Read Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word for Free Online

building with views that at one time were more elegant than they are today, unless there were drug dealers and the homeless in the park then, too. Even so, the doctor was in a classy spot, not far from the newly renovated Washington Square Arch and just around the corner from Fifth Avenue.
    I didn’t need to open the low gate that led to the two steps down to the doctor’s office. I could read the three brass plaques from where I stood on the sidewalk. Dr. Bechman was, according to the plaque with his name on it, a plaque that was still there a week and a half after his death, a pediatric neurologist, something I didn’t know existed before that moment. Dr. Hyram Willet, who had the top plaque, was an oncologist and Dr. Laura Edelstein, a pediatrician. My guess was that Dr. Willet worked only with children, too, because there was no way an adult with a diagnosis of cancer would sit in a waiting room full of screaming kids.
    The fact that Bechman had been part of a shared practice was good news. It meant the office was still open for business, that the receptionist still had a job and I had a chance of wheedling some information out of her. What I wanted, of course, was a complete patient list as well as any personal gossip about the late Dr. Bechman I could get. At the very least, I wanted someone else’s take on Madison Spector. Since she herself wasn’t talking, and since I believed her father was holding things back in order to protect his daughter, something I couldn’t really fault him for, I had to find people who were willing to speak openly about Madison. I needed to know more about her.
    I looked at the card I’d taken off the bulletin board and pocketed, and dialed Dr. Bechman’s number. Standing in front of the doctor’s office, I listened to the recording tell me what hours the office was open and when Dr. Bechman was, or in this case used to be, available: Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to five and Fridays from one to four.
    I took the stairs, a wide, long stoop up to the front door, which led to the parlor floor of the town house, just as they did in the smaller version I took care of on West Tenth Street. I had a penlight in my pocket but found I didn’t need it. The light hanging over the doorway, brass and etched glass, lit the name on the bell. There was just one. Apparently Dr. Willet lived in the rest of the town house and Drs. Bechman and Edelstein commuted. I made a note to check under Bechman again in the phone book to see if there was a residential listing as well.
    Standing at the top of the stairs I reminded myself that whatever Dr. Bechman had done, with or without Botox, it was unlikely he deserved his early demise. I had to be sure that in my zeal to get Madison off the hook, inspired not by my belief in her innocence but by the fact that the likelihood of finding her mother was so slim, I did not fall into the trap of blaming the victim. I didn’t plan to do anything with whatever I discovered unless I was sure it impacted on the case. I was just, for the moment, doing what my job had taught me to do, following every thread, no matter where it went, because you never knew what it could reveal.
    I dialed Leon’s number next He answered on the first ring.
    “Are you planning to be with Madison every second of the time until this case is resolved one way or another?”
    “Rachel?”
    “Sorry. I should remember to say hello first.”
    I expected Leon to laugh at that but he didn’t. I doubted he’d had much to laugh about for a very long time.
    “What are you talking about?” he asked. Then he whispered, “Do you think it’s odd that I don’t want her on her own now, Rachel? After all. .His voice trailed off, but I didn’t need Leon to finish his last sentence.
    “No, it’s not odd.”
    “I don’t understand. What is it you want?”
    “I was thinking I’d like to spend some time with Madison, just the two of us. Would that be possible?”
    There was silence on