by A W Hartoin
Mark picked up the charts. “I can distract them with paperwork. Say it’s hospital security or something.”
Takira brought me around the desk. “I have a better idea.”
We went back into the tiny staff room and Takira gave me some scrubs, booties, a mask, and cap. I stripped and put on my get up, but when I got to the top, she stopped me with a thick Ace bandage.
“What’s that for?”
“You got to lock those puppies down.”
“Huh?”
“The breasts. We might be able to conceal the face, but men remember breasts and your girls are very memorable.”
She got me “locked down” and I now have a better appreciation for how much corsets must’ve sucked. My body, once curvy, now looked like a matronly barrel. Awesome.
“Alright,” said Takira. “Looking sort of regular. Wait. Let’s try this.”
She put foundation on my lips, making them almost disappear, and broke out the purple eyeshadow, giving me smudges under my eyes. Then she used a contouring kit to deepen the smile lines around my mouth and eyes. I could feel myself aging.
“I am good,” said Takira. “Chuck wouldn’t recognize you.”
I looked in the mirror and about fell out. “I look terrible.”
“You want some pimples? I think I can do some pimples.”
My vanity couldn’t take that much. “I think I’m good.”
“Done?” Mark stuck his head in. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“I’m in disguise.”
“You look like my Aunt Abigail.”
“I take it that she’s not attractive,” I said.
“I thought she was a man until I was nine.”
Takira threw a tissue box at him and he retreated. Then I looped her stethoscope around my neck and picked up a stack of charts. “I’m ready.”
Then Mark took me down the hall saying, “So she’s in your mom’s room.”
My stomach did a flip, but I said, “I know it well.”
“Hey guys,” Mark said to the two uniforms on duty, who—thankfully—I didn’t recognize. “Abigail’s taking over with Catherine while I go on break.”
They barely glanced at me and Mark went the extra mile by showing me her file on the computer. I basically knew it all already, except that she’d be moved out of the ICU in a couple of days if she remained stable.
I nodded to Mark and waltzed past the uniform, closing the door behind me.
Catherine lay on her bed, tubes everywhere and hooked up to the full monitoring system. Her eyes were closed and her vitals strong. I closed the curtain, not that anyone was looking, and pulled up a stool, taking her hand gently so as not to disturb the IV in her swollen hand.
“Catherine,” I said. “It’s Mercy. You asked for me.”
She didn’t open her eyes, but her other hand groped at the oxygen tube under her nose.
“Leave that alone.” I pulled her hand down. “You need it.”
She whimpered and her eyes fluttered.
“Catherine. Open your eyes. It’s Mercy. I need to talk to you.”
“Dad?”
“No, but he’ll be right back,” I said. “It’s Mercy.”
“Mercy.” Her eyes opened a tiny bit. I stood up and leaned over the bed so she could see me. “Is that you? What happened?”
“I’m in disguise. You asked for me.”
“And you came,” she said. “I asked for you.”
“I heard. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“What happened?”
“Er…you’re in the hospital. In the ICU, but you’re going to be fine,” I said.
She squeezed my hand. “But what happened. Nobody will say what happened.”
“Oh.” That was a conundrum. Should I tell her or not?
“Are you there?” She squeezed my hand again.
“I’m here.”
“What happened? My father. He’s upset. He’s never upset.” She started breathing hard and I watched her pressure and heart rate go up rapidly. She needed to know.
“You were shot,” I said. “But you’re going to be absolutely fine.”
“Somebody shot me?”
“Yes. Do you remember anything about yesterday?”
“Was it yesterday?” Catherine was seriously muddled and I questioned the wisdom of bothering her at all, but her vitals had stabilized and she was breathing normally again.
“Yes. Try to remember. Mr. Calabasas was on the phone with me. We were talking about getting some food. Burgers.”
“At Kronos.”
“That’s right. Did you see who shot you?”
Catherine lay there for a good minute, so long I thought she’d drifted off, but then she said she didn’t remember being shot. She did remember Calabasas on the ground and me looking her over, but it was all blurry.
“Why would someone shoot me?” she asked, beginning to cry.
I smoothed her blond hair back from her face. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out. Have you talked to the police at all?”
“I don’t like her.”
“Who?”
“The other one. She asked me questions. Father got mad.”
Julia.
“Don’t worry about her,” I said. “She’s clueless.”
Catherine’s eyes opened all the way and focused. “Did it happen because…”
“Of the men? I don’t know.”
“I never hurt anyone. I didn’t lie.”
That’s debatable.
“Has anyone ever threatened you besides Patty and those pictures?” I asked.
“He wouldn’t shoot me,” she said.
“Who threatened you, Catherine?”
It took a little convincing, but Catherine admitted to having an affair, live and in person, with a man called Martin Doyle. He dumped her after a few months and when she tried to find out why he told her he’d push her into traffic. I asked if he was married, but she said he wasn’t. This was at the end of her last relationship, which broke up about a month after she met Doyle. She thought she had a future with him and she had no idea why he threatened her. But she was afraid of him.
Three years was a long time ago in the annals of love, but I’d have to check him out. My phone started buzzing like crazy and it was Uncle Morty, grumpy as all get out. I’d forgotten about the money angle. I thought that was a loser, but I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t ask her about the account.
“Catherine, what can you tell me about your new account?” I asked.
Her lids had closed, but they went up a smidgen at the word account. “What account?”
“The new one you’re working on. International Bank of the Midwest.”
“You know about that?”
“I have my ways,” I said. “So how’s the account looking?”
“Why does it matter?” she asked.
“My source says it’s big money. Money’s a motive.”
Her heart rate started to climb. “To kill me?”
“You might not even be the target,” I said. “It could be Mr. Calabasas.”
“No one would want to kill him. He’s a sweetheart.”
I patted her hand and accidentally dislodged her pulse ox sensor causing an alarm. I quickly replaced it and said, “This could be random.”
“You think?”
“It’s possible. Tell me about the account.”
“I can’t. It’s confidential.”
“No specifics. Just broad strokes.”
I gave Catherine a drink and waited while her mind, dulled by pain and drugs, tried to remember. When she did, it was interesting. She’d only just started getting into the account, but the few days she’d been digging in, she’d noticed that it was too random. In her words “too random to be random.”
“So you don’t think it’s a glitch like Midwest?” I asked.
A small smile twitched at the edges of her mouth. “You know everything.”
“Not hardly. Tell me
your professional opinion.”
“I don’t have one. It’s too early.”
There was something about the way she said it. She had an opinion like Dad had opinions on suspects, but neither would reveal it until they had some kind of proof.
“Do you have a feeling?”
Catherine was too tired to conceal it. “I think so.”
“If it’s not a glitch, what is it?” I asked.
Say the magic word.
She squeezed my hand. “It’s a crime.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
“I don’t have any proof.”
“That’s okay. My guy will start working it from the hacking side.”
Catherine shifted in her bed and she was definitely more awake and uncomfortable.
“Are you in pain?” I asked.
“It’s okay,” she said, her face becoming drawn.
I gave her another sip of water. “We’ll get you fixed up. Have you eaten anything?”
“I don’t know.”
I called Mark and told him that Catherine needed her pain meds and some apple sauce. He bustled in two minutes later with apple sauce, pudding, and Jello. I got some chocolate pudding in her while he charted her meds. Then he inserted the syringe into her IV line, but a thought popped into my head.
“Hold on,” I said. “Catherine, I’m sorry, but I have one more question.”
She grimaced but nodded.
“You’ve had the account for four days, but when did Elite Accounting get it?”
“I don’t know.”
“But sometime before. There’d be contract negotiations between the bank and Calabasas, right?”
She nodded.
“Go ahead, Mark,” I said and he pushed the plunger. “I’m so sorry, Catherine. It’ll just take a minute.”
It didn’t take a minute. She relaxed almost instantly.
“Thanks, Mark,” I said.
“You’ll be back when Calabasas is talking?”
“If I can get in.”
He laughed. “Oh, we’ll get you in. Don’t worry about that.”
“Is Molly in there with him now? The assistant?” I asked.
“Maybe. Patsy’s there.”
“Does she know about this situation?”
“No and I have to say Pat’s more of a rule follower. I wouldn’t try it.”
“Understood.”
I left and found Aunt Miriam talking to Takira at the desk. She didn’t even blink when she saw me like she always expected me to age rapidly. Takira got my clothes and handed them over when the intercom buzzed.
“ICU. Can I help you?” asked Takira.
“This is Detectives Jones and Nazir to see patients Calabasas and Cabot,” said Julia.
Takira’s eyes went wide, but I shrugged, pulling Aunt Miriam around the desk.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Hiding.”
“I don’t need to hide.” She dug in her rubber soles. Those things really grab.
“Come on. Everyone knows you’re a Watts.”
She smacked my hands and the buzzer buzzed again.
“What do I do?” asked Takira.
“Let them in,” I said, getting ready to pick up the spiky nun. “I thought you wanted to help.”
“I’ll give that Julia a piece of my mind.”
“You can’t spare it.” And I did it. I bear-hugged Aunt Miriam and carried her into the supply closet.
“You have lost y—”
I clamped my hand over her mouth and prayed that A, she wouldn’t bite me and B, that she wouldn’t tell Mom.
In a second, Julia was at the desk crabbing about Takira wasting her time. It was what, thirty seconds? Whatever, woman. Takira, to her credit, wasn’t having it. She told Julia that patients were her priority not answering the flipping door. That shut down Julia and I heard Nazir chime in and ask about the patients. He was calm and respectful as always and I could hear the warmth in Takira’s voice. She had nothing but daggers for Julia.
“No interviews will be possible,” she said.
“We were told that they would be awake this morning,” said Julia.
“You were misinformed.”
“They should be ready for interviews.”
“We’ll come back later,” said Nazir.
“We will not,” said Julia. “Wake them up.”
Aunt Miriam stiffened in my arms and I feared she’d break away to go after Julia with her cane. That would’ve been so sweet, but ultimately not useful.
“We’re not disturbing our patients for your convenience,” said Mark.
“We are investigating a crime,” said Julia. “We need to interview them now.”
“They are unconscious.”
“Unconscious how?”
“We’ll come back this afternoon,” said Nazir. “Detective Jones, let’s go.”
“No. Page the doctor. What’s his name?”
“If you think a doctor in this hospital will put your investigation in front of a patient’s welfare you’re insane,” said Takira.
“What did you just say?” asked Julia.
“Detective Jones. Now,” said Nazir.
“They’re probably not unconscious. What proof do we have of that?”
“Come take a look,” said Patsy, Calabasas’s nurse. “My patient hasn’t moved in six hours. He’s heavily sedated and critically wounded. Or don’t you believe that either?”
“We’re leaving,” said Nazir. “I apologize for the trouble.”
“Has Mercy Watts been here?” asked Julia.
I heard a hushed voice that could’ve been Nazir whispering, “Oh, my God.”
“I haven’t seen Miss Watts and I got here at five thirty,” said Patsy.
“So you all know her,” said Julia.
“Her mother was a patient,” said Mark. “And she’s a nurse.”
“Everyone knows her,” added Patsy.
“Call me if she shows up,” said Julia.
“Why?” asked Takira. “She’s not a suspect.”
“How would you know that?”
“It was on the news.”
“God dammit!”
A few minutes later the storage room door opened and Mark smiled at us. “She better hope she doesn’t get shot. I’ll give her an enema she won’t forget anytime soon.”
“What is her problem?” I asked.
“She’s scared,” said Aunt Miriam.
We all looked at her and she marched out of the closet.
“Wait.” I tried to grab her, but she was too fast.
“It’s okay,” said Takira. “They’re gone and Patsy’s back with Calabasas.”
“Great. Thanks.” I chased Aunt Miriam out the door and down to the large waiting room where our family and friends had gathered when Mom was in the ICU. Now Fred Williams’ family was there, and, instead of making me sad, they made me smile, sitting together sharing pastries and coffee, wreathed with smiles and relief.
I stepped back so they wouldn’t see me. There would be questions.
“Sister Miriam!” they exclaimed.
Aunt Miriam gave the badge back and told them how Fred looked to her. He was awake and wanted his daughter to come in. I went to the bathroom and changed back into myself. Sort of. I was tired. Purple smudges were still under my eyes. I hardly needed the eyeshadow to look exhausted.
“I’m glad she can’t see me now,” I said to the mirror.
Aunt Miriam marched in. “Who are you talking to? Don’t make me take you up to Psych.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are and always have been. No matter what people say.”
I frowned and felt more tired. I’m pretty sure the shadows got deeper under my eyes.
“I hear things,” said Aunt Miriam. “They’re idiots, mostly, like that Julia.”
“I thought you said she’s scared.”
“She is. The department would’ve done better to leave her with O’Malley’s.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Aunt Miriam was right. Fred Williams’ family was up on the news of the day. There were all kinds of witnesses to the triple with descriptions and details out the yingyang. Chuck and Sid had arrested three men in connection and it was essentially solved. I felt a surge of pride, but then remembered I was pissed at Chuck.
Julia’s case was a different story. She had nothing. The Williamses were already questioning why the department had given the case to a new, inexperienced detective, instead of the Collective Inquiry detectives. It wouldn’t take long before everyone else did, too. Julia had to pull something out or she’d lose the case and in the world of the cops, that was the kiss of death.
“Do you feel sorry for her?” I asked.
“I think she’s been thrown into the deep end and she’s handling it badly.”
I crossed my arms.
“Very badly,” she said.
“She’s got Nazir. He’s experienced.”
“Julia’s the lead. There’s only so much Nazir can do. You know that. When was Gavin ever able to rein Tommy in?”
Gavin was one of Dad’s partners, who’d been murdered not that long ago. I didn’t know anything about how Dad and Gavin worked, only that they were extremely successful.
“Nobody can rein Dad in. But Julia isn’t Tommy Watts. Dad would never act that way.” I left the bathroom and tossed my scrubs in the soiled linen hamper.
“That’s true,” said Aunt Miriam as we left the hospital. “Give me the keys. You need to call Morty.”
“That’s a hard pass.”
But a Watts doesn’t take no for an answer and Aunt Miriam was a Watts through and through. She marched next to me on her spindly little legs with her hand still out.
“I will drive,” she said.
“Not just no but heck no.”
“I’m a more experienced driver than you are.”
“So experienced that the Mother Superior took away your keys,” I said.
She grumbled, “It was only one accident.”
“That we know of.”
Aunt Miriam refused to wear glasses, had night blindness and cataracts. Letting her drive was asking to die a fiery death in the near future.
“I still have my license,” she said.
“And no car,” I said, unlocking the Isabella and opening the passenger door for her. “I’ll call and we’ll go.”
She grabbed for the keys and tried to wrestle them out of my hands. “You have to respect your elders.”
