A warm April gust rattled my office windows. Dying spring petals from dogwood trees whisked by like pinkish snow. Some constellated against the glass and marred my view of the Orvis across the street.
I called the receptionist at Louis Lindsey’s former church, a smaller Episcopal parish in Virginia Beach. He worked there half a decade before his celebrity grew and he transferred to a larger congregation with deeper pockets—All Saints. I didn’t disparage that decision; pastors and priests moved around and some fit better than others, and churches needed money to survive.
The nice woman on the other end answered a handful of Lindsey questions before asking, “Why do you need to know all this?”
“Writing a piece on him for the paper,” I said. “I need background on the famous man, you know? He’s becoming quite influential.”
“Isn’t he a doll?”
“Such a doll.”
“I just love him. Cried my eyes out when he left.”
“Who wouldn’t.”
“Not us! We were a wreck, I can tell you.”
“Why did he leave?” I said.
“It was time. These things happen. Just this year alone we lost our children’s minister and two deacons. What paper are you with?”
“Roanoke Post,” I said. No such paper.
“How exciting. You’ll tell him I said hello?”
“Of course. Were you friends with his wife?”
“Oh no. His wife stayed to herself. Such a pretty woman but I never really knew her. No one did, I suspect. But such a good dresser.”
My phone beeped—incoming call. It was Dr. Scott Osborne, former colleague of Louis Lindsey. I hung up with the nice receptionist and answered Dr. Osborne.
“It’s not often I get calls from private detectives,” he said.
Zounds. He must’ve looked me up by the phone number, because I hadn’t revealed that in the voice mail. There went my Roanoke Post cover story.
“You’re among the few and proud,” I said. “I’m looking into Louis Lindsey. In search of background information.”
“Dr. Lindsey? Haven’t heard that name in a while. He settled in Roanoke?”
“He did.”
“The man’s in trouble or something like that?”
“He’s an Episcopal priest now,” I said.
“No kidding! I hadn’t heard. What a strange guy. No wonder he dropped off the grid. I quit seeing him at the functions and conferences, you know.”
“I did a little research. You two worked closely for several years. Friends, I assume.”
“We were…” He paused. I smelled blood. “…we were colleagues. Both internists at MedStar Georgetown. Those were fun days, back when things didn’t matter. But Louis moved to a different floor…no, that wasn’t it. Forgive my memory, it’s been twenty years, I think. He left the department and we lost touch. Damn, an Episcopalian priest? I never would’ve guessed.”
“Not the priestly type?”
“You could say that.” He chuckled. “He earned his Medical Doctorate and a Masters of Divinity, I assume? Hell, if anyone could handle that it’d be Lindsey. Can’t fault his brain power, either side.”
“You weren’t sad to see him leave the department?”
“I didn’t complain, no. This town ain’t big enough, you get it?”
“Why’d he leave?” I said.
“I’m remembering a little more now, and it was a private matter and I better not say anything else about that. Maybe talk to our HR department? I don’t recall if they got involved or not.”
“Did it have anything to do with rumors of sexual indiscretion?”
Another pause. I pictured him staring at the ceiling. “I won’t answer that directly, Mr. August, but I’ll tell you this. That man didn’t like being told ‘No.’ On any matter. He didn’t want to hear it from his patients, his consults, his colleagues, or his supervisors. The temper on that guy, well, it was infamous enough that I don’t mind admitting it to you, because it was public knowledge.”
“The legendary physician’s God complex.”
“And some of us are more legendary than others. At least in our own eyes,” he said.
“If I were inclined to look, would I find his name in police records? Missing person reports or assault?”
“Not that I know of. Shit, nothing like that. What exactly is the man being accused of?”
“Unofficial accusations thus far, nothing involving the police. But I thought I’d ask.”
“I bet you’ll have a hard time. Guaran-damn-tee it. The guy’s fan base was rabid and devoted. Dr. Lindsey could slap you in the face and you’d still love him. He never got sued, to my knowledge, which is rare in our profession. His bedside manner was remarkably polished. An excellent actor.”
“I heard once about the statistics…”
“Yeah, if a physician spends ten minutes or more with a patient, talking, chatting, the chances of him or her being sued are miniscule. Because he’ll be liked and the patient will give him the benefit of the doubt. That statistic? It’s true.”
I ended the call quick. “Fascinating. Thanks for the help.”
I pressed End on my cellphone.
Because Louis Lindsey was standing in my doorway.