Grave Secret - Charlaine Harris [82]
Manfred and I looked at each other. We didn’t have any other questions.
“Goodbye, Dr. Bowden,” I said, standing. He couldn’t hide his relief that we were leaving.
“Are you going to the police?” he asked. “You know, even if they exhume poor Ms. Parish, they won’t be able to tell a thing.” He was regretting having talked to us. But he was also relieved. This guy had had a hard time for the past eight years, living inside his own skin. I, for one, was glad of that.
“I don’t know,” Manfred said, very thoughtfully. He’d had the same reaction. “We’re considering it. If the child came to no harm, it’s possible you may keep your license.”
A horrified Dr. Bowden was staring at us as we went down the hall and out through the waiting room. There were three more patients there, and I felt sorry for them. I wondered what kind of care the doctor would give now that he was definitely on the upset side. He’d had two visits in one day about an event he must have hoped was buried forever; that would be enough to rattle any man, even one made of better stuff than Tom Bowden.
“That guy is a human sewer,” Manfred said when we were in the elevator. He was very angry, his face red with strong emotion.
“I don’t know if he’s quite that bad,” I said, feeling at least ten years older than my companion. “But he’s weak. And he’s a joke, based on the standards a doctor ought to uphold.”
“I wouldn’t be so surprised if it was the 1930s,” Manfred said, surprising me. “That sounds like a story you’d read in a collection of old ghost stories. The knock on the door in the middle of the night, the stranger who comes to take you to a mysterious patient in a big house, the dying woman, the baby, the secrecy . . .”
I was goggling at Manfred when the doors opened on the ground floor. That had been exactly what I’d been thinking. “Do you believe what he told us was the truth? If we both think he was telling us a story that sounds incredible, maybe it is. Maybe it was a pack of lies.”
“I don’t think he’s a good enough liar,” Manfred said. “Though some of what he told us was lies, of course. How has he made it this far? Didn’t he know that someday, someone would come asking questions? He has to be at least a little smart because he’s a doctor, right? Not everybody can make it through med school. And his license was there on the wall, I read it. I’m going to check up on it. Maybe we need another private eye.”
“No, not considering what happened to the last one,” I snapped, and then felt contrite. “I’m sorry, Manfred. I’m glad you went with me. It’s good there was another set of ears listening and another pair of eyes seeing. Did you believe the main outline of his story? You’re the psychic.”
“I did believe him,” Manfred said after a perceptible pause. “I went back over it in my head, and I think he was telling us the truth. Not all the truth; he did know who the man who came to get him was, for example. And I don’t think the man hid his phone; I think he told the doctor he absolutely couldn’t make a phone call, and I think he told him that in a threatening way. A really good threat would be enough to flatten a guy like Dr. Bowden. I also think the guy had warned the doctor what to expect at the house. Doctors don’t go out now with big bags, like my grandmother said they did when she was little. I think Dr. Bowden knew to take medication for a woman who’d just had a difficult birth, and something for the baby, too.”
That made a lot of sense. “You’re right. So who do you think came into town to get the doctor? Who made that mysterious drive out to the empty big house? Who took the baby? Whoever took Dr. Bowden to the ranch, he was wearing a wedding ring.”
“Oh, that’s right. Good for you for remembering. Well, we know that Drexell was married for a while, and we know that Chip was, too. Could have been either one, or even someone we haven’t met yet.”
We drove back to the hotel, stopping along the way to eat a fast-food lunch. I got a grilled chicken sandwich and didn