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calculating for him to manage.”
    “Maybe he’s cleverer than we think.”
    “Possibly. I’ll check his alibi, but to my mind, he’s off the list of suspects.”
    “What do we do now?”
    “I’ll head back over to Dr. Valburg’s office and speak to his receptionist. Maybe other people threatened Valburg, people he didn’t report. Plus I’ll get that patient list.”
    “I’ll go fishing around in the drug scene tonight,” Chandu told him, “and see who tries swimming away. Could take a few days, but if this Dr. Valburg was up to any funny business, I’ll find it.”
    Jan gave Chandu a warm pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for your help.”
    “Don’t mention it.”
    “We’ll see each other tomorrow evening. Your place.”
    Chandu nodded. “Till then, happy hunting.”

    When Jan returned to Dr. Valburg’s office, Vanessa Ziegler was struggling through a stack of files.
    “I’m almost finished. I have your list too.”
    “Perfect,” Jan said and handed her his card. “Could you send the documents to this e-mail address?”
    She pocketed the card. “Will do.”
    “I was just at Dr. Aaron Ewers’s office.”
    “That’s too bad.”
    “You don’t like him?”
    “No one does. He’s a vain, smug douchebag and only half as good as he thinks.”
    “Did Dr. Valburg butt heads with him a lot?”
    She nodded. “The two of them knew each other from university. I was always warning my boss to take it easy. Talking to a man like Dr. Ewers about medical ethics is pointless.”
    “But he tried anyway?”
    “Dr. Valburg was an idealist, sacrificing everything to care for his patients. That’s why I liked working for him.”
    “That mean we should rule out any of his patients as a potential murderer?” Jan asked.
    “I’m a doctor’s assistant, not Sherlock Holmes. Of course there was trouble with some patients. Some weren’t satisfied with their recovery process; others couldn’t understand it when insurance didn’t cover all the costs.”
    “About how many unhappy patients were there?”
    “Tough to say. Three or four a month.”
    “That adds up to quite a lot over the years.”
    “Compared to other practices, it’s a ridiculously small number.”
    “Were there patients who were especially unhappy? Say, someone who threatened Dr. Valburg?”
    “A quibble over extra fees here, a door slammed there. Nothing that would justify a murder.”
    “Was there ever a misdiagnosis that harmed a patient?”
    Vanessa narrowed her eyes in anger. Nothing a casual observer would notice, but it was exactly the type of thing Jan was looking for. He’d hit a sore spot.
    “Medicine is not mathematics,” she told him. “Of course, in over twenty years of practicing as a doctor, you occasionally don’t recognize an illness or give the wrong diagnosis. But Dr. Valburg was a conscientious pulmonologist.”
    Jan was careful here. He didn’t want to further anger the woman. He asked, “How severe were these erroneous assessments of his?”
    “What do you mean by ‘severe’?”
    “Did anyone die because of a wrong diagnosis?”
    “No.” She sounded certain of it.
    “So none of Dr. Valburg’s patients ever died?”
    “My dear Herr Tommen,” Vanessa began as if speaking to a three-year-old. “A lung specialist doesn’t just treat asthma patients and cure bouts of bronchitis. Many people come to us severely ill. In the case of, say, an advanced bronchial carcinoma or pulmonary arterial hypertension, there’s not much more you can do to help. Of course some patients die.”
    “Let’s move away from patients to other individuals Dr. Valburg dealt with.”
    “What kind of other individuals?”
    “Friends, neighbors, pharmaceutical reps, or other caring colleagues like our Dr. Ewers. Especially anyone Dr. Valburg might have had a dispute with.”
    Vanessa rubbed at her lips in thought. Her forehead wrinkled up as if she was trying hard to think. “Maybe there was someone.”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t