Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Two hours discussing the patient and only the patient? Not likely. “Did Mrs. Hotchkins answer your call?” Had the widow not fallen asleep after taking her pill, as stated? Or had she not taken a pill at all?
“She did answer, but she only mumbled incoherently before hanging up.”
He’d have a tech at GBH ping the call, see where Mrs. Hotckins’s cell signal registered. “Do you and Dr. Garcia often confer about patients in your personal time?”
“No.” She shrunk into herself before bowing up, defensive. “But we needed to discuss Dr. Hotchkins as well and figure out how to save the clinic.”
Yeah. That tracked.
“There’s something you should know,” Ms. Whittington piped up. “Dr. Hotchkins was sleeping with a few of our patients. Emma caught him with someone last week. She entered the wrong exam room and discovered Dr. Hotchkins in the middle of…” She winced. “You know. Dr. Garcia got involved, and the two men argued. That’s when Dr. Hotchkins admitted to, um, servicing other patients.”
Mrs. Miller flinched, as if the memory still horrified her.
Conrad sensed another emotion simmering beneath the horror. Anger perhaps? But did it stem from a coworker’s ruinous behavior, the accusations launched against her, or something worse?
“Did Dr. Hotchkins ever mention a treasure hunt?” Barrow asked.
“Not this again.” The PA released an aggravated groan. “It’s amazing how often those silly rumors surface.”
“He didn’t. Not to me.” Going on the defensive, Mrs. Miller grated, “But then, like I’ve tried to tell you and everyone else, I wasn’t involved with him romantically. We spoke on video chats for work when necessary and exchanged nothing but pleasantries before and after office hours.”
Protesting a tad too much? He refocused on Whittington. “What do you mean, not this again?”
“Just that every so often locals come in with cuts and gashes they received while searching for clues about long-lost gold.” She pulled a cell from the pocket of her lab coat, checked the screen and frowned. A distressing message? “As for Dr. Hotchkins, I never heard him mention a hunt. Although. Hmm. I did overhear him speaking with someone on the phone the other day. He said something about a nugget. I assumed he was talking about chicken. He also accused the other person of being a lousy partner and demanded the drinking stop.” She winced at Mrs. Miller. “Sorry.”
Tony Miller, a gold hunter who’d believed the rumors to be real? A killer? “Did you hear the voice on the other line?”
“I didn’t, I’m sorry.”
No matter.
“Did the call take place on Dr. Hotchkins’s cell or the office phone?” Barrow asked.
If the office phone, the receptionist might have recognized the speaker’s voice before putting the call through to the doctor.
“Cell,” she said, blowing that angle.
Conrad planned to check the records of both phones anyway and do a comparison. If a partner called one line, odds were good he’d called the other line too at some point. “Did the name Jane Ladling come up when Garcia and Hotchkins argued?” A question he asked because he must. Definitely not for any other reason.
The PA’s frown returned as she pondered, then she hiked her shoulders in a shrug. “He could have. I’m sorry, but there were just so many names tossed around. I’d have trouble remembering them on an ordinary day, and this is no ordinary day. Everything is currently a blur.”
A sensation he knew well.
“Are rumors true for once?” Mrs. Miller croaked. “Was Marcus found at the cemetery?”
Unwilling to respond, Conrad focused on Whittington, saying, “If you recall anyone Dr. Hotchkins mentioned, I’d like to know. Considering the information has nothing to do with their medical history, you should have no problem sharing,” he added, hoping to head off a demand for a warrant. Something he would obtain, regardless.
“We appreciate it,” Barrow told her, handing over his card. He was a bulldog with a bone.
“I can try to put together a list,” she hedged, accepting the paper. “Why don’t I call you? Or email?”
“Either is fine.”
“You’d probably like to speak to Julian about this. Dr. Garcia,” she corrected. Dangling bait to get the heat off herself? “He messaged me a moment ago to say he was heading home to grieve his friend. They may have quarreled quite a lot lately, but they liked and admired each other once. I’m sure he’ll be eager to help you however he can.” She rattled off the man’s private cell phone number.
Two things troubled Conrad. Garcia had taken off to grieve after GBH arrived, using a back door. And she defended him almost as much as she detailed reasons for his guilt.
“Thanks for your time,” Conrad said with a nod. He and his partner strode off.
As they reached the exit, Whittington caught up with them. “Agents,” she whisper-yelled, thrusting a leather-bound book his way. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Emma. Julian and I hope to keep the information to ourselves…we’d hate for more rumors to spread. But Dr. Hotchkins stashed this in his office, using it to keep track of his…” Her lips pursed with distaste. “Conquests. We failed to decipher it. He called it a–” cringed– “buffet. He assigned a food nickname to each woman. A quote unquote dish he kept ready to serve hot. I think the chili pepper grading system is pretty self-explanatory.” With that, she dashed off.