Diagnosis: Death (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 2)

by A. P. Eisen

  Paul pulled him close and gave him a hot, hard, and way-too-quick kiss. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me for wanting to be with you.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  His anxiety escalating as they got closer to the hospital, Paul had crunched through an entire pack of mints by the time they pulled into a parking space. He and Cliff raced to the Emergency Room, and after searching through the miserable faces of waiting people, Paul spotted Rob sitting in the corner with his head in his hands.

  “There he is.” He tapped Cliff on the shoulder and pointed. They hurried to his side.

  “Rob.”

  At his greeting, Rob hugged him tight. “Shit, Paul. It’s awful. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my whole life.”

  “What happened?”

  “I dunno. We had dinner and she seemed okay, but I told you this one has been hard. Her blood pressure has been high, and she’s got this home machine they gave her to test it. So she did, and it seemed a little elevated. I told her to lie down and I’d clean up and put the kids to bed. Two hours later, I was in front of the television watching the game, when I heard her screaming for me. I ran to her and…” His face turned white. “She was in so much pain. It was horrible to see.”

  “Dammit. I’m sorry.” Paul didn’t know what to say, so he just held Rob.

  “I called for the ambulance, then had to wait for my in-laws to get there and watch the kids, who were awake and crying. When I got here, I found her hooked up to all these machines. She was crying, saying it was her fault she was going to lose the baby since she was treating it like a problem instead of a blessing. And all I could think of was that I wasn’t supportive enough about getting a better paying job and putting her under stress.” He rubbed his face. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

  “Where is she now?” Cliff asked.

  “They took her upstairs to run some tests and sent me out here until they have something to say.”

  “We’ll stay with you until you find out how she is.” Cliff squeezed Rob’s shoulder, and Paul knew how lucky he was to have someone steady and thoughtful like Cliff. “She’s in the best care now.”

  “Thanks. Hopefully it won’t be long.”

  It took another hour of waiting, during which Cliff left them to find coffee, while Paul tried to comfort Rob.

  “She’s a strong woman. She’ll be okay.”

  “I know. But I feel so damn guilty. Here I was bitching about my own child. How terrible a parent does that make me?”

  “It doesn’t. You’re a good person, and maybe you were surprised and overwhelmed, but you’re the best father and husband.”

  A ghost of a smile touched Rob’s lips “Says the gay man.”

  Paul chuckled. “Yeah. Says me.”

  “Mr. Gormley?”

  A nurse in baby-blue scrubs stood before them, her serious gaze shifting between him and Rob.

  Rob jumped to his feet. “That’s me. How’s my wife? Can I see her?”

  “Come with me, please. I’ll take you to her right away. We’ve admitted her.”

  Rob turned to him. “Thanks for coming. I’m not going to be at work tomorrow.”

  “If you were, I’d kick your butt. Now go and give her a kiss for me, and let me know what’s happening.”

  “Will do.”

  He walked away, and when Paul saw the nurse put her arm around Rob, Paul knew the news wasn’t good.

  Cliff came into the waiting room with a tray of three coffees. He glanced around the small, gloomy area. “Where’s Rob?”

  “They’ve admitted Annabel, so Rob is going to her room now. I don’t think it’s good news.” He took a coffee and drank some of the scalding brew.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope they come through it stronger.”

  “I imagine they will. Rob is crazy about her, and she’s a tough woman. Their family means everything to them, and they’ll have each other.”

  Cliff sat next to him and Paul nudged his shoulder.

  “I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

  Cliff’s face brightened.

  “I am too.

  Keeping his shoulder pressed to Cliff’s, Paul checked his watch. “Let’s go home. It’s late, and Rob said he’d let me know what’s happening when he can, but if it’s what I suspect, his concentration has to be on Annabel. I don’t think I’ll be hearing from him tonight.” They finished their coffees and left the hospital.

  The ride back to Cliff’s was a somber one, and Paul was drained by the time they walked into the house. He dropped onto the couch, and after kicking off his sneakers, stretched out his legs with a heavy sigh.

  “Life never goes as planned, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if I know Rob, he’s keeping up a brave front, but inside?” He tapped his chest. “Inside he’s beating himself up and thinking if he’d only been more enthusiastic about the baby, maybe everything would be okay now.”

  “But he has to know that has nothing to do with what happened.”

  “What we know in our hearts doesn’t always play well with what’s going on in our heads, you know what I mean?”

  Cliff said softly, “Yeah, I do.”

  Paul, thinking there was something behind those words, waited for a moment to see if Cliff would say anything further. When he didn’t, Paul continued. “You know…I had envisioned a very different evening for us.” He cast Cliff a wry grin. “And I hate being a spoilsport, but now without Rob tomorrow, I’m going to have to get into work earlier than anticipated.” A yawn slipped through, and the stress of the day and evening came crashing down on him.

  Amusement warmed Cliff’s amber eyes, and he extended his hand. “Well, then, let me put you to bed. I’ll make sure you wake up with plenty of time to get where you need to be.”

  “M’okay. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  Lead weights pulled his eyes shut as soon as he fell into bed.

  * * *

  Hot breath surrounded the crown of his cock, followed by Cliff’s gloriously wet mouth sucking him down. The last vestiges of sleep drained away as Cliff did something magical with his tongue, and Paul, having already been in the throes of a sexy dream when awakened, had little hope of putting the brakes on his orgasm, so he let it rip through him.

  “Ahhh.” He flailed and rolled his hips, body bowing off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Cliff held his sweat-dampened thighs tight until the last shudder rippled through him, and he looked decidedly satisfied with himself.

  “Better than an alarm clock?”

  It took Paul a moment to catch his breath before he opened his eyes. “Much. Now c’mere.” He pulled Cliff down for a kiss, then returned the favor.

  Two hours later he sat in front of the computer, the early morning pleasure buzz almost forgotten as worry over Rob, coupled with the increasingly tangled pieces of the Ulrich case, ran through his mind. It was only eight o’clock when he called Brick Radcliffe.

  “Flex, this is Brick.”

  “Mr. Radcliffe, I’m Detective Paul Monroe, Thornwood Park PD. I have a few questions, and I’d like to talk to you in person. Can I meet you at the gym, or would you rather come here?”

  “It’s about that fucking doctor, right?”

  “I’d rather speak in person, sir.”

  “Well,” he said, chewing noisily on something, “I can’t leave here, so if you wanna come, I’ll be in my office. Just tell Marcia at the front you’re here to see me.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  But Radcliffe had already hung up. Paul drank down the last of his coffee and grabbed his jacket. He snagged a set of car keys from the peg on the wall.

  “Catch you later,” he said to the female officer on desk duty out front.

  “Have you heard from Rob? Is everything okay?”

  “Not this morning. I’ll text him
a little later.”

  A little later meaning after he slid behind the wheel of the car.

  Hope everything’s okay. Send Annabel my love.

  Rob replied immediately.

  Not great. We lost the baby. Will talk later and I’ll let her know.

  Shit. Paul could only imagine how devastated both Rob and Annabel must feel, especially after Rob opening up to him about their surprise and hesitancy over this child. The guilt must be overwhelming. He drove to Flex in a blur, and by the time he parked and walked inside, Paul was in a piss-poor mood.

  “Brick Radcliffe, please. I’m Detective Paul Monroe, Thornwood PD,” he practically growled as he flashed his badge at the front-desk girl and tapped his foot. He watched her fumble with the phone and place the call.

  “Y-you can g-go right back there. First office on your left.”

  “Thanks.” He circled around the drywall and ladder. Business must be good if they were doing a little expanding. Paul strode down the hall and rapped on the door marked PRIVATE.

  “Come in.”

  He entered the office and closed the door behind him. Brick Radcliffe looked like Paul had anticipated—a big man with a bald head and oversized biceps straining through his tight black T-shirt. Small eyes peered at him with mistrust.

  “Monroe?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood and extended his hand. “Brick Radcliffe. Have a seat. Want some coffee?”

  Taken by surprise at the civil greeting, Paul shook his head and pulled out his notepad and pen. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m here because, as you must know by now, Dr. Dean Ulrich was murdered three days ago. We’ve been told that you and Dr. Ulrich had somewhat of an altercation concerning your son.”

  An unpleasant smile came and went on Radcliffe’s face. “That’s a nice way of putting it. I threatened to beat the crap outta him over what the hospital did to my son.” The smile faded, and Paul witnessed true distress on the man’s face. “What would you do? I gave them a perfectly healthy kid, with a World Series arm. Scouts were crawlin’ up his butt, couldn’t throw money at him fast enough. Now? He’s barely able to move his fingers.”

  “What’s the prognosis?” He couldn’t help but feel sympathy for both Billie and his father.

  “We should know in a few months, after the grafts take. But as far as college scholarships, the scouts won’t even take our calls no more.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Now, you threatened Dr. Ulrich, I believe? Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Sure.” His lips stretched in a humorless smile. “I find out my kid may be permanently damaged because someone on his staff fucked up. I lost my shit, ain’t gonna lie. I’m sure you’ve said stuff you didn’t mean ’cause you were angry. But I ain’t never laid a hand on nobody in my life. You can ask anyone. I got a big mouth, I know that. But that don’t mean I killed nobody.”

  For some perverse reason, Paul believed him, but he needed all the loose ends tied up. “Where were you on the morning of the fifth? That would be Saturday morning, between four and eight a.m.”

  “I got to the gym at seven thirty for a training session. It takes me about half an hour to get from my house to downtown. But I was home all night before then.”

  “Did anyone see you get up that morning?”

  “I mean, yeah. My wife ’n me, we got, you know, intimate.” Radcliffe dropped his gaze to the table.

  “You remember that morning specifically?”

  Turning red, the man shrugged. “We, uh, kinda do it every morning. It’s a nice way to wake up, ya know?”

  Recalling how he was woken up that morning, Paul could relate.

  “Do you know around what time that was?”

  “I mean, it’s not like I checked the clock, ya know? But prolly about six or so.”

  “And”—Paul tried to be delicate—“do you remember how long it took?”

  God, he missed Rob.

  At that, Radcliffe puffed up. “At least half an hour, maybe more.”

  Which still left him time to meet Ulrich at the park and bash his head in. Not much, but Paul liked to have all the time accounted for.

  “I didn’t do nothin’ to him. Yeah, I was angry, but I ain’t a murderer.” He slammed his fist down on his desk, sending papers skidding off the top and the dish of paper clips rattling. Paul said nothing but raised his brows, and Radcliffe caught his look and deflated before his eyes. “If you wanna know who probably killed him, go after that stupid kid Shane. He thinks he’s so slick, but I know he’s been banging clients on the side, and I’m sick of it. Might be time to let him go. I ain’t running a gym for him to be pickin’ up guys.”

  Paul decided to try another tactic. “You know Dr. Ulrich issued a restraining order against you. Have you abided by that?”

  “Hell, yeah. I don’t want to see that fucker’s face again.”

  “Well, now you won’t have to.”

  Radcliffe paled.

  Paul reviewed his notes. “Mr. Radcliffe, did you stop anywhere on your way to the gym that morning? Maybe for coffee?”

  He brightened. “Yeah. Sonofabitch, I did. I stopped at the gas station and got the paper and filled my tank.”

  “Do you have a receipt, for the gas or the paper? Anything?”

  Radcliffe scrambled to open the drawer and pulled out his wallet. Paul watched his fingers shake and fumble as he riffled through the little slips of paper.

  “Ah. Here.” Radcliffe threw the receipt across the desk. “That’s the receipt for the gas.”

  Paul checked the time stamp—6:52, the morning of the murder, on the opposite side of town from Thornwood Fields. It would be pretty hard for Radcliffe to leave home, get gas, speed through town, park, meet Ulrich, bash his head in, and get to the gym for his training session.

  Radcliffe’s face twisted in misery. “I didn’t do nothin’. I swear. I gotta look out for my kids now. You should look at Shane. He and Ulrich got into a fight here two days before Ulrich got killed.”

  “They did? Do you know what about?” Paul’s heart kicked up, adrenaline buzzing through him.

  “Nah, but Ulrich was pissed. Told me he wanted a different trainer.”

  “Did he?” Paul wrote it all down. “Was Shane told?”

  “Dunno, but we can check at the front when we’re finished.”

  Paul held up the receipt. “Mind if I take this with me?”

  “Not if it’s gonna help clear my name.”

  Paul slid it into an evidence glassine bag and tucked it away. “Let’s go.”

  Brick heaved himself out of his chair, and Paul followed him to the front.

  “Be careful of the construction.” They stepped around the paint cans.

  “Expanding?”

  “Yeah. Gonna put in some stretching tables and add another room for weights.” Brick stopped at the small front desk at the entrance to the gym. “Marcia, did Dr. Ulrich request to change trainers the last time he was here? Did you tell Shane?”

  Her wide brown eyes blinked rapidly. “Yeah. I did.” Pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “He got kinda mean about it.”

  Putting on as friendly a voice as he could, Paul leaned on the desk. “Do you remember what he said, Marcia? If you can.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded rapidly. “He said, ‘Screw him. He’s going to regret doing that to me.’ ”

  Paul raised his gaze to meet Radcliffe’s shocked one.

  Bingo.

  “Thanks, Marcia. You’ve been very helpful.” He pulled Radcliffe aside. “Don’t speak to Shane about anything, understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah. You think he’s it, though?”

  Ignoring the question, Paul asked his own. “Can you give me his schedule, please?”

  “Marcia, give Shane’s schedule to the detective.” Radcliffe stood by, rocking on his heels while the receptionist printed out Shane’s hours. She took it from the printer and handed it to him with a trembling hand.

  “Thanks.”

  “So,�
�� Radcliffe asked as he walked Paul to the door, “does this mean you believe me? I swear I ain’t had nothing to do with killing Ulrich. Much as I’d have liked to punch his lights out.”

  Paul wondered if the man realized he should keep his mouth shut. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Before he started the car to drive to the precinct, Paul checked to see if there were any messages from Rob. Nothing. His chest tightened. He couldn’t imagine how painful it must be for him and Annabel.

  A text popped up from Cliff: I know you’re working, but I’m going to go visit my mother again tonight, around 6:30. She’s having a good day, my dad said. Any news from Rob? TTYL.

  He debated whether to answer now, but it was getting a little late and he needed to go to the precinct and file his report. He could do it after. Paul drove back to the station and first texted Rob: Just checking in to see if you’re both okay.

  Then, in the middle of texting Cliff, a ruckus sounded at the front of the station. He set the phone down and stood, peering over the heads of the others, who’d also jumped up to see what was happening.

  “Get your fucking hands off me. I’ll sue you bastards. Fucking cops. Lemme call my mother. She’ll get me a lawyer.”

  A young man, obviously high on something, was handcuffed and being held by an officer on either side. His T-shirt was stained, and there was enough dirt and dust on his jeans to imagine he’d been rolling around on the ground. Hanks of sweaty blond hair fell over his face.

  “I said I want a lawyer. I ain’t gonna talk to you bastards if you don’t get me one.” He twisted his arms out of the officers’ grips and began kicking and punching anyone within reach. The female officer to his right took a blow to the stomach.

  Paul leaped into action and pushed his way past his colleagues.

  “Chase.” Paul pulled the young man around and pushed his face to the desk. The dazed, strung-out youth lifted his gaze to meet Paul’s with a snarl.

  “Yeah? Oh, you. Fuck you. You ain’t gonna figure out who killed my old man. Who cares? He was a homo. He liked to fuck guys.” He began to kick, and Paul knew the kid was so high, he had no idea what he was doing or saying. “I told him I wouldn’t say anything if he’d give me pills. He laughed at me. Said I was good for nothing and I should rot in jail. And now he’s dead, and he won’t laugh at me anymore.”