by LS Sygnet
Chapter 7
Before Devlin could shoot off the bed, I gave a slight shake of my head and smiled at Journey. Rapport was good. So much for Devlin's theory that she might relate better to a woman. I had the distinct impression that he could charm the girl into giving him anything he wanted, case-related or otherwise.
I hadn't noticed it before, but other than his swarthy skin tone, he and Journey Ireland shared the same intense eye and hair color. Of course Devlin was a beast of a man and Journey looked spritely by comparison.
"Ms. Ireland, Dr. Waters will be in to see you later about the problem with your vocal chords. In the meantime, I thought maybe we could talk with these." I waved the stack of papers.
She nodded. Devlin started to move and I shook my head again. His eyebrows aimed for the nose, but he cooperated. I slid the over bed table to Journey's lap and laid the pages down.
"Let's start with something simple, Ms. Ireland, or do you prefer doctor?"
She wrote Journey and underscored it three times. A shy smile followed when she peeked through eyelashes out to here at Devlin.
"Journey... that's a lovely name, very unique."
A slow flush rose to the apples of her cheeks. My mom and dad were fans of the band. You know, Journey? Dad used to tease Mom and tell her if it weren't for that singer guy's voice, she'd have never been in the mood to make me.
I chuckled softly. "Your parents sound close."
They were before Dad died. Mom is sick now, and before she stopped speaking, it seemed like she was reliving what happened to him all the time.
"That must've been difficult for you," Devlin said.
Journey shrugged and glanced at me, questioning in silence.
"Tell me what your normal routine is, say on a Monday morning like today."
I come to the hospital and work my shift. Today was no different. We had a staff meeting at eight and I was running behind because of the road construction out on Bayshore Drive. I called my team leader and told her.
"So you work every Monday through…?"
Friday. Eight to five. Normal day.
"Journey, were you wearing any jewelry this morning?"
One hand flew to her throat.
"Yes?"
She nodded. I wear Dad's wedding ring on a chain, but never on the outside of my clothing. At least not at work. Some of our patients can be violent, so I don't want to put temptation in front of them.
I recalled a mishap with my engagement ring during my internship years ago. One of the patients grabbed my hand and squeezed so hard, the diamond sliced through the side of my finger. I still had a scar.
"We'll check with Ginny to make sure it's in a safe place, Journey. You don't suppose that the man who assaulted you would've been after that ring for some reason, do you?"
She shook her head violently and then winced. He didn't take my necklace. I doubt he even saw it. Under my blouse.
"Do you remember anything about him?"
He grabbed me from behind. I didn't see his face.
Devlin spoke, low and soothing. "Journey, did he say anything to you?"
Don't scream. But I did.
That was what alerted me to her distress. Morning suddenly felt like a week ago not a few hours. I pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. "Journey, this is very important. Did you say anything to the man who attacked you?"
I told him he could have my purse.
Good girl. It's a rookie mistake when women try to fight off a thief. Maybe he would've taken it and run, spared her the physical injury if I hadn't popped out with a gun. I cursed the prickling in my conscience. It was my job to intervene. Wasn't it?
"Did he say anything to you after you told him he could have the purse?" Devlin asked.
I don't remember anything else.
That she recalled this much surprised me. I knew there had been more. She didn't remember fighting him. Recall echoed through my brain cells. Thud. Grunt. Bitch. "Journey, just so we're clear, what were the contents of your purse?"
A bank debit card, an American Express credit card, my hospital ID, keys to the car and my apartment, maybe a compact and some lipstick.
These were the items Williams and I discovered when we searched through her purse. Unless he rifled through it between the time she offered and I made my presence known, I was sure he wasn't after her purse. It pushed the realm of motive toward the assault and not theft. But Journey wasn't finished.
He didn't grab my purse when I offered it. I thought it was strange.
"Do you remember Dr. Eriksson from this morning?" Devlin asked.
She shook her head again, paused and scribbled another underscored message. Dr. Eriksson, thank you for saving my life.
"Devlin did the hard part," I said. "Did they tell you that he carried you into the emergency department?"
Another peek at her white knight, and she shook her head. Journey wrote the number two after her last message so that it read thank you too.
"Can you think of anyone who might've had a grudge, anyone who was upset enough to attack you? I understand if you're reluctant to discuss threats that might've been made by patients, Journey, but threats are not protected health information."
She sucked in a slow breath through her nose. A lot of my patients are very confused, Dr. E. They generally don't have the capacity to remember the threats they make. As for my personal situation, no. I can't think of anyone who would do something like this.
Liar. I watched Devlin's eyes darken and let him ask the question on the tip of his tongue. "Not even James Linder?"
Jim???
"Yes," Devlin said. "I spoke with two of your friends today and he was the first person they mentioned when they found out someone attacked you."
She shook her head. More tears fell. We broke up. That's all. I didn't keep in touch with him because my friends weren't comfortable with him, not because of Jim.
Devlin slipped off the edge of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that the truth, Ms. Ireland?"
She couldn't meet the gaze, answer enough in my opinion that there was far more to the story. Journey laid down her ink pen with a finality that communicated the end of her answers.
"Journey, we're going to keep looking for the man who attacked you. If something else happens or I have more questions, would it be all right if Detective Mackenzie and I come back to talk to you again?"
She gave a minuscule nod and closed her eyes.
"Thank you for cooperating with us," I said. "Be well, and we'll talk again soon."
Devlin followed me into the hall. "You know she's lying."
"Yep."
"About this middle aged creep Linder."
"Uh-huh."
"Doesn't that piss you off?"
"The lying part or the fact that she's protecting a middle aged creep?"
He shook his head. "I don't get women."
"Excuse me? Somehow, based on how fast you charmed her into a rapport, I think that you can get just about any woman you want."
"You have a knack for left handed compliments, don't you Helen?"
I wiggled the fingers of my left hand. "It is my dominant limb."
"I'm trying to be serious. What is it with women who protect men that a bullet between the eyes would be too kind for? I don't get it. What's the allure?"
Wrong question. Definitely the wrong ears to hear it. "Not all women tolerate bad behavior or defend it. Some of us file for divorce."
"Really? Your husband was a jerk?"
I rolled my eyes. Mackenzie already admitted to membership in the Darkwater Gossip Club when he told me that he, Ned and Crevan had been talking. "You want to hear it from me personally or will my solemn vow that Ned and Crevan probably didn't exaggerate too much suffice?"
"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to pry."
"Yeah, whatever."
"Helen, I mean it. I keep screwing up with you and I don't even know where the land mines are located. I'm sorry I offended you."
>
I must be a sucker for blue eyes. They're the opposite of Rick's after all. "It's all right, Devlin. Men in this city gossip. I assumed that my sordid past was still fodder these days."
"So this ex of yours, he's a real bastard, huh?"
"Not anymore." I called for the elevator. "Why women like the bad boys is a mystery to me, Devlin. Some of us attract it whether we want it or not."
"Really?"
"Hmm." First floor couldn't come fast enough. "So what's the plan for Linder? I'm half curious to see if you can drag, threaten or intimidate the truth out of him."
"Ned's taking that interview. He figured that since Linder is fifty-something, he might be more apt to open up to someone older, though I would've never figured Ned for the AARP crowd."
"I doubt Linder fancies himself that way either. Unlike Journey Ireland, James Linder might be more susceptible to a female interviewer than a male. Less testosterone to challenge his prowess."
"Is that an offer?" Devlin's fingers curled around my arm before I could step into the hospital lobby. "We're supposed to get together and compare notes tonight. Crevan wanted to talk to you about finding the other boyfriend who's stationed somewhere overseas. He thought we might have to go through the State Department to find him."
"I suppose I could offer some suggestions – for both," I said. "Linder and finding bachelor number three."
"We're gonna powwow at the diner by division at seven." He glanced at his watch. "It's five-thirty. I could see if they're available now."
"Devlin, I'm tired. I want to go home and take another pain pill and have a... bottle of water and go to bed. Maybe we should talk in the morning."
My cell phone chose that inopportune moment to ring. I recognized the number on the screen. With a heavy sigh, I answered. "Hi Crevan."
"She lives."
"Funny, but I think I've heard that one before. What's up?"
"Dinner for two at this great place I know."
"Oh? Who's the lucky couple?"
"It's a place that has a great view of the Pacific, though it's a bit cold for dining outdoors. How does sushi sound?"
"Like I'd need a barf bag. I thought you were meeting Ned and Devlin at the diner at seven."
"As little as I have to report, I figured I could do it by phone."
I caught a glimpse of my emaciated reflection in the sliding glass exit doors. God, they were all right. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I hate sushi, Crevan. Bring anything else, and the three of you can have your little case briefing at my place. I'm dying for a pain pill right now, so don't test my patience."
"See you at seven." He hung up before I could chastise him for being a manipulative man.
"You heard?"
Devlin nodded. "Are you sure you're up to this?"
"A girl's got to eat."
"Should I call Shelly and Commander Orion?"
"Is OSI involved?" Be casual. Act surprised that a nothing case would warrant intervention from Johnny Almighty.
"Surely you know why he has a vested interest in this case, Helen. I have to admit, I'm still not entirely convinced that it has anything to do with what happened to Journey's father, but it's hard to completely dismiss it. Why didn't you ask her more questions about her father?"
"She's barely processing what happened today. Dredging up her father's murder on the heels of having her throat cut would've been a mistake."
"Poor kid," Devlin muttered. "What a life."
Indeed.
Chapter 8
Crevan arrived first with three huge bags stuffed with everything from ribs and slaw to a bucket of strawberry soft serve. I took it as a good sign for the guest list for the impromptu briefing over dinner. Ribs equaled pork. Shelly was a devout Jew. Pork meant no Shelly. No Shelly equaled no need for OSI.
I relaxed a little bit and started munching on sliced pickles from a pint sized styrofoam container while Crevan started unpacking more food than my house had held since my first and last dinner party. He swatted at my hand.
"Save some of those pickles for the rest of us."
"Want me to get a bottle of wine?"
He squinted ever so slightly. "When was the last time you took a pain pill, and should I be worried about this love affair you're apparently having with Ernest and Julio?"
"Ha-ha. As if I'd have something that cheap in the wine cellar."
Crevan grinned. "As I recall, it's more of a closet than it is a real cellar. Answer the question, detective. Did you or did you not consume narcotic pain medication within the past ninety minutes?"
"Guilty as charged." I nibbled more pickle. "So who's this guy we need the State Department to find?"
"Trevor Kent, aged twenty-eight, graduate of Metro State three years ago."
"And he's already landed a foreign post? Impressive."
"His father is former U.S. Senator Michael Kent, retired. He had good connections, which from what I've learned about becoming even something as lowly as an attaché to an ambassador, seems to be a prerequisite."
I pointed my nose heavenward. "It does help to run in the correct circles."
"Running in circles is right. I thought I'd go blind trying to find someone who could help me pin down enough on this guy to learn who his family is. You can see why your connections will be so helpful."
"I think Devlin found a faster track than people who may or may not be inclined to do a favor to the disgraced former special agent," I said. "He's got Ms. Journey Ireland wrapped around his little finger it would seem."
"You talked to him?"
"And to her," I said. "We were leaving MSUH when you called me. I really was wiped out when you offered Jose's Diner as an alternative to dinner at home."
"Huh," Crevan grunted. "Dinner alone in this mausoleum is no guarantee that you'd actually eat anything." He slammed the freezer door after depositing his soft serve and pinned me with a critical stare. "How bad is it, Helen? Really."
"How bad is what?"
"Your recovery."
"I'm getting better, okay? And about the weight thing and holing up in here alone all the time, I'm dealing with that too."
"Promise?"
I started to make the ever deceptive X over my heart when his mouth slanted in an unfavorable direction. "I promise. I'm on Prozac as of today. Happy now?"
"I'd be happier if I thought our reality check this morning had anything to do with it."
"What reality check?"
"The one where I suggested you're looking rather wan. You couldn't see it, could you?"
I stuffed half a dozen chunks of dill in my mouth and muttered, "Wasn't really looking."
"That's what I thought. Sit," he ordered with a point to a chair when the doorbell chimed. "I'll show the rest of this motley crew in. I want to see a full plate when I come back, and we're not leaving until you eat every last bite."
The thought of more than pickles, which made my gut feel stretched to the limit already, presented reason enough for more panic. Oh that life could be filled with such trivial problems. Ned, Devlin and Shelly strolled into the kitchen. Ned's shock had worn off after our first encounter, and Devlin had no idea what bad really meant.
Shelly's jaw dropped. "Helen..."
"Don't start. I've had enough lectures for one day about letting myself go. It's one of the unfortunate side effects of living from pain pill to pain pill. Can we please eat and get this conversation started? I'd like to snooze before my high abates."
Little nervous wings flapped in the middle of starving Africa when I saw Shelly. It had less to do with worry that she wouldn't have anything Kosher for dinner and more to do with who else might join the party. (As it turned out, the ribs were beef.) But nobody objected to my suggestion, and soon enough, we were all eating and chatting about what everyone had learned about Journey Ireland.
Point of clarification – they chowed heartily. I nibbled and rearranged until Crevan's stern and pointed stare resulted in the urge to simply sit on my hands.
"Start eating, Helen. I wasn't joking."
I cleaned half a rib while Ned told me that James Linder owned an insurance agency. "His secretary said he called at about nine this morning and said he was feeling a bit under the weather. I had to turn on the charm to get the translation of that into the language of reality. Apparently under the weather is code for I drank eight quarts of Jose Cuervo last night and need to sleep it off."
"He's a drunk? Helen, do you think that could be why Journey dumped the guy?" Devlin asked.
"According to Vanessa the office girl," Ned said, "Jim told anyone and everyone who would listen that he broke it off with Journey. And I quote – he needed someone with a higher level of maturity. She was fun enough for the midlife crisis, but he snapped out of it."
"So Vanessa isn't a member of the Journey Ireland fan club," I glanced at Devlin and read his opinion without words.
"I still say he's a pig, and sleeping off his drunken binge is hardly an alibi. He called in after the attack happened. God only knows where he was before it. He could be the perp."
"Are you gonna talk to Linder in the morning, Ned?" I asked.
"I'm planning to try. His girl Vanessa was cagey about when and if he'd be back in the office. I got the impression this wasn't the first time she covered for the bad boss. Why do you ask? Want to tag along?"
Shelly cleared her throat. "Gentlemen, Helen is still off the rotation. Until she's cleared by medical, there's no way she's coming back yet."
I agreed, at least in part. "There are a couple of things I'd suggest you do," Devlin and I shared a tandem review of the conversation with Journey Ireland, specifically her reluctance to say anything that might incriminate Linder. "What you need to do is find a friend who is willing to be honest about whatever her reasons for dumping this guy. His assistant's opinions aside, it's safe to say there's more to this story than we've gotten from anyone."
"I think Evans was telling the truth," Devlin said. "The guy was pretty shaken up when he found out what happened to his old flame today, but it didn't make him waver on Linder."
The doorbell rang again. Crevan jumped before I could get up. "You. Eat. Right now."
