Janek stared back, blank-faced, as the doctor told them he did not believe he had a patient whose first name was Diana. In fact, the doctor said, he doubted he even knew a woman with that particular first name.
As for triazolam, yes, he did prescribe it for some of his patients. He also prescribed Valium, Ativan, Dalmane and a good half dozen other sedatives of the benzodiazepine class. Under no circumstances would he reveal his patients' names or the nature of their prescriptions. If the detectives did not understand why he held to this position, they were welcome to discuss the matter with his attorney.
Feldstein, wearing an immaculate white jacket, smiled scornfully as he said all this. Then, as if to reassure himself, he gazed around at the fine appointments in his Park Avenue consulting room.
He was a short, dapper man with an oversized head, thick gray hair and a sharp, jutting chin. As he talked he angled his head back to emphasize his confidence. He was selfimportant, feisty, arrogant-all traits that Janek despised. Watching him, Janek wondered how he managed to keep his patients. But then he remembered that there were people who preferred a cold, imperious doctor. Better to leave everything to the despotic judgment of an all-knowing Great Physician than to acknowledge there were mysteries within the body as yet not understood.
"So, if that's all you gentlemen-"
"What's his name?" Janek asked.
Feldstein blinked. He didn't like being interrupted. "Excuse me?"
"Your attorney-what's his name?"
"Well, I don't really see-"
"Gilford Thatcher, right?"
"Well, yes. But-" "Yeah, I thought so." Janek shook his head with disgust.
Feldstein screwed up his features. "Sorry, Lieutenant, I don't get what you're driving at."
Janek leaned forward. "I've worked a lot of cases like this. Sooner or later we find the person we're looking for. Then, sooner or later, he or she makes a deal. What I'm driving at, Dr. Feldstein, is that when we find this woman, whom you claim you don't know, and she tells us how you prescribed triazolam, knowing exactly what she was going to do with it, I'll make it my personal mission in life to see your license revoked."
He glanced at Aaron. They stood up. They didn't bother to say good-bye.
He took the Lexington Avenue subway downtown, got off at Canal Street, walked three blocks east, then climbed the four long flights to the former karate studio that housed the law offices of Rampersad amp; Rudnick.
This time Netti's young secretary opened the door.
"Hello, Lieutenant." Doe Landestoy beamed.
Janek peered around. Rudnick was nowhere in sight, but Netti was on the exercise platform working out with a pair of chromed barbells.
"Hi!" she yelled. "Be right with you-soon as I finish the set."
Janek watched as she completed her routine. She looked limber and strong. He noticed she was wearing the same ensemble as on his previous visit, except that this time her sweatpants were navy and her white tanktop bore a black German military insignia.
When she was finished, she mopped her face with a towel, slung it over the back of her neck, grabbed both ends with her hands and approached.
As before, her forehead, neck and upper torso were slick with sweat.
Janek looked her over. "Every time I drop in here I catch you working out."
Her eyes glowed. "I like pumping iron. Sometimes I practice a little law."
He noticed several delightful clusters of freckles on her glossy chest.
Don't start thinking about her body, he warned himself.
"Glad to hear that. I need a good lawyer. I'm here today on my own account."
She raised her eyebrows, beckoned him to her work area, gestured him into her client's chair, sat behind her desk, mopped her face again and settled back.
"Okay," she said nicely, in the manner of a well practiced attorney,
"let's hear your story."
She listened carefully as he spoke, taking occasional notes on a yellow legal pad, nodding at strategic points to show she followed what he was saying. As he recounted his saga-exploitative ex-wife, crushing alimony, ex-wife's live-in lover, imbalance in their incomes-he found, to his surprise, that he was enjoying himself Netti was a good listener; she inspired coherent narrative. And his depiction of Sarah, which always emerged with a bitter edge when he discussed her with Aaron, was coming out now in a far more attractive form.
"Well, it ain't criminal defense," Netti said when he finished. "But it could be fun, specially if I can do it quick." She paused. "What's your bottom line?":, Reduce the alimony, I guess."
"Reduce it? Why not eliminate it?"
"Think you can do that?"
"I'll give it my best shot."
Suddenly he was worried: What if Netti came on too strong, antagonized Sarah, then lost the case? Might that inspire Sarah to seek even more alimony than he was paying?
"Is it smart to demand so much?"
Netti patted his hand. "Only way to go. In a case like this you've gotta break their balls."
He arrived back at Special Squad to take a call from Joe Deforest.
"Free this evening?" Deforest asked.
"What's up?"
"That attorney you're interested in, Gil Thatcher-he just phoned. He wants to take us to dinner."
"Right," Janek said, smiling to himself. "I've been expecting something like this."
He took off an hour, went over to Twelfth Avenue and walked through several new-car dealer showrooms. Everything he touched had a plastic, tinny feel to it. He was angry about the loss of his Saab and hoped Stoney would find the guy who blew it up.
He decided two things: He wouldn't buy a car, and, as soon as he was finished with the Dietz case, he would call Stoney and offer to collaborate.
La Palombe was not the kind of restaurant Janek liked. It was, first of all, very expensive, a fact made clear by its marble-lined foyer, haughty hat-check girl, hovering tuxedoed waiters, lavish floral bouquets and opulent main room where elegantly framed watercolors hung on red damask covered walls.
The pretentious mocitre d' didn't appeal to Janek either; nor, apparently, did Janek do much for him. Must be in – V shoes, Janek thought, but he didn't care. He knew about the supercilious Europeans who guarded the portals of Manhattan's fancier establishments. They were the kind who, if you came in and asked politely to use the men's room, would recoil in disgust.
He didn't like Gilford Thatcher, but he hadn't expected to, so that came as no surprise. Thatcher wasn't up-front arrogant like Feldstein.
Rather, he was oily and affable with the kind of perfect tan you get only if you spend a lot of time on a yacht. He was a ban some man wit a leonine face and carefully cut soft black hair. He had a low-key confidential way of speaking that forced listeners to lean forward, and a smug, sometimes ironic smile.
Janek stayed silent while Thatcher and Deforest made small talk. He listened politely as Thatcher recommended various dishes and then entered into a tedious discussion with the wine steward. When, toward the middle of the meal, he noticed Thatcher studying him, he looked the attorney in the eye.
"You've been quiet, Lieutenant," Thatcher observed.
Janek shrugged. "I like to get to the point."
"Fine." Thatcher grinned. "Let's get to it. You've been asking around about one of my clients. I'd like to know why. "
"I'm looking for a young woman. I think your client knows where she lives."
"Who exactly are we talking about?"
"What exactly is your client's name?" Thatcher smiled again. "Her first name's Diana."
"The first name of the woman I'm looking for is Gelsey. " . "Well, now that we've got that straight… " Thatcher winked at Deforest. "My client is a public-spirited individual. I'm sure she'd like to help. But if she talks to you, she could implicate herself.
Obviously, that's something I can't permit.