Page 208 of Bound By Fire
49
Ridge
The double doors to the hangar slide open at my approach. I step through into the familiar hush of this particular wing of the hospital. A nurse looks up from her station and then back down at what she was doing.
Dr. Patel stands next to another door, tablet in hand, frowning at a chart, while a junior physician beside him explains something in low tones. He’s in his white coat, with a stethoscope looped around his neck.
I go over there. He doesn’t see me until I’m almost on top of him.
“Dr. Patel.”
He glances over, his eyes widen, and then he makes his expression neutral.
“Can I have a word?” I ask.
“As you can see, I’m in the middle of rounds. Whatever it is can surely wait.”
“It can’t. We need to talk.”
“I’m busy right now.” He turns back to the chart and taps something into the tablet, dismissing me. “Schedule an appointment with Carla. Perhaps next week.”
“Doctor.” My tone makes the junior physician beside him glance down at the chart and then very carefully look away. “I told you yesterday that I might need to do this again. I kept our last appointment brief. There are a few things we need to go over.”
“And as I told you,” Patel says, still not looking at me, “I have answered every question I am required to answer. I have nothing further to add.”
“We can do this the easy way,” I say quietly, “or the hard way. The hard way involves me walking you out of this ward in front of every member of staff on this floor, to my vehicle, so that I can take you to Security Central for in-depth questioning. It’s your choice.”
That gets his attention. His head turns toward me slowly, and for the first time today, I see something move across his face. He hands the tablet to the junior physician.
“That is highly inappropriate. But fine. I don’t want to stand in the way of this investigation. If I can help get Dr. Keller cleared, I’ll set time aside. The consultation room at the end of the wing. We can’t be too long.”
“No problem. I will be sure to get straight to the point.”
Patel walks away, and I follow him down the long corridor past the recovery bays to a consultation room that sits at the far end of the wing.
It has a heavy door for privacy and a small table with four chairs. I close the door behind us. He doesn’t sit.
“I want it on record,” he says, rounding on me, “that I object to this. And I also want it on record that I am extremely unhappy you went to my house. And that you harassed my poor wife.”
“I followed up on every interview I conducted. It’s standard procedure. I wasn’t at your house for long, and your wife seemed absolutely fine.”
“Well, she wasn’t. Avani was a mess last night when I came home.”
Yeah right. I highly doubt that.
“She thought I’d done something wrong. My own wife.” His voice climbs. “Even though she confirmed my alibi, you still got her all riled up, which I don’t appreciate at all.”
“Sorry to hear that. It wasn’t my intention at all, and yes, she did confirm that you were home on the night of the eleventh.”
“Which is why I do not understand why we are sitting down for this conversation again. It is, quite frankly, a waste of both my time and yours.”
“Indulge me, please.”
“I have done nothing wrong.”
I gesture to the chair.
“Please take a seat.”
