9. Tallus

9

Tallus

I never expected Diem to own a suit, so I hid my shock when he grumbled and marched into the other room to put one on. When he returned, scowling as he smoothed a hand over the wrinkled wool jacket he’d donned—something out of the late seventies by the look of it—I had to bite my tongue to stifle a reaction.

The man had no idea how attractive he could be—even in a dated suit.

The outfit was far from fashion-worthy, and the heavy wool would be killer in the August heat, but I didn’t point that out. It wasn’t a fancy name brand or unique style that had been worth keeping. It definitely wasn’t custom-made for him. The fabric strained at the shoulders and was an inch too short in the sleeves. He’d likely gotten it as a hand-me-down from his grandfather, like the fedora and trench coat he adored.

Memphis would have had something unsavory to say about how it sat on Diem’s bulky frame, suggesting he try the big and tall section next time and stop shopping in the twentieth century. Memphis was a bit of a diva.

Oddly, what caught me off guard was not the ill-fitting suit but how the entire ensemble transformed Diem into someone else. I wasn’t kidding about clothing having the power to change how we were perceived. Diem, in worn jeans and a fitted tee, with facial scars and a shaved head, gave the impression of a fighter, someone you wouldn’t fuck with at a bar. It said I dare you to mess with me. If you try, they’ll need dental records to identify your body.

In a suit with the same scars, lethal expression, and military haircut, Diem became mob-boss-worthy. Despite the suit’s poor cut, it gave him the professional edge he lacked. He’d gone from back-alley bar bouncer to I have an army of people in the woodwork, and if you mess with me, no one will find your body.

The end goal wasn’t to scare the poor doctor into talking to us, but the slight alteration to Diem’s appearance would work to our advantage. The best part was Diem didn’t have to say a word. All the guy had to do was stand there and look imposing. The narrative would write itself.

“What?” he snarled when all I could do was stare.

“You look incredible.”

His scowl deepened like he didn’t believe me.

“I’m serious. You went from Jeff Monson to Al Capone.”

Diem’s expression remained the same, but his eyes narrowed like he was trying to decide if I was insulting him.

“It’s a compliment, D. Say thank you.”

He glanced down at himself and mumbled something resembling gratitude under his breath.

“Was it Boone’s?”

“Yes.”

“You’re bigger than he was.”

Diem shrugged and tried to tug the sleeves to meet his wrists.

“I’m glad you’re on my side. An educated man, like Dr. Hilty, will be more apt to talk to a pair of detectives than a PI and a records clerk asking questions about his past and his ex.”

“An educated man will ask for ID, and we don’t have detective badges.”

I smirked. “Have faith in your partner, Guns. I’ll figure it out. We make a fine couple.”

Diem’s lips twitched, and it looked like he wanted to have an opinion or comment, but he held back.

“Ready?”

“No. I’m hot. It’s thirty-two fucking degrees outside, and I’m in a goddamn wool suit.” He fanned his shirt, then tugged at the collar, shifting his tie askew. “You’ll be able to wring me out by the time we arrive. I can feel sweat gathering already.”

Without asking, ensuring I telegraphed my intentions because Diem was sketchy about unexpected and unsolicited touch, I approached. He didn’t jerk away as much as he used to, but he turned rigid.

Batting his hands away from the collar, I fixed the tie and smoothed my palms down his shirt front, slipping them under the edges of the jacket on either side. Every muscle in Diem’s abdomen tensed, but he didn’t back away.

His stormy gray, troubled eyes took me in, flickering with uncertainty.

“You look good, D.”

He grunted, and I knew he disagreed.

“You’re more handsome than you think.”

“I’m uncomfortable.”

“I know. Have faith. You can trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

His throat bobbed, and all eye contact ceased.

***

Dr. Hilty’s building was in a dismal strip mall on Pape Avenue, across from a shawarma restaurant and family-owned pharmacy, and nestled between a used bookstore and a shop selling holistic supplements. A group of older teens on bikes and skateboards gathered around a rusted-out Chevy Caprice in the back of the parking lot. Their loud chatter and laughter drew my attention when we pulled up.

The Caprice looked older than me. It was running, and the thump of a bassy tune pumped from inside. A few of the boys noticed us pull in, but it wasn’t until we got out of the Jeep—until Diem got out of the Jeep—that they scattered.

I chuckled. “Oh gee, I wonder what they were up to.”

Several boys glanced over their shoulders as they biked away. Concluding they assumed we were men of authority, I stood taller, letting the power of influence go to my head. It was exactly what I’d hoped for.

I grinned across the hood of the Jeep at Diem, but he was too busy glaring at the kid behind the wheel of the Caprice. Diem’s forehead glistened with sweat in the late afternoon sun, making him appear all the more menacing.

The kid seemed unaffected and stared back challengingly.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Assessing.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s up to something but hasn’t decided if we’re a threat. He figures we have authority of some kind, but—”

“It’s the snazzy outfits. See, I told you. They work wonders.”

“But the Jeep’s not a cop vehicle, and we aren’t in uniform.”

“Can we mess with him?”

“No.”

“Please. It will be fun. Let me have some fun.”

“No.” Breaking eye contact with the boy behind the wheel, Diem faced Dr. Hilty’s building. “He doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

“Aww, D. Don’t be a spoilsport. Play snarly detective with me.”

“No.”

“But you miss being a cop. I can tell.”

Diem worked his jaw. “I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Diem started toward the front entrance of Hilty’s building. “Are we doing this, or can I go home and change?”

“Do not walk away from me, Diem.” When he glanced back, appearing ready to assert his opinion, I plastered on a grin full of mischief and mayhem. The one he had trouble resisting. “Five minutes of fun.”

Without waiting for him to agree, knowing Diem would follow my lead—no matter how begrudgingly—I lifted my chin, put on a mask of determination and cop-like severity, and marched toward the kid’s car.

The tail end of a suppressed growl caught my ear, but Diem was hot on my heels like I knew he would be.

The man-child behind the wheel didn’t panic like his friends. With the window down, the engine running, and music pulsing, he sat calm as you please and waited. A cloud of burning oil and exhaust fumes tickled my throat as I tilted my head to look in the window.

“What?” the kid snapped.

“Want to turn down the music.” I phrased it so it wasn’t exactly a request but a demand.

The kid hesitated but complied, still staring challengingly.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“Nothing.” The kid was a rough-looking twenty if I had to guess. Beady black eyes, greasy hair poking out from under a ballcap with a pot logo of some kind, and cringy tattoos down both arms. He wore a black bowling shirt and slacks, an emblem on the pocket I couldn’t make out.

“How come you’re hanging in a parking lot?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Are you doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”

“No. Unless listening to music is a crime.”

I offered a tight, unimpressed smile. “No. It’s not. How come your friends took off?”

The man-child shrugged.

“What are you doing here?”

Another shrug. “Do I need a reason to park in a parking lot?”

“I’m asking for one.”

“Well, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth? How about some respect? You got a name?”

“Who wants to know? I ain’t doing nothing wrong. I can sit here all I want.”

“License and registration,” Diem barked over my shoulder with the perfect amount of growl to his tone.

The guy leaned forward to look around me, still showing no signs of intimidation. “You got a badge?”

“Relax, kid.” I shifted to block Diem from view.

“Fuck you. You’re not cops. I know cops, and you ain’t them. Why are you busting my balls?”

“How do you know we aren’t cops?” I thumbed over my shoulder. “You don’t get a cop vibe from him? Not even a little?”

The kid seemed less sure as he stole another glance around me at Diem and muttered, “No.”

“Well, he used to be a cop. He’s much worse now. He’s a mob boss and wearing an ill-fitting wool suit in August, which makes him extra cranky. Still wanna give us attitude?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Diem growled from behind.

I chuckled. “See? Cranky.”

The kid’s expression conveyed utter confusion.

“Okay, fine, he’s not a mob boss, but he’s giving off killer Al Capone vibes, isn’t he?”

“What the fuck is going on?” the kid asked. “I’m just sitting here, minding my own business, and you guys are giving me a hard time. I’ll call the real cops if you don’t leave me alone.”

Diem’s oversized hand wrapped around my upper arm, and he dragged me away in a flash. “Enough. You’ve had your fun. Say goodbye.”

“I gotta go,” I yelled at the kid. “Stay in school, bud. Don’t do drugs. Get a haircut, or at least wash it from time to time. Oh, and your rap should be a crime.”

Diem marched me right into the lobby of Dr. Hilty’s building before releasing me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled.

“That was awesome. Do you think we scared him?”

“No.”

“But it was fun, right?”

Diem’s face said he didn’t agree.

“Come on, Guns. Life doesn’t have to be serious all the time. Live a little. Let your hair down.” I flashed my attention at his shaved head. “Well, you know what I mean. Have fun.”

“Can we get this over with so I can go home and change? I’m hot.”

“I don’t disagree.” I wiggled my brows. “When we’re done here, I’ll be sure to get you out of your clothes.”

That shut him up. It wasn’t the late August heat and wool suit making his face red that time.

We didn’t have an appointment, nor had we called to inform William Hilty we were coming. His receptionist, a middle-aged brunette with a fixed expression of confusion behind wire-framed glasses, glanced between us. She didn’t seem to know how to proceed when I told her to let Dr. Hilty know that two men were there to chat about the Scarborough incident, and he’d know what that meant.

“The Scarborough incident?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She opened a day planner, picked up a pen, and wrote on an appointment card. “I’ll book you an appointment. Unfortunately, it’s not for a couple of weeks since he’s—”

“We’re seeing him right now,” Diem barked, making her jump and the pen slide.

I placed a hand on his arm and smiled placatingly at the woman. “It won’t take long. Please let him know we’re here.”

Hilty had probably gone to great lengths to bury his past. It had been over thirty-five years. Not many people in his life would likely know he was once charged with murder and fined for practicing without a license. It also meant Diem and I could potentially avoid having to identify ourselves simply by having knowledge of the man’s criminal past.

The receptionist, still flustered, held the appointment card aloft as though unsure where to put it now that she’d written it up.

I took it from her to save confusion and gestured to the phone on the desk.

“Um… Who should I say is here?” she asked, picking up the receiver.

“Old friends.”

The woman scanned us, lingering longer on Diem.

“Do you have names?”

“No,” Diem snapped.

“How about ID?”

“For what?”

“Well, if you’re with the police, then—”

“We’re not cops.” The growl in Diem’s tone intensified. “We’re nobody.”

I cleared my throat. “Just tell the good doctor we’re here. He’ll want to see us.”

The receptionist pressed the phone to her chest. “Two men who know about the Scarborough incident?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Old friends?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Diem’s chest rumbled.

The receptionist, Sally Soape, according to her nameplate, punched a few numbers into the keypad and spoke quietly, shielding her mouth and the receiver as though it would help her not be heard.

“Sorry to bother you. I have two men here who want to talk. They say it’s about the incident in Scarborough. They won’t elaborate but said you’d want to… Oh. Okay. Yes. Right away.”

She hung up and pursed her lips with disapproval. “You can go in. He’s not with anyone.”

William Hilty was balding but had gone to great lengths to cover the evidence by meticulously combing the few strands of remaining silver hair from one side of his head to the other, spreading the individual pieces in an evenly gelled layer so as little of his scalp showed as possible. I was almost fooled.

His white dress shirt, pulled taut over an old-age spread, was tucked into gray pleated trousers. The wide tie, much like Diem’s suit, was decades out of style. A Rolex watch and Montblanc fountain pen, nestled in its holder, were testimony to Hilty’s higher income. His wrinkled jowls were covered with a decent five o’clock shadow, glinting silver in the low room light.

Expressive, wildly untamed brows knitted together as Hilty peered up at our entrance, gaze skipping from Diem to me and back as though deducing whether or not he knew us. If he’d ever been a pot-smoking hippy activist, it didn’t show.

Amber’s brother claimed his sister had spoken of incense and the rich scent of patchouli, but I smelled nothing but stale air with hints of body odor.

“Gentlemen.” Hilty’s voice was nasally and higher pitched than I expected. “How can I help you?”

“William Hilty?” I asked as Diem closed the door.

“Bill.” The doctor remained on alert, body stiff with tension. “Can I ask what this is regarding?”

“Mind if we sit?” I smiled my most winning smile.

Hilty hesitated before motioning to a brown leather sofa under a covered window on one side of the room. I assumed it was where the good doctor performed his magic. I sat, glancing around, but Diem refused and remained by the door with his arms crossed like the bouncer I’d compared him to back at the office. You could take a man out of his street clothes, but the shadowy image of a hostile nonconformer remained. I’d tried. At least the intimidation was a tad more sophisticated in a suit.

Eyeing Diem, Dr. Hilty moved to a cushioned chair—also brown leather—in the sitting area and balanced his ass on its edge as though too nervous to get comfortable. “Are you cops?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Of a sort.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re investigators.”

Hilty’s attention shifted between us. “And what are you… investigating?”

“Your ex-wife.”

Hilty flinched and frowned. “You’re investigating Row?”

“That’s right. I believe she’s going by Rowena Fitspatrick.”

“I don’t understand.” William Hilty didn’t relax, but he turned introspective like he was trying to sort out the bigger picture but couldn’t make the pieces fit.

“When’s the last time you talked to her?” I asked.

Hilty shook his head. “You haven’t properly identified yourself or shown me any ID. I don’t have to answer your questions. Besides, Rowena and I have nothing to do with one another anymore. If you think you can waltz in here and threaten me by suggesting—”

“We know about the murder charges in eighty-six.” A low growl resonated with Diem’s tone. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to bury them. How many of your clients know?”

Hilty’s nostrils flared. “Those charges were dropped. The judge threw out the case as fast as the brain-dead cops arrested us. It was nonsense and has no bearing on me or my practice.”

“And the fine?”

“A minor infraction. A youthful mistake. It’s since been expunged from my record. I’m a legally practicing physician. You have no right to come here, make accusations, and threaten me. It’s in the past. It has no bearing on my career or who I am now.”

“So you won’t mind if we take it to the press?” I asked.

Dr. Hilty had the same teeth-grinding habit as Diem. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

“I told you. We’re investigating your ex-wife. We’d like you to answer a few questions, then we’ll get out of your hair.” I flicked my gaze to the top of Hilty’s balding head. Why did I keep doing that? “Er… your office.”

“No. You show me some ID, or I’ll call the cops. If you’re investigators, prove it.”

Diem tossed the doctor his PI credentials. I needed to get me one of those. Hilty scanned it thoroughly, as though not trusting it was real, before handing it back. “And you?”

“I’m a hired expert. I don’t work for the company. I consult on serious cases. I’m undercover.” Diem made a noise in his throat. Before either man could refute my claim, I pressed on. “When did you last speak to your ex-wife, Dr. Hilty?”

Hilty seemed to debate before submitting. “I couldn’t honestly tell you. Has she done something wrong?”

“At this time, we’re gathering character references.”

Hilty chuffed. “Well, you can quote me as saying Row is a sly and manipulative bitch. She shouldn’t be trusted.”

“Harsh words.”

Hilty shrugged.

“Are you aware she’s working as a psychic healer?”

Another chuff. “Yes. She’s always considered herself spiritually gifted. Gentlemen, I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know what she’s done or—”

“Have you referred clients to Ms. Fitspatrick or vice versa?” Diem asked.

“Why on earth would I do that when I find the mere notion of psychic healing to be toxic, never mind laughable?”

I cocked my head with a querying smirk. “But is hypnosis all that different?”

“Yes. Night and day.”

“Really?” I tapped my chin. “They seem similar to me.”

“Because you aren’t educated on the subject. The insinuation alone is insulting.”

“Could you explain?” I asked.

Diem pushed off the wall with a growl. “Don’t bother. He’s wasting our fucking time. Listen, asshole. Your wife has a long criminal history, and you’re tied up in it.”

“I object to that. One incidental charge from over thirty years ago does not make me a criminal. I have nothing to do with that woman anymore.”

“Rowena Fitspatrick has a legitimate license and, for all intents and purposes, appears to be running above the wire, just like you.” Diem’s lethal gaze kept Hilty rooted to the spot. “We want to know if you’ve heard anything, suspect anything, or have had any dealings with her in the past six or eight months.”

“No. How many times must I say it?”

“So you’ve never sent a client you couldn’t help her way?”

“Absolutely not.” Hilty appeared appalled at the suggestion. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“And so far as you’re aware, none of her clients have come to you?”

“No. Rowena isn’t one to admit she can’t help someone.”

Diem shifted his attention to me. “We’re done. Let’s go.”

I crossed my arms like a petulant child and leaned back on the couch. “You bullied over my interview.”

“No, I saved us hours of fucking nonsense. I need to get out of these clothes before I hurt someone.”

“He doesn’t usually wear a suit,” I explained to a confused-looking Hilty. To Diem, I said, “We need to talk about cooperation and sharing. And PS, my case isn’t nonsense.”

“It’s not a case, and you’re not undercover. Christ.”

I made sure to look adequately affronted. “You take that back.”

A rap at the office door shut us both up. Diem gave me the evil eye—it was not Al Capone intimidating in the least—as Sally the Receptionist poked her head in, still with a perpetual look of confusion distorting her features.

“Sorry to bother you. I heard arguing. Do you want me to call the police?”

“It’s under control, Sally,” the doctor said, his tone gentle and kind. “No need.”

“Okay. It’s just that they mentioned—”

“We’re fine.”

“Okay.” Sally’s gaze flicked to Diem and me again before speaking to Dr. Hilty. “Do you mind if I skedaddle? Newt’s waiting, and his time’s short. I’d rather not take the bus.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow, Sally.”

Sally lingered a second as though she had more to say, then slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

“It was nice chatting with you, gentlemen,” Hilty said as he pushed to stand and straightened his tie, “but I think it’s time you go.”

“I agree,” Diem chimed in.

“Wait.” I blocked the doctor’s path before he could head to the door and escort us out. He might have been finished, but I wasn’t. “You saw a patient by the name of Amber Wells.”

Hilty held up his hands. “I can’t help you. Please leave.”

“She struggled with migraines. You tried hypnotizing her, but it didn’t take. She went to your wife instead. They had several sessions together, and—”

“Tallus.” The sharp edge of Diem’s tone couldn’t stop me. I was running off the rails, but I wasn’t done. Not yet. Not now. I hadn’t learned anything.

“Your wife got inside Amber’s head. She manipulated her.”

Since he couldn’t escape to the door, Hilty moved to his desk instead, picking up the phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“Tallus, we need to leave.” Diem, hands-on when it suited him, took my arm and physically guided me toward the door, but I kept talking, digging my heels in.

“Maybe mind control isn’t a thing, but I think your wife used her powers of manipulation to convince Amber to kill herself, the same as she did with those guys in eighty-six. It wasn’t a hoax, was it, doc? It wasn’t bullshit. The judge might have laughed it out of court, but you two got inside the heads of those men. You suggested they kill themselves. Maybe you didn’t expect it to work. Maybe it was an experiment, but it did work, and you got away with it. Now she’s—”

“Tallus.” Diem’s voice was a low rumble near my ear, warning me to stop.

I tugged against his hold, trying to free myself, but he wouldn’t let go. “The near conviction scared you straight. You divorced your wife and went back to school. You’ve been hiding those horrendous accusations ever since. Why? Because you feel guilty. You wouldn’t feel guilty or be hiding if you did nothing wrong. Well, guess what, doc? Almost ending up in jail didn’t scare Rowena straight. It made her sneakier and smarter. She’s improved her methods. She’s never been right in the head, and you, of all people, know it. Are you going to let her keep it up?”

William Hilty paused, phone in hand. A flash of concern, remorse, or fear crossed his face. It was momentary, a hiccup in time before he wiped it clear and continued to punch buttons on the phone. “Get out,” he barked. “Last warning.”

But the expression, however brief, was there long enough to catch Diem’s attention, and the big guy stopped tugging my arm and approached the desk. He hung up the call by stabbing a finger on the phone’s base.

Hilty froze, face ghastly pale under the yellow overhead lighting.

“Have a seat,” Diem growled.

“I want nothing to do with this. He’s wrong. We never manipulated those men into committing suicide. Yes, I did things I wasn’t proud of. Yes, I performed without a license. Yes, I assisted in manipulating people on stage into silliness. It was for entertainment. I’m not a murderer. I never suggested anyone kill themselves.”

“Have. A seat,” Diem repeated between clenched teeth.

“I haven’t spoken to my ex-wife in years,” Hilty shouted.

Diem growled.

“Oh boy. William, Bill, Billy? Whatever you’d prefer. I’d take a seat if I were you. A snarly half-starved bear lives inside this guy’s chest, and when it starts growling like that, woo-wee, you are in trouble. And I made him wear a wool suit in thirty-degree weather, so he was supremely pissed off before we got here. I wouldn’t rattle his cage if I were you.”

Diem turned on me, and the aforementioned bear emitted another low growl.

I tsk ed and patted Diem’s cheek. “Relax, Guns. You don’t scare me.” And I snarled back much more provocatively before lowering my voice. “And I told you I’d get you out of that suit later.”

Diem flushed and turned away. It was too easy.

“Listen.” Dr. Hilty was sweating as much as Diem now. “I don’t know who you people are or what you’re playing at, but I’m innocent. I run a legitimate practice. I don’t have any dealings with Rowena anymore, and my record is clean. If she’s up to no good, I don’t want to know.”

I propped my hands on my hips. “So you never sent Amber to see her?”

“I can’t discuss my patients.” He paused, his lips vibrating, then added, “But no.”

“So it’s a coincidence that you both treated the same woman before she died?”

“Yes.” Panic laced the doctor’s features as he shifted his attention between Diem and me.

“Amber’s dead, doc. Dead, and her family is convinced someone manipulated her into committing suicide. Same scenario as eighty-six. The same two people involved. I wonder what the police would think of that.”

Hilty’s face and balding head turned red. “I will not stand here and be accused of such nonsense. You call the cops if you have to, and I’ll press charges for harassment.”

We were going in circles, and my ability to squeeze information out of a suspect was not proving successful.

Defeated and unsure of what else to say, I sighed. “Fuck it. Come on, D. This is a dead end.”

But Diem didn’t come on . He leaned over Dr. Hilty’s desk, making the man back up a step. Lowering his voice, Diem said, “I’m going to dig deeper into that long-dead murder investigation, Bill, and if I find anything I don’t like, anything that suggests differently than what you told us here today, I will expose you. I will turn this ugly. You’ll wish you were more cooperative.”

Diem glared at the doctor for another beat with a dead-eyed gaze before standing upright, displaying his full six and a half feet of height. “Have a nice day, asshole.”