The Crush (25 page)

"I don't know anything about him," Rennie said coolly. "Suction, please. I responded to an emergency, that's all."

"According to the news, the girl was beyond help," the anesthesiologist remarked.

The talkative resident picked up the story. "I heard straight from the paramedics who responded to the nine-one-one call that she was found in the cop's bed. Apparently whoever attacked Threadgill killed her first."

"Jealous boyfriend?"

"Or husband."

"Could be. The way they've pieced it together, Threadgill was in the shower."

"Speaking for myself," the resident quipped,

"I always have a cigarette first. Then shower. What about you, Betts? Do you smoke after sex?"

"I don't know," replied the circulating nurse. "I've never looked."

Everyone laughed.

The scrub tech bobbed her eyebrows above her mask. "If this cop looks anything like the picture they printed in the newspaper, I'd say the girl died smiling."

"Could we please get back to business here?"

Rennie snapped. "What's her pressure?"

The anesthesiologist replied in a subdued, professional tone. Rennie's brusqueness had quelled the joking. She kept her head down, her concentration focused on the surgery. But when her pager chirped, she asked the circulating nurse to check it for her.

"It's surgical ICU, Dr. Newton."

"Would you call them, please?"

She listened as the nurse placed the call.

"Okay, I'll tell her." She hung up.

"Threadgill's waking up."

"Thanks."

Although she sensed the raised eyebrows above the masks, no one dared to comment. From there the talk related only to the procedure they were performing.

Finally Rennie withdrew her hands and nodded for the assisting surgeon to clip the last internal suture. She probed the area with her gloved finger to make certain all the sutures held.

"Looks good."

"Perfect," he said. "Excellent job, Dr. Newton."

"Thank you. Would you mind closing up for me?"

"Your wish is my command."

"Thanks. Good job, everyone."

She peeled off her bloody gloves and pushed through the door, knowing that as soon as it closed behind her she would be the topic of speculative conversation. Let them wonder, she thought.

She reported the satisfactory results of the operation to the patient's anxious family, then hurried to the locker room, took a second shower, and reached the ICU just as the nurse was urging Wick to cough up his breathing tube.

He suffered the choking sensation all patients did, but eventually the thing was out. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it, Mr. Threadgill? You did real good."

He moved his lips but the nurse couldn't hear him, so she leaned down close. When she straightened up, she was chuckling. "What did he say?" Rennie asked.

"He said, "Get fucked.""

"You don't have to tolerate that from him."

"Don't worry about it, Doctor. I've got a husband and four sons."

Rennie took her place at Wick's bedside. "Wick, do you know where you are?"

He grunted an unintelligible reply. She placed her stethoscope on his chest and listened for several moments. "You're doing fine."

"Thirsty."

"How about some ice chips?" She looked across at the nurse, who nodded and left on the errand.

"We'll start you out on ice chips, Wick. I don't want you to drink anything yet and get nauseated."

He grunted again and was struggling to open his right eye, unaware that it was swollen shut. He would be groggy and disoriented for hours yet. "How's the pain, Wick? I can increase the dosage of your pain medication." He mumbled something else she couldn't interpret. "I'll take that as a yes."

The nurse returned with the cup of crushed ice and a plastic spoon. "Give him a few spoonfuls every time he wakes up." She made the necessary notations on his chart. Before leaving she said,

"I'll be either here or at my office. Page me if there's any change."

"Certainly. Oh, Dr. Newton, I think he wants to speak to you."

Rennie returned to Wick's bedside. He groped for her hand. Despite the IV port that was taped to the back of his hand, his grip was surprisingly strong. She leaned down close.

"What is it, Wick?"

He whispered only one word.

"Lozada."

Detective Wesley frowned at her from the other side of his cluttered desk. "Anything else?"

"Just that. "Lozada," Rennie repeated.

"When was this?"

"Around noon today."

"And you're just now telling me?"

"I had to sort it out first."

"Sort what out?"

Other personnel in the Criminal Investigation Division appeared to be going about their business, but Rennie was aware that she was an object of curiosity. "Is there someplace we can talk more privately?"

Wesley shrugged and indicated for her to follow him. He led her into the same room where the interrogation had been videotaped. They sat in the same seating arrangement. She didn't particularly like the implication that she was once again being placed in a defensive position, but she didn't remark on it. Instead she immediately resumed the conversation.

"Could that mean it was Lozada who attacked Wick last night?"

"Oh, you think so?"

She felt her cheeks turn warm.

"Apparently that's not a news flash to you."

"Hardly, Doctor."

"May I ask you a question?" He shrugged with indifference. "What is it about me that rubs you the wrong way?"

He shifted in his chair. "Nothing."

"That's not true. You've disliked me from the get-go. Why?"

"Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind, Dr. Newton? What did you "sort out" this afternoon?"

"The day of Lee Howell's funeral, I received a bouquet of roses. This was the enclosure card."

She opened her handbag and took out a plastic bag in which she'd placed the small white card.

It was the second piece of evidence she had collected that day, although she tried not to think about having to pull the screwdriver from Wick's back.

Wesley took the bag from her, looked at the card and read the single typed line, but his reaction wasn't what she had expected.

In fact, he didn't react at all. His expression remained unchanged.

"Evidently this comes as no surprise to you, either."

"I didn't know it had accompanied a bouquet of roses sent to you the day of Howell's funeral."

"But you recognize the card, don't you? How could you? It's been ..." She stopped, looked at him aghast. "You weren't content just to watch my house--you searched it. You did, didn't you?"

"Not me."

She sat back as though pushed by an invisible hand. "Wick."

Wesley said nothing.

Her head dropped forward. She stared at her hands, which no amount of cream or lotion could keep moisturized because of the antiseptic soap she scrubbed with.

Wick had been inside her house, rummaging through her drawers, going through her things. Before or after they'd met? she wondered. Although it didn't matter. Her privacy had been violated, and, worse, Wick had been the one who'd violated it.

After a brief but strained silence, she raised her head and looked at Wesley. "The card came from Lozada. He personally delivered the roses. He broke into my house and left them for me to find."

"How do you know?"

"He told me."

"Told you?"

"He's called me several times. I've asked him not to. I've insisted that he leave me alone. But he keeps calling."

"And says what?"

"Read the card, Detective. He developed a crush on me during his trial.

He stared at me constantly, every moment he was in the courtroom. To the point where it became noticeable and embarrassing. Apparently he's now deluded himself into thinking that I reciprocate his romantic interest."

"Because of the verdict?"

"I suppose. Who knows why? He's crazy."

He harrumphed. "Lozada is a lot of things, but crazy isn't one of them." He watched her for a moment. "Why are you telling me all this now?"

"I'm afraid that he killed Dr. Howell.

I think he learned that Lee was named chief of surgery over me, so he killed him as a favor for me. He told me he wanted to return the favor I did him."

"By acquitting him?"

"A twelve-person jury acquitted him."

His deep shrug said If you say so. "Go on."

"Lozada is the one who told me about your surveillance. He's been watching me too.

He saw Wick follow me home yesterday afternoon. I guess Lozada followed him around the block to the stakeout house. Then he called me.

He enjoyed telling me that my newfound friend is a cop."

"Wick would argue that."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. Why didn't you tell us about Lozada last night when you confronted us?"

"Because I didn't want you to think what you're thinking."

"Which is?"

"That I'm in cahoots with Lozada!" she exclaimed. "That is what you're thinking, isn't it? You think I contracted him to kill Lee. And now ... now Wick. That's why you objected to my operating on him."

"You were angry at us. At Wick in particular."

"So you think I called this paid assassin, who just so happens to have a crush on me, and instructed him to stab Wick in the back with a screwdriver?"

Wesley stared at her impassively. He was a seasoned policeman with years of experience.

Confessions came in all forms. No doubt he thought she was unburdening herself of guilt.

"If that's your allegation, it's too absurd even to deny," she said.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"After Wick spoke Lozada's name, everything became clear. I saw things as you've been seeing them. Lee gets a promotion I wanted. He gets killed. I told Wick I never wanted to see him again. An attempt is made on his life. When it crystallized in my mind, I
came straight here, only stopping at home long enough to retrieve that card."

"Why did you save it?"

"I'm not sure. I destroyed the roses.

Maybe I saved the card because I thought I might need ... proof."

"Meaning that from the beginning you suspected Lozada of killing Howell."

"No. It wasn't until a few days after Lee's funeral, after I received the roses, that Lozada called me for the first time. He asked if I had enjoyed them. I didn't know until then who had sent them."

He gave her a retiring look. "Come now, Dr. Newton."

"I swear I didn't."

"You didn't have an inkling?"

"All right, possibly. Subconsciously.

I knew of no one else who could or would have broken into my house."

"Yet when you learned it was Lozada, you still didn't contact me. Why not?"

"Because of the tone of the interrogation you conducted in this room. I was afraid it would confirm your suspicions of my involvement."

"You had information that might have led to Lozada's arrest and you failed to come forward with it."

"Which was a mistake."

"Why didn't you come running to me waving that card and saying "I think I know who murdered my friend and why"?"

"I could have been terribly wrong. I could have impeded your investigation, sent you down the wrong path."

"No, I don't think that's it, Dr.

Newton. I think you hoped that we would solve the mystery of Dr. Howell's murder all by ourselves.

Without your help. Isn't that right?" His eyes probed hers. "You didn't want your name attached to a man's violent death." After a meaningful pause, he added, "A second time."

"Ah." She lowered her head again, but only for an instant, then met his incisive gaze defiantly. "You know about Raymond Collier."

"Some. Want to tell me more about it?"

"You've got your resources, Detective, and I'm sure you'll put them to good use."

"You can count on it." He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. "There is something that puzzles me. I'm wondering how you got seated on that jury. Didn't the lawyers question the prospective jurors, ask if there were any arrest records? Weren't you sworn to tell the truth?"

"Raymond Collier's death was a tragic accident. I don't have a police record. And during voir dire nobody asked if I had been involved in an accidental shooting when I was a minor."

"Well that was convenient, wasn't it?"

She stood up. "I can see you neither value nor want my help."

"On the contrary, Dr. Newton. It's been an enlightening conversation."