Free The Dead Man by Joel Goldman Page A

rehab set, while the rest of the world worked. My one connection to my former life was the informal lunch group of retired cops. I stumbled whenever someone asked what I did; my confession to retirement sticking in my throat, grateful when the work Simon Alexander sent me changed my status to consultant. I took those jobs for the same reason I took the one Milo Harper offered. I only knew how to do one thing and I had to do as much of it as I could in order to breathe.
    It didn't matter that those jobs reminded me why the Bureau had shown me the door. Or that they answered the questions Lucy had asked and I had refused to answer. Yes, I shake everyday but not all the time, more often than not giving no hint of my condition. And, yes I am scared to get behind the wheel when I'm vibrating and my head is fogged. I live each day like an acrobat on a high wire, always on the verge of losing control. I needed a safety net and, although Lucy volunteered, I wasn't convinced she would catch me when I fell.
    Sitting behind my new desk, looking out my new window, watching the muddy water in Brush Creek meander through its channel across the street from the institute, I felt restored. I wasn't retired. I wasn't a consultant. I was an employee, for however short a time. I marveled at the curative power of work, the validation of being needed and the comforting structure of W-4's, group health insurance, and profit-sharing plans until Sherry Fritzshall knocked and interrupted my meditations.
    "Here's your schedule," she said, handing me a sheet of paper.
    It was a list of appointments with the institute's project directors. Sessions were scheduled in thirty-minute increments in a conference room on the eighth floor beginning at 9:30 A.M. Lunch was at noon with her in the institute's private dining room. The last meeting on the schedule was at 5:30 with Milo Harper.
    "Whose idea was this?" I asked.
    She tightened her jaw, holding back her first response. "Mr. Harper said you should speak to each of the project directors."
    "Yeah, but whose idea was this?" I waved the sheet of paper at her.
    "Mine. These people are quite busy. Scheduling your meetings was the most efficient way for you to meet with them."
    I stood and handed the paper back to her. "I'm sure it is. Cancel the appointments."
    Her face colored, either because she was angry with me or embarrassed at having to inform the staff that the new kid on the block had overruled her. I couldn't tell which and didn't care.
    She brushed imaginary lint from her suit, the gesture calming her as she cleared her throat. "All of them? What about the one with Mr. Harper?"
    "Especially that one."
    Hands balled into hammerheads and jammed onto her hips, she fired back. "And our lunch?"
    I cocked my head, gave her my most apologetic grin. "No, let's do lunch."
    I escorted her to the door.
    "Where are you going?" she asked.
    "For a walk. By myself."
    Her cell phone rang and she turned away, taking the call. I left her in my office, waving to Leonard who jumped out of his chair.
    "Hey, Mr. Davis! You can't go anywhere without this."
    He handed me a Harper Institute of the Mind ID card threaded through a lanyard so I could wear it around my neck. My picture was pasted in the center. It was a headshot that included the shirt and tie I was wearing but no one had asked me to say cheese since I walked through the front door.
    "It's a key card and an ID card," Leonard explained. Swipe it on the sensors to get access to the other floors. Mr. Harper said to make it a master. It opens every door in the whole place. Anne from HR forgot to give it to you. When she brought it back, you were busy so she left it with me."
    "If she's Anne from HR, what's that make you, Leonard from the Eighth Floor?"
    "It makes her hot and me horny."
    "Steady, son. She's wearing an engagement ring."
    "Yeah, but she's not wearing a wedding ring. Got to keep hope alive."
    Anne had acted like she'd been sentenced to a hard forty when I