Stuart Woods - Palindrome

"Where were you staying?"

"At Le Parc"-he spelled it-"it's a suite hotel in West Hollywood. The team always stays there."

"Can anyone else confirm you were there that evening?"

"The room-service waiter, I guess." Ramsey seemed to be trying hard to help. "He's the only other person I saw that night."

"Okay. Now, where were you on Tuesday, in the evening?"

"That's easy; Piedmont Hospital. I checked in around five that afternoon and had my surgery at seven the next morning."

"Did you leave the hospital any time that evening or night?"

"Nope. They put you right to bed when you go into the hospital."

"Did you have any visitors that evening?"

"Just the doctor, right after I arrived, and the nurse on duty. A new nurse came on at eight; she checked on me from time to time."

"Remember her name?"

"Yeah, it was Mary Alice Taylor. She was very nice."

"Bake, did you know a lawyer named Al Schaefer?"

"I only met him once. He represented my wife when we got divorced."

"Did you ever see him again?"

"Never, just that once."

"Did you know Raymond and Eleanor Ferguson?"

"Sure. Ray was my ex-wife's publisher."

"Did you know him well?"

"Not real well.

Liz-that's my ex-wife-and I had dinner with them a couple of times. She knew him a lot better than I. He was a nice guy, though; I liked him. I was sorry when I read about his death." He grinned slightly. "I wasn't quite so sorry about Schaefer. He cost me a lot of money."

Williams smiled. "Lawyers are like that. So you disliked Schaefer, then?"

"Not really, he was just doing his job. I only met him the once, for ten or fifteen minutes, maybe. The team lawyer and I went to his office to work out the settlement."

"And was the settlement easily reached?"

"Like I said, it only took ten or fifteen minutes. I didn't want to be rough on Liz. I gave her what she asked for."

"Where is the ex-Mrs. Ramsey now?"

"I don't have a clue. I heard she left town after the divorce. She told a mutual friend of ours that she was going around the world. That's okay with me."

Williams stood up. "Well, that's all I need, I think. Thanks for your time. Thank you, Mr. Smith."

He turned and walked toward the door. "I'll walk you out,"

Ramsey said. "I know old Bob wants to get back to work." Smith's eyebrows went up, and Ramsey shook his head.

Williams walked slowly, so that Ramsey could keep up. "Is that knee going to put you on the reserve list?" Williams asked. "Just between you and me?"

"Sure."

"I'll be back by midseason. The team wants it thought that I'm out until next year."

"Don't worry, I never meet any sports writers."

"You got any kids?" Ramsey asked.

"A boy, thirteen. He's playing junior-high ball; he might make a running back one of these days."

"Hang on a minute." They were in the entrance hall, and Ramsey turned to the receptionist. "Let me have one, Sheila." The woman went to a closet behind her desk and tossed Ramsey a football. "And a couple of my house seats for Sunday." He turned back to Williams. "What's your boy's name?"

"Martin." Ramsey took a pen from the reception desk and signed the ball, "To Martin, from another running back, Bake Ramsey." He handed the ball to Williams.

Williams looked at the ball and hesitated. "Come on, it's for the kid, it's not a bribe." Williams took the ball.

"Thanks, it'll make his whole year."

Ramsey smiled and handed him two tickets. "This is a bribe. It's two for the home game on Sunday."

Williams smiled back. He couldn't pass this up, the boy would never forgive him. "Consider me bribed." He laughed. Outside on the steps they shook hands.

"You've talked to Liz, haven't you?"

Ramsey said. "Liz?"

"My ex-wife. There can't be any other reason you'd come to see me. Liz is a sick girl, real paranoid. She's told people I beat her up; that's not true, I never laid a hand on her. Now she's got it in her head that I killed Schaefer and the Fergusons, I guess." He looked sad. "Well, I'm happy to help you in any way I can. I've certainly got nothing to hide."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it," Williams told him. "This is just all routine."

"Well, if you talk to Liz, tell her I'd like to see her again; talk over old times."

"Take care," Williams said, and walked down the steps to his car. Outside the front gate, he stopped and checked his address book for the telephone number of a detective he knew on the Los Angeles force. The man owed him a favor. When he was on the line, Williams asked him to pay a visit to Le Parc in West Hollywood, then he turned his car toward Piedmont Hospital. Williams showed his badge to the nurse at the hall station. She was young and pretty, and she had a mischievous air about her. "Could I speak to Mary Alice Taylor?"

"She's the night nurse; doesn't come on until eight. What's this about?"

"Just some routine questions." The nurse grinned. "Sure, that's what the cops always say when they're hunting down somebody for a foul deed."

Williams grinned back. "I don't suspect her of some foul deed, I promise." He didn't want to come back at eight and miss his dinner at home, and he didn't want to go looking for this girl right now; he had other work to do. "Maybe you can help me at that. Can you tell me what procedure is for the night nurse, regarding checking on patients?"

"Same as during the day, except during the day I have doctors to fool with. She's got the better deal, believe me."

"How often would she check on her patients at night?"

"She'd make rounds every hour, more often if a patient has to have periodic medication." She indicated the bank of monitors behind her. "It used to be constant, but these keep an eye on the patients in serious condition, and half the patients on this ward are just waiting for elective surgery the next morning. They get a sedative at bedtime, and, after that, they're just lumps."

"Do you know Mary Alice Taylor?"

"Sure, we were in nursing school together."

"Is she a conscientious sort of person? I mean, would she make her rounds as prescribed, or would she more likely take a nap?"

"Oh, Mary Alice would definitely make her rounds." She grinned again. "With some patients, the cute ones, she might even make them more often than necessary."

"Do you think she might find a pro football player cute?"

"You bet she would; Mary Alice has a thing for jocks. We had Bake Ramsey on the ward for knee surgery the other day, and she was still turned on when I relieved her the next morning."

"So she would have paid special attention to somebody like Ramsey?"

"Listen, if I know Mary Alice, she probably gave him a sleeping pill, then came back during the night and checked under the sheet, just to have a look."

Williams laughed. "I get the picture, and that's all I need to know." He thanked her and left. Late that afternoon, his Los Angeles contact reported back. "Ramsey's story checks," the man said.

"He and a girl had dinner in his room. He wasn't seen again until the next morning."

"Tell me something," Williams said. "How far is Le Parc from the Beverly Hills Hotel?"

After she had phoned Detective Sergeant Williams a second time, Liz returned to the cottage in a horrible mood, made of half rage, half depression. Keir Drummond was sitting on the deck with a beer in his hand, watching the light fade on the dunes. She flopped down in the chair next to him.

"Could I be kissed?" he asked.

"Not at the moment," she replied.

"What's wrong?"

"Have you ever heard of Bake Ramsey?" she asked.

"No. Who's that?"

"You're not a football fan, then?"

"I enjoy it; I don't keep up."

Liz told him everything; she told him about Bake and her marriage, about Al Schaefer, about the Fergusons and her conversations with the policeman. He put a hand on her cheek.