No Immunity

Thursday 9:00-6:00, Saturday 8:00-12:00.
    It was hours past noon already, but the car was here and the license said MD. Maybe she spent her Saturday afternoons cleaning up her files or whatever in her clinic. Tchernak knocked, waited, rang the buzzer, waited, rang again, holding his finger to the button. Tires squealed at the stop sign behind him, coughs of music burst from open car windows and were gone. He knocked again, harder.
    “We’re closed!”
    “Doctor Larson?” he shouted.
    “Closed!”
    “Louisa, I’m a buddy of Grady Hummacher. Brad Tchernak. Give me a minute, huh?” The door was solid, the speaker shielded.
    “Grady’s not here.”
    “Right. And that’s the problem. You know how Grady is.”
    A bus ground to a stop, brakes squeaking, engine belching, passengers calling back and forth as some disembarked.
    “Louisa? Louisa, I can’t hear you. There’s too much going on in the street.”
    No answer.
    “I flew in from San Diego to find Grady. I know Grady and I’ll tell you, I’m worried about the guy.”
    Still no answer, and the traffic noises were too loud to allow him to guess what was happening inside the building, why didn’t she just open the door and get it over with? Tchernak’s shoulder tightened and he caught himself an instant before pounding again. Brad Tchernak was not used to women ignoring him. If he could just get face-to-face, he’d be on the fast track. But what good was charm or whatever it was he had with women, when the woman was behind a closed door? “Louisa, this’ll only take a minute. Look, if you’d told me where to find Grady, you’d already be done with me.”
    Now he could make out something, feet moving but not away, voice muffled as if it were revving up its vocal cords.
    “I’m staying right here on your doorstep. I’m a big guy; I’m going to be a real impediment to your business. Your patients’ll have a hard time clambering over me.”
    “Really?”
    She ought to have been grinning by now, but that voice didn’t ring with smile tones. Still, it was as good as he was likely to get.
    “Picture a casino on your stoop. Maybe Hercules with slot machines all up one arm.”
    “Okay.” The woman’s voice was tentative. “What do you want?”
    This was one woman who’d never make a tourist-bureau ad. No endless party for her. She was the voice of the day after. “Grady,” he said. “Where is he?”
    “I don’t know.”
    A bus harrumphed to a stop.
    “Louisa, can we talk about this inside? I’m broadcasting to the whole neighborhood. Open the door. Five minutes. I’m too rushed to stay longer.”
    “No!” Louisa’s voice. Panic.
    “Okay. Then leave the door on the chain and just open it enough so we can talk.” And don’t think horn easy it’d be for me to snap that little chain.
    “There’s nothing I can tell you.” But the door opened an inch.
    “Grady landed at McCarran yesterday, Friday. Have you seen him?”
    “No.”
    “Talked to him?”
    “No.”
    “You sure?”
    “I’m not an idiot!”
    It was the first sign of life that nervous squeak of a voice had shown. This was a woman used to barking orders. The Lady Napoleon tone. This voice was out of place in a woman hiding behind a closed door.
    Tchernak narrowed his eyes, vainly trying to pierce the building’s darkness. All he could see was a black strip, bisected by a silver linked chain. From Louisa’s voice, Tchernak figured her to be about five eight. Two tones of voice, two personae. Kiernan would have chosen to deal with the snapper. Tchernak took the softer route. “Grady’s in a lot of trouble.”
    “Look, I haven’t heard from him. I don’t know where he is. Got it?”
    “He’s somewhere. He landed here and vanished.”
    “It’s a big empty state.”
    “Does he have another house? A hideaway? Friends he’d go off with, hide out with?”
    The door shifted but didn’t close.
    “Look, Louisa, I’m a detective. Once I get a hold of Grady, he’ll be out of your hair. Guys like me will stop looking for him. We won’t be pounding on your door and bugging you. Point me in the right direction and you can eat your dinner in peace.”
    On the sidewalk a clutch of teenaged boys shouted at each other in Spanish. A car raced by, thumping bass smacking the air against her ears. Still, Louisa neither answered nor shut the door.
    Tchernak grappled for a wedge question. “A week is a long time to be missing. This is desperate, Louisa. Desperate enough for