by Terry Odell
Doc blinked. A trickle of drool ran down his chin. Gordon found a tissue on the bedside table and wiped it away. “Rose?” Doc rasped.
“Rose Kretzer. She had an allergic reaction to a medication. Do you know how she got it?”
“Not. My. Fault.”
“Of course not. You were coming to find out what happened before you had the accident.”
Doc’s eyes popped open. “Wasn’t. Accident.” His words blew out as if he’d just scaled Pike’s Peak.
Could this be their first real lead? “We know.” Gordon leaned forward so he could hear Doc above the machines. “Someone tampered with your steering. Do you know who did it?”
“Money.” Doc gasped for breath.
The beeps were faster now, and Gordon reached for the call button. But first, he needed to hear what else Doc had to say. “What about money?” Certainly Doc hadn’t paid someone to monkey with the steering on the car. Or was it insurance money? A suicide attempt made to look like an accident? Gordon couldn’t wrap his head around that one. Unless… had Doc been the one who screwed up Rose’s meds? Was he trying to kill himself out of guilt? But then, what would money have to do with it?
“What about the money?”
When there was no response, Gordon tried yet another tack. “Doc. Tell me about a hunting contest. Back in ‘seventy-five. You, Fred Easterbrook, Roger Ignatius, Mad Dog, and Hal Osterback. Were you all friends? Is Hal related to Clark? Do you know anything about Roger Ignatius’ real estate company?”
“Money,” Doc said again.
Gordon backpedaled. Someone in Doc’s condition couldn’t handle a barrage of questions. “Were you and Fred Easterbrook hunting buddies?”
“Fred. Hal. Roger. Clark.”
“That’s right. What’s the connection?”
“Needed. Money. Could never. Get out. From under.”
“You all needed money?” Were Fred and Hal also part of Roger, Suben and Clark? Had Doc invested in the company? In the records Laurie had obtained, only the officers of the company were listed.
Doc’s breathing slowed. His eyes closed. “Sorry,” he whispered.
The beeps merged into a single, steady tone. The nurse threw the door open and rushed to Doc’s bedside, along with another man in surgical scrubs. Gordon jumped out of her way. Seconds later two people came in pushing a cart, and told him to leave.
He stood outside the door, leaning against the wall, his knees suddenly blocks of Jell-O. Had Doc been straddling the line between life and death? Had Gordon’s questioning pushed Doc over the edge?
Another thought slammed into him like a three-hundred pound tackle. Someone had tampered with Rose’s medication. Had Doc known, and that someone came after him as well? Gordon replayed the recording he’d made. Money, Doc had repeated. That and the accident not being an accident.
When the nurse came out of Doc’s room, her slumped shoulders and rueful eyes answered the question he couldn’t have brought himself to ask.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “His injuries were more than he could handle. It wasn’t totally unexpected.”
He did have to ask one question, though. “Did I… did my questions—” Tears prickled behind his eyes. He remembered lollipops and colored Band-Aids administered with a smile after childhood doctor visits.
She shook her head. “No. He wasn’t likely to have made it through the night. I hope you got some useful information.”
Gordon steeled his spine against the grief that threatened to undo him. “Did anyone other than vetted staff enter his room since he was moved in here?”
The nurse tightened her lips. “No. I checked them all before they came in. Everyone had appropriate identification.”
“What about now? I imagine things were crazy in there—can you vouch for everyone who came in?”
At her side, her hands fisted. Gordon didn’t care if she thought he’d questioned her ability to do the job. Right now, he was a cop.
She lifted her chin. “You’re saying someone was working against our efforts to save Dr. Evans’ life? Because I can assure you, everything we did in there was proper medical procedure.”
“I’ll take your word for that part. However, I’m going to want to talk to everyone who was in the room.”
She spun on her rubber soles and pushed the door open. “Come in.”
Being in the room with Doc’s… body… churned Gordon’s stomach, but he followed the nurse. Four heads turned as he came in. Gordon produced his badge. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I need verification of your identity.”
All four pointed to their ID badges. One doctor, one intern, two nurses. The nurse-deputy produced a clipboard from a drawer in the bedside table. “This is a roster of personnel who would be on this floor.”
Gordon took the clipboard and matched the names on the IDs with the list. He turned to the doctor. “Have you worked with these three before?”
The doctor made a show of staring into the faces of the others, as if he, too, was matching faces to their IDs. “Yes. On numerous occasions. And before you ask, they’re supremely competent. If I were in need of medical care, I’d want these people taking care of me.”
“Thanks. You understand, given recent circumstances, I had to ask.”
“No offense taken. It’s a black mark against the hospital to know someone can undo our efforts to save lives. Dr. Evans, even though he hasn’t practiced here much in recent years, was a notable member of our staff, and he will be missed.”
Gordon sensed the doctor’s formal tone was an effort to hide his own sorrow. “I don’t doubt you did everything you could to save him.” He paused. “One more thing. How do I make sure he gets a thorough autopsy? If anything other than the accident caused his death, I need to know about it.”
“I’ll take care of it,” the doctor said.
Gordon and the nurse-deputy exited the room. “You know Detective Colfax?” Gordon asked.
A faint twitching at the corner of her mouth told him she did. “Yes, I do.”
“Keep him in the loop.”
“Right.”
“And I’ve got one more request. You know about Rose Kretzer?”
“She’s up in the VIP suite, incognito, right?”
Pleased that she’d been well-briefed, Gordon related his concern for Rose’s safety. “The medical staff has been vetted, but other than her doctor, nobody knows her real identity. I’d feel better if you spent the night in her room. Can we swing that?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll clear it with my superiors, both here and at county.” She walked toward the nurse’s station.
Gordon composed himself in the elevator as he rode up to Rose’s floor. Although he wasn’t close to Doc on a personal level, he’d been seeing the doctor since he was a kid, and there was an emptiness he couldn’t explain. When the elevator doors opened, he almost punched the button for the lobby. Dread ate its way through him, clawing at his gut. Telling Rose that Doc had died would be worse than any of the death notifications he’d had to deliver as a cop. If Gordon had felt guilt about pushing Doc past the point of no return, how would Rose feel? She’d been the reason he was on the road.
Suddenly wishing Angie was with him, holding his hand, chasing away the numb feeling, he knocked on the door to Rose’s room.
Gordon waited, and then Sam’s face appeared through the small viewing pane in Rose’s door. The last time Gordon had checked in, Rose’s condition had improved markedly, and Sam’s welcoming smile lightened Gordon’s mood. For a moment, he worried whether telling her about Doc would send her into a relapse.
No, not Rose. She was strong enough to handle it—better than he was right now. No matter what the nurse had said, Gordon couldn’t shake the guilt that if he hadn’t tried to question Doc, the man would still be alive. But he opted to confer with Sam first. When Sam opened the door, Gordon didn’t cross the threshold. He lowered his voice and explained that Doc hadn’t survived the car accident.
“Oh, no! That is ho
rrible.” Sam shook his head.
“Should we wait to tell Rose?” Gordon asked. “Until she’s stronger?”
“Keeping it from her would make her angry, which would be worse than what she’ll feel. No, she needs to know.”
Gordon steeled himself to deliver the news, but Sam’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“I will tell them,” Sam said.
When Gordon entered the room, Justin was sitting at Rose’s side, reading to her. He stopped and slipped a bookmark between the pages. Gordon paused at the foot of the bed.
“Gordon. So nice of you to come by,” Rose said.
“I’m afraid there’s some sad news,” Sam said. “Dr. Evans didn’t make it.”
Gordon braced himself for Rose’s reaction. Her face drooped, and she gave a sorrowful sigh. “Such a tragedy. But he lived a full life. He will be remembered for his good works.”
Gordon remained where he was, hands clasped behind his back, allowing a few moments out of respect for Doc’s memory. When the silence grew uncomfortable, he spoke. “How well did you know Doc Evans? Was he a friend as well as your doctor? Did you have friends in common?”
“He was our doctor,” Rose said. “For many, many years. But we didn’t socialize, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Gordon moved closer, watching Rose’s face. “His accident wasn’t an accident. Someone tampered with the steering on his car. Whoever did it must have known he’d be on the mountain road this morning.”
Rose’s hand darted to her mouth. “He was coming to see me.”
“That’s how I see it,” Gordon said. “I’m sorry, Rose.” He laid out the people he and Doc had discussed. “Would you know how any of these people are connected? We know that Roger Ignatius and Clark Osterback were in the real estate business together, along with your friends, Benny and Zannah. Do you know anyone else who was part of the company?”
“No,” Sam said. “To us, Benny was an architect. I can’t remember him saying he was connected to real estate, except to try to get us to buy more of it.”
“Maybe we should have,” Rose said. “After all, he and Zannah were able to retire early.”
“I can look deeper into the company,” Gordon said. “Did you know a Hal Osterback? I assume he was related to Clark, and he seems to be around the same age, so they could be brothers. He was one of the men in the picture I showed you earlier. One of the other men was someone named Bob Browning, although he might have been known as Mad Dog. He was the older man with the beard.”
“Mad Dog, no. I would remember someone with that name,” Sam said. “But these Osterbacks you spoke of. In German, Ostern is Easter and Bach is brook, so—”
Gordon almost heard a ding as his brain processed Sam’s words. “So Easterbrook and Osterback could be connected.”
“It was not unusual for immigrants to Americanize their names,” Rose said, exchanging a knowing glance with Sam.
Gordon leaned down and kissed Rose on the cheek. “Thanks. You, too, Sam. I’m going to get on this right away. You still have my cell number, right?”
Sam nodded.
“Use it if you remember anything. Any time.” He caught Justin’s eye and tilted his chin toward the door.
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Justin said. Once they were in the hall, Justin asked what Gordon wanted.
“Whoever caused Doc’s accident might also be the one who tampered with Rose’s meds. They succeeded with Doc, but Rose is a loose end.”
“Sam and I have been careful. Nobody’s come into the room who isn’t on the list you gave us.”
“I’m going to have another nurse—she’s a deputy with the county as well—spend the night in Rose’s room. I don’t want Rose to worry, so please don’t tell her the woman is anything other than hospital staff.”
Justin snorted. “Frankly, Rose would love it, being part of a clandestine operation. But I’ll make sure to add the new nurse to the list. I could stay the night as well.”
“No, you go back to your motel. I don’t want to have to worry about you—or Sam—tonight.”
“You think someone would be able to find Rose? And come after her?”
“I think we have enough countermeasures in place. But I’m not willing to take the slightest risk.” After giving Justin the name and a description of Rose’s new watchdog, Gordon punched the elevator call button followed by Colfax’s number into his phone.
Colfax answered, his voice thick with sleep. “Make it good and make it short, Hepler. This is my first downtime in two days.”
Gordon broke the news about Doc’s death and then explained the Easterbrook-Osterback connection. “Did any of your Google-happy colleagues come up with any connections?”
“Nothing’s crossed my desk yet—then again, I haven’t been at my desk much.”
“Quit bellyaching—you’ve been glued to the computer all day, which is practically the same thing. I’m only suggesting, one cop to another, that you might nudge them along with this new piece of information.”
Colfax grunted. “You’re buying the beer.”
“Not a problem.” The elevator arrived and Gordon stepped inside. He pressed the button for the lobby and leaned against the wall of the car.
“I’ll get things started. Anything else? Because you’re not going to like me tomorrow if I don’t get a few hours’ sleep.”
“I asked the nurse you assigned to Doc’s room to spend the night in Rose Kretzer’s. Can you make sure the red tape is cut?”
“Fine, but I want a single malt. At least eighteen years old.”
“Thanks.” Gordon waited to see if Colfax had any other demands, but after a brief silence, the line went dead. The elevator doors opened to the portrait gallery, and Doc’s picture haunted him. Gordon paused, stepped forward and brushed his fingers against the frame. “Sorry, Doc. Rest in peace.”
A few portraits down, the image of Abraham Pinkerton seemed to cast blame on Gordon. He quickly averted his eyes and hurried to his car.
Colfax had the budget and resources for researchers, but that didn’t mean Gordon’s small force was helpless. Hell, some of his people would enjoy a journey through the search engines, too. And Laurie had said she was going to find some of his civilian corps who might even know these people personally. She’d have gone home hours ago, but she’d have left reports on his desk if she’d found anything.
As if talking with Colfax had reminded Gordon’s brain that he could use some sleep as well, weariness tugged at his eyelids as he navigated the mountain road to Mapleton. Glare from oncoming headlights was almost as bad as the setting sun had been on the drive out. And the asshole behind him with his brights on—didn’t the idiot know he was following a cop? Gordon was tempted to pull him over, but that would only delay his return—not to mention he was still out of his jurisdiction. He buzzed down the window, hoping the cool night air would refresh him.
When he made the turn onto the last leg of the trip, he’d found as much of a second wind as he thought he’d get. The first thing he noticed when he hit the outskirts of town was the smell of smoke—and that it didn’t seem as strong. He gazed in the direction of the fire, and the orange glow no longer filled the sky. He drove by Daily Bread, now dark for the night. Upstairs, no lights filtered through Angie’s apartment curtains. He silently wished her a good night’s sleep—longing for one of his own, but before he could call it quits for the day, he needed to see whether Laurie’s efforts had produced anything he could use.
Unlike Daily Bread, the station windows glowed like full moonlight through their slatted blinds. Gordon parked and gave a quick salute as he passed the security camera outside his office door. Inside, the aroma of stale coffee welcomed him home.
Home, he thought. He definitely spent more time at the station than at his house, and here he was surrounded by people he considered family. They made lousy coffee, but they were his brothers and sisters.
His stomach rebelled at the thought of any more
coffee. He went into the break room to see if there was anything left on the dessert table. Maybe something with cinnamon.
A vaguely familiar face looked up when Gordon walked in. Ruddy complexion, thinning gray hair. Somewhere in his sixties, Gordon guessed. The man’s rectangular face and thick glasses that magnified his brown eyes made Gordon think of a horse.
“Hello, Chief Hepler. I’m Nathan Romash of the civilian patrol. I understand you need information about some people I knew back in the day.”
A quick burst of adrenalin banished Gordon’s lethargy. “Yes, I do. You have something? I hope you haven’t been waiting for me.”
“No, Sir. I’m also a volunteer firefighter. Don’t see a lot of action at my age, but I man the phones at the station. I was helping the Incident Commander here. Came in to raid the food table, and you walked in. Lucky coincidence, I’d say. I knew Clark and Hal Osterback in high school. Not all that well, and it was a long time ago. I don’t know how much help I can be, but Laurie said you wanted to know everything.”
Gordon snagged a brownie and a bottle of water. He almost suggested continuing the discussion in his office until he remembered the white board. “Wait here one minute.”
On the way to his office, he cracked his water bottle and downed half of it. He grabbed his recorder, then returned to the break room. He took a seat across the table from Romash, and pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket. Next, he set his recorder in the middle of the table, and said, “I’m going to record this.” He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s late, I’m tired, and I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Not a problem. Ask your questions.”
“About Clark and Hal Osterback. What kind of kids were they? Well-liked? Bullied? Bullies? Jocks? Geeks?”
Romash chuckled. “Clark was cool, smart enough, but nothing exceptional. Hal was kind of slow on the uptake. Some of the kids called him a ‘retread’. But Clark stuck up for Hal, so nobody messed with either of them. They were in the same class, but Hal was a year or two older than his cousin, I think.”
“Cousins? Not brothers?”
“That’s right. Their dads were brothers. They lived on the same block—over on Pine, I think. Nice enough neighborhood. Nothing ritzy. Middle-middle class all around.”
