Free The Last Clinic by Gary Gusick

woman who would be a good mother.”
    “My husband died in an automobile accident. We didn’t have children.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    She caught herself wanting to fidget and began twisting her wedding ring until he caught her at it. She made herself stop.
    She saw him looking at the ring and figured he’d make some comment about Hugh like they all did. But he didn’t. He just looked at her as though it was her turn to speak. Maybe he didn’t know the details of her very public marriage, or maybe he was being sensitive.
    A few seconds passed where neither of them said anything. She wanted to prolong the conversation, only she’d run out of questions about the case.
    “That will be all for now. However, we will need you to remain in the state for a while.”
    “Naturally. You may contact me whenever you need me.”
    He set the espresso cup down, and before she could stand, he walked to her and offered his hand, helping her to her feet.
    She took his hand—the large, soft, smooth, powerful hand—and allowed herself to be lifted.
    “I’m afraid, much as I am enjoying your company, I cannot be of much help to you,” he said. He released her hand, walked to the door and opened it for her.
    She wanted to shake his hand again, but didn’t. “It’s very likely you’ll need a lawyer,” she said, playing it like a cop just one more time.
    “I appreciate your concern. Detective Reylander offered the same advice, but in a far less friendly fashion.”
    “I hope you didn’t call him an asshole.”
    “Not in English, I didn’t.”
    His comment made her remember the recorder. It was still on the table. She scooped it up, making a point of turning it off.
    “Come on, in Italian. Say it in Italian.”
    “Next time, maybe. We’ll see.”
    He had the door opened for her. She walked through, not sure if she’d said goodbye.
    Next thing, she was out on the sidewalk. Her mind tried to reconstruct the meeting, sorting out the facts of the case, her impressions of the doctor, and what her intuition was telling her.
    The entrance to the clinic was jammed with protestors. There were close to fifty now. No doubt, Bobby Goodhew had his people working the phones on behalf of The National Rights of the Unborn. Three of the new people, men, had the imitation crosses. A couple of them even had on the long gunnysack robes. Their taunts were getting louder.
    The security officer had arrived and was standing guard at the entrance, not quite sure what to do.
    “Sorry, I’m late,” he said. “Detective Reylander told me I could take my time.” Tommy was pulling crap already.
    “I’ll see if I can get you some more help. In the meantime, don’t let the media people block the sidewalk,” she said, thinking Josh Klein and the WJAK crew would be back for the rush hour feeding frenzy.
    “One more thing: keep an eye on the ones with the crosses. Those pointy ends can be used as weapons.”
     
    Driving home, her mind was still on Dr. Nicoletti. It was true what Lulu said. He was mesmerizing. Not that it mattered. Stephen Nicoletti was sure to be arrested for murder in another day or two.
     

8
 
Location, Location, Location.
 
         
    It was an axiom of his profession. Different assignments posed different challenges, each demanding its own approach. Some assignments called for a considerable amount of time and preparation. He might easily spend days, even weeks of analysis and planning. Other jobs, he could walk right in, size up the situation, and have a feel for what to do. Some jobs were straightforward; some had a number of variables that needed to be factored. Frequently, there was a hitch, and things didn’t go as he planned. He would be forced to be flexible, alter his approach, and improvise. Other times it was a simple matter of executing the game plan and moving on.
    His current assignment should be as easy as they come. He would be in and out the same day.
    It was all about location—the proximity of one