Page 196 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Jury-rigged

That gentleman is the grandson of the elderly chef Napoleon had
selected as the target of his wrath. The swinging door pushed
forcefully by the manager an instant before Napoleon attempted the
same exercise from the other side settled the issue. He did not know
the protocol of always going through the door on the right.”
“Where did he go from the hospital?”
“We’re not sure. He left via the side entrance used by ambulance
attendants, while our team was explaining their presence to an
officious duty nurse. Mr. Simulian probably overheard the
conversation and decided it was an opportunity to lose his trackers
for a while. But they knew his haunts, and by three a.m. they caught
up with him at Laika’s Balalaika. The owner, out of prudence more
than friendship, had come down from his upstairs apartment despite
the hour and opened the restaurant for Napoleon. This time we
caught the action on video, shooting from across the street with a
long lens through an uncurtained window. After consuming most of
a jar of possibly quite expensive caviar, Napoleon left the
establishment. No money changed hands with his host, nor did they
exchange any pleasantries. He then actually did go home and might
well have soaked his hand in Epsom salts. I found the basin with the
residue when I searched the place Sunday morning.”
“Did you have anyone else look at his wrist?”
“Yes. It was much improved after only a few hours.”
Labelle just couldn’t admit defeat. “But did you get a specialist to
look at it? Could it be medically established that Napoleon had faked
the severity of his injury, that his wrist might naturally be puffier than
that of the average person and that his ability to use his arm and hand
was undiminished?”
“Unless connective tissue has been seriously torn or a joint has
been displaced, absent a broken bone there is no definitive diagnosis
of that sort, Lieutenant. I suspect the man does have a great tolerance
of pain, given his stoicism immediately after the door smashed into
his hand; that, however, cannot be quantified.”
“But did he really smash the heel of his hand? Those paired
swinging doors frequently have portholes, expressly for the purpose
of preventing such collisions. Did these?”
“I don’t know. I can ask the men on the case.” My mind cast about
wildly for alternatives. “Or I can phone the Metropole.”

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