Nothing Personal (13 page)

Kate didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the messages. She just walked in and poured that drink, a big one sure to make the dizziness return. Then she slugged a good third down as she listened to some secretary calling on behalf of the lawyer—Curly, wasn’t it? Oh, hell, what did it matter anyway?—saying something about liability and insurance. Same old stuff. Kate just sat herself down at the kitchen table with the pile of envelopes she’d collected and stared at them.

Suddenly she didn’t have the energy to face what was inside. Struggling to her feet, she shoved the pile away, grabbed her drink and her crutches, and clumped into her bedroom, where Carver was already waiting.

The decor that greeted her was simple to the point of being sterile, with nothing more on the walls than an old yellowed print of Yosemite Falls and a newly hung mug holder with her ball-cap collection on it. There was a radio, and she turned it on. A portable television. She turned that on
too, the soft counterpoint of voices a comforting companion. And then, working slowly so she didn’t head over on her nose, she undressed for bed, leaving the letters and the murders and the media attention outside.

It took her two more days to gather up the courage to go through her mail. Two days in which she spent her waking hours sitting in the ER lounge and her sleeping moments with the radio on to fend off the silence. And all the while, her second note waited on the kitchen table and she didn’t even know it.

KATE
, THE NOTE
read in perfectly cut-out letters that marched across the page with a precision that would have made a field marshal cry.
HE WHO IS NOT FOR US IS AGAINST US. DON’T BE AGAINST US. YOU ARE THE LAST PERSON I WANT TO HURT
.

Kate didn’t come right across it. She’d been giving grudging attention to the pile as she and Tim discussed a possible weekend trip once she got her walking cast. Tim was all for heading up to Chicago and catching
Phantom of the Opera
. Kate wanted to go to Memphis and see Graceland.

“I would never have let you in this apartment if I thought you were serious,” Tim protested with a particularly pained expression as he cut up vegetables for a western omelet.

Kate delighted in tormenting Tim. It was the only thing that felt good these days. She opened another envelope to find just two ten-dollar bills. No note, no name. “But Tim,” she protested with every ounce of sincerity she had. “I almost died once without getting to pay my homage to the king. Would you ask me to do it again?”

“You should have said hello while you had the chance.”

“I couldn’t,” she retorted, without much humor. “The only guide I got on my travels was Arnstein, and he led me around with his hand in my chest. Besides, Elvis is still on that spaceship with Princess Grace.”

“Arnstein’s a pig.”

Kate nodded absently. “No argument from me.”

“If we go to Chicago, I know some really great places.”

“If we go to Chicago, I do not want to spend all weekend in gay bars.”

His smile was deprecating. “Spoilsport.”

She wouldn’t have minded so much if he just hit the fun places with drag queens doing show tunes. But when Tim made his regular pilgrimages out of town, he didn’t enjoy gay bars, he checked into S and M clubs for a bout of sexual penance.

“You’ve got a couple of days off comin’ up,” she said. “Get all that mingling out of your system, and then we can do the museums and stuff when we go together.” She ripped open another envelope. “Besides…”

“Besides what?”

But Kate didn’t hear him. She’d just unfolded that innocuous little piece of paper, the one that looked as if it had just been stuffed in the envelope at the last minute. The one with the perfectly placed letters.

“Kate?”

Damn him for being sensitive. The knife
slowed midair and Tim’s attention was all on Kate. Suddenly she didn’t want him to know. She didn’t even know why.

So she smiled up at him. “Do I have to do this now, Mom? Couldn’t I finish it later after
The Jetsons
is over?”

But Tim wasn’t easily fooled. “What’s wrong?”

Kate sighed. Tim had to go on shift in exactly an hour and a half, and she wasn’t going to let him carry this nonsense with him. She’d just wait and call B.J.

“What’s wrong is that the only thing I can think of I’d hate worse than doing this would be getting a transfer to orthopedics. That’s what’s wrong. Now, chop. I’m going to go through this and piss and moan until I’m finished. Fair enough?”

She wanted him to smile. He didn’t. Not quite. “We’re gonna get through this,” was all he said.

Kate couldn’t think of a comeback, snappy or otherwise. So she shut up, smiled, and went back to work.

“I shouldn’t have to come over here to talk to you.”

Not even ten o’clock and already the day was shaping up to be straight from hell. Kate had left a message for B.J., who was supposed to get back to her. Instead of him, though, she ended up answering the door in her Cardinals sweats and bare feet to find Phyl the Gorilla herself.

“I’d be happy to go over there,” Kate told her
supervisor as she let her in, “but you didn’t like that much either.”

Phyl didn’t so much as look around before claiming a corner of the couch and beginning the panty hose ritual. When Phyl was upset, she picked runs into her hose. She already had three this morning.

“You’ve been asked to call Mr. Wurly’s office,” she said, again without preamble. “Why haven’t you?”

Wurly. That was it. Not very impressive. Kate held on to her temper with sour humor. “I guess this means he doesn’t make house calls, huh?”

Phyl just glared. “You might pay better attention, Kate. There’s been a lawsuit filed.”

Kate found it took a second to even answer. “A lawsuit?” she asked stupidly, finally folding into one of the chairs rather than stand through what had all the earmarks of a fresh disaster.

“From the incident with the Rashad boy. Evidently some ambulance chaser talked the family into trying to take the hospital for everything it can get.”

From the little Kate knew about the whole thing, probably the most logical course of events. “And?”

Phyl couldn’t even seem to look at her. “And it was thought you should probably have time to contact your insurance company to secure representation before you were served.”

“Secure…but the hospital covers me.”

“Not under these circumstances. You acted completely on your own. You know you did.”

“I don’t know anything,” Kate insisted, rubbing a hand through her new hair as if she could wear away the sudden tension. Well, at least she finally understood why she’d gotten two group appointments with honchos she’d never even been introduced to before. Prophylactic damage control. They’d known this was coming all along. “You mean the hospital is just cutting me loose on this?”

“We have to think of what’s best for everyone involved.”

It was Kate’s turn to glare. “We.”

Phyl’s complexion mottled with discomfort. “The hospital is going through some delicate negotiations right now,” she said. “We can’t be mired down in something this complex. It would probably be best if you considered settling.”

“No offer to get me a lawyer if I help the police?”

Another definite color change. “You haven’t let me finish.”

“What is Mr. Gunn more worried about,” Kate demanded, “his staff or his negotiations?”

“I’d watch my attitude if I were you.”

“What are
you
more interested in, Phyllis?” Kate countered. “Your job or the ongoing loss of life at that hospital?”

That brought Phyllis to her feet. Kate had seen her mad, she’d seen her upset. She’d never seen her frothing.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Phyl demanded. “Who the hell do you think has been the only thing between you and the front door, Kate?”

It was too early in the morning. Too early. All Kate wanted to do was turn on the TV, turn on the stereo, and lose herself in noise. She didn’t want to hear this.

“Phyl, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not, damn it. You just don’t have any idea what goes on in the world beyond your little niche. You don’t know what it’s like to have the Administration pushing on one side and you sharks pushing on the other. I’m doing the best I can, Kate. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Now Kate knew she didn’t want to hear this. It had been so comfortable blaming Phyl. After all, Phyl was the most visible target every time something went wrong. Kate didn’t want to think what life must be like in the middle. It was tough enough being on the bottom of the pile without thinking about the pressures the layer above you had to suffer.

All Kate could do, in the end, was climb to her feet as well. “If I weren’t driven, I wouldn’t be any fun at all.” She didn’t want to ask, because it would change everything. She did anyway. “You really went to bat for me?”

Phyl actually sighed. “So many times I have splinters. You may be a pain in the ass, Kate, but you’re
my
pain in the ass. Now, can’t you do me a favor in return and lay off for a while?”

That was when Kate understood just how burned out she’d become, because she realized it had been a long time since she’d really taken a look at her supervisor. Mid-forties, with doughy features and permanent worry lines, making less
than the evening nurses did in return for putting up with all that hassle, her talents much better utilized in some kind of account review situation. Kate still didn’t think Phyl was doing a good job, but then Kate wouldn’t set foot near that kind of position if it came with its own cook and chauffeur. At least at the bottom of the pile, you always knew just where you stood.

“How ’bout some coffee?” she asked with a hard-won smile. “We can work out the terms of the truce.”

Phyl didn’t bother to move. “Only if those terms include working with the police to weed out the killer.”

Kate sat right back down with a groan.

It was up to B.J. when he arrived an hour or so later to pull the two women away from each other’s throats.

He’d been having such a good morning. He’d finally come up with the cause of death for Attila, although the mechanism was still a question. He’d finally gotten the keying right on one of the new reels he’d been teaching himself, and his court date had been postponed on the Northside Homeboys case, something he wasn’t looking forward to anyway. It would just figure that he’d show up at Kate’s door to find himself mired in yet more problems.

“It definitely wasn’t you, and it definitely was murder,” he announced the minute she pulled open the door.

Kate just stood there. “What?”

“Not what, who. Attila. She’s a definite add to the list.”

Which was when Kate’s supervisor stepped out of the kitchen at the far end of the apartment. B.J. knew simply by the looks on both faces that he’d just added fuel to some fire. His first instinct was to back slowly out the door so he couldn’t be incinerated and then run like hell. He considered himself a hero for not doing just that.

Kate stepped back a little from the door. “Come on in,” she invited, although the sound of it suggested that she’d just offered room and board to the grand inquisitor.

“Doctor O’Brien.” Phyl greeted him with a deferential nod of the head.

B.J. hated that kind of attitude. Beat me, whip me, give me patient orders. “Nice to see you, Phyl. You’re looking—” apoplectic. She was looking apoplectic “—well.”

Phyl didn’t react to his platitude. She simply set down the coffee mug she’d been carrying and grabbed her coat. “Tell her she’s not the only person to consider here, please. Tell her that by doing what she’s doing, she’s helping a serial killer get away with murder.”

And with that, she swept into the hallway and out the front door. Kate never so much as moved until the door closed. Then she didn’t just move, she slammed. Hard. B.J. winced.

“Another fruitful conference with Administration?” he asked.

Kate didn’t even bother to answer. She just stalked over to the stereo and hit the
ON
button. Then she headed for the kitchen.

B.J. followed, first turning down the volume on Queen so the napping kids in the building wouldn’t have nightmares. By the time he hit the closet-sized kitchen, it was to find Kate standing there in her bare feet, mixing brandy into her coffee.

“Oh,” he amended with a knowing nod. “A very fruitful conference.”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t bother to ask before pulling a mug off the rack and pouring his own unadulterated portion. “Why won’t you help?”

“Because they’re assholes.”

B.J. just nodded again and thought how a patient was supposed to display increasing good health upon discharge from the hospital. Kate had circles under her eyes and an unhealthy pallor that belied her energy. She wasn’t dealing with this enforced rest thing very well.

“I know there’s a good reason for this,” was all B.J. said.

She glared at him. “There is. I hate being manipulated. Got a problem with that?”

Then she just stalked past and turned up the volume until Freddie Mercury’s voice sounded like an approaching siren. B.J. followed right behind and turned it back down.

“This isn’t much like you, pogue.”

Kate came to a halt and sighed.

“The son of a bitch sent me another letter,” she admitted, not bothering to look away from the
Matisse print over the couch. “Only this time I got threatened.”

B.J. took a moment to contain his anger. Just what Kate needed right now. “And that’s why you won’t help?”

He wondered if Kate realized how predictable she was. She spun around on his quiet accusation as if he’d just questioned her parentage. “Don’t be a jerk,” she snapped. “Of course not.”

“Then why?”

“Because…because…” A myriad of emotions skimmed her features: anger, frustration, confusion, guilt. Oddly enough, he thought, grief. She spun around and communed with Matisse again.

“Why can’t the police just build a case on evidence, like they’re supposed to?” she demanded.

“Because they don’t have any. You want to know how Attila died?”

“No.”

“Potassium. It took me awhile to figure it out, because potassium levels are always elevated in old blood samples. But hers were just a little too high.”

“How high?”

“Eleven point eight.”

The norms were 3.5 to 5.0 mEq/L, and even a little one way or the other could incite possibly lethal arrhythmias; 11.8 mEq/L would produce a dead stock-still heart that no amount of juicing and coercion could change.

B.J. could see Kate’s shoulders slump. “How?” she asked. “You can’t just sneak potassium in
somebody, not if she’s awake. It tastes like shit. And Attila was definitely awake.”

“It would have had to be hidden. I think she’d been ingesting it without knowing it for a couple of days. Your little surprise just escalated the scenario a bit.”

B.J. waited, ever patient when he knew he could expect results.

“Coffee,” Kate said abruptly, turning on him.

B.J. waited a little longer.

“Attila spent most of the shift disappearing for a cigarette and coffee. She kept her own pot, because nobody made it strong enough for her. You could have put creosote in that stuff and she wouldn’t have noticed.”

B.J. found himself nodding. “A lot of people knew about this?”

“Anybody who worked with her. Especially anybody stuck doing her work while she disappeared. Sure.”

“Anybody like Edna Reabers?”

Kate stiffened like a bowstring. “Why?”

B.J. did his best to look noncommittal. “She would have known all three victims.”