“No, it’s not that. I did nothing illegal.”
“Then what? She asked me to ask you.”
“It isn’t something I’m really proud of but—”
“But what?”
“The simple answer is Maria gave me the number years ago and I never forgot it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Where does your pride come into play?”
“Well . . . she gave it to me after we went out on a date,” Max said. “This was like a couple of years after high school. I briefly returned to Delta one summer before heading off to become rich and famous. Or should I say infamous?”
“So? What’s the big deal?” I asked.
“You’re not mad we went out?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because she was your girl and you were my best friend.”
I reflected on this for a moment. “You said this was after high school? After I left town?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why would I be mad at you?” I asked.
“I want you to know I didn’t try anything with her,” Max continued to stammer. “The whole time I felt guilty. It was almost like I was cheating on you—you know what I mean. Every time I looked into her face all I could think was, Stevie Boy should be here, not me. And at the end of the date, I didn’t even try to kiss her good night.”
“I’m sure that really boosted her confidence,” I chided him.
“I felt so bad, I never called her again.”
“You really had a way with women,” I laughed. “And look where it got you—a place where you’re surrounded by a group of guys for as far as the eye can see. That’ll teach ya.”
Our conversation was interrupted by an announcement: “This call will be terminated in one minute.”
“Time is of the essence. I’ll stop talking, Max,” I said. “Why did you call?”
“Because I need someone to look into my case.”
“Don’t you have a lawyer?”
“I fired him,” came the startling response.
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t believe I was framed for manslaughter. I had nothing to do with that woman being killed. I swear.”
“Look, Max, I know very little about your case,” I said, getting a bit annoyed. “All I heard was you were playing a head doctor without a licence and conned some hard cash from your patients. Is that correct?”
“That’s all true, but I was helping them figure out their problems. I’m not lying.”
“Hey, trust me when I say I don’t care,” I stated. “The other part of your sorry tale was that a patient died and you were convicted of her death.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Keep going—time’s running out,” I instructed. “Why should I believe you and not your jury? Are you saying she jumped to her death and that you weren’t in your office when it happened? Did she slip on a banana peel or something? Tick, tick, tick, Max.”
“I . . . ah . . . I . . .”
“Spit it out before it’s too late, Max,” I demanded.
“I was there.”
“And?”
“I can’t say any more over the phone.”
“The word can’t isn’t in my vocabulary.”
“This call will terminate in 30 seconds.”
“You’ve got to help, Steve.”
“Help you what?”
“Find him.”
“Find who?”
“The man who killed her.”
“Now you’re saying this woman was murdered but not by you? Is that what I’m to understand?”
“Yes. You’ve got to find him before he kills again.”
“This guy didn’t have a scraggly beard and one arm, did he? Because Harrison Ford and David Janssen both had a heck of a time tracking him down in The Fugitive.”
“I know it sounds nuts, I do.”
“I guess you’d be qualified to make that judgment, right? What’s that saying—Doctor, heal thyself?”
“Please take a look at my court file. Treat this like a cold case investigation. I swear this guy has got to be stopped.”
At this stage in our conversation, I wished I had pressed 2-2, but I figured in less than a minute my dealings with Max would come to an end.
“Cold case files are for retired coppers or wet-behind-the-ears rookie detectives who’ve played too many games of Clue. That’s not me,” I said, as I followed the second hand on my watch continue to count down the final minute. “Just because you have twenty–four hours a day to go over your trial and conviction doesn’t mean I do.”
“This call will terminate in 15 seconds.”
“Sure you do, Stevie,” Max replied, his voice unexpectedly cold, almost menacing in tone. “With your licence suspended, it’s not like your P.I. business is going anywhere these days.”
“So I have the time, big deal,” I countered. “Give me one good reason I should help, besides for old time’s sake?”
Ten seconds to go, I thought.
10-9-8-7-
His delivery was slow and deliberate. “I’ll give you two: Maria and Linda.”
The line then went dead.
“This call has been terminated.”
***
I had barely taken a breath when there was a rap at the front door. I slammed down the phone and made a beeline to the foyer, screaming at the top of my lungs, “You better start running, you sick bastard. I’ve had enough of this sh—”
I grabbed hold of the handle and almost ripped the door from its hinges. Instead of encountering one of Max’s henchmen on the porch, I was confronted by a terror-stricken Dawn. We stared at each other in stunned disbelief for several moments, before she broke eye contact to glance down at my hands.
“I was going to make a run for it,” she said slowly, “but feared you might be armed with a kitchen knife or something.” She paused, then continued, “And the last image I want my mom to have of me is of being attacked by a madman wielding a meat cleaver.”
“You’re a good daughter,” I replied, trying to ease the tension. “I wasn’t yelling at you, I swear.”
“In the back of my mind I knew that,” she said. “I’ve never been called a sick bastard before but there’s a first for everything, right? I wondered if you had started drinking again and the alcohol mixed with your medication had an adverse effect on your mental state.”
“I’m not on any medication.”
“That could be your problem,” she deadpanned. “Maybe you should be.” Her facial muscles relaxed and a smile formed on her lips. “An anger management class or two wouldn’t hurt either.”
“I am so sorry, Dawn,” I apologized again. “I received some disturbing news on the phone and believed the caller had sent someone over to further illustrate their