Courting Death

by Carol Stephenson

  “Did you have to cut the body open at all?” I asked.

  “No. No reason to.” He rose, walked around the desk and settled into his chair. “Your people,” he addressed Sam, “didn’t call until after I’d released the body to the funeral home. Next time an infant’s death is deemed suspicious, the police need to react faster.”

  So unless the medical examiner found something Dr. Hassenfeld had missed, the police had nothing but circumstantial evidence, I thought with relief.

  A tall Hispanic woman dressed in a black suit entered the room. Although her smile was gracious, suspicion glinted in her eyes. “Hello. I’m Dr. Rosa Cruz, the hospital administrator.”

  Sam and I shook hands with her as we indentified ourselves.

  “A nurse advised me that a police officer and an attorney were here asking questions. Is there a problem?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sam went with the blunt approach again. “I’m investigating the organ theft and desecration of Rebecca Whitman’s body.”

  Paling, the administrator raised a hand to her throat. “Dear God.”

  Dr. Hassenfeld grabbed a white lab coat from a hanger. “That’s only the half of it, Rosa. Apparently Detective Bowie suspects the baby’s death wasn’t from natural causes, but the police requested the body too late. I’d already processed the death certificate and released her to the funeral home.”

  Regaining her composure, Dr. Cruz nodded. “We pride ourselves on the rapid handling of patients who have passed away here. The bereaved relatives need to be able to make their arrangements. We’re quite lucky to have an efficient pathology department with Dr. Hassenfeld heading it.”

  “Speaking of efficiency.” The doctor glanced at his watch. “I have a patient on his way down here from the hospice unit. I need to get ready.” He shut off the music.

  “Of course. We can continue this discussion in my office.” Dr. Cruz indicated the door. Sam and I exited, followed by the two doctors.

  Slipping on his coat, Dr. Hassenfeld nodded. “I hope you find the bastards who mutilated that poor little baby.” Then whistling he went down the hall, disappearing through another set of doors. Moments later, the song “War” blared out.

  Dr. Cruz’s lips twitched. “Dr. Hassenfeld may be a bit unorthodox, but we’re lucky to have him.”

  “I’m sure,” I said politely as I walked beside her to the main hallway. Spotting a restroom, I gestured toward it. “If you would excuse me, I’ll catch up with you. Your office number is…”

  “Four twelve.”

  Sam looked like he wanted to wait for me, but the administrator urged him forward, saying she had another appointment shortly.

  Stepping inside the restroom, I waited a minute or two before cautiously opening the door. I glanced down the corridor and saw the elevator doors slide shut. Good.

  I crept toward Hassenfeld’s office. Not once during our interview had the doctor bothered to check the files overflowing his desk for Rebecca’s chart so I was going to do it for him. Music still blasted from the examination room.

  So long as his office door remained unlocked… Yes.

  I stole inside. It wouldn’t be an illegal search and seizure if I’d happened to have left my medical release on this desk and in looking for it found the chart as well. I could merely point out its location and request my copy.

  I went to the side closest to the door and began shuffling through the stacks. My anal nature shuddered. This was a worse mess than my partner Carling perpetually created. How people could work in such a state of chaos was beyond me. None of the folders were in alphabetical order. I paused, hearing only the throbbing beat from the radio in the other room.

  Shifting to the next stack, I picked up a sheaf of documents and a pink slip fluttered free. I crouched to pick it up and saw the name Colin Depp scrawled on a phone message dated the same day Rebecca had died.

  The fine hairs on my neck stirred as I sensed someone behind me. Before I could rise or stammer an explanation, blinding pain exploded in my head. I fell forward in a sea of papers.

  Fighting the dizziness, I rolled over to see my attacker, but only caught a glimpse of a white sleeve before another blow sent me plunging into a dark, dreamless oblivion.

  Chapter Four

  A sledgehammer slammed away at the back of my head as if it hadn’t been split apart already.

  While I yearned to slide back into unconsciousness, the pain demanded that I get up and take an aspirin or something stronger.

  Groaning, I lifted a hand toward my forehead and hit…metal. Other aches and pains made themselves known, my back complaining about the hard surface beneath it. My eyes flew open and saw only total darkness. Where was I?

  I raised both hands this time and slowly traced the cool metal surface encasing me.

  Oh God. I was in a coffin. Panic shoved aside pain as the bitter taste of bile lined my mouth. My chest heaved and I struggled to breathe. I pounded my fists against the surface over my head and then pushed as hard as I could.

  What was that?

  I steadied my hands on the metal and this time rocked. The bottom shifted ever so slightly before rolling back. Not a coffin. The pressure in my chest eased.

  Think, Nicole.

  I’d been standing in Dr. Hassenfeld’s office when I’d been attacked. So where could I be? My mind’s eye replayed all the images I had of the room. Now that my breathing had eased, I heard a low hum. Electrical power.

  The refrigerated chamber unit. It had been in the room next door. I’d shuddered when I had spotted it, knowing what was stored behind the cubicle doors. Bodies.

  Ruthlessly, I crammed back the horror that I was in a drawer where countless corpses had lain. Mustn’t get sick now. There’d be plenty of time to puke my guts out later.

  The chamber had a door, but at which end? Had my attacker put me in feet or head first? I prayed the former since I wouldn’t be able to move my arms enough to do a damn thing if the door was behind my head.

  I wiggled my feet. No shoes. They either fell in the struggle or the attacker took them off. Don’t get creeped out by the man touching you while you were unconscious.

  Inch by excruciating inch I shimmied toward the opposite end. A refrain built in my head. Get out, get out, get out.

  How much air was in this chamber? Don’t think like that. It was refrigerated so there had to be circulation to some extent. I had to get out. Who would take care of Mom if something happened to me?

  I’d never thought about that contingency, about dying. You’re too young to think about dying, I warned myself.

  My feet touched the cool metal. I slid my left one up, tracking the outer edge until my toes connected with a rectangular shape. The latch. Relief shuddered through me. I inched up until my knees were as bent as they could be in the confined space. I kicked out.

  Thud. This would not be my tomb. The drawer jostled back and forth. Good, maybe I could get some momentum going to help push against the door. Thud, thud.

  Where was Sam? He would come looking when I didn’t show in the administrator’s office…wouldn’t he? A chuckle of half panic, half irony bubbled in my chest. The man did have a habit of showing up when I least needed him. Trust my luck that he wouldn’t show when I did.

  Despite the chilled air, perspiration beaded on my forehead. My heels throbbed but still I kicked. This was a hospital for God’s sake. It was filled with people. Someone had to hear me.

  Sam, where are you? I gave another vicious kick.

  Suddenly the door flew open and light penetrated the chamber. I sailed out along with the drawer being pulled. Strong arms wrapped around me, lifted me up.

  “Nicole, honey, are you okay?” Sam’s rough voice rumbled in my ear. For a moment, I allowed weakness and buried my face against his broad chest, craving a lifetime of this sense of security.

  Sam’s arms tightened around me and his hand stroked my back. I let his strength flow into me, washing away the last vestiges of fear. When my legs wer
e steady, I released my death grip and pushed away. Sam frowned but let his arms drop. The lines of concern scoring his brow eased, and his cop expression slid into place.

  Good. In my current state I could deal with Sam the detective far better than I could Sam the man.

  “Miss Sterling.” I looked around Sam to where Dr. Cruz stood beside a gurney. She raised a trembling hand and pointed at the refrigeration unit. Reluctantly, my eyes were drawn to what could have been my coffin. I suppressed a shudder at the small, dark opening.

  “What kind of stunt do you think you were pulling?” she demanded. “We could file charges against you.”

  Her shrill tirade triggered the little men in my head to resume their hammering. Wincing, I touched the back of my head. “I didn’t crawl in for a lark, Dr. Cruz. Someone knocked me out and put me there.”

  Sam gripped my arm and swung me around to face him. “Who?”

  The sudden movement caused everything around me to blur. I swayed. With an oath Sam picked me up.

  “Hey, put me down. I’m all right.” I meant to give him a sharp whack on the shoulder but managed only a weak thump.

  “Shut up, Red.” He crossed to a chair set against a wall and placed me in it. He pressed my head toward my knees and then ran his fingers through my hair. The man had radar. He ran over the spot immediately.

  “Ow.” I batted at his hand. “Stop that.”

  He released me. When I raised my head, I saw the rage blazing in his eyes. I prayed to God his anger was directed at my attacker and not me.

  “Did you see the bastard who did this?”

  I lifted my shoulder. “No. He or she hit me from behind.”

  Dr. Hassenfeld, a scrub mask dangling around his neck, appeared in the doorway. “What the hell’s going on here? This is a restricted area.”

  The hospital administrator waved her hand in my direction. “Miss Sterling says she was attacked.”

  “Not just attacked,” Sam interjected as he pulled out his phone. “She was placed in that body chamber drawer.” He punched in a number. “Bowie here. I need a unit at Oceanview Medical Center.”

  Dr. Cruz started. “What do you think you’re doing, Detective?”

  Sam gave her a razor-thin smile. “Calling it in. After all, you wanted to press charges.”

  “I was upset.” She gave Dr. Hassenfeld a pleading look. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Tough. A crime occurred here.”

  The pathologist stirred. “Let me check the equipment. If no harm was done, then we’ll write it off as an accident.”

  “Hang on,” Sam said into the phone and then scowled at Hassenfeld. “I thought this was a hospital. What aren’t you checking Nicole for a concussion? She has a knot the size of a buzzard egg.”

  “I do not have a lump that big,” I protested. I gently probed the area and winced. Uh-oh. I didn’t know how big a buzzard’s egg was but the swelling was sizable.

  Sam turned sideways and in a low voice fired off a round of instructions into the phone.

  Hassenfeld approached. “Let me look you over.” His touch was light and professional. “Rosa, get a wheelchair. Let’s get her to an examination room stat.”

  All I wanted to do was go home and shower. My skin crawled every time I glanced at the refrigeration unit. While I was sure they cleaned the drawers every time an occupant was removed, still…

  “I’m fine.” I tried to stand but every muscle and bone protested. I ground my teeth together. “There’s nothing wrong that a hot shower and a few aspirin won’t cure.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” The pathologist was all doctor now and in command of the situation.

  Within minutes I was wheeled to an examination room. For once I didn’t mind putting on a hospital gown. I didn’t want to see my own clothes ever again. Then a technician transported me on a rattling gurney to another room.

  The cold would have caused my teeth to chatter, but it was the monstrous machine in the center that had me swinging my legs off the gurney.

  “No, absolutely not.”

  The technician blocked me. “Ma’am, you’ve had a blow to the head. The doctor is concerned about bleeding and has ordered a MRI. It’ll only take about twenty minutes. There’s no pain involved.”

  Only the agony of once more being entombed. The gleaming drawer would carry me into the guts of the machine where sounds like gunshots would go on for what seemed like an eternity.

  My mother had undergone several MRIs, and every time I’d sat beside the machine to keep her calm. While I may not have been claustrophobic before, never again would I be able to stand being confined in a metal tube.

  “Sorry, but no way.”

  “I’m going to have to call the doctor.”

  “You do that.” Air stirred across my back as a door opened behind me. I suddenly remembered I was in a hospital gown with my naked butt exposed for all to see.

  I whipped my hand around and gripped a handful of fabric.

  A man’s dark chuckle sounded as Sam walked to my side of the gurney. “Too late, Red. I’ve already seen your very charming assets.”

  Heat infused my face. I lifted my chin. “What are you doing here?”

  “Checking on you.” His searching gaze didn’t miss a thing. “What’s wrong?”

  The tech raised his hands. “She refuses to go into the machine.”

  I couldn’t even look at the gaping hole waiting to swallow me alive. “Sam…”

  I lifted a helpless hand, which he caught and enfolded in his large one. Although he had a powerful grip, his hold was gentle. “I know how hard a noggin you have, but you had a nasty blow.” His fingers tightened. “You need to get it checked out. Can’t take chances with head injuries, Nicole.”

  I closed my eyes. “But it’s a tomb.”

  “Hon, it’s a machine with all sorts of fancy medical bells and whistles. I’ll stay with you the entire time. If anything goes wrong, I’ll get you out.”

  I sighed, opening my eyes. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Okay, let’s do this.” The technician assisted me onto the ledge, not a mean feat as I kept a death grip on the back of the gown.

  When the man disappeared, I gazed up at Sam without speaking. As the drawer began to slide, panic’s tentacles gripped me. “I can’t do this.”

  “Sure you can, honey.” Sam gave me a reassuring pat. As I moved away, he winked. “Once you come out, will you let me touch that dragon tattoo on your ass?”

  “What?”

  The tube swallowed me. But I swear as the gun bursts began, I could hear Sam’s laughter.

  Simmering, I pulled into the drive of the single-story stucco house I shared with my mother in Boynton Beach. A bright cherry-red Mustang was already parked there. I hadn’t called Carling so it was obvious someone continued to stick his nose in my business where it didn’t belong.

  I got out and slammed the door of my silver BMW, a rare present from my father. The winter sun beat down on me, its warmth soothing. After hours of circulated hospital atmosphere, I inhaled the crisp air like it was fine wine.

  A nondescript black sedan rolled to a stop on the street and Sam emerged. I slung my purse, which had been recovered in Dr. Hassenfeld’s office along with my shoes, over my shoulder.

  “That’s far enough. You saw me home, now go.”

  Of course he continued to amble with that rolling stride of his toward me. “My mama taught me to see a lady to the door.”

  Mom had been having a good day when I left and she knew Carling—at least on most days she did. However, she’d never met Sam. I didn’t know if a stranger would upset her.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Then you should have no problem with me walking the last few steps with you.” He cupped my elbow and guided me toward the door.

  The beds of impatiens I planted on either side of the door at the end of October were already huge puffs of pink, purple and white due to a heavy dose of
fertilizer. The bursts of color complemented the deep rose I’d painted the house a few years ago. At the time I’d considered moving to West Palm Beach to be closer to work, but this house was paid for courtesy of dear old Dad, and my mother was familiar with the neighborhood. More importantly, the neighbors knew Mom. A big plus. Since I couldn’t move, I’d given in to painting the house a color I wanted.

  Sam nodded. “Place looks great, Red.”

  “Thanks.” I took a deep breath and opened the door. Only an abbreviated entry separated it from the living room filled with the Queen Anne furniture my mother favored. When the time came to face the inevitable, the set was getting consigned to charity. I didn’t care if I sat on nothing but cushions until I could afford something more contemporary and comfortable.

  Along the wall dividing the living room from the Florida room sat a large hutch filled with framed photos and awards from a better time in my mother’s life. A lot of famous faces were on those shelves.

  Carling sat on the sofa across from my mother, who was in the wing back chair that had functioned as her version of a throne until recently. My friend looked up and paled. Great. For anything to ruffle the unflappable Carling Dent, I must really look like shit.

  She leaped up and rushed over to me. “My God, are you all right?”

  When she reached out to hug me, I straight-armed her. “Trust me, you don’t want to touch me. Not until I’ve had a shower and changed.”

  She promptly used her momentum to turn on Sam. “What the hell happened? Where were you when Nicole was being stuffed alive in a metal tomb?”

  “Shh.” I cast a worried glance at Mom. So far, so good. She seemed content to stare out the front window. “Lower your voice.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “I was interviewing the hospital administrator, which I might say, your partner would’ve also been doing if she hadn’t pulled a disappearing act.” The look he gave me was not amused. “When her trip to the restroom lasted more than fifteen minutes, this country boy realized not even Red could take that long to apply lipstick. Dr. Cruz cost me another fifteen because she insisted on escorting me and then had to deal with an emergency.” Even now frustration simmered in his voice.