Page 21 of The Writer

“I’m working on it.”

She says, a hitch in her voice, “I didn’t do this. Youknowthat.”

Geller glances at the surrounding tables, nearly all full. The large guard who brought him here is standing against the wall not five feet away. She’s not hiding the fact that she’s watching them. She’s close enough to hear them. Probably reporting back to someone. Maybe the warden. Maybe the police. Maybe both. Geller gives Denise a perturbed glance. “I tried to get us a private room, but the next one isn’t available until tomorrow at three. I didn’t want to wait that long before coming to see you.”

Denise feels a pang in her chest. “How’s Quimby?”

“He’s doing fine. I took his food and treats from your apartment but they rushed me out, so I had to leave his automatic feeder and his water-fountain thing behind. I picked up some dishes and a litter box at the pet shop.”

“Is he eating and drinking? He’s had his fountain since he was a kitten.”

Geller places his palms down on the table between them, an attempt at reassurance. “Don’t worry. He’s drinking. He did turn his nose up at first, but I watched him, and after a while he seemed to accept the temporary change in amenities and went slumming at the peasant ceramic dish. You know you spoil that cat. How’s anyone supposed to cat-sit for you?”

She pulls at the orange fabric by her collarbone. “Well, I wasn’t planning on signing him up for sleepaway camp, Geller. When I travel, I get a cat-sitter to check on him so he doesn’t need to leave home. He likes his feeder and his cat bubbler. He likes his bed and his tree and—oh, no. What kind of litter box did you pick up?”

Geller looks bewildered. “The plastic-box kind?”

“And is he using it?”

“Of course. I would have noticed if he selected a different toilet option. Why, what does he use at your place? A gold-plated cat throne with a warm-water bidet?”

Denise swats his hand. “Quimby is my boy. Some women have children; I have Quimby. And no, he does not have a cat bidet. Though I wouldn’t deny him one if I thought he’d use it.”

“Well, perhaps you can upgrade his can when you’re back home. For now, don’t worry, I’m taking good care of him. You have my word.”

“Speaking of that, how long do you think they’re going to keep me here?”

“You heard the judge. With the grand jury convening Wednesday, our next shot to get you out will be Thursday. We need to prep for that.”

“Thursday,” she mutters. That feels like a lifetime. She’s already been here for three days. “You don’t understand what it’s like… I can’t…”

“We’ll get you out,” he insists.

The promise feels hollow, and she wonders how many times he’s said those four words to clients. Denise reminds herself she’s not a client, she’s a friend. She’s aclosefriend, and there is a world of difference.

Under the watchful eye of the guard, Geller retrieves a pad and pen from his briefcase, scribbles in the top corner to get the ink flowing, then says, “Can you think of anyone who might want David dead?”

“It was a break-in. I told you that.” She eyes the notepad. “Can I have a sheet and something to write with?”

Geller looks to the guard, who nods. He tears off the top sheet, finds another pen, and slides both over to her. “I understand it was a break-in, but with nothing taken, we need to consider other options. I got a look at the police report, and they mentioned that David had no defensive wounds. Given how far back in the apartment you found him, there’s a very good chance he let his attacker in and walked the guy down that hall before he turned on him. That indicates someone who was known to him. We need to give the police someone other than you. Can you think ofanyonewho had a problem with your husband?”

“No.”

“Think.”

“He never mentioned anyone. I suppose there could be someone at the hospital, but David rarely talked about work when he was home. He did in the beginning, but all thesleepless nights started to take a toll, so about four years ago he decided for the sake of his mental health to leave the hospital at the hospital.”

“Okay, so is there someone I can talk to there? Mercy, right?”

Denise nods and thinks about that for a second. “Try Jeffery Varano. He runs the cardiology department. He and David are friends. He’d know.” She hesitates, then mumbles, “Werefriends.”

Geller Hoffman has never been big on emotion. He offers her his facsimile of a sympathetic glance, then makes a note of the name and goes quiet for a long time.

“What is it?” she asks.

“The condoms are a problem for us,” he says in a low voice. “Can you think of any reason David might have had them?”

Denise closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she doesn’t answer but writes a sentence down on her paper. Geller reads it aloud. “‘A criminal’s best asset is his lie ability.’” He frowns. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

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