Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [45]
The reason Damian Quint was quickly damning any chance at a second date was the unrelenting “me, me, me” and “I, I, I” in every sentence. Moreover, there was a smooth sophistication about him that set me on edge. Almost as if a sheen of oil coated the slickness. Tonight he wore an exquisitely tailored navy blazer and tan pants. The way the light glinted on his nails when he raised his glass of cabernet sauvignon made me positive he had them buffed to perfection.
At the first sign of trouble, Damian probably would think “everyone for himself” and leave me in his wake. As I raised my glass to take another cautious sip of my favorite California chardonnay, I decided I liked men a little more rugged. Like the man dressed in worn jeans and a black crew neck sweater making his way to sit at the farthest table away…
Sam. I choked on the wine. I set the wine glass on the table with a sharp clink.
“Are you all right?” Damian leaned forward.
“Fine.” I coughed and grabbed my napkin to dab at my tearing eyes. Thank God Sam had taken his position behind Damian where the podiatrist couldn’t see him.
Since the night was going downhill, I used the break to seize hold of the conversation.
“So, you first met Brian in school?”
“Yes, I was a class ahead of him. Then of course, I went on to get my surgical fellowship. I was—”
“When did you meet Claire?”
He blinked. “Let’s see. When Brian and I were in practice together in Chicago.”
I lowered the napkin. “I didn’t realize you had worked together.”
“Oh yes.” Damian sat back in his chair and gave me a cool smile. “I take it he hasn’t mentioned it?”
“No, but it’s understandable. He has his hands full right now.”
“That’s true.” He swirled the dark red contents of his glass. “The practice didn’t last long. I decided a warmer climate would be better for business.”
“Excuse me?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “People up north wear boots for long stretches of time. In the south it’s sandals all year. Women and men, for that matter, want their feet to look nice so…” He shrugged. “Proved to be a profitable move.”
“Were you still living in Chicago when the Whitmans lost their first child?”
“No, but I flew back for the funeral. They were devastated by the loss of—” his brows knitted together as if he sought to recall the baby’s name and then smoothed out as he gave a slight shrug, “—of their baby. I urged Brian to consider a fresh start in Florida. Eventually he and Claire moved here and I sent him several referrals.”
He toyed with the stem of the wine glass. “This second loss, of course, is a major setback for them. How strong is the case against them?”
Over Damian’s shoulder I saw the waiter serve Sam a beer. He tilted it in my direction. Deliberately, I focused on Damian. “I can only discuss their case in generalities.”
“Of course, but I would like to help.”
“I learned the name of the lead prosecutor today. She’s not one of their top notch prosecutors which means the state’s not giving it highest priority. However, she’s not fresh out of law school so they are giving the case some weight.”
“I see. Will you need a neonatal expert?”
“Yes, I’ll need medical testimony to differentiate between SIDS and infant apnea.”
His gaze sharpened. “Apnea?”
“Yes, the paramedics were able to revive Rebecca before reaching the hospital, so we’re not dealing with sudden infant death syndrome.”
Damian reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gold pen. He grabbed a paper cocktail napkin. “I serve with Dr. Chang on the Oceanview board of directors—”
“Oceanview?”
Irritation pinched his mouth. “Yes.”
“Did you know Dr. Hassenfeld?”
“The over-aged hippy? Yes, he served on the board.” He studied me. “This is starting to feel like an inquisition.”
“Sorry, but I’m representing a very frightened woman.”
“I would think with Hassenfeld’s unfortunate death that Claire’s right to a speedy trial would work to your advantage.”
“Yes, that’s one of the things I’ll be discussing with the Whitmans later this week. The problem with a speedy trial is the inability to do adequate discovery. Surprises