The Diagnosis is Murder (A Dr. Valorian Mystery Book 1)

by Steven Gossington

  “You know what’s really strange?”

  “What?”

  Derek chuckled. “I don’t think you can tell, but I feel like I’m blushing.”

  “That’s okay. I can handle it. I’ve seen just about everything. Go ahead.”

  “I swear the thing was still vibrating when I touched it.”

  Laura laughed. “Yes, that’s strange all right. But you know batteries these days—it could vibrate for a long time.” Laura sat back in her chair and smiled. It felt good to laugh.

  Derek finished his work before Laura. As he was leaving the doctors’ office, Laura stood and shook his hand. “Thanks for your support today.”

  “My pleasure. See you next time.”

  “You’ve been down lately. It’ll pass,” Laura said.

  Derek looked at her for a few seconds and then sighed. “We’ll see.”

  Laura’s brow was furrowed as she watched him walk away.

  Escorted by a security guard, Laura left the hospital in better spirits, her body rejuvenated with a welcome burst of energy. She strolled out under a clear April evening sky. Before getting into her car, Laura gazed up at the twinkling stars.

  She decided to treat herself to a favorite restaurant, a steak and seafood place that served up the most delicious soups. On this menu, the entree was less important to Laura than the large portions of steaming soup and the scrumptious bread. To top off the satisfying meal, she could drive home to a clean kitchen.

  Soon after she walked into her house, she noticed that Cosmo had been ill. A heap of smelly vomit decorated the kitchen floor. Laura found Cosmo and petted him. He didn’t seem to be distressed, so Laura wasn’t too concerned about the vomiting. About once every other month, Cosmo would regurgitate like that but wouldn’t remain ill. Laura had taken him to a vet once, and the evaluation revealed nothing of concern. She figured that the use of chemicals in her home, along with Cosmo’s sensitive gastrointestinal system, combined to cause the periodic upheavals. Or was the temporary illness related to Laura’s own state of mind? Laura had been stressed last night about the child abuse case. She wondered if Cosmo had sensed that stress and reacted to it.

  She stayed up late, spread out on her living room couch, reading her toxicology textbooks, thinking about clues. She knew she needed more evidence—and a face-to-face interview with Dr. Blake Sutcliff. This case is really getting to me—I can’t stop thinking about it.

  She wondered if her dogged pursuit of the Preswick case was opening a door for her—an escape hatch—to slip away from the stresses of her ER job. In a way, the role of medical crime detective was more fun for her—and equally as challenging—as her ER clinical practice. She was able to use those diagnostic skills she was striving to fine-tune in another rewarding way—to catch murderers.

  Although Laura’s sleep that night wasn’t restful, exhaustion worked to her advantage, and she remembered no nightmares. She hadn’t set her alarm, preferring to sleep and awaken naturally. However, the telephone roused her that Monday morning. Her bedside clock read a few minutes before 10:00 a.m.

  “Hello.” Laura’s voice was rough.

  “Wake up. I’ve got your lab guy’s name,” Alec said.

  “Hold on a minute.” Laura shook off the cobwebs and grabbed her suspect list and a pencil. “Okay. Fire away.”

  “George Detmeyer.” He spelled the name for Laura.

  “Got it.”

  “I found Max Flowers on the internet. His photo is posted on his business website: ‘FlawlessLiquidBandage.com.’ The site hasn’t been updated for a while; some of the links don’t work.”

  “So, he’s not selling the product?”

  “I don’t think so. The site talks more about future developments, like a work in progress.”

  “Maybe the investment hasn’t paid off yet.”

  “Right,” Alec said. “Let’s get together this evening.”

  “Great. Want to have dinner?”

  “It’s on me. You name the time and place.”

  Laura considered a few options. “Fiola in D.C., 6:00.”

  “Want me to come by and get you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll be there at 5:30.”

  “I think I can have the suspect photos by tonight.”

  “I’ll work on the dealer connection, and I’ll bring Max’s photo.”

  Alec’s voice was reassuring to Laura. This murder business was so foreign to her usual activity and thought patterns. Nevertheless, she felt excited with the challenge, like when she’d received her acceptances to medical school and then later to her residency program. In fact, she was positively giddy now that she knew—without a doubt—that Alec was on board with her case.

  ***

  Alec smiled as he hung up the phone. His small office just off North Capitol Street in D.C. was spare, containing an unadorned metal desk, a comfortable plush brown leather desk chair, and two guest chairs, which were bought used and sported a few frayed areas on the seats and armrests. Several framed photographs hung on the walls, each a few degrees askew, one of the Grand Canyon and two of Arizona saguaro cactuses. Alec would gaze at the giant cactuses when he was puzzled about something. He remembered marveling at the huge treelike plants towering over him when he was a kid growing up in Arizona.

  His leather desk chair was the big-ticket item. Alec wanted to sit comfortably at his desk, even when the top of it was almost bare, like now. A few standard objects were scattered over the desk: a short pile of papers, the telephone, and a small, framed picture of his wife and son. Business had been slow, but that didn’t matter so much today—Alec was thinking of Laura and couldn’t stop smiling. He was attracted to strong women. Holly, his wife of ten years, had been strong, competent, and resilient. Laura and Holly could’ve been sisters.

  Alec was yanked out of his daydream by the clanging telephone, and he recognized the caller ID. “Monica?” Alec hadn’t expected to hear from her this soon. In fact, he hadn’t been thinking about her at all.

  “Alec, I’m free for a few hours tonight. He’s going to another long, boring medical meeting. Want to have some fun?”

  Alec hesitated. The familiar desire for Monica wasn’t happening. Anyway, he already had a date with Laura. “I can’t tonight.” Alec heard nothing for a few seconds.

  “Are you working on a case?”

  “I have plans.”

  Another pause, then, “Remember, Alec. I want you all to myself. I can keep you happy. Just remember that.”

  Alec was quiet.

  “I’ll call you later,” Monica said, and the line went dead.

  Early afternoon, Alec took in a movie, choosing a Disney-Pixar release. Before he knew it, the story was over, and he clapped as the closing credits appeared on the screen. Four, no five stars.

  At his car outside in the parking lot, the buzzing in his ears started up—the buzzing that meant something was amiss. Whipping around, he possibly caught a glimpse of a figure ducking behind a building. For several minutes, he watched the corner of the building and searched the people near him and walking past him, but he saw nothing suspicious.

  On the way to his apartment, he checked the rearview mirror every few seconds. After locking his front door behind him, an image of Laura popped into his head, and his ex-policeman’s intuition chimed into his thoughts again: “Laura is on to something.”

  Chapter 15

  Laura’s immediate mission was to acquire photos of the suspects. Dr. Kline’s was easy. She copied his picture from their medical school yearbook. Even though he was nine or ten years younger then, Laura noted that his appearance hadn’t changed that much.

  Nothing useful turned up during a search of Facebook pages on her computer. She then placed a number of telephone calls to area hospitals to locate the place of employment of one George Detmeyer—lab tech—and she scored on her fourth call. Laura cleaned up and ate a light breakfast. It was a warm, sunny day—perfect for motoring around.

  As she putt
ered along, she dreamed up a simple and nonthreatening excuse for the photographs. Laura would introduce herself to the secretaries in the personnel office and say, “I want to thank these fine people on your hospital staff with personalized gifts. Recently, they helped one of my close relatives. I’d like to have their photos to glue on to beautiful crystal paperweights, which make marvelous presents. So, I wonder if I could possibly have a copy of the photos from their files? Those photos are usually just the right size to fit perfectly on to the crystal paperweights.”

  Her first stop was her own hospital, and the familiar secretaries in the administration office were friendly and receptive. In fact, Laura didn’t need to say much at all: “I would like to thank some staff members with personalized gifts. Can I make copies of their photos?”

  One of the secretaries pulled the application files of Tina Landry and Dr. Blake Sutcliff. Laura borrowed the copy machine to make adequate copies of their application photographs, which were both less than one year old. She also made a copy of her suspect list for Alec.

  Next, she drove to George Detmeyer’s hospital in northern Washington, D.C. Although Laura was unknown there, the fact that she was a local physician gained her the advantage she needed, and the crystal paperweight story worked without a hitch. She acquired a copy of Detmeyer’s photo from his original employment application. His photo was about five years old. Recent enough.

  She grinned all the way to her car. “What a performance,” she said and patted herself on the shoulder. She sat behind the steering wheel and studied her partial lineup. George Detmeyer wore thick glasses and had a round face with a hint of a double chin. Laura could imagine him hidden away in some laboratory, working alone with test tubes. Dr. Blake Sutcliff had smooth black hair and an angular face with a domineering expression.

  How to get a photo of Nancy Preswick? Laura had been pondering that question since morning, and an idea popped into her head. She drove back to her home and sat on the floor of a front room that served as her office. She sifted through large piles of journals, articles, bulletins, and other mail that she never seemed to finish reading but couldn’t bring herself to throw away.

  An hour passed before she came across the object of her search, a two-year-old hospital bulletin that featured photographs of a gala December holiday party for doctors and their families. Laura had a vague memory that the Preswicks were there, and she was right. Roderick and Nancy Preswick were visible in one photo that isolated the two of them. Laura cut Nancy’s photo from the page. She now had a pictorial lineup of all her suspects.

  From her kitchen telephone, she placed a call to Dr. Blake Sutcliff. No one answered.

  At 4:30 p.m., Laura freshened up and slipped into one of her favorite dresses—a sky blue number she chose when she felt cheerful. She then opened a seldom-used bottle of perfume and placed a few dabs on the sides of her neck. Alec arrived at her house on time. He flashed his mysterious smile and escorted her to his freshly washed and waxed Mustang, parked out front in the street.

  Alec eased his car through the rush hour traffic to Fiola, a high-end Italian restaurant with indoor, patio, and rooftop dining options. Laura agreed to postpone any business discussion until after dinner. They were seated at a rooftop table with views of the Capitol Building and the Washington Monument. Alec ordered the rib eye and Laura a soft-shell crab. While enjoying the savory food, they talked about some of Laura’s interesting ER patients.

  Two espressos arrived after their empty plates were whisked away.

  “So, your informant came through for you?” Laura said.

  “Yep. He’s one of my good ones—interesting fellow—homeless guy. Knows the streets. I can usually find him in one of the shelters.” Alec picked up his cup and hesitated. “He told me before he comes to your hospital ER sometimes. Last name: Hamilton.”

  Laura choked on her espresso. “I know him. He tells me interesting things, too.”

  “Talks gibberish, but nuggets of good information are buried in there. You have to listen.”

  Laura nodded, recalling a recent story from Mr. Hamilton.

  Sure you want to go through with this? Questioning the dealer?” Alec said.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I set up a meeting at 8:30 tonight. You know you don’t have to be there. I could do it alone.”

  “I’ll be all right. You’ll be close by.”

  “I’ll be with you, in the car, in a disguise.”

  Laura sat forward. “Great idea.”

  They left the restaurant and settled in the Mustang.

  “Got your photos with you?” Alec said.

  Laura pulled the five pictures from her purse and handed them to Alec.

  “Good work,” he said after glancing at them.

  “They’re copies for you. Can I see Max’s photo?”

  “In the glove compartment.”

  Laura found the photo of the balding man and studied it. Max had narrowed his eyelids and tensed his lips in a vain attempt to appear tough.

  They relaxed a while longer, rehashing the case. Laura reviewed the suspects with Alec as he examined their photos.

  “A believable homicide, but little evidence,” Alec said.

  “Then let’s get some evidence. Shall we go?”

  “Yes, it’s time. Got money?”

  “I brought along a 100-dollar bill for a bribe. Is that enough?”

  “Should be.”

  “Where does he want to meet us?”

  “Would you believe Georgetown?” Alec described the area in Georgetown where the meeting was to take place.

  “Maybe he’s the one we want—the dealer of our designer drug.”

  “That would be too lucky.”

  “Anyway, he may be accustomed to medical types, since there are several hospitals nearby.”

  Alec snorted. “Hell, he could be a medical type himself.”

  Before they left the parking space, Alec reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a plastic bag stuffed with a mustache, a beard, a pair of dark sunglasses, and a baseball cap. He looked in the rearview mirror and donned the items one by one.

  “I’m impressed. It’s a natural look, not like a disguise at all,” Laura said.

  “I practiced with this years ago. It’s come in handy a time or two.”

  Twenty minutes later, Alec slowed to a stop at the appointed place on the side of the street under a canopy of trees near an athletic field. A gusty breeze whipped around the fresh evening air. Alec leaned toward Laura. “Crack your window about halfway, and get your money ready to show him.”

  They waited. A few cars passed by. They detected no other activity outside their car until, after about ten minutes, a dark Lincoln Continental with opaque windows pulled up behind them. A man stepped out of the back seat and motioned for Laura and Alec to come over to him. He returned to the back seat and closed his door.

  “Should I get out and go to him?” Laura said.

  “No. We’ll wait here. He’ll come to us.”

  “I guess it’s safer that way?”

  “Safer for us, and probably safer for him.”

  “I don’t understand. Safer for him?”

  “He’s here to make a sale, and he’s not alone. There may be a boss with him, or bosses. It’ll be easier for us to get the information we want if we can fake a sale and just slip him the money. His boss will be watching, but he won’t know what we’re doing.”

  “What if he doesn’t come?”

  “He’ll come. They want the money, and they understand that buyers may want some anonymity. There’s a small flashlight in the glove compartment. You’ll need it for the pictures.”

  Laura found the flashlight and put the photos and money in her lap.

  Alec was right. After several minutes, the same man stepped out of the car again. This time, he approached Alec’s car. He walked to the half-opened window—Laura’s window—which was away from the street.

  “You the ones that called?”
/>   “Yes,” Laura said. “You have what we asked for?”

  “Show me the money.”

  Laura held up the 100-dollar bill, which the man inspected with a penlight.

  Satisfied, he lowered the light and leaned toward her. “I’ll pass the stuff through the window, and you give me the Benjamin.”

  “Listen. I’ll give you the money, but first I want you to look at some pictures.”

  “Shit, you pulling crap on me?”

  “No, you’ll get your money. Just look at these photos and tell me if you recognize any of these people. Otherwise, we don’t have a deal.” After handing the money to Alec, she rolled the window all the way down and heard the man curse under his breath.

  He leaned with his left side against the car and lowered his head. Laura held up the photos in front of her fanned out like poker cards and illuminated them with a flashlight. “Just relax. It’ll look like I’m examining your merchandise.”

  The man appeared nervous, but he scanned the pictures. Then he looked at Laura and said, “You cops?”

  “No, we’re not cops. We have a good friend who’s disappeared. She did narcotics—the kind you sell. We want to know if she’s been around here. One of these pictures is her, and she knew these other people. We’re just trying to find her. Have you seen any of these people?” Laura lowered her voice to a whisper. “You won’t get into any trouble. Just tell me, and you’ll get your money. You can even keep your drugs. That’s not what we want.” Laura saw the man’s eyes widen, and she knew he was considering the profit potential for himself. He could actually get paid and keep the narcotics for a secret sale.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him.” He pointed at the picture of Dr. Matthew Kline.

  Laura’s throat tightened. She forced the hoarse words from her mouth. “Have you seen any of these other people?”

  “No. Gimme the money.”

  “Look again. Are you sure?”

  “That’s it. Gimme the money.”

  Laura flinched as a horn blared from the car behind her.