Jack Taggart Mysteries 9-Book Bundle. Don Easton
and Danny entered the medical clinic and approached the receptionist, an older, heavy-set woman with short grey hair. Behind her, a younger woman wearing a white lab coat stood bent over with her back to them as she rifled through some papers.
“What can I do for you two gentlemen?” the receptionist asked.
“My friend fell on some glass and cut his hand.”
Jack picked up a magazine and sat in the reception area. He heard the receptionist ask Danny for his provincial health card. Jack winced when Danny didn’t lower his voice to explain that as a federal police officer, he was on a different health plan. He was glad there were no other people in the office. A moment later the receptionist said, “Doctor?”
The doctor turned around. Jack noticed that she was a petite woman, with a slim figure and long black hair.
“Hello! I’m Dr. Trovinski,” she said to Danny in a cheery voice. “Come with me, officer, and we’ll take a look.”
Jack joined them as they entered a small examination room and stood beside Danny as he sat on the edge of the examination bed.
“And why did you come along?” the doctor asked.
Jack smiled and stuck out his hand as he introduced himself. She reluctantly accepted his handshake but remained silent, awaiting his reply.
“My partner suffers from a phobia about seeing doctors. On the way over he made me promise to stay with him.”
“Really?” She looked at Danny, who looked perplexed. “You suffer from iatrophobia?”
“Probably got smacked on the bum too hard by a doctor when he was born,” Jack offered.
The doctor gave Jack a furtive look and smiled. Her bright white teeth shone, as did her eyes. She turned her attention to Danny’s hand and slowly unwrapped the shirtsleeve that was being used as a dressing. Classical music softly played from a nearby office and she hummed quietly as she worked.
“Fantasy. D-Minor by Mozart,” said Jack.
“You know your music,” she replied without looking up.
“My favourite is The Marriage of Figaro.”
“Mine, too, but that CD is scratched.” She finished unwrapping Danny’s hand and started to wash off the blood.
“Would you like to eat pickled herring in chocolate sauce?” Jack asked.
“Would I what?”
“Would you like to eat pickled herring in chocolate sauce?”
“Certainly not. Sounds gross!”
“Sounds gross to me too. Looks like we have at least two things in common. Are you a vegetarian?”
“No, but I see where you’re going with this, and —”
“That makes three things we have in common.”
“I’m married.”
I’m such an idiot! He looked at the doctor and said, “Sorry.” He found the silence that followed more embarrassing, so he asked, “Do you have children?”
“Uh, yes. Three of them.”
“You’re not wearing a ring, so I thought…”
“Sanitary reasons.”
She examined Danny’s hand carefully, then looked at Jack. “You told my receptionist that he cut his hand when he fell on some glass.”
Jack nodded.
Dr. Trovinski’s face hardened. “I don’t appreciate being lied to. Do you really think I don’t know what a defensive knife wound looks like? Especially working in this neighbourhood? Give me a break! I treated a fellow not even half an hour ago with a stab wound to his shoulder. Believe me, I know knife wounds when I see them!”
“Is he going to be okay?” asked Danny.
“Who?”
“This other guy, who was stabbed in the back.”
“How did you know that it was the back of his shoulder?”
There was an uncomfortable silence, then she said, “Yes, he’ll be fine. I don’t know what happened between the two of you and I really don’t care. My job is to patch people up. Most of my customers wouldn’t come in for treatment if they thought I would tell anyone.”
“Thank you, doctor,” said Jack.
She nodded curtly and then turned back to Danny. “I smell alcohol on your breath. I suspect you’ve had enough to drink that I won’t need to waste time administering freezing.”
Danny sat upright. “No! I didn’t drink that much!”
The doctor pursed her lips into a slight grin as she walked over to a cabinet.
“Pansy,” whispered Jack.
It was well past midnight when Jack drove Danny away from the clinic.
“How’s your hand?”
“Sore. So’s my tongue. I bit it when he whacked me.”
“What were you prescribed?”
Danny handed him the small bottle of pills.
Jack examined the label. “T-threes.” He tossed the pill bottle into the back seat. “I have better medicine.”
At 5:15 in the morning, Danny found himself sitting cross-legged on a seawall in Stanley Park, overlooking the ocean. Jack’s medicine was a bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold tequila that they passed back and forth between them.
Jack explained the real reason that he was interested in Satans Wrath and admitted that he didn’t have proper authorization or Louie’s approval to buy drugs.
Danny felt tense. Will Wigmore forgive me for stabbing that guy if I come clean with Taggart? He looked at the half-empty bottle of tequila. What the hell, at least my hand doesn’t hurt. Come to think of it, I can’t feel my legs, either. He rolled over on his side and kicked to untangle his legs. He then snickered when he thought of Jack’s awkward pass at the doctor.
“She was pretty, wasn’t she?”
“Who?” Jack asked.
“The doc.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“You noticed! No shit! I would never have guessed. Too bad she’s married.”
“She’s not married.”
“Yeah, she is. Don’t you remember? She can’t wear her ring ’cause —”
“She lied.” Jack paused, then took his first real swig on the bottle. “Not that it matters. She obviously didn’t want to go out with me.” He passed the bottle back to Danny and added, “I can’t believe I acted that way around her. I was a fool. No wonder she wasn’t interested.”
“What makes ya say she lied?”
“Her demeanour and her eyes.”
“Her eyes?”
“Most people’s eyes look slightly in one direction when they recall something that is true. Her eyes did, when we talked about music and food. The eyes usually look in the opposite direction when they use the more creative side of their brain to formulate a lie. Her eyes were no different. She doesn’t have a husband or children.”
“Son of a bitch! What are ya? A two-legged lie detector?” Danny chortled but abruptly stopped. Hope the son of a bitch doesn’t ever ask me about Wigface … no, Wig…
“Come on,” said Jack. “Time to take you home.”
It was 6:25 when Susan awakened to the sound of the key turning at