Free Earth Angel by Laramie Dunaway

Does that finish our business?”
    He stared at me without speaking, just looking at me, trying to decide something. Finally he sighed. “You got any friends
     in Chicago? Somebody who can come down and pick you up?”
    “No.”
    “Don’t answer so fast. Chicago’s a big town. Just about everybody knows somebody here. Think about it.”
    “What for? I already told you I wasn’t going to bother the Grovers.”
    “I’m not thinking about them, I’m thinking about you.”
    “Me?” I smiled. “I’m perfectly fine. The little voices in my head tell me so. And as soon as the mother ship arrives you’ll
     be as sane as I am.”
    He laughed. “I don’t mean to imply you’re not fine, Dr. Gottlieb. It’s a very generous thing you want to do. It’s just that
     I’ve worked with victims before. Sometimes theyblame themselves for things that happen, things they can’t control.”
    “I’m a doctor, Detective. I spent my time in the psychiatric rotation.”
    He picked up the glass of purple water and drank. “Tastes just like grape. The kid’s a genius. Sure you don’t want to try
     some?”
    I shook my head.
    “You think of anybody you know locally yet?”
    “You can’t keep me here, not legally,” I said.
    “I have no intention of keeping you here, Ms. Gottlieb. You are free to go. Would you like me to have an officer take you
     to your hotel?”
    I looked at him and he looked at me. I could see that he really was trying to be helpful. “I do know somebody,” I said. “I
     haven’t spoken to him in a couple years. He might have moved.”
    “Give me his name, I‘ll get his number, listed or unlisted.”
    I gave him Daryl St. James’s name and he left the room. Daryl had been in med school with Tim and me. A brilliant mind who
     knew his medicine as well as many of the teachers. But he lost interest somewhere along the line, acing some tests and not
     even showing up for others. Eventually he flunked out. Tim and I sent a wedding invitation to his parents’ address, and a
     few weeks later a wedding gift without a card arrived from him with a Chicago return address. I had yet to write a thank you,
     though I guess returning the gift would be more appropriate now.
    The detective opened the door waving a piece of paper. “Got it,” he said. “Let’s go give him a call.”
    I sat at the detective’s desk and dialed the number.
    “Gotham City,” the voice answered.
    “Daryl?”
    “Yup. Who’s this?”
    “Season Gottlieb.”
    “Jesus, Season. I heard about Tim. I’ve been meaning to write. I’m sorry.”
    I interrupted him and asked him to pick me up at the police station. He asked if he should bring a lawyer and I said no, I’d
     only been helping the police. I hung up the phone.
    “He’ll be right over,” I told the detective.
    “Good deal.” He handed me the bag with the fifty thousand dollars. “By the way, since the good Samaritan thing didn’t work
     out…” He reached into his jacket and pulled out half a dozen foil packets, all different colors. “You’ve got grape, cherry,
     strawberry, cola, root beer, and cream soda. Try ’em, see what you think.” Then he handed me a slip of paper with his nephew’s
     name and phone number. “If you’re really looking for something to do with that money.”

CHAPTER SIX
    “T HIS IS WHAT I MOST REMEMBER OF YOU ,” HE SAID . “T HE ONE THING that sticks in my mind—”
    “I don’t think I want to hear this,” I said.
    “It’s nothing bad. Just something that happened back in med school. You probably don’t even remember it, but it struck me
     somehow. I don’t know why, but whenever I think of you, it’s what I picture.”
    “It’s not the autopsy thing. Christ, I wasn’t even involved. Well, maybe technically.” He was referring to a patient who had
     died from multiple gunshot wounds, a transient who stumbled into a gang turf war. Dr. Devon had valiantly tried to save him
     in an eight-hour operation that finally