Working Stiff

by Annelise Ryan

  “Did anyone buy into it?”

  “I’m not sure. I know she was upset when I declined to participate, but she seemed to take it in stride. Though to be honest, in retrospect I think my refusal was why she turned her attentions toward me in another way.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning her seduction.”

  I give him my best skeptic’s look. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it was all her fault.”

  “Of course not. I let myself get caught up in it all. I felt sorry for her at first and simply wanted to help her. Then one thing led to another and…” He shrugs, as if it is no big deal. “Maybe she was hoping to blackmail me. I’m pretty sure that’s what she was doing to Sidney. But your untimely arrival in the OR that night sort of eliminated any hold she had over me.”

  “How convenient.”

  David lets out a mirthless laugh. “Go ahead. I deserve whatever nastiness you want to dish out. What I did was stupid and thoughtless. I never meant to hurt you, Mattie. You don’t know how many times I’ve come to regret what I did.”

  “Did you kill Karen?”

  “What do you think?”

  I study him a moment, gathering my thoughts. “I think,” I say finally, “that you’re not the man I thought you were. I think that you have betrayed my trust. I think your supposed love for me, or for anyone else for that matter, isn’t nearly as deep as your love for yourself.”

  I pause, seeing the misery my words have triggered in him and trying to take pleasure from the fact. But for some reason, all it does is make me feel worse.

  “But no,” I conclude somewhat anticlimactically. “I don’t think you are a killer.”

  “Thank you for that, anyway.” His smile is grim.

  “I’m curious, David. What were you and Karen fighting about the night she was killed?”

  “I confronted her about Sidney. I could tell something was bothering him; he just hasn’t been himself lately. And because of the argument I overheard, I couldn’t help but think that Karen had something to do with it. She tried to tell me that the argument was just her getting upset with Sid because she asked him for a loan and he refused her.” He pauses, his expression growing sad. He turns away from me and looks out a window.

  “But I didn’t believe her. I’ve heard things about Karen over the past few weeks that are rather disturbing. Arthur Henley told me about a conversation he had with her where she kept mentioning Ruth and making suggestive comments that made it sound as if she might let something slip to Lauren.”

  “That wouldn’t have gotten her very far,” I tell him. “Lauren knows all about Ruth.”

  “She does?”

  I nod. “She and Arthur have…well, I guess you could call it an understanding.”

  “Guess that explains why Arthur didn’t seem too bothered by Karen’s hints. Anyway, then I heard a similar story from Mick Dunn. Seems Karen made some suggestive comments to him, too, after he’d slept with her several times. She was threatening to let it slip to Marjorie.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Like Marjorie doesn’t know about Mick.” I shake my head. “Man, poor Karen. She kept picking all the wrong people to try to blackmail.”

  “Until Sid,” David says. “Sid never did come right out and admit anything, but there were things he said that made me think Karen might be trying to blackmail him, too. I just couldn’t figure out what she had over him. I didn’t know then that Sidney was seeing Karen’s brother, or that Sidney was gay. But when I confronted Karen and told her I wasn’t going to allow her to get away with blackmailing Sid, she told me everything, not only that Sid was gay, a fact he was desperate to hide, but that he was HIV positive. She cried and pleaded with me, saying that Sid’s money was the only way she could keep Mike on the drugs he needed, that he’d already developed an intolerance for one protease inhibitor and had to be switched to another one that was even more expensive.”

  He pauses, lost in memory for a moment. “I thought about what she was saying and tried to see things from her point of view, to understand her situation. But I kept coming back to the fact that Sidney was HIV positive and operating on patients.”

  He leans forward, burying his face in his hands for a moment. When he straightens up and looks at me, I see the raw emotion, the exhaustion and misery of it all reflected in his eyes. He looks haggard and bereft, and I fight an urge to go to him, to hold and comfort him. When he continues, his voice is flat and impassive.

  “While I don’t condone Sid’s lifestyle, I’ve always liked and respected him. His family is highly regarded here in Sorenson and I have a great deal of respect for Gina and her work, as well. I know that a scandal like this will be devastating to them. Not to mention what it will do to the hospital if word gets out. But while I’m not eager to expose Sid, I still feel morally obligated to do something.

  “I told Karen I was going to talk to Sid and try to convince him that he should retire and move away somewhere. Try to start over. I suppose in a way what I was planning was a form of blackmail as well. For I’d pretty much decided that unless Sid left voluntarily, I was going to report him. I hoped that by doing that I might be able to control the fallout and minimize the damage somehow.

  “But when I told Karen what I intended to do, she went berserk. Then she told me about her pregnancy. I suspected it might be a last-ditch effort on her part to get me to side with her, to have enough sympathy for her plight that I wouldn’t expose her or Sid. But I wasn’t convinced she really was pregnant. Or if she was, that it was mine.”

  He looks at me then, a pleading question in his eyes.

  “I can’t tell you, David. The DNA results haven’t come back yet.”

  He sighs, his face rigid.

  “Did you go to Karen’s house that night? Hurley said he had a witness who saw you there.”

  “That’s total bullshit. According to Lucien, this purported eyewitness was just some anonymous woman who called from a pay phone at the Quik-E-Mart. Lucien thinks it was a crank looking to get a cheap thrill. I never went to Karen’s house that night. In fact, I never saw her again after she left here. But I don’t have an alibi for the period of time in question. Actually, I do have one, but I haven’t been willing to share it yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After Karen left that night, I put in a page to Sidney, found out he was over at the hospital trying to catch up on his back charts, and went over there hoping to talk to him when he was finished. I got there just as he was coming out of the hospital and we spoke in the parking lot. I confronted him with what I knew and he didn’t deny any of it.”

  He shakes his head. “You should have seen him when he talked about this Halverson guy. He kept saying he was truly in love for the first time in his life and that, faced with a considerably shortened lifespan, he no longer felt the need to hide who he was, to be so circumspect about his sex life.

  “I told him that was all fine and good, but that I couldn’t ethically allow him to continue to operate on patients if he was HIV positive.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He was obviously upset…. Devastated might be a better word. I don’t know. I think he was so caught up in the euphoria of his relationship with Halverson that he hadn’t really thought through all the consequences. Then he got pissed at me. He got in his car and left, refusing to hear me out.

  “I didn’t know what to do at first. But I knew I couldn’t let things go on the way they were. So I headed out to his house hoping to talk to him some more. Except when I got there, no one was home. I knew from Karen that Mike frequented the Grizzly Motel and I guessed that was the most likely place to find Sid. So I headed out there, and when I saw his car, I bluffed my way into finding out what room he was in. Then I laid down the law to him and Mike.”

  “And how did you leave it?”

  “I told Sid I’d give him a week to make up his mind. Either he leaves voluntarily or I report him. And the week will be up the day after
tomorrow. That’s why I didn’t tell that detective where I was the night Karen was killed. I knew Sid would just deny it all and then I’d only end up looking worse.”

  “If Sid doesn’t withdraw from operating voluntarily, are you going to go ahead and report him?”

  “Yes.” His sigh carries the weight of the world with it. “But I have to tell you, Mattie, I don’t like being in this position. Sid is not only a respected colleague of mine, he’s a friend. I’m trying to do what’s right, but for some reason it feels all wrong.”

  He buries his head in his hands and again I am struck by an urge to reach out to him, to pull him to my breast and comfort him. I still hate him for what he did, for his betrayal of me, of us. But I loved him deeply once and I suppose that on some level, I still do. It’s not an emotion I can just turn on and off with a switch. And seeing how utterly dejected and tormented he is by all that has happened, I can’t help but feel some empathy for him, a softening of my anger.

  “What about Gina?” I ask him. “Do you think she knows any of this?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Then I ask the question that hangs between us, the one neither of us wants to verbalize. “Do you think Sid killed Mike Halverson?”

  “I don’t know,” David says. “God, I hope not.” He gets up and walks over to a window—the same one I peered into on that fateful night—and stares out at the world, his expression troubled. “Why would he kill the guy if he loved him?”

  I’ve already asked myself this same question. “Maybe Sid has some other problems. Maybe his touch with reality isn’t too strong right now.”

  David says nothing.

  “Or maybe he discovered that Mike wasn’t as enamored of him as he was of Mike. Maybe Mike was only using him, the same way Karen tried to use everyone. Maybe Mike took over his sister’s blackmailing scheme and Sid finally killed him in a brokenhearted rage.”

  David stays quiet, but the very lack of any denial from him tells me all I need to know.

  “David, you know we can’t keep this to ourselves. I like Sid, too, and I certainly don’t want to think of him as a killer. But we can’t pretend all of this hasn’t happened.”

  “I told him I’d give him a week,” David says.

  “Look, it doesn’t have to come from you. I can call Steve Hurley, tell him what we know, and let him handle it from here. Sid doesn’t have to know that any of it came from you.”

  David turns from the window and looks at me, his face stricken. “You’re going to just sic the police on him? Christ. Isn’t there an easier way? Can’t we give him a chance to turn himself in?”

  “What if he doesn’t? What if he runs, David?”

  “He’s not going to run, Mattie. Besides, he’s on call this weekend.”

  Oh, yeah, like that will stop him. If nothing else convinces me how deeply disturbed David is by all this, the inanity of that comment does.

  “Can’t you just wait until tomorrow?” David pleads. “Sid won’t go anywhere. I’m sure of it. And in the meantime, maybe I can figure out a way to talk him into turning himself in.”

  My mind churns, trying to think it all through. I nod absently, knowing it’s what David wants. But the more I think about it, the more I want to talk to Sid for myself. Some part of my mind realizes that confronting a possible killer alone might not be the wisest thing to do. But another part of me, the part that worked side by side with Sid for nearly seven years sharing tension, laughter, and surgical instruments, refuses to believe the man will harm me.

  “Okay, I won’t talk to Hurley until tomorrow,” I tell David, wincing a bit on the inside. After all, it isn’t a lie exactly, it just isn’t the whole truth.

  Chapter 32

  When I return to the cottage I’m relieved to see that Dom isn’t back yet. He pulls in ten minutes later and I go out to help him unload the groceries. I need to waylay our planned visit to David but I don’t want Dom to know I’ve already been there, so I tell him I want to wait to give myself more time to think things through. He seems relieved by my apparent capitulation and I feel a tiny twinge of guilt for deceiving him. I know he has my best interests at heart, but I also know that no matter how well-intentioned his motives are, his idea never would have worked.

  Once the groceries are unpacked, he invites me to stay and watch a video he’s rented, bribing me with promises of a lunch that includes Sara Lee cheesecake for dessert. The offer is tempting but the issue with Sid is far more pressing, so I thank him and decline, telling him I am going to spend the afternoon at my sister’s—lie number two. I’m going to hell for sure.

  Since the hospital is closer, I drive there first, cruising through the parking lot in search of Sid’s car. I don’t see it, but as I turn the corner from one row of cars to the next, I glimpse the top of a van several rows over—burgundy-and-gray. I hit the gas and go after it, but by the time I get to where it was, it has disappeared. Annoyed, I leave and head out to Sid’s house, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror the entire time.

  The Carrigan home is a stately but tasteful place that sits on a hill about five miles outside of town. It isn’t overly large, but clearly shows the wealth of its owners. It has been in Sid’s family for four generations, and as the sole heir to the family fortunes, Sid took it over when he married Gina. Sid’s parents, tired of winter weather that made their arthritic bones throb and ache, moved to Arizona.

  The house is over a hundred years old, and while improvements have been made on it over the years, it still retains much of its original charm and character. The front of it is done in stone, as is the circular drive and the retaining walls that grace the hills behind it. I know from prior visits that the lawn is plush, green, and amazingly soft but, at the moment, most of it is buried beneath a blanket of red and yellow leaves that have dropped from the many stately trees peppering the grounds.

  Overall, the house has a mellow but dignified country look—peaceful and comfy—the exact opposite of how I feel. There is no peace, no comfort for me here today.

  The garage door is closed so I have no way of knowing if Sid is home or not. I consider using my cell phone to call him first but quickly rule out that idea since I don’t want to give him a chance to decline a visit or let him know I’m coming. I want to catch him unprepared, hoping that will make it easier for me to get the truth out of him.

  The truth. It’s what I want, but it scares me to death.

  I park in front of the house, slip my cell phone into my jacket pocket, and walk up to ring the doorbell. I half expect one of the house staff to answer; whenever I’ve been here for parties and such, that is what usually happens. But to my surprise, Sid himself answers the door.

  “Mattie! What a pleasant surprise.” His smile is warm and genuine, but he looks tired and sad despite it. “Come on in.”

  He seems relaxed. If my unexpected arrival has disconcerted him in any way, it doesn’t show. At first I think this is a good sign. I mean if Sid is guilty of murder, he would look more nervous and edgy, wouldn’t he? But then it occurs to me that he might be a sociopath, a serial killer like Ted Bundy—an emotionless creature with no sense of remorse or guilt, a social charlatan who hides his true nature beneath a veneer of well-practiced charm. After all, Wisconsin has served as home to more than its fair share of serial killers, with Jeffrey Dahmer, Ed Gein, and John Wayne Gacy all conducting business within or just outside its borders. Maybe there’s something in our water.

  All this flashes through my mind in the time it takes me to smile back at Sid and accept his invitation to come inside.

  “What brings you out here?” he asks as he closes the door behind me.

  Too late to turn back now. I’m trapped. It makes me glad I have the cell phone tucked inside my pocket. Sid gestures toward the living room, indicating I should go in and have a seat, but I stand where I am in the foyer.

  “I want to talk with you, Sid. It’s about Mike Halverson.”

  His expression falters, but only
briefly. A split second later, that complacent smile is back in place. Then I hear a female voice that makes my heart race with panic.

  “Mattie? Is that you?”

  Gina. I completely forgot about her. How could I be so stupid? On the drive out here, I tried to imagine how this visit might go, playing out several different scenarios in my mind. None of them included Gina.

  I turn and see her standing down the hall in the doorway to the kitchen. As usual, she looks perfectly put together, right down to the apron she is wearing over her tailored, camel-colored slacks and yellow angora sweater.

  “Hello, Gina.”

  “Hi there. I didn’t know you were dropping by. Forgive me,” she says, gesturing with a wooden spoon she has in her hand. “I have something simmering on the stove and can’t leave it for long. But I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

  “That’s quite all right. Take your time. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced like this but something came up and I need to talk to Sid for a few minutes. I won’t be staying long.”

  “Okay then,” she says, flashing me her TV smile. “I’ll just finish up out here while you two talk. Holler at me if you need anything.” She disappears back into the kitchen and I look at Sid.

  “Why don’t we step into my den,” he suggests. I notice his smile is gone, replaced by a furrowed brow of concern.

  Sid’s den is my favorite room in the house. It fits him perfectly, possessing many of the same characteristics that drew me to Sid himself. It has a relaxed and unpretentious air, a sense of warm welcome that makes one want to settle in and never leave.

  Whenever I came out to the house for parties or dinners, I would always find an excuse to slip into the den and spend a few peaceful moments on the old leather couch or its matching leather chair, their surfaces so perfectly aged and worn, they are as smooth and soft as a baby’s bottom. A beautiful Persian rug in shades of cranberry, teal, and ochre covers much of the hardwood floor and it, like the furniture, looks lovingly worn. The walls are paneled and Sid’s desk, which sits catty-corner beside a window, is an old, sturdy oak piece that probably weighs a ton.