Dead Man's Song (Pine Deep 2)

“And it hasn’t gotten to you?”

“Well, it is a fairly creepy town, you have to admit. Says so on all the billboards. ”

“Yeah,” Weinstock said, drawing out the word. For a minute it looked like he was going to add something, then just shook his head.

“Something up, Saul?”

The doctor took a second with that. He said, “Frank…if anything else weird turns up…? I mean, anything associated with the case…can I call you?”

“Well—Chief Bernhardt is handling—”

“No, Frank…can I call you?” He paused. “If it’s something I don’t think Gus can handle. ”

Ferro studied him, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not? If it’s associated with the case, you can always give me a call. ”

“What if it’s somewhat tangential to the case?”

“You’ve lost me. ”

Weinstock started to say something, then smiled and shook his head. “I’m tired and I’m babbling. Have a good trip back, Frank. Come out sometime and we can play some golf. You play golf?”

“Badly. ”

“Good, ’cause I like to win. ” They stood and shook hands and Weinstock held on for just a second too long and squeezed just a bit too hard, then he let go and sank back down into his chair. Ferro gave him a last puzzled smile, a nod, and then left.

In the empty elevator he said to himself, “Vince was right. This town is screwy. ”

Twenty minutes later the phone on Weinstock’s desk buzzed and he pushed the button. “The courier’s here, doctor,” said his secretary.

“Send him right in. ”

Weinstock was fitting the hard plastic cover over the cooler as his door opened and a young man entered, eyebrows raised expectantly. He wore a uniform and cap with the DHL logo on it. “Pickup?” the man asked.

“Right here. ” Weinstock sealed the dry-ice-packed cooler with orange tape. A second identical cooler sat on one corner of his desk. “Labels are ready. The labs are expecting these. ”

If the driver found anything unusual in a hospital’s administrator personally sending samples to separate laboratories in Manhattan and Philadelphia, he didn’t let it show. It probably never occurred to him, just another pickup. DHL handled tens of thousands of medical courier jobs every day. Weinstock signed on the electronic clipboard and the courier took one cooler in each hand, wished the doctor a “Nice day,” and left.

When he was gone, Weinstock sank down in his seat and leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and tried to still the hammering of his heart. That took awhile. When he finally opened his eyes, the quality of sunlight in the room had changed and there were slanting shadows angled across his office, and he realized that he must have fallen asleep. Darting a look at the clock he was shocked to see that over two hours had passed. The sun was already behind the far mountains and night was coming on fast. “Shit!” he hissed as he jumped up and headed for the door. He wanted to be home before dark.

Once he was in his car, Weinstock punched Crow’s number into his cell and listened to it ring five times before a voice answered: “Crow’s Nest. ”

“Who’s this?” Weinstock barked.

“Mike Sweeney, how may I help you?”

“Is Crow there?”

“He’s with a customer, sir, may I—”

Weinstock punched the disconnect button. “Damn,” he said as he drove through the gathering gloom.

Chapter 17

(1)

“They want to keep us one more day,” Mark said, his frustration and tension clear all the way down the phone lines. “Seems they wanted to have another counseling session with Weeping Beauty. ”

“Mark! Do you have to be like that?”