“I think it may be my fault that Luke Nelson is dead,” I tell him sotto voce.
“He’s not,” he says, closing his car door and heading for Nelson’s office. This response is so far from what I expected, I’m rendered speechless. I fall in behind him and, because the length of my one stride equals nearly three of his and I’m so wildly distracted by all the questions racing through my mind, I nearly run him over twice along the way.
Even though I now have reason to believe the world would be a much better place if Nelson wasn’t in it, I’m relieved he isn’t dead. Not only because of my own guilt but because I want to see him suffer. Death would be much too easy an escape for him.
I start to relax a little when I realize I’ve jumped to some pretty incongruous conclusions about Carla. I assumed that if she wasn’t home, she would be here. But she could be anywhere. Maybe she didn’t listen to the tape after all. Maybe her strange attitude earlier really was due to a lack of sleep, like she said.
As we enter the office’s anteroom, I see Hurley standing just inside the far door that leads to Nelson’s office area, staring grimly into the room where Nelson sees his patients. Off in the corner to my left, three EMTs are huddled around someone in a chair. I push past Izzy, taking care to avoid the trail of bloody footprints I can see leading from the office into the anteroom, and take a stand beside Hurley, who acknowledges me with a quick glance. Then I look into the counseling room.
Reclined on the sofa is Carla Andrusson—at least I think it’s Carla since the build and distinctive hair color look like hers and the clothing matches what I saw her wearing earlier. But the face is unrecognizable, misshapen and covered with gore. There is blood everywhere—on the walls, the ceiling, the carpet, the sofa, the chair—and one of Carla’s arms is hanging off the sofa, her hand cupped on the floor, pooled with blood. Inches away from her hand lies a mean-looking gun, and a nasty, acrid smell that I now know is a combination of blood and gunpowder, permeates the air.
My initial instinct is to dash into the room and check her for vital signs. But I quickly realize it would be a waste of time. I feel sick as my hope that Carla had nothing to do with this shatters into pieces.
Izzy steps up beside us and takes in the scene.
Hurley turns to us as if to say something, but then hesitates, staring at me intently. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking concerned. Then he backs away from me. “You’re not going to puke on my shoes again, are you?”
I shake my head.
“What’s the story?” Izzy asks.
“According to the shrink, that’s Carla Andrusson, one of his patients. Apparently she busted in here carrying a gun and went off on the doc about the awful state of her marriage, and how hopeless her life was. Then she shot at the doc before turning the gun on herself.”
“She shot Nelson?” I ask.
Hurley nods.
“Where is he?”
Hurley gestures toward the anteroom and I step back to look out the way I came. I see now that the patient the EMTs are tending to is Luke Nelson. He looks pale and shaky, and there is a blood-soaked bandage around his left arm, but he appears otherwise fine.
Izzy says, “Well, I guess we best get to it.” He sets down his scene case and then dons a biohazard suit, goggles, and gloves. When he realizes I’m not dressing for duty he says, “You coming?”
“In a sec. I need to talk to Hurley first.”
As Izzy makes his way into the room, I turn and speak to Hurley in a low voice. “This is all my fault.”
“Your fault? How do you figure?”
“Carla was helping me with something and we . . . um . . . sort of discovered something about Nelson.”
“Such as?”
“You have to hear it.”
“Hear it?” Hurley says, looking confused. “From whom?”
I start to tell him but I’m interrupted by the sound of Nelson’s voice behind me.
“This is an awful thing,” he says. “Clearly I missed something. I didn’t think she was suicidal. I feel so responsible.”
I whirl around and find myself face-to-face with the creep. “Of course you’re responsible, you snake. What did you expect? You—”
I’m cut off when Hurley grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Mattie, what the hell?” he hisses.
At the same time, one of the EMTs says to Nelson, “Sir, you really need to go to the hospital to get checked out. Even though the bullet only grazed your arm, you might need a couple of stitches. And your blood pressure is extremely high. You need something to lower it.”
“A couple of deep slices across your throat ought to do it,” I toss out angrily.
“Damn it, Mattie,” Hurley says. He yanks me by the arm to the far corner of the room, positioning himself between me and Nelson. He grabs me by the shoulders using his body to block my view of the others, but I can hear the EMTs walking Nelson back out to the anteroom. Hurley turns and shuts the door behind them before shifting his focus back to me. “What the hell has gotten into you?” he asks. His tone is more concerned than angry but I can tell he is a little peeved.
When I look up at him, I manage to calm myself some, momentarily afloat in the serene blue depths of his eyes. His body is so close I can feel the heat radiating from him, and a part of me wants to collapse into him, have him wrap his arms around me, and just stay there. Forever. But I’m too sick with disgust, guilt, and sadness to do anything but sag against the wall beneath the weight of his hands.
“Nelson is a sick, perverted bastard,” I tell him. “He was drugging Carla Andrusson and having sex with her during her appointments without her knowing it. And if he was doing it to her, I’m betting he was doing it to others, too.”
Hurley’s eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline. “And you know this how, exactly?”
“I have it on tape.”
“You have videotape of Nelson having sex with drugged patients.” It isn’t a question, but rather a statement, made with more than an innuendo of skepticism. I’m not sure if his doubt is due to disbelief or shock, but either way, it’s partially justified.
“No, not videotape. It’s audio.”
Hurley closes his eyes and shakes his head as if he’s trying to rattle something in there loose. “Let me see if I’ve got this right,” he says, dropping his hands from my shoulders. I miss the warmth of them immediately. “You have a tape of the sound of Nelson having sex with a drugged patient?”
“Yes, with Carla.”
“How can you tell she’s drugged? And how can you be sure what you’re hearing is the sound of sex?” I start to answer but he doesn’t let me get a syllable out. “And even if you’re sure that’s what it is, how do you know it wasn’t consensual? How do we know who exactly is making the noises? Do they announce themselves on the tape? And just how the hell did you get your hands on something like that in the first place?”
I realize he’s going to be pissed when I tell him what I did. Worse yet, I’m afraid I might have compromised any case we have against Nelson since the tape likely can’t be used as legal evidence.
I see movement from the corner of my eye and see Izzy standing in the doorway to the counseling room eavesdropping on our discussion. And that’s when I wonder if my foolishness might also cost me my job.
Belatedly I see the ramifications of what I’ve done, and the very steep price I might have to pay for my dogged suspicions of Nelson and my half-baked plot to catch him out. Though it’s chump change compared to Carla’s cost. With this one single act I may have let a killer go free, ruined a handful of lives, and lost my job, Hurley’s respect, and Izzy’s friendship. I can tell tonight is going to be a two-carton session with Ben and Jerry.
I take the recorder out of my purse and hand it to Hurley. “I met with Carla Andrusson yesterday to talk with her about Nelson and his alibi. And in the course of doing that, I discovered that something about her sessions seemed wrong. Carla thought so too, though she didn’t know why. So I convinced he
r to take my recorder along in her purse. It taped her entire session.”
Hurley squeezes his eyes closed and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why would you do that?” he asks. His question has the same ring to it my mother has when she asks me why I’m divorcing David: abject disappointment.
“I’ve had the sense all along that something is wrong with that guy,” I tell him. “And I was right. The tape proves it.”
“Not in any way we can use in court,” he counters. He looks at me with a pitiful expression that makes me want to cry. The last thing I want Hurley to feel for me is pity. “Did Carla listen to the tape before she handed it over to you?” he asks.
“She said she didn’t,” I tell him. “But in hindsight . . . well . . .”
There’s no need to complete the thought because the bloody scene in the next room says it all. I hang my head in shame and tears start to burn behind my eyeballs.
“What’s your verdict, Izzy?” Hurley asks.
At first I think he’s asking Izzy to pass judgment on me and my stupidity, and maybe he is. But judging from the answer, it’s obvious Izzy thinks Hurley is asking about Carla.
“Too soon to tell,” he says with a shrug. “The location and angle of the head wound and the stippling around it don’t rule out suicide. I’ll have to take a look at Nelson’s wounds to determine if that part of the story holds up, and of course I’ll know more once I complete my autopsy, but for now Nelson’s version of the events fits the evidence.”
“But there is one part of his story that doesn’t fit,” I say. “If Carla did listen to the tape and came here with a gun, I don’t think it was her marriage she was upset about.”
I take things a few steps further, desperate to redeem myself in any small way. “What if Shannon found out what he was doing? That would give him a motive to kill her. And if he was drugging his patients with something that allowed him to have sex with them without them knowing about it, he could also have left his office during any one of those appointments without the patients knowing. That negates his alibis.”
“What kind of drug would do that?” Hurley asks. “I would assume he’d need something that can be given orally.”
“On the tape I heard him offer Carla a cup of tea and it’s about fifteen minutes after that when her speech starts to slur.”
Izzy jumps in. “There are several hypnotics that are fast-acting and quickly processed that would produce short-term sedation and anterograde amnesia: midazolam, Zaleplon, ketamine, or GHB.”
Hurley considers this. “Can we test for those?”
Izzy grimaces. “You can, but it would have to be shortly after ingestion. Most of these drugs metabolize pretty quickly.” He looks at me. “When was Carla’s appointment?”
“Early this morning.”
“Then we might get lucky.”
“We still have the issue of the gun that killed Shannon,” Hurley says. “We know it belonged to Erik and it was found at the hospital in the department where Erik works.”
“That’s easy,” I tell him. “Nelson was dating Shannon so he would have had access to the gun, which was in Shannon’s house. And as a doctor, he has free rein to go anywhere he wants in the hospital. Nelson could have easily planted that gun where you found it, knowing it would implicate Erik.”
Hurley nods thoughtfully and then says, “I guess I need to have more of a chat with the doctor.” He turns and opens the door to the anteroom, and Izzy and I follow him out. The EMTs are gathering up their supplies and preparing to leave. Nelson is nowhere in sight.
“Where’s your patient?” Hurley asks the EMTs.
“He declined any further treatment,” one of them answers. “So we had him sign a waiver and he lit out of here.”
“You let him leave?” Hurley says, clearly pissed.
The EMT shrugs. “No one said we needed to detain him. Not that that’s our job anyway,” he adds pointedly.
“Damn it!” Hurley mutters. He takes out his cell phone, dials a number, and then starts barking out instructions.
Izzy and I head back into the office area and before I get bloodied up by the body, I decide to have a look around Nelson’s office. I don a pair of gloves and start going through the drawers of his desk. Though I’m still feeling morose and stupid for what I did, I can see a bit of hope on the horizon. Hurley has the tape and even if it isn’t admissible as evidence, it at least validates my suspicions and accusations. If Carla tests positive for some type of sedating drug, that might be evidence we can use legally. And I realize that whatever drug Nelson used on his patients had to come from somewhere, so maybe we can track that and use it as evidence, as well. So all isn’t lost. We might nail the bastard yet.
Assuming, of course, that Hurley can find him.
Chapter 44
While Izzy processes the scene in the consulting room, I opt to remain in the office area. I don’t think I can bring myself to look at Carla’s corpse yet so I continue going through Nelson’s desk, pulling files from his drawers and flipping through them. I’m alone with my thoughts trying unsuccessfully to focus on the files, when Hurley, who disappeared half an hour or so ago, returns with Alison in tow. My mood is dark enough as it is, and Alison’s presence doesn’t help the matter any, especially when she starts rubbing up against Hurley.
“It’s a bit inappropriate for her to be here, isn’t it?” I say to Hurley.
Before he can answer, Alison pipes up with “Oh, I’m not here as a reporter. The police station is a bit short-staffed right now so they hired me on as a freelance photographer to help out for a while.”
I look questioningly at Hurley, who nods and shrugs. I’m not happy with this turn of events and I suspect Alison knows why. Not only don’t I trust her not to use the pictures for the paper, it gives her more excuses to spend time around Hurley.
After flashing me a smug smile, she takes her camera in hand and starts shooting pictures of Nelson’s office. Apparently Hurley has his doubts about her trustworthiness, too, because he warns her, “Remember, Alison, none of the pictures you take here can be used in the paper unless they’re cleared by me first. Understood?”
After Alison nods, Hurley heads for the front of the office, leaving me alone with her while Izzy works on Carla’s body in the next room. I’m sorting through some files in Nelson’s desk drawer when Alison starts snapping pictures of me.
“I can’t believe all the death we’ve had here in town lately,” she says. She pauses and cocks her head at me. “Ever since you took your job at the ME’s office, Mattie, it seems people are dropping like flies.”
I’d like to drop her at the moment, out a twentieth-story window.
“Or maybe,” I counter, “it’s just that you’re more aware of the deaths now that you’re following Hurley around like a bitch in heat.”
She smiles but there’s no warmth to it. “Aw, are you jealous?” she taunts.
“Not at all,” I say, smiling back with matching iciness. I suspect half of Alison’s interest in Hurley is simply her desire to take a jab at me. As a reporter, it’s her job to be provocative and trigger emotional outbursts. It makes for good pictures and good copy. I figure if I feign disinterest, maybe she’ll move on to something, or someone else.
“Are you saying you have no interest in Hurley?” she asks.
I focus on the files I have stacked on the desk, not wanting to meet her gaze when I lie to her. “None at all,” I say with great nonchalance.
“Then you won’t mind if I make a move.”
“Have at it,” I say with a shrug. “Hurley is just a toy to pass the time with. I have no romantic designs on him whatsoever. In fact, I’m dating someone else right now. I’m having dinner with Aaron Heinrich.”
This isn’t altogether true since I haven’t actually accepted Aaron’s invitation, but I’m banking on Alison not knowing that.
I hear someone clear their throat and know from the masculine sound of it that it isn’t Alison. When I look up ex
pecting to see Izzy, I see Hurley instead, standing in the doorway, staring at me with a wounded expression. Panic sets in as I wonder how long he was there and how much he heard.
“Hurley, I—”
His cell phone rings, cutting me off. He answers with a brusque “Hurley here,” and then listens for a minute. When he hangs up he turns away from me and addresses his remarks to Alison.
“It seems our Dr. Nelson has flown the coop,” he says tersely. “I’ve had the office issue a statewide APB on him so we’ll get him eventually.” He looks back at me then, his expression cold. “I listened to the tape and you were right. It’s obvious what was going on. But I’m afraid it’s not going to be usable for evidence given how it was obtained.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think things through very well,” I say, trying to convey my apologies for more than just the tape.
He stares at me for several seconds and as I struggle to read his face I try to communicate volumes with my own. Then he says, “I’m outa here. I’ll leave a couple of uniforms behind to help you with the evidence.” And just like that, he’s gone.
Alison raises her camera and snaps a picture of me, one I pray won’t show the disappointment and hurt I’m feeling. Then she smiles. “Wait for me, Stevie,” she yells over her shoulder. “I need some quotes for the paper.” She flounces out of the room, leaving me angry and alone.
I spend some time shuffling the files around but I’m too upset to focus: upset with Alison but even more upset with myself. I’m relieved when the Keller Funeral Home shows up to load Carla’s body and take it to our morgue because at least it’s a distraction. As I follow them out into the anteroom I look for Hurley, but he’s nowhere to be found.
As soon as the funeral home vehicle takes off, Izzy turns to me and says, “Arnie is still at the office so he can do the intake. I don’t plan to post Carla until tomorrow morning and I know this has been a rough day for you, so why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”
Scared Stiff Page 27
