Authors: Daniel Palmer
Mercy (25 page)
“I’m sorry, I’m still lost. I canceled an important budget meeting because you said you had information about my son’s killer. That was the message to me.”
“Well, my message to you is this. Did you send someone to harass me? I want the truth.”
Julie was shaking again. The rage had returned with a vengeance.
Colchester leaned back in his chair and gave her a hard stare. “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating, Dr. Devereux. Now, if you have new information about Donald’s killer, I want to hear it. But the right man is in jail. He was tried and convicted.”
“Then why did you agree to meet with me?”
“Because anything about my boy takes priority,” Colchester said, his voice gaining volume. “Anything, even people who I suspect came here to throw their misguided views about mercy killing right in my face.”
“Excuse me?”
It was Julie’s turn to be baffled.
“You think I’d schedule an impromptu meeting with someone without getting a background first? I read up on you. I know what you stand for. I know you think my son’s in a better place. But you’re wrong. Brandon Stahl had no right to take my son’s life. Now, I’m sure losing the appeal got you and your activist friends all rattled. But let me tell you something. For what he did to me and my family, infinity isn’t enough time.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Julie needed a moment to collect her thoughts.
She said, “I think you’re worried I’m going to find out what really happened to your son, and you don’t want to see Brandon walk a free man. Why else would you harass me?”
Colchester brought his hands to his lap. If he reached for his desk phone, the call, Julie knew, would get her escorted from the building.
“Harass you? I don’t even know you.”
“You knew about my meeting with Brandon. Somebody at Cedar Junction tipped you off. Which means you know I have medical evidence that could link your son’s death to the same rare heart disorder that killed my fiancé. Brandon says he never gave your son morphine, and I’m starting to believe him. Maybe you put the morphine in his apartment. Somebody framed Brandon and we both know it. Same as we know Sherri Platt lied about hearing Brandon offer to kill your son. You paid her off, didn’t you?”
Colchester’s face went red with anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You’re lying. You’re afraid I’m going to blow this whole thing wide open and that’ll put you and Sherri in a lot of hot water. Were the two of you having an affair?”
“I never!”
“Why didn’t you want your son’s body exhumed?”
“Excuse me?”
“One moment you’re fine with it and the next you’re filing motions to oppose. Why?”
“You have a son, Dr. Devereux. How would you like to see him dug up after you’ve buried him?”
Julie cleansed the gruesome image from her mind.
“I find it an interesting coincidence that Justice Josephson landed a plum state appointment not long after the trial. And weren’t you chair on the Joint Committee on the Judiciary back then?”
“I don’t appreciate the insinuation,” Colchester said. “I conduct myself to the highest ethical standards and I find it highly disingenuous to use my son’s name so you can berate me with your unsubstantiated and wildly outlandish accusations.”
Julie said, “What I’m saying may be unsubstantiated, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I don’t know why you want to see an innocent man rot in jail, but let me be blunt about something. If you ever send someone to threaten me again, I’ll go to the police and file a formal complaint against you for violating my constitutional rights. And let’s see how much your constituents like seeing you as the lead story on the six o’clock news.”
Colchester was incensed. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not according to the law,” Julie said as she stood up from the table. “I hope I won’t be hearing from you or your—associate, again.”
She opened the office door and walked out of the room.
Julie headed in the direction of the parking garage with her head lowered to shield her from the cold, biting wind. Early afternoon, and it was dark as midnight already. She missed the autumn even though the official start of winter was still several weeks away. The shorter days and longer nights made everything harder, including making phone calls outside. Julie needed to reach Sherri Platt, right away, but doubted she could get a cell signal down in the garage. The wind was making the outdoors incredibly unpleasant.
Julie took shelter in a store alcove and dialed White Memorial’s main number from memory. An operator patched her through to oncology, where Sherri had transferred after Donald Colchester’s death. The duty nurse checked the shift schedule: Sherri was off and would not be back until morning. Julie pulled the doctor card, said it was important, and got Sherri’s cell phone number. Home numbers these days were anachronistic.
What Julie needed now was a place to make her phone call. Eventually, she found a warm place inside Emmet’s Irish Pub. The noise level made it hard to hear and the smell of Irish coffee proved more than a little tempting. Julie could use a drink, just one, to settle nerves frayed from three intense back-to-back encounters—the stranger, the trooper, and the legislator. She found a quieter nook at the back of the bar and made a call that went straight to voicemail.
“Sherri, it’s Dr. Julie Devereux. I’m sure you remember me from the other day. Listen, I know what happened to you. At least I think I do. William Colchester forced you into testifying against Brandon, didn’t he? You never overheard Brandon speaking to Donald Colchester. I’m not saying you took a payment or anything, but I suspect the representative used some sort of intimidation. He did so with me. I was nearly attacked at a roadside stop earlier this afternoon. We need to stand together on this, Sherri. I need your help setting right what I think is wrong. I believe now there’s a real possibility Brandon is an innocent man, and Donald Colchester’s death may be linked to the same thing that killed my fiancé. We need to talk. Please, Sherri. You have to do the right thing here.”
Julie left her number. Had she said enough? Brandon’s life might well depend on it. The next stop Julie made was to the bar, where she ordered an Irish coffee. She’d had three sips of a truly magnificent beverage when her phone rang. Julie’s heart leapt. It had to be Sherri calling back.
She glanced at her phone’s display and wondered what reason Lucy might have for calling.
“Hey there,” Julie said, blocking her left ear with her hand so she could hear over the noise.
“I figured out the identity of Brandon’s secret admirer. He’s my diener, Jordan Cobb.”
“Your diener?”
“Yeah, I don’t have a full story just yet. He was being a little cagey about it, because he was definitely looking at medical records he had no business looking at.”
“But—but—he’s a diener. The guy who contacted Brandon had to be an M.D. I’m sure of it.”
“I tested him,” Lucy said. “And trust me, this kid knows his stuff.”
“Well, let me talk to him.”
“I would, but he’s gone. Said he had to get home to sit for his siblings. I wasn’t about to hold him hostage, but I wanted you to know that you got your man.”
“Can you give me his address?” Julie said.
Lucy had it on file. Julie was certain she had never been to Jordan Cobb’s neighborhood before.
“What are you thinking?” Lucy asked.
“I’m thinking I’m already in Boston and it’s not that far a drive from here to Dorchester.”
* * *
PARKING IN
Dorchester was no better than parking in Cambridge. The only difference was that the cars here were generally older models and a lot more street-hardened. Julie found a space in front of a boarded-up Laundromat and a tailor. Even though this was a vibrant neighborhood, with plenty of vehicle and pedestrian traffic, Julie was a fish out of water. The men fixed hostile expressions on her.
It did not help matters that Julie appeared to be completely lost as she tried to figure out if 48 Norton was on the other side of the street. Many of the stores were closed and the front entrances secured by metal roll-down doors, tainted by graffiti. There were no chain stores here. No Starbucks, no Hannaford’s. Instead Julie walked past stores like Check Cashing, JP Wireless, and Peguero’s Market.
A police car, siren blaring and lights flashing, zoomed by. Julie jumped a little as it passed. By the light of the strobes, she noticed a kid on a fixed-gear bicycle riding toward her. The kid, who looked to be about Trevor’s age, wore a stiff-brim baseball hat and puffy down jacket. He slowed as he approached and circled Julie as if she were carrion to his buzzard.
“Yo lady, yo lady, whazzup? Whatchu doin’ here, lady? Who you looking for?”
Julie stopped walking. This seemed to surprise the boy. Maybe he was accustomed to strangers picking up the pace, never making eye contact.
“Forty-eight Norton Street,” Julie said. “Jordan Cobb. Do you know him?”
The kid laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I know him. Whatchu looking for him for? He in any trouble?”
“No. He’s not, but I’m cold and I would like to get inside.”
The kid seemed to appreciate Julie’s straightforward approach. His bravado retreated a little as he pointed to a building on the other side of the street.
“He lives over there,” the kid said. “Night, lady. Careful out here.” The kid rode away.
Julie crossed the street and buzzed apartment number three. She waited. On the drive over, she’d thought about calling first, but what Lucy had said about him being cagey changed her mind. Better to catch Jordan by surprise. She waited for the intercom, but instead heard a young girl’s voice call down from the apartment above.
“Who is it? Intercom’s broken.”
Julie stepped back and looked up at the silhouette of a girl leaning too far out the open window for Julie’s comfort.
“My name is Julie Devereux. I’m a doctor at the hospital where Jordan Cobb works. Is Jordan home?”
“He’s home.”
“May I come up and speak with him?”
The girl poked her head inside, but reappeared a moment later.
“Look out,” the girl said.
Julie stepped back as something dropped from the girl’s hand. It hit the pavement with a clank. Julie looked at the ground and saw the girl had tossed down a ring of keys.
“Buzzer’s broken too,” the girl said.
Jordan Cobb greeted Julie at the apartment front door. There was no foyer, so when Julie entered she stepped into a living room that barely accommodated the sofa, two chairs, and a television. The walls were painter’s white, but decorated with a scattering of family photos. Aromas coming from the kitchen told her someone was cooking dinner.
Seated on the couch were two young girls, close in age, one maybe eleven and the other a bit younger. It was the older girl with mocha-colored skin, pigtails, and a pretty blue dress who had tossed out the keys. Both girls had books spread out in front of them and were doing homework while the TV played the kind of cartoon Trevor had only recently stopped watching.
Jordan, still wearing his scrubs from work, greeted Julie with an apprehensive expression.
“I’m in big trouble, aren’t I?” he said.
“No, Jordan, you’re not. But before we get into that, I’d love to meet your sisters, if I could.”
The older girl jumped off the couch and approached Julie with an outstretched hand. She had a firm shake and made eye contact the way Julie taught Trevor to do.
“I’m Teagen,” the girl said, in a confident voice. “And this here is my sister, Nina.”
“How do you do,” Julie said, returning the keys to Teagen. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nina said in a softer voice.
She was the shy one, Julie thought.
“I see you’re doing homework, so I don’t want to disturb you. But I would like a moment of time with your brother. Is there a place we can talk?” Julie asked Jordan. “In private?”
Jordan gave a nod. He escorted Julie into a small but serviceable kitchen, where a pot of water heated on the stove and an oven gave off warmth. Julie looked around, wondering if Jordan’s mother might be at home, but got the feeling Jordan was in charge.
“The girls are my half-sisters,” Jordan said, stirring the pasta in the boiling water. He checked the chicken in the oven using a meat thermometer and turned over the asparagus on the bottom rack. “My mom’s at work. She works for Marriott and does the overnight shift sometimes. I look after the girls when she’s gone.”
“Need any help with dinner?”
Jordan gave a laugh. “I think I got it, but fine if you want to pitch in.”
Julie hung her jacket on the back of a chair and got right to work. Cooking always relaxed her, and memories of the eventful day faded as she strained the pasta, flavored it with Parmesan cheese, and added some seasoning to the chicken. Afterwards, Julie set the table even though Jordan said that was the girls’ job.
“Gives them more time for homework,” Julie said with a smile.
When the table was set, Julie poured three glasses of milk, but Jordan would not be sitting just yet. He covered his plate with another plate to keep his food warm.
“Nina, Teagen, you girls eat without me,” Jordan called out. “I have to speak with Dr. Devereux alone for a minute.”
The girls came running the way puppies might. Soon they were seated and eating, happy as could be.
Julie followed Jordan down a narrow corridor into a small, dark room where she could make out the outline of a bed and not much else. Jordan turned on the light and Julie’s eyes went wide with surprise. The bookcases, of which there were several, sagged from the weight of all the heavy tomes. Julie had owned many of these titles because Jordan’s collection belonged in any medical student’s library. All the classics were there—
Essentials of Medicine, Gray’s Anatomy, Sidman’s Neuroanatomy
were just a few of the titles to catch Julie’s eye.
The rest of Jordan’s room was free of clutter, and his bed made to military standards. There was a wooden desk with a Dell computer on it and a chair well worn from hours of sitting. The desk alone was neater than any square inch of Trevor’s room.