The Blackmail Club by David Bishop Page B

what Chris told me, he had only one gay lover. And before you ask, Ms. Burke, he would not identify him.” The doctor stood. “I must ask you to excuse me.” He moved toward the door.
    Jack stood. “Was Chris making progress?”
    “He was not, to both Chris’s and my disappointment. Now, I really must get on with my day. Goodbye, Mr. McCall, Ms. Burke.”
    After they got back in the car, Nora turned toward Jack, “Where the hell did that gay bit come from? Why didn’t you tell me Chris was gay?”
    “It was a guess.”
    “The Red Sox winning the World Series is a guess. That was more than a guess. Give.”
    “Chris always came across as a man’s man, never effeminate, yet in the service there were persistent rumors. I made a presumptive statement figuring if anyone knew for certain, it would be Dr. Radnor.”

Chapter 11
     
    A middle-aged frumpish looking woman with jowls drooping as if her mouth were saving quarters, started toward Jack when he pulled into his underground parking space after dropping Nora off to pick up her Mustang.
    Despite the dim light, the woman wore rose-colored sunglasses. She carried a pink sweater laying over one arm and hand while keeping her other hand in sight. He guessed her age at forty-five, but she wore a hairstyle and carried her purse in a way that conspired to make her look older.
    He lowered his window.
    She moved close, her flabby chin resting on her collarbone. “Mister McCall. I’m Agnes Fuller, Christopher Andujar’s former receptionist.” The gap between her front teeth caused a slight whistle when she said Andujar’s .
    “Shall we go up to my office, Ms. Fuller?”
    She glanced both directions. “Let’s talk here.” She walked around the car, opened the passenger-side door and, ignoring the constraints of her sack dress, stepped in like a man—one leg followed by the other.
    “Why all this secrecy, Ms. Fuller?” Jack asked, twisting on the seat to face her.
    The makeup clogging the pores of her forehead and cheeks crusted in the deeper ravines venturing out from her nose and mouth. She took in a slow breath while her eyes kept moving like a bird in an unfamiliar cage.
    “I’m being watched, Mr. McCall, some big ugly guy I saw outside my new job yesterday morning, I saw again at lunch.” She ran her hands over the sweater on her lap as if smoothing invisible wrinkles. Then she changed the subject. “I apologize for being uncooperative when Nora Burke called from your office. I think my phone may be bugged.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Ms. Burke is very understanding.”
    Ms. Fuller pulled a strand of her hair across her cheek. “Last night I didn’t sleep a wink. This morning I knew I had to help. I owe it to Chris—Dr. Andujar.” Her lower lip quivered.
    “Take a deep breath, Ms. Fuller. I’ll arrange for someone to check your house for listening devices.”
    She smiled without separating her lips. “Thank you. Dr. Andujar was a wonderful man and a fine doctor. His patients loved him. He helped a great many people. I started with him two years after he opened his practice. When his wife retired I became his office manager as well as receptionist. The last few weeks, before his death he was a changed man. Nervous. Fidgety.” Her face contorted. “He started drinking more coffee than ever. And he started smoking again after having quit for five years.”
    One of her hands found the other. “The next thing I knew, he was dead.”
    “Dr. Andujar specialized in sexual dysfunctions. I take that to mean he had patients who pursued and engaged in sexual behavior outside the norm. Did he engage in any of that himself?”
    Her lips twitched, as if she were receiving a coded message through her dark amalgam dental fillings. The message must have told her to keep talking because she did.
    “You know, before I took that job I could have defined sexual behavior outside the norm, but not after working with Dr. Andujar. But, no, gosh, no, no way could the