The Last Clinic (7 page)

“
The Little Rascals
was my mother’s favorite show,” she said. “There wasn’t really that much of a resemblance. My mother just liked the name Darla.”

She thought of her mother, years earlier, the two of them sitting on the sofa, watching the reruns of
The Little Rascals
and giggling together.

“Me? I’m afraid I resembled the chubby fellow. What was his name?”

“Spanky,” she said, “Spanky McFarland,” and let it go without commenting on how un-Spanky-like Doctor Nicoletti looked all grown up.

She thought of other Italian men she had met and how each of them had gone out of his way to charm her. Even the South Philly guidos were always with the compliments. It was their nature to charm women. She knew the game would continue with Dr. Nicoletti until she acknowledged his efforts, let him know that he’d gotten to her. She let the woman in her smile at him, a little laugh attached to the smile. Then she let him watch while she sunned herself in his flattery.

He bowed his head, just slightly, like a nobleman and seemed ready to move on to more serious matters. He motioned that she should be seated on the couch and waited for her to get comfortable. Then he took a seat at the opposite end, a respectful distance.

“You are here about Reverend Jimmy.” He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, engaged but relaxed in a way that only athletes and animals could relax. He fixed his attention on her as though he expected their conversation to be the highlight of his day.

She took out her voice-activated recorder and set it on the table in front of them, letting him know that despite his charm, this was official.

“I’m a bad note-taker,” she said, her standard line. “This helps me remember details.”

“Also me,” he said, then seemed to realize how funny it sounded and explained. “I also am a bad note=taker.”

“I know you have spoken to Detective Reylander,” she said and paused, indicating that he should take over the conversation.

“Ah. Yes. Officer Elvis.” He snarled his lip mocking Tommy, ready to have fun with her.

Darla smiled despite herself.

“He believes I am a murderer, the detective. But then many right-to-life advocates believe that of me.” He waited for her to acknowledge the humor in his remark.

A glance from her said, okay, yes, she got what he was doing, the double meaning.

“You just called him Reverend Jimmy,” she said. “How well did you know him?”

 “It was what everybody called him. The truth is, we were hardly intimates. We had spoken
at
each
other several times but never
to
each other.”

For a second, she imagined Doctor Nicoletti as a gentleman farmer, somewhere in Tuscany, like Lulu said, standing in a field of grapes or olive trees, a scarf tied around his neck, dressed like a peasant, but with a certain dignity—the sort of man that seemed never to be overheated, even on the hottest days.

 “I didn’t see you and Reverend Aldridge as intimates, but you could probably qualify as enemies.”

“I would say we were adversaries. I disliked what he stood for.”

“And what is that?”

“The right of men, particularly the men at the state legislature, to determine what a woman must do with her body and her life.”

Good answer
, she thought.
No wonder his patients like him
.

 “When was the last time you spoke
at
Reverend Aldridge, since you didn’t speak
to
him?”

“We exchanged un-pleasantries in the corridors of the legislature two weeks ago. We were both asked to give testimony regarding House Bill 674.”

“The bill that would, in effect, force this clinic to close or at least to cease from performing abortions.”

“If the bill passes, I would shut down the clinic.”

“So, your view of him, it wasn’t just a matter of philosophy. He threatened your livelihood.”

“I would be forced to leave Mississippi if it came to that. There are worse fates.” He offered her a quick smile, one confidant to another, as though he had figured out that they had similar views of life in the Magnolia State.

She chose not to dispute him.

“Do you remember what you and Reverend Aldridge said
at
each other?”

He leaned his head towards the recorder to be sure his answer was picked up. “Reverend Jimmy called me a baby killer. I called him an asshole,” he said in the calm matter-of-fact doctor voice.

Darla broke out laughing. He laughed with her. She hit the pause button.

“Wait. Let me get this straight. In Italian? You called him an asshole in Italian?” She was curious about the translation, the phrase for it in Italian and hoped he would repeat it now.

He caught what she was up to and shook his finger at her in mock scolding.

“I said it in English. I didn’t want there to be any confusion about my sentiments.”

They both chuckled again, the gentleman farmer from Northern Italy and the lady cop from South Philly.

She caught herself thinking that he’d be fun on a date, that is, if it turned out he wasn’t the murderer. Next thing she was scolding herself. Hugh dead six months, and she has a case of the hots for another guy.

She told herself to get back to work and released the pause button on the recorder, setting it back on the table.

“Detective Reylander says you don’t have an alibi for the time of the 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 you to discuss their treatment. Just who had an appointment and the time they arrived and departed your office. Whatever you tell me will be confidential.”

“I’m not explaining myself properly. It’s their
appointment
they wish to keep confidential. You must understand, women who meet with me, women of a childbearing age, people assume they are here to explore terminating their pregnancies, even if they are not pregnant. Visiting with me can be like having an ‘A’ branded on their forehead.”

“I’m telling you I will keep this information confidential.”

“But wouldn’t you be required to share this information with Detective Reylander? Can you guarantee he would treat this matter with discretion? I seriously doubt he would.”

He had her there.

“Then can you give me the name of the nurse? Isn’t there a nurse present during your examinations? If she can verify that you were with a patient or merely that you were at your office out in Madison at the time of the murder, we can eliminate you as a suspect. That is what you want isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid there was no nurse present.”

“But that’s standard procedure. Doesn’t the medical board insist that a nurse be present? Isn’t that a rule of your profession?”

“There are rules, and there are rules. This particular patient was very concerned about matters of confidentiality. She requested that I be the only one present at the office during her appointment. I acceded to her wishes. ”

“You know you could lose your license for this?”

She saw that weary look Lulu had talked about.

“I believe I considered the range of possibilities.”

“So, what? Losing your license isn’t a worry for you?”

“I’m afraid that other considerations took precedence. I’m sure you have been faced with similar choices in your line of work.”

He had her there too.

“I’m trying to help you Doctor Nicoletti, but if you choose to turn this into a debate...”

He took a final sip on the espresso, savoring it as though it might be his last.

“I’m not trying to be difficult. You asked if I had an alibi, and I do not. But thank you for your counsel.” He said it as if he was sorry for inconveniencing her. “There’s another matter we need to discuss. Your colleague, Detective Reylander has, I’m sure by now, ascertained that also I own a shotgun, the type he said was used in the murder. It’s in a locked gun case in my study. It won’t be hard to locate.”

He reached into his pocket, took out a leather key wallet, removed a small key, and handed it to her.

“I’m afraid Detective Reylander left before I could give him this. If you see him before he searches my house, please ask him not to break the glass case.”

She took the key, cupping it in her left hand.

“A 12-gauge? An over and under? That’s what he’ll find?”

“My only firearm. A Beretta, of course.” And again, that playful expression on his face.

“When was it last fired?”

“Yesterday morning. I went turkey hunting on some land I own, south of Yazoo City. I didn’t hit anything. I’m not a very good shot. Still, it’s invigorating to be out in nature, especially at dawn.”

“Anybody go hunting with you?”

“I prefer to hunt alone. Solitude is part of the pleasure.”

“You’re not exactly helping your cause, Doctor.”

“I also own a dark-colored SUV, which the Detective tells me is the sort of vehicle the shot came from.”

“Shots,” she said. “There were three.”

“I didn’t know. See, there, perhaps this ignorance will help my
cause,
as you put it.”

“You’ll need more than that. A lot more.” It was her last shot at rattling him, to try to make him open up.

“Have you had any children, Detective?” he asked out of the blue.

“No,” she said and wondered if he sensed how exposed she felt answering the question. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m sorry. How rude of me. I was merely curious. You seem like the kind of woman who would be a good mother.”

“My husband died in an automobile accident. We didn’t have children.”

“I’m sorry.”

She caught herself wanting to fidget and began twisting her wedding ring until he caught her at it. She made herself stop.

She saw him looking at the ring and figured he’d make some comment about Hugh like they all did. But he didn’t. He just looked at her as though it was her turn to speak. Maybe he didn’t know the details of her very public marriage, or maybe he was being sensitive.

A few seconds passed where neither of them said anything. She wanted to prolong the conversation, only she’d run out of questions about the case.

“That will be all for now. However, we will need you to remain in the state for a while.”