Blood Shot

“Bring our other visitor, Anton.”

The butler inclined his head and left. He returned a moment or two later with a woman of about twenty-five. Her brown hair was permed around her head in tight little corkscrews that exposed too much of her blotchy neck. She had obviously made an effort over her appearance; I supposed the ruffled acetate dress was her best, since the boxy high heels had been dyed a matching aqua. Under the thick pancake covering her acne she looked belligerent and a little frightened.

“This is Mrs. Portis, Ms. Warshawski. Her daughter was a patient of Dr. Herschel’s. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Portis?”

She nodded vigorously. “My Mandy. And Dr. Herschel did what she should have known better than to do, a grown woman with a little girl. Mandy was crying and screaming when she came out of the examining room, it took me days to get her settled down again and find out what went on. But when I found out-”

“You went to the state’s attorney and made a full report,” I finished smoothly, despite a rage that was making my cheeks flame.

“She was naturally too disturbed to know what do to,” Humboldt said with an unctuousness that made me want to shoot him. “It’s very difficult to bring charges against a family doctor, especially one who can summon the support that Dr. Herschel can. That’s why I feel grateful for my own position, which enables me to help out a woman like this.”

I stared incredulously at him. “You really think you can take someone with Dr. Herschel’s reputation to court with a woman like this as your witness? An expert lawyer will shred her. You’re not just an egomaniac, Humboldt-you’re stupid with it.”

“Be careful whom you call stupid, young lady-an expert lawyer can make anyone break down. Nothing turns a jury hostile faster. And besides, what would the publicity do to Dr. Herschel’s practice? Not to mention the state licensing board? Especially if Mrs. Portis is joined by other worried mothers whose daughters Dr. Herschel has treated. After all, Dr. Herschel is almost sixty and has never married-a jury would be bound to suspect her sexual preferences.”

The pulse in my neck was throbbing so violently, I could hardly breathe, let alone think. The dog was whimpering a little at my feet. I forced myself to stroke her gently; it helped slow my heartbeat a little. I got up and moved to a phone on a corner table, Peppy close on my heels.

Lotty was still at the clinic. “Vic! You’re all right? It’s nearly seven now.”

“I’m okay physically, Dr. Herschel. But mentally I’m slightly deranged. I need to explain something to you and get your reaction. Do you have a patient named Mrs. Portis?”

Lotty was puzzled but didn’t ask any questions. She came back to the phone quickly. “A woman who saw me once two years ago. Her daughter Amanda was eight at the time and throwing up a lot. I suggested psychological problems and it drove her away in a huff.”

“Well, Humboldt has dug her up out of some ditch. And gotten her to agree to claim you abused her daughter. Sexually, you understand. Unless we turn Chigwell’s notebooks over to him.”

Lotty was silent a moment. “My license for the notebooks in other words?” she finally said. “And you thought you had to call to get my answer?”

“I didn’t feel able to speak for you on such a matter. He’s also offering me two hundred K in stock shares, just so you know the size of the bribe. And my mortgage.”

“Is he with you? I will speak to him myself But you should know I will tell him that I did not see my parents killed by Fascists only to bow down to them in my old age.”

I turned to Humboldt. “Dr. Herschel would like to talk to you.”

He pushed himself out of his armchair. Almost the only sign of his age was the effort it took when he got up. I stood next to him as he spoke to Lotty, my breath coming in short noisy pants. I could hear her concise alto going on at length, lecturing him as she might a failing student, although I couldn’t make out the exact words.

“You are making a mistake, Doctor, a most serious error,” Humboldt said heavily. “No, no, I will not be insulted further on my own phone, madam.”

He hung up and glared at me. “You will be very sorry. Both of you. I don’t think you appreciate how very much power I have in this town, young lady.”

The pulse in my neck was still throbbing. “There are so many things you don’t appreciate, Gustav, that I hardly know where to start. You’re dead. You’re through in this town. The Herald-Star is working on your co

“But more than that, your company is through. Your little chemical emporium just ain’t big enough to absorb the shock when those Xerxine suits start pouring in. It may be six months, it may take two years, but you’re looking at half a billion in claims, easy. And it’s going to be like shooting rats in a barrel to prove malicious intent on your part-Humboldt’s part. That company you built up-it’s going to be like Jonah’s gourd-grew in a night and withered in a night. You’re dead meat, Humboldt, and you’re so crazy you can’t even smell the rot.”

“You’re wrong, you little Polish bitch! I’ll show you how wrong you are!” He hurled his whiskey glass across the room where it smashed into one of the bookcases. “I’ll break you just as easily as that glass. Gordon Firth will never hire you again. You’ll lose your license. You’ll never get another client again. I’ll see you on West Madison with the other drunks and has-beens and I’ll laugh at you. I’ll roar with laughter.”

“You do that,” I said fiercely. “I’m sure your grandchildren will be much entertained by the spectacle. In fact, I bet they’d like to hear the whole story of how you poisoned people to maximize your goddamned bottom line.”

“My grandchildren!” he roared. “If you dare come near them, neither you nor your friends will ever know another night’s sleep in this city!”

He kept shouting, his threats escalating to include not just Lotty but other friends whose names his researchers had dredged up. Peppy’s hackles rose and she growled menacingly. I kept one hand on her collar and pressed the buzzer in the mantel with the other. When Anton came I pointed at the shattered glass.

“You may want to clean that up. And I think Mrs. Portis would be more comfortable if you’d send her down to Marcus to get a cab. Come, Peppy.” We left as quickly as we could, but it seemed I could hear that maniacal bellow all the way to the lobby.

43

Lotty and I spent the next few days with my lawyer. I don’t know if it was Carter Freeman’s efforts, or Anton’s, or just that the scene at the Roanoke had terrified her, but Mrs. Portis lost interest in bringing charges against Lotty. We had a tougher time over my mortgage-for a few weeks it looked as though I might have to find a place to rent. But Freeman managed to settle that somehow, too. I’ve always suspected that he put up a guarantee himself, but he only raises his brows and feigns ignorance and changes the conversation when I try asking him.

After a bit my life regained its normal flow-ru

I worked hard to keep thoughts of Humboldt and South Chicago at bay. In the normal course of things I wouldn’t let loose ends drift away at the end of a case, but I just couldn’t take any more involvement in the old neighborhood. So I decided to leave Ron Kappelman’s role in the mess as an unanswered question. If Bobby’s accusation was true, that he’d been feeding Jurshak news of my whereabouts, I should by rights go down to Pullman and confront him. I just didn’t have the mental energy to pursue it any further, though. Let the state’s attorney figure it all out when Jurshak and Dresberg came to trial.