rather new here. I don’t know him all that well. Dr. Frasier, however, knows him very well. They went to medical school together, I understand. Columbia Presbyterian Medical School, in New York City.”
“I didn’t know that,” Sherlock said and tucked it away. She wanted to meet this Dr. Rossetti, the pompous man Lily didn’t like and whom Tennyson appeared to be pushing very hard on his wife.
She smiled at Dr. Larch, took a bite of her salad, which was surprisingly good, and said, “Well, you know, Dr. Larch, if Lily didn’t try to kill herself, then that means that just perhaps someone is up to no good. What do you think?”
Dr. Ted Larch nearly swallowed the ice cube he was rolling around in his mouth.
“I can’t imagine, no, surely not—that’s crazy. If she didn’t do it on purpose, then it’s more likely that something just went wrong with the car, an accident, nothing more than a tragic accident.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. Since I’m a cop, I always leap to the sinister first. Occupational hazard. Hey, I know. She just lost control of the car—maybe a raccoon ran in front of the Explorer and she tried not to hit it—and ended up smacking the redwood.”
“That sounds more likely than someone trying to kill her, Mrs. Savich.”
“Yes, the raccoon theory is always preferable, isn’t it?”
Sherlock saw Dillon out of the corner of her eye. She rose, patted Dr. Larch on his shoulder, and said, “Take good care of Lily, Doctor.” At least now, she thought, walking quickly toward Dillon, Dr. Larch would keep a very close eye on Lily because he wouldn’t forget what she’d said. He would want to dismiss it as nonsense, but he wouldn’t be able to, not entirely.
Savich nodded across the cafeteria to Dr. Larch, then smiled down at his wife. Her light blue eyes seemed brighter than when he’d left her, and he knew why. She was up to something. And she was very pleased with herself.
“What about the car?”
“Nothing at all. It’s been compacted.”
“That was awfully fast, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, sort of like cremating a body before the autopsy could be done.”
“Exactly. Dr. Larch thinks Lily is just fine, mentally, thank you very much. Actually, I think he has a crush on her. It’s Dr. Rossetti he doesn’t like, but who knows why? Did you know that Dr. Rossetti and Tennyson went to medical school together? Columbia Presbyterian?”
“No. That’s interesting. Okay, Sherlock. I know that look. You either want me to haul you to the nearest hot tub and have my way with you, or you’ve done something. No hot tub? Too bad. All right, then. What have you done?”
“I planted a small bug just inside the slat on Lily’s hospital bed. I already heard some interesting stuff. Come along and I’ll play it back for you. Hmmm. About that hot tub, Dillon…”
They went to Lily’s room, saw that she was still asleep and no one else was there, and Sherlock shut the door. She walked to the window, fiddled with the tiny receiver and recorder, turned on rewind, then play.
“Dammit, she needs more pain medication.”
Savich said, “Who’s that?”
“Dr. Larch.”
“I cut it back, just like you ordered, but it was too much. Listen, there’s no need to make her suffer like this.”
“She doesn’t react well to pain meds, I’ve told you that several times. It makes her even crazier than she already is. Keep the pain meds way down. I don’t want her hurt anymore.”
Sherlock pressed the stop button and said, “That was Tennyson Frasier. What do you think it means?”
Sherlock slipped the tiny recorder back into her jacket pocket.
“It could be perfectly innocent,” Savich said. “On the other hand, the Explorer has been compacted. The guy at the junked car yard told me that Dr. Frasier told him to haul the Explorer in and compact it immediately. Will this thing click on whenever someone’s speaking?”
“Yes, it’s voice-activated. It turns off when there’s
“I didn’t know that,” Sherlock said and tucked it away. She wanted to meet this Dr. Rossetti, the pompous man Lily didn’t like and whom Tennyson appeared to be pushing very hard on his wife.
She smiled at Dr. Larch, took a bite of her salad, which was surprisingly good, and said, “Well, you know, Dr. Larch, if Lily didn’t try to kill herself, then that means that just perhaps someone is up to no good. What do you think?”
Dr. Ted Larch nearly swallowed the ice cube he was rolling around in his mouth.
“I can’t imagine, no, surely not—that’s crazy. If she didn’t do it on purpose, then it’s more likely that something just went wrong with the car, an accident, nothing more than a tragic accident.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. Since I’m a cop, I always leap to the sinister first. Occupational hazard. Hey, I know. She just lost control of the car—maybe a raccoon ran in front of the Explorer and she tried not to hit it—and ended up smacking the redwood.”
“That sounds more likely than someone trying to kill her, Mrs. Savich.”
“Yes, the raccoon theory is always preferable, isn’t it?”
Sherlock saw Dillon out of the corner of her eye. She rose, patted Dr. Larch on his shoulder, and said, “Take good care of Lily, Doctor.” At least now, she thought, walking quickly toward Dillon, Dr. Larch would keep a very close eye on Lily because he wouldn’t forget what she’d said. He would want to dismiss it as nonsense, but he wouldn’t be able to, not entirely.
Savich nodded across the cafeteria to Dr. Larch, then smiled down at his wife. Her light blue eyes seemed brighter than when he’d left her, and he knew why. She was up to something. And she was very pleased with herself.
“What about the car?”
“Nothing at all. It’s been compacted.”
“That was awfully fast, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, sort of like cremating a body before the autopsy could be done.”
“Exactly. Dr. Larch thinks Lily is just fine, mentally, thank you very much. Actually, I think he has a crush on her. It’s Dr. Rossetti he doesn’t like, but who knows why? Did you know that Dr. Rossetti and Tennyson went to medical school together? Columbia Presbyterian?”
“No. That’s interesting. Okay, Sherlock. I know that look. You either want me to haul you to the nearest hot tub and have my way with you, or you’ve done something. No hot tub? Too bad. All right, then. What have you done?”
“I planted a small bug just inside the slat on Lily’s hospital bed. I already heard some interesting stuff. Come along and I’ll play it back for you. Hmmm. About that hot tub, Dillon…”
They went to Lily’s room, saw that she was still asleep and no one else was there, and Sherlock shut the door. She walked to the window, fiddled with the tiny receiver and recorder, turned on rewind, then play.
“Dammit, she needs more pain medication.”
Savich said, “Who’s that?”
“Dr. Larch.”
“I cut it back, just like you ordered, but it was too much. Listen, there’s no need to make her suffer like this.”
“She doesn’t react well to pain meds, I’ve told you that several times. It makes her even crazier than she already is. Keep the pain meds way down. I don’t want her hurt anymore.”
Sherlock pressed the stop button and said, “That was Tennyson Frasier. What do you think it means?”
Sherlock slipped the tiny recorder back into her jacket pocket.
“It could be perfectly innocent,” Savich said. “On the other hand, the Explorer has been compacted. The guy at the junked car yard told me that Dr. Frasier told him to haul the Explorer in and compact it immediately. Will this thing click on whenever someone’s speaking?”
“Yes, it’s voice-activated. It turns off when there’s
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