Carol Ericson - Brody Law - The Bridge / The District / The Wharf / The Hill

“Well, you go figure out his craziness. I’ll talk to you later.”

She ended the call and pointed her phone at Sean. “Anything new?”

“I called for the autopsy report on Dr. Patrick.”

“And?”

“Preliminary report suggests heart attack.”

“Then maybe that’s all it was—a heart attack and bad timing.”

“A heart attack and an incredible coincidence.” He stretched and perched on the edge of a bar stool. “Is Courtney working late tonight?”

“Yes, her demanding new client.”

“That’s a whole lotta crazy I couldn’t handle.”

“And that’s from someone who gets a package with a finger in it.”

“Come here.” He crooked his finger at her.

She eased out of the chair and sauntered toward him, his dark eyes drawing her like a magnet.

He drew her between his open legs and pinned her. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Sean.” She rested her hands on his thighs and leaned in to kiss his lips.

His legs tightened around her thighs. “Let’s go out and get something to eat. It’s getting late, and we both have to work tomorrow.”

Nodding, she slipped away from his clinch, missing her opportunity to ask him about their future. She didn’t want to push him into anything. Right now they needed each other, but when that need ended, what did they have?

“You okay?” He chucked her under the chin.

“Greek.”

“What?”

“I want to try that Greek restaurant, if that’s okay with you and if it’s still open this late.”

“Greek it is. I think they stay open until eleven for dinner.”

An hour later they were sitting at a corner table in a noisy establishment in North Beach.

“I can’t believe it’s so crowded at this time of night—and on a Wednesday.” Elise leaned across the table. “Are they going to start breaking plates?”

“Do you want them to?”

She scooped more tapenade onto her plate. “That’s okay.”

Sean checked his phone for about the third time since they sat down to dinner.

“Are you expecting a call or a message? Something about Dr. Patrick?”

“I sent my brother—the FBI agent—a text about Dr. Patrick.”

“So, let me get this straight. You’re a homicide detective, you have one brother who’s a P.I. and another who’s FBI?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s the fourth one?”

“Actually Ryan is the third one, and he’s the police chief of Crestview.”

“I guess the Brody blood really does run blue. Is there something the FBI agent can do in his position to get more information?”

“Not sure, but I’m asking.”

She felt in her purse for her own phone. “Courtney was going to check in with me when she finished with her client.”

She checked the display, but Courtney hadn’t called or texted.

“Did she call? She’s more than welcome to join us for dinner. We haven’t gotten to the main course yet, and her office is close by, isn’t it?”

“I’ll invite her if she ever finishes up with this client. She hasn’t called yet.”

“She sure goes all out for her patients, doesn’t she?”

“She comes across as a party girl, but she’s really very serious about her work and very caring. And since she’s a therapist, she calls them clients instead of patients.”

“She can’t prescribe medication, but I’m sure she has some clients that need it, right?”

“She refers them to a doctor she works with. She’s had a few certifiably crazy clients, and she ended up transferring them to a psychiatrist she knows.”

“Must be hard to deal with the really crazy ones.”

“I don’t think crazy is the term the professionals use.” She bit into her cracker and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

“Well, that’s the term cops use.” Sean drew his brows over his nose. “You did say Courtney’s office was nearby, right?”

“Yeah, the address is forty-two something or four, two, something on Market.”

Sean balanced his fork on the edge of his plate. “What floor is she on?”

His voice was so low it barely cut through the din, but the urgency behind the words had her looking up from her plate sharply.

“Floor? I don’t remember.” She gave up trying to stab the olive with her fork and pinched it between her fingers instead. “Why are you asking? Are you suggesting we bring the food to her?”

“No, I...”

She snapped her fingers. “Wait. She was getting food delivered to her office, and she thought I was the delivery guy and she rattled off her address and floor number. It was four, two something and the eighth floor, but I don’t think she needs...” She trailed off, her gut twisting at Sean’s tight face. “What is it?”

“The message, Elise. The message from the Alphabet Killer. Fifty-one plus fifty equal 187. Forty-two plus fifty-eight equal 187.”

She blinked and gulped some water to wash down the sour taste of fear. “I don’t get it.”

“We already guessed that the fifty-one, fifty might mean crazy, as in the type of clients Courtney might see. If her address is four, two, five on the eighth floor—forty-two plus fifty-eight—we have a problem.”

She’d already shoved back from the table. “You mean Courtney has a problem. She’s in danger.”

Sean pulled out his wallet and dropped several twenties on the table. “I’m going to call this in, but let’s head over there now.”

Elise kept stabbing at the redial button on the way out of the restaurant, but the call rolled over to Courtney’s voice mail every time. When they hit the sidewalk, Elise took a deep breath after Courtney’s recorded greeting. “Courtney, it’s Elise. I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but once you’re done with your client, don’t see anyone else and just wait in your office with the door locked. Sean and I are heading over there right now. It’s about ten-thirty. Call me as soon as you get this if we don’t see you first.”

By the time they reached Sean’s car, Elise’s breath was coming out in short spurts.

Sean buckled his seat belt and chucked his phone against the dashboard. “They won’t come. The lieutenant on duty thinks it’s a wild-goose chase and is refusing to send a patrol car.”

“What about John?”

“He’s off duty. I tried him at home, but he’s not there or he’s not picking up.”

“Hurry, Sean. It’s not that far. Maybe she’s still with a client. I told her to stay in her office and lock the door.”

Sean’s tires squealed as he shot into the street, horns honking in his wake.

“Elise, did Courtney ever tell you anything about this new client of hers, the one who was so demanding?”

She clamped down on her bouncing knees. “No. Why are you asking me that?”

But she knew why. The same thought had been niggling at her brain since Sean started putting together the puzzle of the note.

“She started seeing that guy right after you were attacked, right after you moved in with her.”

Elise doubled over, sinking her face in her hands. “He found her because of me.”

“Maybe. This is all just supposition right now.”

She shot up, pain pounding behind her eyes. “Courtney did mention something about him today.”

“Description, name?”

“She wouldn’t break that confidentiality.” She stared unseeing out the car window. “She told me how he picked her out.”

“How?”

“Her name.” She dug her fingernails into Sean’s thigh. “He chose her because he liked her name, Sean. Courtney Chu. Two Cs. He’s still on the Cs.”

With this last bit of news, Sean whipped around the next corner and tossed his phone at her. “Try calling Curtis again. Leave him a message. Tell him we’re on our way to Courtney’s and give him the address again.”