Diagnosis Murder 3 - The Shooting Script (7 page)

Susan shared Jesse's respect for Mark, but didn't really have an interest in homicide investigation. Her interest was in Jesse and making sure he didn't risk too much personally or professionally in his desire to be a member of the team and to please Mark Sloan. She didn't need a father figure, nor was she desperate to be a part of the crime-solving group. She knew that because of this, no matter how close she and Jesse remained, she would always be an outsider, and she was fine with that. Although she rarely helped Mark with his homicide inquiries—and even then only when he specifically asked—she gladly helped out at BBQ Bob's because it guaranteed she got to spend time with Jesse.

So now Susan was in the pathology lab with Jesse, standing across from Mark Sloan over the cold, pale, bullet- riddled bodies of Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler, who were laid out side by side on adjoining autopsy tables.

Susan was very uncomfortable, but not because she was around death. She was used to that. It was because she and Jesse were together, looking down at the naked corpses of two lovers. She couldn't help but feel a connection and it unnerved her.

While Amanda remained at her desk, working on the last details of her autopsy reports, Mark briefed Jesse and Susan on everything that had happened since he heard the gun shots the previous afternoon.

Jesse had worked with Mark long enough to know this briefing wasn't just for their benefit. Repeating the facts gave Mark another chance to sort out all the information, visualize the crime scene, and reconsider everything he'd been told by suspects and witnesses. When Mark finished his account, Susan was, uncharacteristically, the first to speak up, much to everyone's surprise.

"Lacey McClure did it," she declared emphatically.

"You're just saying that because she's hot," Jesse said. "You treat me like I'm cheating on you every time I go to one of her movies, even if you go with me."

"Because you sit there with this dopey look on your face, panting at the screen," Susan said with a grin. "But that's not why I think she's the killer. It just seems so obvious."

"And that's exactly what bugs Mark," Jesse said, turning to Mark for agreement. "Right?"

"No, I think Lacey McClure did it," Mark said.

"You do?" Jesse said. He wasn't used to Mark accepting the simple explanation for anything, especially when it came o murder.

"The evidence against Lacey McClure is solid and quite convincing," Mark said. "She had motive, opportunity, and gunshot residue on her hands. And she'd have a key, which explains why there were no signs of a break-in at the beach house."

"Then what is bothering you?" Jesse asked.

"A few little things," Mark said, "I can't figure out why Cleve and Amy didn't hear her come in, or why they didn't even get out of bed when she walked into the room."

"Yeah," Jesse said, "It's almost a reflex to jump out of bed when you're caught doing the nasty."

"How would you know?" Susan asked teasingly. "Personal experience?"

"Of course not," Jesse offered quickly, "I've seen it a lot on TV."

"There's something else I don't get," Mark said. "Amy Butler studied Tae Kwon Do for years. So why didn't she attempt to defend herself? There were no signs of a struggle."

"I can answer that," Amanda said, rising from her desk to join them, the autopsy reports in her hand. "Amy was drugged. I found rohypnol in her system. I doubt she was even conscious when the killer came in."

"You mean this movie producer guy slipped her a date-rape drug?" Susan asked. "What a sleazebag."

"Actually, I found rohypnol in his system, too," Amanda said, handing Mark the autopsy reports. "I doubt they took it knowingly. It's hardly considered a recreational drug, unless your idea of a good time is a deep nap."

"At my age," Mark said, "it can be."

"I called the crime lab and asked them to test the champagne bottle I saw in Kershaw's living room," Amanda said. "I haven't seen the official report yet, but a buddy of mine in the lab gave me a preview. It appears that someone injected the drug through the cork into the champagne bottle."

"Whoever killed them wanted to be sure there wouldn't be any kind of struggle," Mark said, skimming through the autopsy reports.

"If the killer had the opportunity to spike the champagne, why not inject it with a lethal dose and be done with it?" Jesse asked. "Why come back and shoot them? The killer took a huge, unnecessary risk. She was lucky she wasn't caught in the act."

"She should have been," Mark said. "That's the biggest puzzler of all."

"Based on the body temperature readings you took at the scene, I'm estimating the time of death at between three thirty and four p.m.," she said. "Otherwise, based on what I know and what I saw, I'd have pegged it at four thirty, the time you heard the gunshots."

"Which brings up another big question," Mark said. "Who was Lacey's accomplice?"

"Accomplice?" Jesse asked. "What makes you think any one but Lacey McClure was involved?"

"Someone shot Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler between three thirty and four o'clock, presumably using a silencer, because no one heard the shots," Mark said. "Then I'm assuming someone else came at four thirty and fired the shots that I heard, strictly for show, to establish the time of death."

"But why?" Jesse asked, genuinely confused.

"To establish an alibi," Mark replied. "To make us all think the murder happened a half-hour to an hour later than it did."

"If Mark hadn't shown up immediately after the gun shots," Amanda said, "we never would have known there was a discrepancy. It was a great plan."

"It could have been Lacey both times," Jesse said.

"That's true," Mark said.

Susan frowned with confusion. "So if it's Lacey McClure and she, alone or with an accomplice, went to the trouble of establishing the time of death at four thirty, wouldn't she have come up with a better alibi than taking a nap?"

"You're right, Susan," Mark said. "And that's the one reservation I have about her guilt, despite the evidence and my gut instinct that she did it."

"Let me see if I've got this straight," Jesse said. "You have every reason to believe that Lacey McClure is the killer, except for one thing. The murder was done in such a way as to give her a perfect alibi and she doesn't have one."

"Exactly," Mark said.

"Maybe that's her cunning plan," Jesse said.

"It seems pretty stupid to me," Amanda said.

"That's what makes it so cunning," Jesse said. "The stupidity is actually genius."

Jesse smiled, quite pleased with himself, oblivious to the withering look Amanda gave him. She didn't bother to comment on Jesse's theory; instead she turned her attention to Mark.

"Maybe it was a Mob hit," Amanda said. "It would explain the execution-style murder."

"But not the drugging," Mark said.

"Maybe what's hanging us up is that we're looking at this all wrong," Jesse said. "What if the drugging and the shooting were totally unrelated?"

"What do you mean?" Mark asked, genuinely curious.

"Maybe whoever spiked the champagne meant to kill them and screwed up," Jesse said. "And whoever it was had no idea some shooter was going to come along in the after noon and cap them."

"Cap them?" Amanda said, giving Jesse a look.

"That's what they call it," Jesse said. "You've got to get out of this lab more often."

"I've got to watch
The Sopranos
," Amanda said.

"If I'm right, the shooter probably didn't know what to think when he found his targets out cold," Jesse said. "But he still had a job to do, so he did it: bang, bang."

"It's a good theory," Mark said. "But it doesn't explain the inconsistency between the actual time of death and when I heard the gunshots."

"Oh," Jesse said, realizing Mark was right. "My theory might need a little work."

"Don't take it too hard, Jesse. All of our theories do," Mark said. "There's a vital piece of the puzzle we're still missing and I'm determined to find it."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Jesse asked.

"I'd like to know more about Lacey McClure," Mark said. "I borrowed some magazines Amy Butler collected with stories about her, but I haven't seen any of her movies. Can you put together a little Lacey McClure film festival for me?"

"My pleasure," Jesse said with a grin.

"Oh God," Susan said. "You're already getting that dopey look on your face."

"This is my usual, ruggedly handsome look," Jesse said. "There's nothing dopey about this."

Mark met Jesse's eyes. "I'd like you to get me all her movies."

"All?" Jesse said, dragging the word out and letting the implication hang.

Susan swatted Jesse's shoulder, startling him.

"What?" he exclaimed.

"Don't even think about it," she said playfully.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jesse replied.

"Especially that one," Mark said.

Susan and Amanda looked at Mark in surprise. But he didn't show the slightest trace of embarrassment.

"Why aren't you hitting him?" Jesse asked, massaging his shoulder.

"I don't look forward to watching that particular tape," Mark said. "But one of the murder victims and his possible killer are in it. I should see it."

"You got it," Jesse said quickly, earning him another swat from Susan. "Hey, I'm just agreeing to his request."

"A little too enthusiastically, if you ask me," Susan said. "Besides, I thought you didn't know what I was talking about."

"You weren't very clear," Jesse said, scrambling for the door before Susan, grinning, could swat him again.

They stopped cold in the corridor, like two kids caught misbehaving, when they saw Noah Dent, the hospital administrator, leaning against the counter of the nurse's station directly outside of the pathology lab. Dent had a scowl on his face. He merely pointed his index finger sharply at both Jesse and Susan and motioned them to follow him into an empty hospital room.

As soon as they were inside the room, Dent closed the door behind him and confronted the two of them.

"I was under the impression you were both on call down in the emergency room," Dent said.

"We are," Jesse said. "We were conferring on medical matters with Dr. Sloan and Dr. Bentley."

"About a current patient of yours?" Dent said.

"Not exactly," Jesse said. "We confer frequently, to share experience, give advice, that sort of thing."

"I see," Dent said, turning his gaze to Susan. "And what expertise were you contributing to this discussion?"

Susan flushed. "I was hoping to learn something. I'm considering going to medical school, maybe becoming a doctor myself."

"You want to learn something?" Dent asked. "I have a lesson for you. When you're being paid to be a nurse in the emergency room, it's a good idea to actually provide nursing services in the emergency room."

He stared at her. She didn't move.

"Now," Dent said.

Susan shot a glance at Jesse, then hurriedly left the room. Jesse's face tightened with anger and he took a step to ward Dent, who didn't move.

"You had no reason to talk to her that way," Jesse said. "She isn't your dog or your servant."

"And she won't be a nurse at this hospital either if she continues neglecting her duties. She's been coasting on her relationship with Dr. Sloan and enjoying preferential treatment for too long," Dent said. "The same goes for you, Dr. Travis. I know full well what was going on in that pathology lab. You were participating in Dr. Sloan's personal investigation into the killings in Malibu yesterday. And you were doing so on the hospital's time."

"Dr. Sloan is the chief of internal medicine. Every doctor in this hospital seeks out his advice and experience on a daily basis. I don't have to justify the time I spend with him to you or anybody else," Jesse said. "If the ER needs me, they'll page me and I will he there in two minutes."

"Let me be perfectly clear, Dr. Travis, so there's no misunderstanding," Dent said. "When you are in this hospital, you work for me. Your job is downstairs treating patients, not playing detective with Dr. Sloan or discussing autopsies with Dr. Bentley. Unless you are checking on matters that specifically involve one of your patients, there is absolutely no reason for you to be in that pathology lab."

"Dr. Bentley is my friend," Jesse said.

"I'm well aware of that, believe me," Dent said. "I'm also aware that you're sleeping with Nurse Hilliard."

"You're crossing a line here, Dent," Jesse said.

"No, Dr. Travis, it's you who've crossed the line, taking advantage of the trust and authority you've been given by this hospital," Dent replied. "You won't be getting any more special treatment here and neither will Nurse Hilliard. If you want to continue working here, you will adjust your conduct and your priorities. If I see you assisting Dr. Sloan on any thing besides patient care, or using our resources to aid in his detecting hobby, I'll fire you immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

And with that, Dent walked out, not bothering to wait for an answer. He didn't care what Jesse had to say, and fully expected the doctor to violate the rules that had just been laid down.

The message hadn't been meant for Jesse anyway. It was meant for Mark Sloan, and Dent knew that Mark's little acolyte would take it straight to him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

By noon, it was impossible to be a living, breathing member of the civilized human race and not know that Lacey McClure's husband had been shot to death in bed with another woman. The airwaves were choked with news about the shocking, "gangland-style murders" of Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler. There was continuous, live coverage from out side the gates of Lacey McClure's "Brentwood estate" where, depending on which channel was reporting, she was either "bravely confronting her grief' or "barricading herself in seclusion."

Lacey McClure's publicist, the high-powered and heavily accessorized Randi Lofficier, did reveal that the movie star and her husband, Cleve Kershaw, had been quietly separated for some time, which sparked enormous debate among the shocked entertainment reporters, who couldn't imagine how Lacey and Cleve had managed to keep their marital discord from them.