jeune and join the river of northbound traffic on US 1, when it struck Deal. Nearly overcome, he began jabbing his finger out the passenger window toward the gas station on their right.
“Stop the car,” he said abruptly.
“What?” Driscoll said, swerving to the curb. He glanced toward the station pumps, where a burly guy was gassing up a landscaping truck. “Janice? You see her?”
Deal didn’t bother to answer. He was out the door and across the sidewalk before it closed behind him, on a gallop toward the pay phone he’d spotted. He dug frantically in his pockets, spilling his keys, a mass of pennies, his battered Swiss Army knife, until finally he found a quarter and managed to guide it into the slot. As the coin dropped, he jabbed in Mrs. Suarez’s number so hard his finger ached.
He had to wait what seemed like minutes for the connection to complete, then fumed again as the ring signals mounted in his ear. Driscoll had made it out of the car and had nearly joined him at the phone stanchion by the time Mrs. Suarez finally picked up.
“
Sí, Señor
Deal,” she said, cutting into his torrent of fractured Spanish.
“
La señora
,” he repeated. “If my wife…” He broke off, then began again. “
Cuando mi esposa
…” He glanced at Driscoll, but what help did he expect there? Driscoll had learned to say
cerveza
, could buy a beer anywhere in South Florida. Thirty years living in a
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