Diagnosis Death (27 page)

"Good news there. Today she roused when her husband called her name. She's still in and out of consciousness, but she's breathing on her own. I think she's going to make it."

"Still in ICU?"

"Yeah. I figure I've got at least another day's grace before Godwin really pushes me to transfer her to a postpartum room."

As David watched, Elena seemed to retreat deep inside herself. "Penny for your thoughts."

She shook her head and pushed away her plate. "Would you mind if we cut this short?" Elena dipped into her purse and dropped some bills on the check. "I hate to hurry off, but I was thinking about something I have to do, and it looks like I don't have much time."

Darkness was descending on the city, but still Elena sat in her office, her fingertips pressed to her temples. The lamp on her desk provided the only illumination of the yellow legal pad before her. Random thoughts flew through her head, while she did her best to capture them and arrange them to make some sort of sense. Who would want to kill Charlie Lambert? And why?

She ran down her list of suspects once more. Nathan Godwin. Marcus Bell. Eric Burson. Frank Perrin. Natalie Gardner Cook. She could imagine motives for each of them. What about access?

Godwin could go anywhere in the hospital without question. Eric was a frequent visitor to the ICU. So was Marcus. Frank made calls to the hospital to take statements from accident victims—could some of those take him to the ICU? Natalie worked in the hospital.

Elena dropped her head to the desk.
God, I don't know what to do.

There was no divine voice from the clouds, no lightning flash or burning bush. Instead, the answer came to her the way algebra had finally begun to make sense to her in high school. One minute it was a crazy, senseless exercise. The next, everything fell into place.

Now she knew who the killer was. Even better, she knew who the next victim would be, and when the attempt would take place.

She picked up the phone, found the number she wanted, and dialed it. "Hi, this is Elena Gardner. Listen, I need a big favor from you."

Elena stood in the closet and listened to the hospital sounds around her. The overhead paging system was silent at 2:00 a.m. The squeak of rubber soles and the occasional murmured conversation marked the passage of nurses on their rounds, accompanied at times by the clacking wheels of a medication cart.

Elena had taken the head nurse aside and asked her to avoid this room as much as possible. The nurse seemed puzzled, but at last she agreed.

This had to be the room. This had to be the patient. And, most important, if rumors spread throughout the hospital as rapidly as Elena thought, this had to be the night. It would happen on the 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. shift—the time when life was at its lowest ebb, for medical staff and patients alike.

Elena stretched, and listened to her bones creak. She'd stood here for three hours. How much longer could she—

The door opened. A dark form slipped into the room and pushed the door closed. The soft "whoosh" of the pneumatic closer ended with a sharp "click." The intruder crept further into the room. The beam of a pencil flash, softened by a finger over the lens, swept over the bed and picked out a form hidden under the covers.

The intruder pulled a cylindrical object from a pocket and flicked a plastic cover off the tip.

Elena stepped from the closet. "That's enough. Stop right there." Her hand found the light switch, and light flooded the room.

Glenna Dunn shielded her eyes with her hand, still holding the pencil flash. She put the syringe behind her like a child caught with a forbidden cookie. "Dr. Gardner, you surprised me. I came by to check on my husband."

"At 2:00 a.m?"

"I'm working a double shift in the ER tonight. I thought I'd slip up here on my break."

Elena closed the distance between them. "Great alibi, Glenna. Your husband stops breathing, and any number of people would say you were in the ER the whole time. Nobody pays any attention to the time you're gone on break, especially if things are busy down there."

"I don't know what you mean."

"By the way, you can put down that syringe of Anectine. Your husband was moved to another room earlier today. This—" She whisked back the covers. "This is Resusci-Annie, the mannequin I use for CPR classes. Makes a pretty realistic patient in the dark, doesn't she?"

Glenna lunged forward, the syringe held like a knife, the deadly needle poised to plunge into vulnerable tissue. Elena dodged back like a matador avoiding the horns of a charging bull.

This wasn't the way Elena pictured the scene. She'd confront Glenna, the nurse would break down crying, and Elena would call the police to take her. But apparently, Glenna had no intention of going quietly. If she could jab that needle into one of Elena's muscles and empty the contents of the syringe, paralysis would occur within a minute, giving Glenna plenty of time to get away. Since Elena wouldn't be able to breathe for five minutes or more, she'd die.

Elena locked Glenna's right wrist in both hands, fighting with all her might to keep that deadly point away. Glenna tried to scratch Elena's eyes with her free left hand. Elena dodged just in time.

Back and forth the battle raged. At last, Elena focused every ounce of strength she could muster, and began to bend Glenna's hand backward. Elena gave one final heave, and the needle jabbed into the base of Glenna's neck. Glenna strained to pull the syringe away, but only succeeded in pushing down on the plunger.

Elena pulled back in horror. Glenna stood for a moment, the syringe dangling from the needle still sunk into her neck.

Elena ripped the syringe away. "Glenna, breathe," she yelled. "Take some deep breaths while you can."

Glenna fell to the floor. It seemed that all her muscles contracted at once. Then she went limp as a rag doll.

Elena knelt at the woman's head, positioned her head to open her airway, and put her lips around Glenna's mouth. Elena gave three quick breaths. She didn't think she could do that for five or six more minutes. There had to be a better way.

Her eyes swept the room. There was a ventilator in the corner, left there when Glenna's husband was moved earlier in the day. But how to put it to use?

Elena bent and gave Glenna another four breaths. As she straightened, she saw the case she'd shoved under the bed when she put Resusci-Annie in place. It contained the laryngoscope and endotracheal tubes she'd used to teach advanced resuscitation techniques.

Elena pulled the case toward her and opened it, then turned away to breathe for Glenna once more. She had to hurry. Elena made a quick guess about the size tube needed. She pulled it from the case and snapped the laryngoscope open. The light didn't go on.

Breathe for Glenna again. Look back in the case and see the batteries lying free in one corner. Insert the batteries, open the laryngoscope, mutter a quick "thank-you" when the light came on.

Four more quick breaths. Elena inserted the laryngoscope, pulled upward to visualize the larynx. Hard to see the vocal cords. Try anyway. She shoved the tube into Glenna's throat. Two quick breaths into the tube with one hand on Glenna's chest. No movement. Move her hand downward, another couple of breaths. The stomach rose. Glenna produced a massive belch. The tube was in the esophagus—the swallowing tube— not the airway.

Elena removed the tube, gave Glenna three mouth-to-mouth breaths. One more try with the laryngoscope. This time she got a good view of the vocal cords, and slid the tube between them. Two quick breaths. The chest rose. She was in.

Elena scrambled to roll the ventilator close enough for the tubing to reach Glenna's endotracheal tube. She flipped the switch, adjusted the dial, and relaxed as the rhythmic "chuff, chuff" filled Glenna's lungs.

Elena sat back on her heels for a moment. Then she rose and reached across the bed to ring the call button.

"Yes?"

"This is Dr. Gardner. Please get hospital security up here stat. Then put in a call to the police. We're going to need them."

E
lena stretched and yawned. She decided the police station in Dainger was nicer, both outside and in, than the sheriff' s office. On the other hand, the personnel were definitely less inclined to be friendly. Elena and Will sat in chairs apparently chosen with an eye toward cost rather than comfort. All things considered, she would have preferred bright lights and a rubber hose to four hours in these chairs.

Officer Hernandez, whom she now knew was actually Sergeant Hernandez, consulted his notes. "Doctor, you took a big chance trying to catch the perpetrator yourself. If you'd simply shared your suspicions with us, we could have investigated Mrs. Dunn and saved everyone some excitement."

Will leaned forward. "We've been through this twice now. My client appreciates the civics lesson, but we both know she's innocent. If Mrs. Dunn's actions didn't indicate her guilt, her voluntary confession afterward certainly buttons things up. What more do you want?"

"I want Dr. Gardner to go over her story one more time."

"Why?"

Hernandez rose in response to a tap on the door. He returned accompanied by a middle-aged woman dressed in a navy business suit. Her red hair was perfectly styled, her makeup was understated but flawless, and her manner said, "I'm in charge, and don't you forget it."

Hernandez pulled out a chair for the newcomer. Elena noticed it was padded, in contrast to the ones on which she and Will sat. "Mr. Kennedy, I believe you know Mrs. McMurray?"

Will and the woman shook hands, not necessarily like old friends but at least long-time acquaintances. "Diane, what brings you out at this hour?"

"Two reasons, Will—getting the story firsthand before taking on this case, and the fact that I'm up for reelection next year."

"Score one point for honesty." Will turned to Elena. "Dr. Elena Gardner, Diane McMurray, Summers County District Attorney."

Mrs. McMurray nodded once. "Doctor, I'm glad you came out of this unharmed."

Elena started to respond to the "unharmed" description, but decided it wasn't worth it. "Are you going to charge Glenna with murder in the death of Charlie Lambert?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Manslaughter might be more appropriate. Then again, a grand jury might be sympathetic to a woman whose husband was in a permanent coma."

Like mine was, but I didn't try to kill him. On the other hand, I was willing to withdraw life support and let him die.
She'd leave the moral distinction to lawyers and theologians. Diane McMurray would do what she had to do. It was out of Elena's hands now.

McMurray crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. "Would you please go over your story once more?"

Elena wanted to scream. "If I have to."

Hernandez punched the key on a battered tape recorder in the center of the table. He recited the day and hour, named those present, and said, "Doctor, you make this statement voluntarily?"

Elena nodded. Will nudged her and she realized her mistake. "Yes."

She gave a brief account of the deaths of her husband and Chester Pulliam, explained what she'd since learned through hypnotic regression by Josh Samuels and from her phone conversation with Karri Lawson. "That led me to the conclusion that the death of Charlie Lambert was unrelated to the events that took place in Dallas. But I wasn't sure who was behind it, or what their motive was."

"Tell us about that," McMurray said. Elena noticed that she hadn't taken any notes. Either the tape would be sufficient, or McMurray had a phenomenal memory.

"Realize that Charlie Lambert had suffered a severe stroke," Elena said. "The likelihood that he'd recover was slim. So whoever ended his life might have thought they were doing a favor for him and his wife. But several people had other reasons as well."

"Go on."

Elena went through her list of suspects and the reason each of them might have wanted to kill a patient and put the blame on her.

McMurray leaned forward as though this was the most interesting story in the world. "So how did you come up with Glenna Dunn?"

"Glenna's husband was in an auto accident that left him in a vegetative state. She was worried about what she'd do when her insurance benefits were exhausted. Marcus said she told him she kept working so she could save others from going through what she experienced. I thought she meant she wanted to help keep patients alive. Then I realized maybe she meant using her position in the ER and ICU to put an end to the lives of patients in a vegetative state."

"What made her think she could get away with that?"

"With me around, who'd ever think about suspecting anyone else? It was a perfect setup for her."

McMurray nodded. "Why did you think she'd strike last night?"

Elena emptied the water bottle that sat in front of her. "Gossip travels like wildfire in any hospital, and this one is no exception. Glenna's position in the ER gave her a direct line to both hospital news and tidbits from law officers. She knew I was under suspicion for Charlie Lambert's death, just as she'd planned." She indicated Hernandez, who sat pokerfaced across from her. "The sergeant here fingerprinted me yesterday. The odds were that I'd be arrested soon. She had to end her husband's life while I was still in circulation so I could be blamed for it."

"That's a pretty slim reason," McMurray said.

"There's more. Last night, I called the hospital's business manager at home. I asked her a question, and she knew the answer immediately because she'd worked on it all day. Bill Dunn's insurance coverage runs out today."

After leaving the police station, Elena wanted to go home and sleep for a week. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. Cathy was out of the office until after the baby came. So Elena sucked it up and, with the help of more cups of coffee than she could count, made it through the day.

It was almost six o'clock when Jane took the last chart from her. "Dr. Gardner, I hope you can rest this weekend. Did Dr. Brown agree to cover for you?"

"Yes, bless his heart. He's a good man and a good doctor."

"That he is," Jane said. "You know, when you came here I was afraid Dr. Sewell's patients might be a bit hesitant to see a doctor . . . I mean—"

"You mean they'd be influenced by skin color," Elena said. "Emmet is almost charcoal; my complexion is sort of like café au lait. Cathy's so fair she'd disappear against new snow. But in the short time I've been here, I've noticed people paying less attention to the color of their doctor's skin and more to the person inside. That makes me happy."

In her car, Elena set a course for home. Well, the Kennedys' home. She'd lived with them half a month, and already it was home to her. Next week she'd look for a place of her own—maybe that apartment near David.

Dora Kennedy met Elena at the door and gave her a hug that threatened to crack a couple of ribs. "You come in here and sit down. I saved you some supper. There's meat loaf, mashed potatoes, sliced tomatoes, corn, peas, and biscuits. And if you're still hungry, I think there's some chocolate cake left."

Elena tried to remember when she'd last eaten. "That sounds marvelous. Thanks so much."

As they entered the kitchen, David rose from the kitchen table, almost knocking a cup of coffee onto the floor.

"I took the liberty of inviting Dr. Merritt to eat with us," Dora said. "I figured a bachelor couldn't turn down some home cooking. Now you two just visit a minute, while I finish reheating everything."

Elena covered the distance to David in three swift strides. He enfolded her, and she buried her head on his chest.

"How could you put yourself at risk like that?" David asked.

"I had to. It seemed the only way to trap Glenna."

"You could have asked me to be there with you."

"I . . . I guess I wanted to do it myself."

David smoothed her hair and held her a bit tighter. "It's time you realized that you don't have to do things by yourself for the rest of your life."

"I hate to interrupt you two young people," Dora said, "but my food tastes better when it's hot." Soon, the three of them were seated at the kitchen table, Elena and David with heaping plates, Dora with a cup of coffee.

Two weeks with Matthew and Dora had conditioned Elena. She didn't pick up her fork. Instead she took her hostess's hand and bowed her head. David reached out and completed the circle.

"You do it, dear," Dora said.

Elena almost panicked. She swallowed twice. "Dear Lord, thank you for so many blessings. Not just the food, not just this home that's been opened to me, but for your protection and presence—even when I didn't recognize it. Thank you for David, who's always been there for me. I promise not to take him for granted anymore. I know I haven't been in touch with you for quite a while, except when I really needed something. But now I ask you to speak to me. Now I'm listening. Amen."

After supper, David and Elena said goodnight on the front porch. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said. "Get some rest."

"I'll look forward to your call. Right now, I just want a hot bath and a soft bed."

Elena went to the closet and exchanged her slacks, blouse, and low-heel dress shoes for a robe and slippers. She was headed for the bathroom for a long, hot soak when she had a brief perception of movement outside the window.
Is someone out there?
She opened the bathroom door, stepped inside, and turned on the water in the tub. Then, as though she'd forgotten something, she turned back into the bedroom.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move in the bushes outside her window. Once more, she'd forgotten to draw the blinds. Well, too late now. Was she certain there was a face at the window? She reran the film in her mind. Yes, someone was there.

What now? Call the police? Even as she debated what to do, Elena sidled toward the easy chair that sat hard against the wall, out of the window's line of sight. She reached behind the chair and retrieved the object she'd placed there after the first Peeping Tom incident.

Stop it. Call the police.
No, by the time the police get here, the prowler will be gone. Then she'd be sentenced to weeks more of dodging shadows, wondering when her stalker would turn up next.

Elena eased into the hall and hurried to the outside door. She slid through it with no sound and moved gingerly around the side of the house, keeping to shadows. He was standing in the bushes, his head a few inches from the window. Apparently, he thought the possibility that she might return and shed her robe made the wait worthwhile.

Every step took an eternity. Don't make a noise. Her whole plan was predicated on surprise. What if it didn't work? What if the surprise she had in store for the perverted peeper didn't immobilize him? What would she do if he turned on her? Fight? Run?

Elena crouched to stay under the prowler's line of sight and duck-walked the last six feet. She stopped an arm's length away, straightened, and shoved her weapon forward until it touched the intruder's back.

Next came what Elena had been told was the most chilling sound in the world—
chik-chuk—
as she racked the slide of the shotgun she held pressed against his spinal column.

The man's hands shot up as though jet-propelled. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

"Get on the ground, hands behind your head. Now!" Elena reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out the cell phone she'd dropped in as she left the house. As she punched in 9-1-1, Dr. Nathan Godwin sank to his knees, laced his fingers together behind his head, and eased to the ground like a candle melting in the sun.

Saturday night was always busy at RJ's, and Elena had to remind him of her relationship with Will and Cathy before the restaurant owner agreed to set up the party in a private room. These five people had helped her through some tough times, and she thought a celebratory dinner with them was fitting. Cathy and Will were seated across from her. David occupied the chair to her left, Natalie was on her right. Marcus Bell sat across the table from Natalie.

Elena waited until the water glasses were filled, then raised hers. "I'd like to propose a toast to friendships, old and new."