“D’you talk to anyone who knew him before he got to New York?”

“Just this afternoon. Once he had his papers, he applied for jobs in clinics in the South, working his way up-with experience, of course-to better positions at medical centers.”

“What did they say about him?”

“Two of the neurologists he worked with said he acted like a real pro. They’re among the many who gave him glowing references when DuPre started to make plans to move to New York. All the patients raved about his bedside manner.”

Just ask Maureen about that, I thought to myself. At least, that’s what she said the first few days.

“Looks like he started doing this when he lost his pharmacist’s license for a Medicaid fraud. The prosecutor from the Louisiana Attorney General’s Office said when they investigated him for that offense in the early eighties, all the local physicians were shocked. They used to call him Doc ‘cause he seemed so knowledgeable about the profession. A real charmer. That’s when he moved to Georgia and started life all over again-as DuPre.”

“Get any word back on the lawsuit he told us about?” I asked between spoonfuls of steaming hot soup.

“Yeah, the malpractice case. Poor patient was a thirty-year-old guy. Came to see DuP-well, whoever he is. Described his symptoms, which were-” Mercer flipped open his steno pad and looked at the notes he had written. “Complained of sudden weight loss, insatiable thirst, dry lips and mouth, and dizziness.

“This quack orders some blood tests, fills a beaker of urine, but simply told him to stay home and rest. The medication he ordered was for vertigo. Forty-eight hours later, lady friend finds the guy in his house-dead.”

“How come?”

“His symptoms, Dr. Chapman, are the classic markers of an uncontrolled case of diabetes. Any first-year med student should have picked it up. Our clown missed it completely and his trusting patient left the office and went into a diabetic coma. A completely avoidable death.”

“So that drives him out of some small town near Atlanta and where better to go than the naked city? Eight million stories here and nobody’d even ask what his used to be.”

“Now we got to figure out if he really left New York yesterday or if he’s still lurking around here somewhere.”

“Update on that, too.” Mercer was sliding his knife through the largest, most tender chop I think I’ve ever seen. “Checked with the squad while I was at the airport. American Express and Visa are helping us track a flight route, which looks like it’s headed right on back to the bayou.

“Somebody’s using the cards of an eighty-eight-year-old man, Tyrone Perkins. Car rental in the Bronx, gas on the Jersey Turnpike, motel in South Carolina last night.”

“When were they reported stolen?” I asked.

“Haven’t been-yet.”

“Then I don’t see-”

“The companies each called up the guy’s house ‘cause the cards are showing a flurry of recent activity after a very long dormant period. Problem is, Tyrone’s niece says he’s been in the hospital on life support for about seven months so he has definitely not been leaving home or anywhere else with his American Express card.”

Mike was pointing his fork at Mercer. “And if I had to guess, I’d bet ol‘ Tyrone is hooked up to some machines over at Mid-Manhattan.”

“The lieutenant sent someone there this afternoon to check the lockup where they store the valuables of the patients in the intensive care unit. Mr. Perkins’s personal things seemed to have been ‘misplaced’ sometime during the past few days. So we got a trace going nationally on ATMs, restaurants, and stores ‘til we find that scumbag.”

“Anything else going on at the hospital while we were out of town?”

“Well, I was over there yesterday afternoon. I say starting Monday morning we gotta bring every one of these guys down to the D.A.‘s Office and reinterview them. Whoever left that note under your door-the one about black and white-was trying to point a finger at DuPre if that’s what it was a reference to. Now, would they be doin’ that because they knew he was guilty of murder? Or just because they knew he was a fraud? Or was it simply because they wanted to divert attention from themselves?”

“I’m with Mercer. Enough of trying to give ‘em special treatment and meet them on their own turf. They’re regular witnesses, like in any other case. Who’d you see there yesterday?”

“I wanted to bypass administration and go right to Spector’s office. But somebody got on the horn when I walked into the lobby because Dietrich was on my back the minute I got to the reception area on the sixth floor.”

I reminded Mike that we had to bring Mercer up to speed on Geoffrey Dogen’s thoughts about the missing key chain.

“We’re going to have to talk to Dietrich about exactly when Gemma gave him the one he carries with him.”

“Yeah, and how many other people walking around that hospital got them from her as gifts. I’m not sure that’s gonna be a very fruitful avenue to explore. We have no idea the last time that key ring was hanging from her bookshelf. D’you talk with Spector at all?”

“Sure. The whole bunch of ‘em greet me like I’m a prospect for brain surgery when I walk into Minuit, kinda rubbing their hands together and acting like they’re pleased to have me there. He was in his office with Coleman Harper and Banswar Desai.

“Desai still mopes around like he lost his best friend and Harper’s got his nose so far up the boss’s ass that it’s gonna be a shade darker than mine is any day now.”

“Cooperative?”

“Yeah. No problem with that. I was just trying to see if anybody had any ideas about DuPre. None of them seemed to know he had hit the road so I didn’t tell them. Spector’s real busy trying to do his own work and be anointed to take over Gemma’s place, too. Real humble, now, like it’s a big surprise he’ll get the job.”

The owner came over to offer us an after-dinner drink on the house as soon as we had taken care of the check with Adolfo.

Mike was already on his feet, pulling out my chair. “You know, Giuliano, just once I’d like you to buy me a drinkbefore dinner. You’re always quick to suggest one when Blondie’s dragging me out the door. Next time, okay?”

“Buona notte.Nice to see you-Miss Cooper, gentlemen.”

“Ciao, Giuliano.”

We got in Mercer’s car for the short ride to my apartment. “What’s the plan, guys?”

“I’m off tomorrow,” Mercer answered. “Unless we get word from one of those out-of-town departments that they’ve picked up Jean DuPuy. The lieutenant will give me a call if that happens. He’s trying to encourage me to stay home because of all the overtime we’re racking up on this case already.”

“I promised my mother I’d stop by and take her to Mass in the morning.”

“Then why don’t we meet in my office on Monday?” I said. “I’ll go over all the reports again tomorrow and set up a schedule for doing interviews. We can plan it out around your tours for the week, okay?”

The doorman came out to meet the car and help me into the elevator with my luggage.

“Want me to go up with you and make sure no one’s hiding under your bed, Goldilocks?”

“No, thank you. Be sure you tell your mother about your conquest of the duchess. She’ll be very proud of you.”

“Hey, if DuPuy rings your doorbell tonight and wants to make a house call to take your blood pressure, don’t let him in, y’hear?