“Not offhand,” he said. “But I wouldn’t be able to tell you anyway. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” I said.

“Rock, if you think I’m the kind of guy who’d sell his integrity—”

“Then you’re right!” Hoss slapped his knee.

“Thanks, ass munch. Nice, coming from my lawyer.” Manny chuckled. “I can’t help you, Rock. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck.” I shook my head. “This was a new patient, you say? A woman?”

“Men don’t usually have gynecological issues,” Manny said.

“Funny.” I searched my mind. It couldn’t have been my mother. She only let her own personal physician and plastic surgeon near her. One look at Manny’s shaved head and beer belly, and she’d have hightailed it out of there. Besides, I’d interacted with her on a nearly daily basis since I’d returned to New York.

Who else would know I’d gone to New York? And why would she mention it to her gynecologist?

“Look, Manny,” I said. “I get the confidentiality thing, but I need to know who this person is. I’m investigating my father’s murder.”

Manny reddened.

“Shit,” I said. “She told you something else, didn’t she?”

“I’m sorry.” Manny shook his head. “I can’t. It’s not worth my license. I shouldn’t have told Burke you were in New York. It has nothing to do with her treatment, so I’m probably in the clear, but I should have kept mum.”

“Agreed,” Hoss said.

I turned to Lacey. “Is there any way around the confidentiality thing?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not, unless you subpoena his records. But to do that the records would need to be relevant to some sort of legal claim. A civil lawsuit or a workers comp case, for example.”

“Damn.”

“I’m real sorry, man,” Manny said. “I should’ve kept my big trap shut.”

“You’re not going to lose your license over this,” Hoss said. “Hell, I’ve seen doctors who fuck their patients get off. Gotten a few off myself, as long as they pay their bills.”

“What does it matter, anyway?” Manny asked.

“I told you,” I said. “I’m investigating my father’s murder.”

“And that has to do with my patient…why?”

“Maybe nothing, but I’m following every lead. Why would some new patient of yours know anything about me?”

“Maybe she read about your father’s death.” Manny took a drink of the beer Honey had set in front of him.

“No,” I said. “You said she asked you if you knew me.”

“Look,” Manny said. “Can we just not talk anymore about this? I’m really uncomfortable.”

“Damn,” I said again.

A woman. And she’d told Manny something else, something he was loath to tell me. Manny was a good guy. He probably was truly concerned about doctor-patient confidentiality.

Who the hell was it?