Small Crimes (23 page)

'I
wish there was something else I could have done,' he said. 'We had no concrete
evidence that she poisoned her patients. I felt fortunate simply to have her
leave the province.'

'So
as long as she moved to another country and murdered her patients there, that
was okay with you?'

He
shook his head. 'No, of course not. But what else could I have done?'

He seemed like a decent enough guy and I didn't
get any . enjoyment out of putting him through the wringer, but I needed to
make my performance look authentic. The last thing I wanted to do was make him
suspicious and have him check up on me.

I gave it some time to make it look like I was
mulling things over. 'Well, Doctor,' I said after a while, I guess I can
appreciate how difficult the situation must've been for you. I guess if I were
in your shoes, I don't know what I would've done.' I paused,
because
there was something else nagging at the back of my brain.
'Were the four patients all terminal?' I asked.

He
shook his head. 'No, in fact only one of them was.'

I
must've, at least at some level, been suspecting that, but it still came as a
surprise. I guess when the idea first came to me, I had assumed Charlotte had
been acting out some sort of angel of mercy thing. But it wasn't that. She had
other reasons for doing what she did. And this image of her sneaking through
the hospital with her morphine syringe started to creep me out.

I
had another question that was nagging at me. I asked him whether Charlotte had
any close friends at the hospital that she might've confided in. He told me he
had asked around at the time and couldn't find anyone who considered themselves
more than an acquaintance of hers. And not many considered themselves that.

I
stood up and thanked him for his time.

He
seemed taken aback by my abruptness, but took my outstretched hand and mumbled
out an apology for what happened. I then left him deep in his own thoughts.

At
a subconscious level, I must've suspected something like that of Charlotte all
along. I had to have. That had to have been why I came up with the plan that I
did, because otherwise it would've been completely nuts. Maybe it was the way
she avoided talking about Montreal, or maybe it was some look or expression of
hers that I'd caught a glimpse of, or maybe it was simply the whole package,
but something about her had caused that seed to be planted in my mind.

I
could understand now why she had jumped to the conclusion that she did. When I
had made my offhand remark about overdosing Manny, she must have panicked and
thought that I had already dug around her past in Montreal and suspected what
she had done. I thought about her and the repressed life that she lived. It
must've been worse when she was in Montreal. I could just imagine how all that
repression would weigh on her. How it would press on her chest. How tough it
would be to breathe against. And how she'd find relief by unloading a morphine
syringe into a patient's IV tubing.

Well,
anyway, she was going to use a morphine syringe one more time.

It
was only a quarter to twelve. I drove around until I found a diner, and then
went inside and ordered lunch. My waitress was a cute little thing; blonde,
perky, big dimples, and friendly as all hell. She had one of those smiles that
made you feel good just looking at it. I kidded around with her after she
brought me my food and had a feeling that if I asked her to come back to the
States with me, she would've jumped in my car. In any case, the check was six
bucks and I left her a ten-dollar tip.

After
lunch I thought about driving around the city and seeing the sights. I thought
about it, but decided to head back to Vermont. I still had plenty of things
that needed to be done. When I reached the US border and the customs officer
asked how my trip went, I couldn't help myself - I just showed him a big smile
and told him it was the best damn trip I ever had. I was feeling too good to
have said anything else. Hell, I was just about beaming. I hadn't realized
before how much stress had bottled up in my neck and back and joints, but it
was all gone now. I was feeling loose. Maybe a little anxious, but not much.
All in all I felt good.

As
I drove, at times my mind would just drift along, not aware of anything but the
road and the scenery. At other times I found myself thinking about what was
going to happen. Charlotte was going to shoot enough morphine into Manny's IV
tubing to kill him and that would be the end of it.

When
the idea had first come to me, I was concerned whether a morphine overdose
could be detected by an autopsy. Now, though, thanks to the good Dr Bouchaire,
I knew that it couldn't be. I knew that there was nothing to worry about. Soon
Manny would be checking out and that would be that. Dan Pleasant would be off
my back, Phil Coakley would be left empty handed, and Junior, well, that was
still a problem. Something was going to have to be done about him. There'd have
to be payback for his taking a couple of shots at me. But I knew I'd come up
with something, and when it was all over, I'd move somewhere and start fresh.
And then I'd start doing what I needed to for my girls.

During
my ride back an idea popped into my head on how I could take care of Junior.
Over the next half-hour or so, the idea gelled nicely, and the more I thought
about it, the more I liked it. It would be a fitting epitaph to my life in
Bradley. After a while my mind started drifting along with the scenery again.
And then I just settled back into my seat and enjoyed the ride.

Chapter 14

I
was on Route Six as I entered Chesterville, and as I passed the Green Valley
Motor Lodge, I saw half a dozen police cars and three sheriffs vehicles in the
parking lot, all with their lights flashing. I almost stopped to see what had
happened, but I knew my presence wouldn't be appreciated. Still, my palms felt
itchy as I drove by.

Two
miles down the road, I spotted a bar and pulled over. From the outside, the
place looked like a typical small-town dive. It was four thirty and the bar was
busier than it had any right to be. Inside, it looked just as divey. At that
hour it should've had only a few hardcore and unrepentant drinkers scattered
about. Instead it was nearly wall to wall people and there was a buzz running
through the room.

I
squeezed my way to the bar, got the bartender's attention, and ordered a
Guinness. Next to me on my right was a stubby guy with a thick beard, wearing a
Red Sox cap and a plaid hunting jacket. He was holding a pint as he talked to
one of his buddies, a look of both amusement and disbelief mixed on his face. I
leaned closer to eavesdrop on their conversation. They didn't seem to notice or
care.

I
was able to get that the stubby guy's name was Carl. I didn't catch his buddy's
name.

Carl:
I can't believe he didn't kill him.' Buddy: 'Shit, all he did was shoot him in
the arm.' Carl: 'And that was from only five feet away. My two-year-old can
shoot better than that.'

Buddy:
'He killed the girl, though.'

Carl:
'Yeah, he killed her alright. I heard they took her out in a bag. Is that what
you heard too, Sam?'

An
old guy with a sour face who stood next to them turned and nodded. Carl and his
buddy stopped to finish their beers. They waved the bartender over for another
round. I was still waiting for my Guinness.

Buddy:
I wonder where he shot her?'

Carl:
'Don't know.'

Buddy:
'Did you ever see her dance?'

Carl:
'Yeah, if you could call what she did dancing. What a rotten shame. She was one
of the nicer girls there. And you didn't have to tip her much to get her
panties off.'

Buddy:
'I always thought Paul was nuts.'

Carl:
'Yeah, I don't know. He did catch them in bed.'

Buddy:
'So what? She was a stripper. What did he expect?'

Carl:
'Yeah, I guess. Jesus, I don't know.' He broke out laughing. 'That DA's going
have a tough time showing his face around town after this.' And he kept
laughing at his own joke.

I
could feel my heart pounding. I tapped him on the shoulder. He stopped laughing
and turned slowly to face me, bleary eyed from what must've already been
several pints of beer.

'What
happened here?' I asked.

He
peered at me for a moment before answering. 'We had a double shooting at the
motel up the street,' he said. A guy caught his stripper girlfriend in bed with
the DA, Phil Coakley - you know, the guy whose face is all fucked up?
He
killed his girlfriend
but only shot Coakley in
the arm. What I
hear, Coakley tackled
him
and knocked him out. Police have
the guy now.'

"The
dead girl's a stripper named Susie?'

'Yeah,
Susie Baker. The guy who killed her is Paul Frechotte. You know them?'

'Sort
of. Not really. Any idea how Frechotte knew they were in the motel room?'

He
shook his head slowly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me.

'You
look familiar,' he said. 'Do I know you?'

While
we were talking, his buddy stood behind him grinning like an idiot. At some
point, I guess he recognized me. His grin disappeared and he seemed to sober
up. He nudged Carl and leaned over so he could say something in his ear. I could
see recognition flash in Carl's eyes. Without saying a word, the two of them
moved away from me. As I looked around the bar I could see others had
recognized me. They weren't staring at me outright, but I could see them
sneaking glances at me. I could see other people being nudged and whispered to.

The
bartender had just brought me my beer. I dropped five bucks on the bar and got
out of there.

When
I got to my car my hands were shaking. I had to sit for a few minutes before I
could pull out of the parking lot. I kept thinking of Susie, of how sweet and
innocent she had seemed, and how much, even with her clothes off, she had
looked like a high school cheerleader. I imagined how the scene at the motel
went down. I could imagine Frechotte breaking in on them, gun already drawn,
shooting Susie first, and then shooting wildly as Phil rushed him. It probably
didn't take much for Phil to knock him out. I knew, at least at some level,
that I was responsible for what happened. I knew how Frechotte found out about
that motel room.

I
drove straight to the county jail in Bradley. A roaring in my head drowned out
the road noise. I could barely hear anything above it. And I could barely see
where I was driving. It was as if I had blinders on. As if I had no peripheral
vision. The little

I
could see was clouded by a red haze. Somehow, though,
I
got
there without cracking up. When I got out of my
car, I stood and waited while the roaring in my head subsided and the haze
faded. Then I went inside and searched for Morris.

I
found him in his office. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on
his desk and his eyes closed. When he heard me, his eyelids lifted so he could
peer at me.

'You
know where Dan is?' I asked.

'Probably
at the crime scene. Things didn't work out the way you planned, did they, Joe?'

'Morris,
I had nothing to do with this. I swear.'

His
eyelids dropped a bit, but otherwise his expression of complete indifference
remained unchanged.

'Susan
Baker was only twenty-two,' he croaked out in a tired voice. 'Are you happy
with yourself?'

'Morris,
I swear, I didn't know any of this was going to happen—'

'Of
course you did, Joe. Phil has something on you and Dan, doesn't he?'

I
shook my head.

'That's
why you arranged to meet Dan here yesterday,' he said.
1
didn't arrange that—'

He
held up a hand to stop me. It looked like it took all the strength he had.

'No,
please,' he said. 'Don't embarrass yourself like this, Joe. Somehow you found
out about that girl and Phil. You arranged to meet Dan here. Then the two of
you planned what happened today. Except all you accomplished was causing an
innocent girl to be killed. Because Phil survived with only a flesh wound.'