Smeltz was in his late sixties, medium-height and overweight. His hair was brown, but it was thinning, combed back and greased down to lay flat on his head. He had a jowly face and tiny circular glasses. He wore a pressed shirt and tie, and his white coat was hung on a rack near the office door. Papers were spread out in front of him, and he took occasional bites from a chicken-and-pear salad along with his coffee.

He sat behind a weathered oak desk. His leather armchair had splits in the seams where bits of yellow foam were escaping. Cab sat in front of the desk in an uncomfortable wooden chair that didn’t encourage visitors to stay longer than necessary. The doctor had diplomas and photographs of patients on the wall behind him, reflecting a practice in Lakes Wales that dated back for decades. The wall on Cab’s right was lined with filing cabinets, and each drawer was hand-labeled with letters of the alphabet.

The other wall, which had fake wood paneling, included a long table with a 1980s-era coffee-maker, a potted poinsettia, a bowl of round multicolored mints, and a surprisingly modern laser printer. A heavy door at the end of the wall featured a sophisticated combination lock.

‘So you’re from Naples?’ Smeltz asked between bites of salad.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘My wife likes Naples. She thinks we should retire there. Get one of those high-rise condos.’

‘They’re very nice,’ Cab said.

‘Yes, except then all the seniors find out you’re a doctor and they want free advice on everything from shingles to melanoma. For that, I may as well stay here.’ He speared a piece of romaine lettuce with his fork. ‘People ever tell you that you don’t look much like a detective?’

‘Regularly.’

‘Cop or not, you realize I can’t say a word about my patients.’

‘Of course,’ Cab said.

The rain on the roof sounded like a firing range. A drop of water squeezed through the ceiling and squished on the carpet. The doctor got up and retrieved a large orange bucket, which he positioned under the leak.

‘Old building,’ he explained. ‘I keep putting off replacing the roof.’

Another drop fell, making a loud chunk in the bucket.

‘So you’ve got concerns about Diane Fairmont’s safety,’ Smeltz went on. ‘True or not, that doesn’t change anything. Diane was my patient, which means my lips are sealed, at least until she tells me otherwise. If you think you can weasel something out of me, don’t try. That just annoys me. People have played those games with me for years.’

Smeltz grabbed a tissue and blew his potato-like nose. He crumpled the tissue, threw it away, and pumped a blob of alcohol sanitizer into his hand.

‘Who’s been asking you questions about Diane?’ Cab asked.