by Sydney Bauer
Joe nodded. ‘We haven't had a chance to talk to the woman yet, Frank. Things aren't always as they seem.’
‘True, but more often than not, Chief, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck …’
‘We'll see, Frank. We'll see.’
*
Fifteen minutes later, having parked their car illegally outside the front of the hospital and grabbed their radios in case they needed to call for backup, Joe and Frank ran across the road toward the hospital's busy front entrance. It was raining, so they wiped their feet as they waited for the automatic glass doors to open before walking straight ahead and then turning right, following the signs to the ER.
‘I hate these places,’ said Joe, Frank a mere step behind him.
‘My mom used to say that hospitals were the world's greatest equalisers,’ said Frank. ‘Junkies, CEOs, old, young, black, white – there's nothing like a medical emergency to level the playing field.’
‘Let's just hope this game isn't over before we arrive,’ said Joe as they rounded the corridor toward the ER.
‘I'm sorry, Joe,’ said a familiar voice. They looked up to see Lisa Cavanaugh, who was moving quickly toward them, her long dark hair caught up in a messy ponytail. ‘I heard from the registrar that Frank had called,’ she nodded at Frank, ‘and I gathered you'd be pissed.’ Lisa had never been one to mince words, and for that, at least in this instance, Joe was grateful.
‘How did this happen, Lisa?’ asked Joe.
‘Your cop on the door took a leak and Mrs Walker's friends moved in. Her doctor had a conversation with the registrar who subsequently agreed to release Mrs Walker into his care.’ Lisa's bright green eyes met Joe's brown ones. ‘She's going home, Joe. We have no reason to hold her.’
Joe shook his head. ‘Do you know if a man named Daniel Hunt was the second of the two friends that spoke to the registrar?’
‘Yes. He's been in and out for the past two days. He told me he knew you – and David,’ she said as she gestured for them to follow her down the equipment cluttered corridor.
‘And the doc's name is Davenport?’ asked Joe.
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘The thing is, the woman isn't sick, Joe, at least not in the conventional sense, and given our situation here …’ she gestured at the row of metal beds now lining the narrow corridor, ‘… we need all the beds we can get.’
‘Your registrar should have called us,’ said Joe as Lisa stopped in front of a pair of blue painted doors.
‘Maybe, but strictly speaking consulting with a patient's physician is standard procedure – and the woman isn't under arrest.’
Unfortunately Lisa was right, which, while frustrating, was no surprise to Joe. She and her fellow ER staffers were well schooled on the legalities of their responsibilities in regards to the law, considering the emergency room often acted as a limbo for criminals about to face the consequences of their actions.
‘You want me to come in with you?’ asked Lisa as she went to use her ID to swipe them through the next set of doors.
‘No,’ said Joe. ‘You've been a help already, Lisa.’
She nodded, and Joe saw in her eyes that they were ‘cool’.
‘This is a short cut to Mrs Walker's ward,’ she said as the blue doors opened inward to reveal a new corridor painted pink. ‘Her room is number 13. Last time I checked, her two friends were in there with her.’
Joe nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘Not a problem,’ she told him. ‘And I apologise if we've caused you any –’ Lisa began, only to be interrupted by a new voice echoing behind them.
‘You wait right there, Mannix,’ called the man.
Joe's stomach knotted as his hands curled involuntarily into fists.
‘You're not going anywhere until we've had a conversation,’ Katz continued as he strode toward them, his Italian shoes clicking on the hard linoleum floor.
‘Shit, I'm sorry, Joe,’ whispered Lisa, obviously identifying Katz from her brother's previous trials. ‘I don't know how he got back here. No one is meant to be in this area without authorisation.’
‘That's okay,’ said Joe. ‘The Kat has a way of slinking around unnoticed.’
Joe turned to Frank. ‘Your mom was wrong,’ he whispered.
‘About what?’ asked Frank.
‘About hospitals being equalisers. If they were, the Kat would be laid out on a stretcher.’
‘Could be arranged,’ said Frank.
‘Don't tempt me,’ said Joe.
12
New York born, Boston Tribune Deputy Editor Marc Rigotti knew that journalism was a matter of swings and roundabouts. At face value the electronic news guys had it all over their newspaper competitors given they could put a story to air in minutes whereas Rigotti had to wait until the following morning to release his investigatory wares. But there were advantages in playing the game in print, the first one being that Rigotti could move in and out of a potential story set-up without the telltale entourage of a camera and audio tech, and the second being the time lapse between investigation and publication, giving Rigotti and his fellow broadsheet hacks the chance to dig that fraction deeper and unveil details the pretty boys had left unearthed.
The getting-in part was easy. Rigotti simply strolled past a security dude who was busy dressing down two TV guys who had their equipment laden crews in tow. The ER itself would be harder to tackle, he might even have to stretch the professional boundaries by dodging a nurse or two.
But it could be well worth it, he reasoned, given there were a couple of things that told Rigotti this visit was about more than just Roger Katz getting his publicity-hungry rocks off – the first being the rumour that Sienna Walker was being released from the hospital, and the second being the fact that Rigotti had spotted Joe Mannix's Nissan parked illegally out front. Rigotti had spent a solid ten years on the Tribune's crime desk before becoming Deputy Editor – long enough for he and Mannix to become friends of sorts, as much as their respective professions would allow.
The DA, the Head of Homicide and the mom of a murdered baby, Rigotti thought to himself as he nipped quickly in and out of a nearby male rest room, allowing a dark-haired nurse to pass by before slipping through the still closing automatic doors. Add to that the TV crews out front and the nervous-looking security dudes and one might guess that something was about to go down.
And he was right of course, his assumptions confirmed when he heard the raised voices just beyond the corridor's next bend – and given he had spent a good decade of his life attending crime scene after crime scene, and reporting on trial after trial, he knew exactly who those voices belonged to, and counted himself more than just a little lucky that the narrow hospital walkway acted as an amplifier to the argument taking place beyond.
*
‘Blatantly irresponsible … professionally negligent … grossly inept.’
After a good minute of berating, Joe had finally had enough. ‘Why are you here, Roger?’ he asked, taking a step toward the red-faced DA.
Katz stepped back, just a fraction. ‘What do you mean “Why am I here”? I am here because you have failed in your duties to keep me informed, I am here because I am the District Attorney and I care about the victims of crime in this county, I am here because we owe Mrs Walker an explanation as to what happened to her child and I am here because the public needs to know we are doing our best to ensure that the perpetrator is apprehended.’
And then the penny dropped. ‘You've called the press,’ said Joe. ‘You've set up your own mini-showcase to go with the woman's release from hospital.’
But Katz did a double-take. ‘Sienna Walker is being released?’ His face lit up momentarily before settling back into ‘man of the people’ mode. ‘Well I was not aware of that, but that makes my visit all the more pertinent. Mrs Walker needs to know she has the support of the people. She needs to know we won't leave a stone unturned until …’
But Katz was interrupted by the ring of Joe's cell.
‘
I thought you were going to turn that thing off,’ Katz took another shot before Joe, immediately recognising the incoming number, turned his back on the DA and signalled for Frank to join him.
‘It's Martinelli,’ Joe whispered to his partner, referring to their Crime Lab Unit chief. ‘You need to get down to room 13 and stand watch over Walker.’
Frank turned to move down the corridor as Joe finally picked up the call.
‘Martinelli,’ said Joe. ‘I have a situation here so you need to talk fast. You got something for me?’
‘More than something,’ said Martinelli.
Joe's heart skipped a beat. ‘What is it?’ he said, taking several steps further away from the now hovering DA.
‘Well, I got some preliminaries on the blood at the crime scene. The bulk of it came from the kid, and she was AB positive.’
The type was rare, but that had no bearing on the case at hand. ‘Okay.’ Joe cupped his cell to his ear.
‘But there is a second sample – quite a substantial sample – which was A.’
‘The perp's,’ said Joe.
‘Has to be. It was found in the cot and on the carpet so that's what we're thinking.’
‘This doesn't give me anything, Martinelli – and it won't until you can work on the DNA.’
‘You're right, and like I said, these things take time, but just now, in the lab, I noticed something from the get-go. I did some preliminaries and it appears that the blood from the kid and the blood from the unidentified person, well …’ Martinelli hesitated, ‘they have commonalities.’
‘Commonalities?’ Joe's brow furrowed.
‘Markers that indicate the two are related.’
‘The second sample belongs to the mother?’
‘I'd stake my career on it, and a sample from her will confirm it.’
Joe glanced at Katz, predicting exactly what was going to happen next.
‘Mannix?’ said Martinelli. ‘You there?’
‘I'm here. You work on that nightshirt yet?’
‘It's in analysis. But I know about Gus's suppositions and from where I stand, the blood on Walker's nightshirt was transferred.’
Joe nodded. ‘Okay. Listen, I gotta go. I'm about to see the mom now.’
‘You need a preliminary report for the DA?’ asked Martinelli.
Joe stole a second glance at the impatient-faced DA. ‘The Kat is clawing up my ass as we speak,’ he whispered.
‘He's at the hospital?’
‘Him and twenty or so of his closest media buddies.’
‘The man is a fuckwit.’
‘That's the general consensus,’ replied Mannix, before thanking Martinelli and hanging up.
13
‘I don't understand,’ said Sienna Walker, trying desperately to maintain her composure. She clutched at the front of her dressing gown. She felt vulnerable, afraid, her head still groggy from a second day of drug-induced detachment. ‘Daniel, why are we going this way, why do I need to …?’
‘Because the police do not have your best interests at heart,’ said Dick Davenport, who with Daniel Hunt was now rushing Sienna Walker down a set of fire escape stairs. ‘Listen, Sienna, we have a car waiting out front for us. We asked the driver to keep a lookout and he texted us saying he saw two plain-clothes police entering the hospital in a hurry. Their descriptions matched the two detectives who attended your house on Saturday, which means we need to act quickly – to make sure you are safe. I can take you home. I can organise for security. You need to rest. You need to recuperate.’
‘Recuperate,’ bit Sienna, Davenport's words cutting instantly through the fog. She fought desperately to hold it all together, knowing that at least at this point, it was the only option open to her. She stopped short on a concrete stair landing, staring at the two all-too familiar faces that looked down at her with intent. ‘I am not sick, Richard, my daughter has been murdered.’ She swallowed the sob in her throat.
‘Yes,’ said Daniel, the first words he had spoken in moments. Daniel's eyes searched her own as he moved forward to take both her hands, her left wrist still encircled by the hospital's plastic ID bracelet. ‘But after listening to Dick's reasoning, I think he is right. The fact is, Eliza is gone, and your immediate priority is damage control.’
Sienna took a breath.
‘The police want to ask you questions,’ Daniel continued, his cool hands firm against her own, ‘which is why we need to get you out of here, and speak to your lawyer.’
He pulled her further down the stairwell as she shook her head, trying desperately to make sense of it. ‘I have a lawyer?’ she asked.
‘I'm in the process of organising it.’
‘Why do I need a lawyer?’ she asked.
‘Because Eliza is dead.’
‘And they think … you think I …?’
‘It is not about what we or anyone else thinks, Sienna. Our only desire is to protect you.’ Davenport hesitated then and slowed to turn toward her. ‘Jim is dead. You were grieving. Eliza was a handful. You were tired, emotional.’
‘I didn't kill my daughter,’ she said through gritted teeth, attempting to shake free from his grip.
‘You've been through a very tough time,’ said Davenport.
As they reached the level labelled ‘Exit’, his cell echoed in the stairwell, causing Sienna to jump.
‘It's the driver,’ said Davenport, opening the text message. ‘Someone alerted the media. They are blocking the entrance out front.’
Hunt's hand moved upward to form a circle around Sienna's ID band. ‘This might be an opportunity,’ he said to Davenport, completely ignoring Sienna. ‘We should take her out the front. Show the media she has nothing to hide.’
Davenport's brow folded but Daniel turned to Sienna, decision made.
‘Appearances matter,’ he said. ‘We need to turn around and take you back out the front, and you need to follow my lead, move when I move, stop when I stop, and when I give you the signal, profess your grief but your hope that the person who killed your daughter will be brought to justice. You need the media on your side, Sienna, and that means getting them to fall in love with you …’ his fist tightened against her skin, ‘… the moment you walk out that door. Do you understand me?’
Sienna Walker stood stock still on the landing, her bare feet cold against the smooth grey concrete. There were, of course, so many ways she could react – with tears, despair, gratitude, violence, resistance, rage – but in the end she chose the safest option, that of controlled acquiescence. ‘I understand,’ she said, turning her wrist ever so slightly to indicate that she was willing to do as they said.
*
‘They're gone,’ said Frank McKay, announcing the news as he ran up the corridor toward Joe.
‘What?’
‘Who's gone?’ asked Katz. ‘I demand to know what is going on.’
Frank looked at Joe, his expression saying that the time for stalling was over, that like it or not, Katz had a part to play in all this, and they would need him to get this done.
‘Go find out if there is a rear exit way out of here,’ said Joe to Frank. ‘Radio HQ for backup and keep in contact.’ Joe lifted his own radio, signalling for Frank to stay on the line.
‘Mannix.’ Katz grabbed Joe by the upper arm. ‘I said, what the hell is –’
‘All right, just shut the hell up and listen,’ Joe cut him off, shrugging his hand from Katz's grip. ‘Sienna Walker is a suspect.’
Katz's jaw dropped to the floor. ‘You have evidence against her?’
‘The wire screen on the kid's window was forced from the inside, my fingerprint experts confirm the woman never attempted to turn on the light after she found the cot empty, and Martinelli just called to confirm he found not one but two blood samples at the scene – the second one genetically related to the first.’
Katz's almond eyes widened as he took it all in. Joe could see it, the cogs of self-preservation turning in Katz's brain. He was working out how to make the m
ost of this new set of circumstances, which Joe figured would not take long.
‘Right. That's more than enough for probable cause,’ he said, just as Joe had predicted he would.
‘Hold on, Roger, there's still one thing that bothers me,’ said Joe.
Katz rolled his eyes. ‘This is no time for your cowardly conservatism, Mannix.’
‘It's the nightshirt,’ a determined Joe went on, ignoring the jibe. ‘Svenson thinks the kid bled out at the scene, while being held up –’ Joe cradled his arms – ‘like this. But the blood on Walker's nightshirt was minimal, transferred, which means …’
‘Which means she got rid of the evidence,’ Katz dismissed him. ‘And it's your job to find the missing item of clothing so that I can do my job.’
The smile was starting to form now, and Katz made little or no effort to contain it. ‘Granted motive is foggy,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘I've heard all this shit about baby blues, and that's no doubt the way she'll play it … but hiding the nightshirt indicates the woman had not lost the plot completely, and murder is murder, and it is our duty to see that little girl did not lose her life in vain so –’
‘Chief.’ It was Joe's radio, interrupting the DA mid-sentence.
‘Frank,’ Joe replied, bring the radio to his ear, ‘where the hell are you?’
‘I'm out front,’ responded Frank, the background noise almost deafening. ‘And I found them. Jesus, Chief, it's pissing down out here now – just in time for the main players to walk the red carpet.’
‘Fuck,’ said Joe. ‘Hunt and his friends have decided to make a show of it.’
‘Smart, when you think about it,’ said Frank.
Joe nodded before turning to Katz. ‘Walker's out front along with your entourage,’ Joe said, making no bones about knowing it was Katz who'd alerted the media, and another smile from the DA confirmed it. ‘You sure you want to do this, Katz?’ he added.
Katz's expression turned serious. ‘Of course I'm sure.’ He straightened his tie.
