Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [54]
“I can explain.”
“Really?”
“I needed money. My Social Security check goes straight to Mapleshade. I never had more than a few dollars to spend. I have grandchildren and sometimes I like to send them a little something on their birthday.”
“Sook, you’re a geriatric marijuana dealer. Don’t you make enough pocket money with your first part-time job?”
“Who’s to say what enough is?” Sook replied.
“You’re a blackmailer, Sook.”
“You know what blackmail is, Lacey? It’s a business deal, plain and simple. I promised not to do something that I could legally do, in exchange for money. That, my dear, is a verbal contract, recognized by the law.”
“Only, you knew something about Holland that the rest of the town should have known. If he wasn’t a real doctor, he shouldn’t have been treating patients.”
“Well now. You have a point there,” Sook conceded. “But I did what I had to do.”
Lacey sat down in the crappy mesh chair Sook had pinched from Mapleshade’s waiting room. She had so many questions for Sook, but only one was relevant to her case.
“Tell me the truth, Sook. Who is your silent partner?”
“Was,” Sook corrected.
“Excuse me?”
“It was Hart.”
As she drove home, Lacey went over the rest of her conversation with Sook. The old man had figured out during his first visit with Holland that he was no doctor. He could treat a flesh wound and do basic triage, but for any complicated concerns, he referred patients to the local emergency room. Holland knew what tests to run, but had only limited knowledge of the treatment protocol. Holland told Sook he was a Vietnam vet. On a hunch, Sook phoned up one of his Army connections and learned that there was no record of a Herman Holland as a physician in the Vietnam War. In fact, no Herman Holland had worked as even a medic. Sook then contacted the AMA and found that there was no Herman Holland in the doc’s age range.
Sook couldn’t believe that Holland had practiced in Mercer for twenty years without anyone noticing. He saw an opportunity and seized it. He rented out a mailbox and opened a bank account under the name Mallard Corp. Then he made his demands. It didn’t take Holland long to figure out the identity of his blackmailer. Sook was the only Mapleshade resident who refused to visit his offices, even during that brutal strep throat outbreak.
How Sook’s silent partner came into the picture was another story. Sook had once asked Hart to drive him to his mailbox store. They ate lunch at Diner afterward. Hart asked him about the letter. Sook’s reply was cagey. Hart could always spot a liar, being such an adept one himself. He got curious and picked Sook’s pocket when he dropped him off at the home.
As soon as Sook realized his check was missing, he got a phone call from Hart. He wanted a cut. Sure, Hart could blackmail Holland himself, but the fake doc could only afford so much hush money. If pushed, he would leave town, as he eventually did. Hart opened a bank account in the name of Merganser, Inc., and Mallard Corp. wrote him a check every month. Lacey’s final question was one she never thought she’d ask Sook.
“Did you kill Hart?”
Of course, Sook denied killing Hart. And Lacey believed him. Unless the old man had an accomplice, it was a physical impossibility, considering all the variables involved in the aftermath of Hart’s death. Still, Lacey was no longer sure what Sook was capable of. She decided to steer clear of him for a while.
She drove straight home, took a shot of whiskey, and sat down on the couch next to Paul. They watched a rerun of The Littlest Catch, about the perils of Canadian shrimp fishing. During a commercial break, Paul hit the mute.
“You know, Lace, maybe this is rock bottom,” he said. “Maybe it’s time I quit watching this stuff.”
Lacey was stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered. “Or even ever mentioning it again?” she asked.
“Deal,” said Paul.
It was the first thing they’d agreed on in days.26
The shock of the telephone ringing jarred them out of their shared moment of clarity. Lacey jumped for the phone.
“Give us