Read Online The Last Clinic by Gary Gusick - Free Book Online Page A

murder.”
    “I do not. I’m sorry.”
    He wasn’t being nonchalant, but he didn’t sound anxious either.
    “Okay, well, let’s see if we can get some facts down. Exactly where were you between six and seven this morning?”
    “In my office in Madison. I have a second office there, away from the clinic.”
    He leaned back, resting his arms on the back of the couch, but not invading her space.
    She too had her arm on the couch and was aware of the lack of distance between his hand and hers. Five or six inches and they could touch. Not that far if he uncoiled his long fingers.
     He saw her glancing at the space that divided them and then caught her gaze for a second before they both looked away.
    “Six a.m. That’s pretty early for an office visit.”
    “This clinic is a very public place even in the early morning. And of course, there was always the presence of the man with the cross. Sometimes he brought accomplices with him to photograph any sinners who dared to cross the threshold.”
    “Accomplices. That’s an interesting word.”
    “Many of the women coming here have been photographed entering or leaving and have had their photos displayed on the internet. People have sent the photos to family members and friends, sometimes to their employer. I opened a second office with an examination room for those who are concerned with maintaining their privacy. The office in Madison is not listed in the phone directory. I doubt if Reverend Aldridge knew about it. Being able to see me there, especially when it’s early, enables my patients to shield their identity.”
    She noticed that the playfulness in his eyes had faded, and they now seemed filled with sadness.
    She shifted her body, straightening her back, bringing her hand off the couch and down to her lap. It made her feel safer, more in control. She felt more like the police and less like a woman.
    “So you were seeing a patient this morning at the time of the shooting?”
    “That is correct.”
    “I assume you’ll give us the name of the patient.”
     He rose from the couch. “I’ll make some coffee. Will you join me? Espresso, but not the same as in Italy. It’s only Starbucks, but I make it strong.”
    “About the patient you saw this morning?”
    “Perhaps another visit.”
    “Another visit, what? You’ll tell me the name of the patient on another visit?”
    “Perhaps you’ll have espresso when you come back again. That was my meaning.”
    She paused and assessed the interview. She was asking the questions, but he always seemed a step ahead of her.
    “What makes you think I’ll be back?” She was not sure if it was the cop, the patient, or the woman asking the question.
    His face was solemn, but his eyes curled the way eyes do when you smile.
     “You’re sure to have other questions, or you might feel the need to arrest me.”
    He said the last like a boyfriend kidding around with her, as if they’d played with the bracelets before.
    She watched his hands, how deftly he measured, poured the coffee, and worked the espresso machine. It started to brew, and an aroma of the black liquid filled the room.
    The Italians , she thought. Everything they do, it’s like they’re making love to a beautiful woman. But still, I’ll bet he’s a grouch in the mornings .
    And now he stood in front of her, a few feet away in his crisp white lab coat, holding the tiny cup in his left hand, supporting it in his right palm. Leaning against a bookcase and breathing in the aroma of the espresso, he looked lost in the enjoyment of the moment, like he’d forgotten their interview and that they were talking about his possible incarceration.
     She cleared her throat. “I’m not kidding around. I’m going to need the name of the patient you were seeing.”
    “You are aware of the Hippocratic oath?” Then he corrected himself. “Of course you are. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sure you understand my position.”
    “I do understand. I don’t expect