Fever: A Nameless Detective Novel (Nameless Detective Novels) by Bill Pronzini Page B

or hang here all day. I’ve got a client coming in for a consultation at one o’clock.”
    “Where’s Jake?”
    “Busy. He’s not answering his cell and Alex is down in San Jose. I suppose I could cancel the appointment and close up, take her over to Oakland myself …”
    “You’ve had enough hassle already. I’ll do it.”
    “You sure? If you’re busy …”
    “Busy doing nothing,” he said. “Errands, that’s all. It’ll take me twenty minutes or so to get to South Park. If Krochek calls in the meantime, give him my cell number and I’ll work something out with him.”
    Bet he doesn’t call, she thought.
    He didn’t.

7
     
    J Janice Krochek was still sleeping on the anteroom couch when I got there. She’d been pretty badly used, all right. Looking down at her built an impotent anger in me. Violence against women infuriates me every time I encounter it. Nobody, no matter how much they mess up their own lives, deserves to become somebody’s punching bag.
    “She won’t see a doctor,” Tamara said. “Just wants to go home.”
    “Maybe her husband can talk her into it.”
    “If he cares enough. I’ll tell him when he calls, if he calls.”
    “She told you she walked here?”
    “That’s what she said. Benn woman threw her out, apparently, wouldn’t even let her use the phone.”
    “That doesn’t sound right.”
    “Didn’t to me, either. Why didn’t she ask the desk clerk or one of the other residents?”
    “Maybe it wasn’t the Hillman she walked from.”
    “Fifteen blocks, she said.”
    “It’s a wonder she made it that far in her condition. And without anybody stopping to help her.”
    “In this city?” Tamara said. “Army of
Dawn of the Dead
zombies could march up Market Street and nobody’d pay much attention.”
    “Yeah. Come on, let’s wake her up. I’m parked in a loading zone across the Square.”
    Together we hoisted Janice Krochek into a sitting position. Tamara shook her a little until one bleary eye popped open and focused on me. “You,” she said.
    “Me,” I agreed. “How do you feel?”
    “Groggy. Shitty.”
    “I can take you to a hospital, get you some medical attention …”
    “No. Home.” The other eye was open now; her gaze roamed from side to side. “Where’s Mitch?”
    “We couldn’t get hold of him,” I said. “He’s on a job site today.”
    “Yeah, sure. Out screwing his latest bimbo.”
    “Come on, Mrs. Krochek, on your feet. I’ll take you home.”
    We got her upright. Shaky, but she could stand and move all right with my hand on her arm; I didn’t need Tamara’s help to get her downstairs. A couple of people on the sidewalk and in the park strip gave us passing glances and a wide berth.
    One of South Park’s many attractions is that a Bay Bridge approach is only a short distance away. We were on the bridge in five or six minutes. Janice Krochek satslumped in the seat, her eyes closed, massaging her chafed wrists, unresponsive to the questions I put to her. Whoever had beat her up, for whatever reason, she wasn’t about to confide to me. Or, I’d have been willing to bet, to her husband.
    She was asleep again by the time we came off the bridge. I woke her up with a couple of sharp words to get directions; I had the Krocheks’ home address but the street name wasn’t familiar and I wasn’t going to stop to pore over a map. “Highway 24,” she said, “then straight up Claremont, ask me again when you pass the Claremont Hotel.”
    My cell phone went off at about the time we reached the Claremont. Had to be Tamara. I pulled over to answer it; unlike most people nowadays, I don’t consider talking on the phone while driving to be safe, and it’s even less so on narrow, hilly streets.
    Tamara said, “Mr. Krochek just called. I gave him the news. He’ll meet you at his house—on his way there right now.”
    “Reaction?”
    “Relieved and pissed off.”
    I relayed the message to Janice Krochek, omitting the relieved and pissed