“I told you when you called that he was in surgery.”

Dr. Steven Cassel’s receptionist seems annoyed that I didn’t take her statement in our phone conversation as the last word in the matter. Instead, I’ve decided to come to his office; it’s almost five o’clock, and I figure that at some point surgeries have to end, either positively or negatively.

“I remember that. You were very clear about it,” I say.

“So why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to come by.” I take a seat in the waiting area and pick up a brochure on thoracic surgery, which I take one glance at and immediately put back down. I then grab a three-month-old magazine and ask, “You got anything newer than this?”

She doesn’t bother to answer and just sort of makes a huffing noise, which is fine. I assume if they had more recent magazines, they would have put them out. Either way, this woman is not about to go magazine hunting to find me something more current.

Doctors, and apparently their employees, are not used to having their directives disregarded. I’m told there was once a time when it was the same way with police officers, but that was before I lost my memory, and probably before I was born.

I’m guessing that Dr. Cassel is going to return after he’s through with surgery. It’s an educated guess; his bouncer would have probably told me if he wasn’t coming back just as a way to get rid of me. Also, she’s hanging around after hours, and I have to assume she’s waiting for the boss.

I’m midway through my third outdated Sports Illustrated when a guy in what looks like a surgeon’s outfit comes in the door. I’m figuring he’s not a patient, since there’s no doctor here to see.

He says, “Long day, Helen,” and then notices I am sitting here, and says, “Oh.”

Helen starts to do the introductions. “Doctor, this is Detective…”

“I know who it is, Helen,” Cassel says. “Come in.”

I follow him into his office. It’s small and rather unimpressive, but I guess if you’re going to spend the whole day in surgery, that doesn’t matter. I take the seat he offers me, and he says, “I’ve been expecting you. When I heard that … never mind. What can I do for you, Detective?”

“You had an affair with Rita Carlisle.”

“Is there a question in there?”

“Not so far,” I say. “But jump in whenever you want.”

“I’m a married man, Detective. I have two children. I am very protective of my family; I do not want them hurt in any way as a result of my mistakes.”

“I have no interest in hurting your family. My interest is in accumulating relevant facts, and then trying to figure out what they mean.”

He nods. “Very well. I’m not sure how relevant it is, but yes, I had a fairly brief relationship with Rita Carlisle. I regretted it then, and I regret it now. She deserved better.”

“How brief?”

“Three months.”

“Was it still going on when she died?” I ask.

“Not quite. It ended just two days before. She ended it.”

“Why did she do that?”

“I’m not sure. She just said that she couldn’t do it anymore. I assume she meant invading someone else’s marriage. She was a very moral person, and was not comfortable with the role she was playing. Maybe she meant something else, but if so, she didn’t verbalize it.”

“Why didn’t you come forward about this three years ago?” I ask.

“No one asked me. Had they done so, I would have told the truth as I’m telling it now.”

“Did you have much interaction with her in doing your respective jobs?”

He shakes his head. “Some, but not much. I am one of the doctors on a board that deals with the administration about common interests and policies. So in that sense Rita and I had some contact. That’s how we met.”

“To your knowledge, was she happy in her job?”

He hesitates, and finally says, “I’m not sure I should go there. It would mean getting into hearsay and rumor, and I’m not really comfortable with that.”

Since Cassel’s comfort level is pretty far down on my list of concerns, I continue. “Doctor, these questions are going to be answered, one way or the other. You can answer them in a private setting, like this one in your office, with me, or in a more public forum in a place not of your own choosing, with a bunch of lawyers and a court stenographer. It’s really your call, but you only have one bite of the apple.”

“That’s sounds like a threat,” he says.

“Not to me. To me it sounds like a simple statement of fact.”

“Okay. She was having trouble with the hospital general manager, Daniel Lewinsky. She was considering leaving her job.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know, but I believe she disapproved strongly of something he was doing. I truly do not know what that was.”

I tell Dr. Cassel that I may want to talk to him again, and he gets me to repeat that I have no interest in revealing his affair with Rita Carlisle. I’ve been promising so many people that I’ll keep quiet that I probably should have Dr. Cassel operate to remove my larynx.

When I leave I call Nate to update him on my interviews with Helen Carlisle and Dr. Cassel.

“What kind of doctor is he?” Nate asks.

“A thoracic surgeon.”

“What the hell is that?”

“You don’t know?”

“Of course I know, I was just seeing if you did. He operates on thoracics.”

“Exactly. I’ll give you his card, in case you break your thoracic.”