She sighed and the perky dissolved into distress. “He was nice that way.”
“All right. Sharleen, why don’t you see if anyone else is free to talk to us. You could send them back.”
“Sure. Okay.”
They got cooperation, anecdotes, regret from another two on staff before Louise came in.
“Sorry you had to wait.” With her traditional white coat flapping around a black shirt and pants, she headed straight to the mini-AC on a shelf behind her desk.
“It isn’t your blend, but it’s several steps up from the usual office-slash-waiting-room coffee. You want?”
“We’re good.”
“Sorry about your friend, Louise,” Peabody added.
“Thanks. Me, too.” She gulped down coffee, breathed out. “I want to say straight off I’m really glad it’s the two of you investigating. We’re pretty slammed today, but you can use the office for interviews, and I’ll have the staff come in on rotation.”
“We’ve already started,” Eve told her, and got a raised eyebrow.
“Is that so?”
“It is. We also have a warrant for anything relating to the victim that isn’t privacy protected.”
“Figured you would.” Louise walked to her desk, opened a drawer, took out a disc. “We came in last night after Charles and I talked to you. This is everything. It’s not much, Dallas. He was an invaluable asset to the clinic, but it was still only a handful of hours a week.”
Eve took the disc, passed it off to Peabody.
“And I should tell you, I spoke to the staff first thing—and contacted staff who are either off today or on the late shifts. I know you have to talk to them, be thorough—I want you to be thorough, but you’re not going to get anything.”
“Maybe while we’re here, I should examine a couple of your patients. Come up with a diagnosis or two.”
“Ha ha.” Visibly tired, Louise sat on the edge of her desk. “You’re probably not going to be any happier when I tell you I talked to a few people I know who know or have worked with Ponti.”
“Jesus Christ, Louise.”
“Before you unload on me, understand medicals are more likely to speak frankly to another medical.”
“And if Ponti turns out to be a killer, and gets wind you’re asking about him? Killers are more likely to go after nosy civilians than cops.”
Louise only shrugged. “Maybe, if I’d come up with anything other than the opinion he’s an arrogant asshole with considerable skill, particularly in emergency medicine. He’s not well liked, doesn’t appear to care. He didn’t appreciate Kent’s setdown, or the fact Kent had him written up. He hit back with the claim Kent was a rich, entitled elitist who wouldn’t last a full shift in the ER. Bitched about it for a few days with anyone who’d listen, then moved on to the next drama.”
“He likes drama?”
“Word is he has a scene, an altercation, a disagreement—some sort of drama—every week or two. Which I have to say isn’t that unusual in an inner-city ER.”
Eve waited a beat. “How about his wife?”
“Surgical nurse. Cilla Roe. She’s more liked, supposedly rock steady in the OR and out of it, apparently the contrasting smooth to Ponti’s rough edges.”
“Fine. Now stay out of it. I mean it, Louise.”
“She does mean it,” Peabody added. “And I’m going to say exactly the same.”
“Could you do nothing if one of your friends was murdered?”
“You’re not doing nothing,” Peabody said before Eve could speak. “You’re trusting us to stand for your friend, to get justice for him. You need to trust us.”
“I do. Absolutely. There’s a section on the disc listing the names of people I spoke with about Ponti, what they said, how to contact them if you need or want to follow up.”