Somewhere in Kasimov’s suite, a phone rang twice, then stopped.
Boris was unhappy, but stood aside. Dr. Winters nodded to us uncertainly as we passed him in the hall.
Kasimov sagged more than sat in his wheelchair, his eyelids lazy, but he studied us when we held out our credentials.
“What’s this about?” the man behind the wheelchair said.
“And you are?” I asked.
“Nikolai,” he said. “Mr. Kasimov’s personal assistant.”
“I’m not dead, Nikolai,” Kasimov said weakly. “I can answer their questions.”
“I think it is unwise. Better to wait for the attorney.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Kasimov said, watching us all closely.
“Where were you around four thirty a.m. the day before yesterday?” I asked.
He let loose a phlegmy chortle. “You mean at the time Senator Walker died?”
“Exactly,” Mahoney said.
“See?” Kasimov said in a weak, sardonic tone. “I told you I’d hear about that sooner or later.”
“Please answer the question,” I said.
Kasimov was obviously not used to being talked to like this and glared at me a moment before saying, “I was in bed, here, Dr. Cross, sicker than a Siberian dog.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
Boris raised his hand. So did Nikolai.
Boris said, “And the hotel maid who was sent to clean up. And Dr. Winters.”
“Mr. Kasimov has not left this suite in six days,” Nikolai said.
“What’s got you so sick?” Mahoney said.
“My doctor says flu and food poisoning at the same time,” Kasimov said. “Worst illness I’ve ever had.”
“Did you consider Senator Walker an enemy?” Bree asked.
He coughed a laugh, said, “Certainly not a friend.”
“But you had nothing to do with her death?”
He blinked slowly, then turned his lazy attention on each of us in turn. “I had nothing to do with her death,” he said, and he smiled weakly. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t happy about it, just that I had zero involvement.”
“Just a coincidence you being in town?” Mahoney said.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I came to visit my embassy, and I got sick. End of story. And now, please, I’ll ask you to leave. I’m feeling the need to sleep. Good night.”
Nikolai turned the wheelchair away from us. Boris gestured toward the door.
We said nothing in the hallway, but I noted the positions of the security cameras before we took the elevator back down to the lobby, again in silence. Only in the crowded lobby near the sound of the piano playing and the hubbub of the bar did we speak.
“He looked like hell,” Mahoney said.
“I agree,” Bree said. “He’s been through something rotten.”
Mahoney gestured ahead toward the lounge. I looked and saw Dr. Winters sitting at the bar drinking a martini and chatting up a very attractive woman whom unfortunately I knew fairly well.
I said, “I have a conflict here. The woman talking to Winters is an active patient of mine. You’re going to have to flush her out of there before I join you.”
“I’m going home,” Bree said. “I’m too wiped out to be much good. Let me know how it goes.”
I gave her a kiss and watched her go. Mahoney walked over and showed his credentials to Dr. Winters and Nina Davis. The Justice Department attorney was dressed for the hunt, her ash-blond hair swept back to reveal her high cheekbones, and her body stuffed into a strapless black cocktail dress that looked like a thousand bucks.
Davis peered at Ned’s badge, listened to him say something, and looked disappointed. She picked up her clutch and slid off the barstool. She moved confidently to the coat check, retrieved a coat, and then spotted me.
“Sorry about that, Nina,” I said, walking up to her. “I’m here with Special Agent Mahoney. My other life. We just needed to talk to the doctor alone.”
Davis watched me a moment, trying to see if I was judging her, then said, “What’s he done?”
“You know him?”
“Sure,” she said. “Chad Winters. He’s an…old acquaintance.”
“Trustworthy?”
She hesitated. “I’d ask the medical board. See you tomorrow afternoon?”
I nodded.
When I reached Mahoney and Winters, the doctor was acting the defensive professional. “There is still such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality,” he complained.
“We’re not asking about Kasimov’s medical history,” Ned said. “Just trying to corroborate his statements. He says he was sick early Tuesday morning and that you were there.”
“That’s true,” Dr. Winters said. “He was projectile vomiting. High fever. I had to give him a shot of trimethobenzamide so he could keep food down.”
“He said a combination of the flu and food poisoning?” I said.
The doctor nodded. “Simultaneous viral and bacterial infections. He’s over the bacterial thing, but that’s a nasty strain of flu he’s fighting. It’s been a killer across Africa and Asia and can go on for a full two weeks.”
Mahoney and I looked at each other. The Russian’s alibi sounded bombproof. He wasn’t the killer. But he still could have been involved.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Mahoney said. “We appreciate it, and we’re sorry to interrupt your talk with the lovely lady.”
“No worries,” Dr. Winters said, and he laughed. “That lovely lady’s got a dark side, and it’s probably better for me to keep clear of her, if you know what I mean.”