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.The smoke tastes bitter.Just as she closes her eyes and begins to relax, her cell phone rings.She glances at caller ID and flips open the phone.“Hello?”“Ms.Talbert?”“Speaking.”“This is Marcia, Dr.Jojanovich’s nurse?”“Yes, Marcia,” she says.“Thank you for calling back so promptly.”“Well,” she says.“Because you said your case is urgent, the doctor says he can give you a few minutes around twelve-thirty.”“That will be just fine.” She picks up the pen and pad from the glass coffee table.“If you could just give me directions.”“Go to 5896 Polanski Avenue.It’s on the northwest side on the fourth floor,” she says.“Oh, and the doctor said to bring whatever records you have, since you’re a new patient.He’ll want to go over them after he looks at his file.”“Of course,” says Danielle.“I’ll bring everything I’ve got.”Danielle looks out of the back of the taxi.They pass quickly from the glittering stores of Michigan Avenue into Chicago’s more depressing neighborhoods until they reach a narrow, dilapidated building.The brass plate above the doorbell is tarnished, the lettering barely legible.Boris Jojanovich, M.D.She pushes a tarnished intercom button.The tinny voice scratches through like an old seventy-eight.“May I help you?”“Ms.Talbert to see the doctor.”“Oh, yes,” the voice says.“Buzzing through.”A sound like an electric razor gone bad comes from somewhere around the doorknob.Danielle pushes hard.The door moves grudgingly, then slams behind her.A list of tenants is stuck to the wall with yellowed Scotch tape.The typewriting looks like the product of a Royal manual, circa 1950, badly in need of a new ribbon.Danielle runs her index finger down to the J’s and finds the suite number on the fourth floor.She sighs when she sees the out-of-service sign on the elevator.By the time she climbs the stairs to the designated floor, she is out of breath, but she is no longer nervous.She smooths her hair and walks to the reception desk.“Good afternoon, Ms.Talbert.” Marcia, a twentysomething whose mellifluous voice belies her solid frame and sensible navy dress, stands and pours her a glass of water.“Everyone needs this after climbing those stairs.Here you go.”Danielle takes a long drink.“Thank you.”“You’re right on time.Just take a seat and I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”The walk to the three empty wooden chairs is short.Danielle is barely seated when a side door opens and an elderly man in a white coat appears.His bespectacled face is stern.Impressive folds of flesh hang between his eyes and form bulldog jowls at his collar.She stands and extends her hand.“Dr.Jojanovich?”“Yes.Ms.Talbert, is it?” His voice is a deep baritone.“I’m not quite sure how I can help you, but come in.Hold my calls, Marcia.”“Yes, Doctor.”The office Danielle enters is surprisingly large.A dusty computer sits on top of an old desk, a thick cord wrapped around its base like an umbilicus.Dr.Jojanovich points to a sagging club chair, and, after she is seated, he settles into an ancient leather affair.It produces a whooshing noise as he descends.Intent brown eyes study her carefully.“Well, Ms.Talbert, what can I do for you? Marcia said you needed to see me immediately.”Danielle takes a deep breath and gives him her most confident smile.“Actually, Dr.Jojanovich, I’m not the patient.I’m a lawyer.My name is Danielle Parkman.”The eyebrows rise.“A lawyer?”“Yes,” she says.“I find myself in an odd position, Dr.Jo janovich.If you’ll let me explain.”He rests his gnarled hands on the worn desk.“Please do.I’m not overly fond of attorneys.”She smiles.“Most people aren’t.I represent a client who has run into problems in Plano, Iowa.”He shakes his head.“I have never practiced in Iowa, Ms.Parkman.”“Well,” she says, “the problem is in the form of a homicide, I’m sorry to say, involving one of your former patients.”Jojanovich’s eyes open wide enough for some white to show.“Homicide?”“Possibly suicide.”“Let me be certain I understand you, Ms.Parkman,” he says slowly.“You make an emergency appointment under false pretenses, when in fact you wish to discuss a possible murder or suicide in Iowa, where I have never practiced and, God willing, never will.As a lawyer, you must know that I cannot discuss one of my patients with you without violating the doctor-patient privilege.” He shakes his head again and stands.“I’m afraid I can’t help you.Now, if you’ll excuse me—”Danielle steps quickly into his path.“Please, Doctor.My client could be facing the death penalty for the murder of your patient.The State may be successful if I don’t get the information I need right away.” She goes back to her seat, trying not to let him see how terrified she is just saying those words.Maybe if she sits, he will.The doctor remains standing.“Which patient?”“His name is Jonas Morrison.” There is no recognition in Jojanovich’s eyes.“He was seventeen years old.He was admitted into a psychiatric hospital in Iowa this summer and died of…severe wounds.The autopsy is inconclusive, so we don’t know whether the wounds were self-inflicted or the result of a homicide.My client has been accused of killing him.” She meets his eyes.“I’m trying to find out anything you know that might shed light on the situation.”Jojanovich looks at his chair as if noticing it for the first time.He sits.“What in the world led you to me?”Danielle pulls a piece of paper out of her purse.“I’ve been trying to track down some background information on the boy, but all I’ve found is this document with your signature on it as the referring physician to a psychiatric hospital—Maitland.”“Hmm.” Jojanovich takes the paper from her.He lights a half-smoked cigar that rests on an old tin ashtray.After a few ruminative puffs, he studies what she has given him.When he is finished, he looks up.“I think you’ve made a mistake, Ms.Parkman.”“Doctor, if you’re worried about privilege—”“No.”“Because if it is, the patient is dead and the privilege does not supersede—”“No, Ms.Parkman,” he says.“That is not the issue.”Danielle leans forward.“Then what is? If you would like confirmation that I’m an attorney…”He shakes his head [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]