Sin & Bone: A Medical Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 2)

by Bette Golden Lamb

  “Well, if he’s that close to her, chances are he’s going to be a pain in the neck, too.” He blinked away what appeared to be a discomfiting thought. “Anyway, forget Lucke – tell me more about Mazzio’s latest misadventure.”

  Alexandros hesitated. The administrator was tense, sarcastic, territorial. “I thought we were lucky to have her in the Advice Center.”

  “Lucky? Is that what you think?”

  “She does good work: patient surveys have her at the top of the list, and her stats for handling calls are the best in the region.”

  “Regardless, she’s nothing but trouble,” Vasquez insisted.

  “You couldn’t prove it by me.”

  “Trust me, Ms. Alexandros – Gina Mazzio almost brought down this hospital with her costly union negotiations and there are other matters that I don’t wish to discuss. How the hell she has the time to cause so much disruption and still do her job as a staff nurse is beyond me.”

  “What did she do?”

  Vasquez turned towards his window, his face a bright red. “I’ve told you all I intend to, other than to repeat that she’s a troublemaker. I would have fired her on the spot if it hadn’t been for the union – they stick their noses into every part of our operations. It wasn’t worth the hassle at the time. Maybe it is now.”

  “There’s nothing to fire her for. She’s worried, that’s all.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But do let me know the minute you’ve heard from your murdered Nurse Wilton.”

  Vasquez turned back to the desk and tapped the top of his notebook. When he spoke again, his voice was reasonable, but there was an undercurrent of menace accenting every word:

  “I want to hear from you if anything …let there be no mistake … I said if anything more comes up about Ms. Mazzio. Is that clear?”

  Lexie stood and headed for the door.

  “Perfectly.”

  ₪ CHAPTER 13

  Gina tried to remain rational, but a mixed agenda fragmented her thoughts. First, it was Harry, then the grisly telephone calls, then the possibility that Shelly was dead, and now a killer might be stalking her.

  “Indifference is the epitome of evil,” she mumbled as she walked to her car, her step a little firmer. She tried to live by that quote from Elie Wiesel, and since coming to Ridgewood, she’d definitely pushed Wiesel’s credo beyond anything she’d ever dared before. But maybe a little indifference at this point might relieve some of the pressure.

  So far she’d landed on her feet, but what would tomorrow bring? The direction of her life had changed again mid stride – she was disconnected, unsure, and way over the edge.

  She fired a backward glance, first to see if anyone was following her, then to observe the gloomy, ominous hospital in the fading light.

  Ominous?

  When had she begun to feel that way?

  Being away from the Bronx and her marital memories were only part of the equation. Coming to Ridgewood was supposed to be the answer to everything -- a teaching institution, a place she could learn new techniques, meet world-class doctors and researchers, be involved in advanced studies. Most of all, she hoped it would be a place where she would receive the respect a professional deserved. Instead of being enclosed in the hospital’s protective circle, she’d been slapped in the face, hard.

  A year ago, her union involvement had turned unhappy nurses into proud people, excited to be a part of such a progressive staff. Morale was never been better. But instead of thanks, she’d been tossed out of the hospital, with its intense patient involvement and tight staff relationships, and shunted off to the isolation of Ob/Gyn Advice, a service she never once contemplated.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like being an advice nurse – it was a challenging job. It simply wasn’t what she’d signed on for.

  Ridgewood had betrayed her.

  She yanked up the collar of her coat against a sudden sharp breeze. It had rained heavily earlier and the beads of moisture covering her car flew into the wind as she opened the door and settled into the damp seat.

  She pulled out her cell and punched in Shelly Wilton’s home number – one she now knew by heart.

  Still no answer.

  The key slid into the ignition smoothly and, for a change, the car started without its usual complaints.

  “Hah! Take that, Harry Lucke.” She loved the recalcitrant Fiat and hated it when Harry kidded her about it being old enough to be classified as an actual antique.

  The light moment passed quickly. She’d made up her mind – she was going to contact the police again, and this time she wasn’t going to be brushed aside. Pepper Yee would have to listen to her, show some real interest. Either that or she was going to become the biggest pain in the ass Yee had ever encountered. It was past time to really get into the cop’s face.

  When she arrived at the police station, it was pouring rain again. She looked fruitlessly for her umbrella in the car, then pictured it in the locker room at Ridgewood. She was drenched before she reached the station entrance, and in rotten humor.

  She signed in with the desk sergeant, asked to see Yee.

  “I’m off soon,” said the roly-poly officer, ogling her. “Won’t I do?”

  “Sergeant, I’m in no mood to have you hitting on me.”

  “Com’on, beautiful, give a guy a break. I’m just looking for a little conversation and companionship.”

  Gina read his nametag. “I’m sure you are, Sergeant Ober. I’m not!” She shoved the sign-in clipboard back at him so hard it bounced off his rotund gut. The sheet was now covered with dots of moisture from her dripping hair and arm.

  The cop tried to stare her down and gave her a sleazy smile while punching in numbers on the desk telephone. Gina stood her ground, her eyes burning into his as she tapped her finger on the counter.

  He spoke, then hung up. “Detective Yee’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  * * *

  Pepper Yee scrawled Gina Mazzio’s name on a scratch pad, frowned at it, and punched the Hold button to resume her telephone conversation with her lieutenant:

  “We got a hot tip about a suspect,” Yee said. “Not only that, we nailed a name … a guy we think is a key player. I need to connect the dots.”

  “A raid?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m thinking more like a sting operation … maybe set up a phony buy. But, if I can’t bring that off, it’ll have to be a raid.”

  “I hope that nets us something,” the lieutenant said. “We need to hook into the source for all these unaccounted for cadavers and body parts.”

  “That’s what I’m shooting for.” She drew circles around Mazzio’s name, put a star at either end of the note. “Give me a few more days to look for a go-between – someone who knows all the players and can be coaxed—“

  “—or coerced.”

  “Right. Someone to play nice with us.”

  “Make it quick, Yee. Complaints coming in about these bodies have been increasing monthly. We need to act quickly on this.”

  “Top priority, Lieutenant.”

  “Good! I’m counting on you, Yee.”

  “Yes sir!” She was also counting on being at the top of the list when the next First Grade slot opened up.

  * * *

  The desk sergeant continued to glance at Gina in between dealing with people stopping at his desk and taking phone calls.

  About ten minutes had elapsed when a tall, skinny blonde, definitely non-Asian, came through a set of swinging doors.

  “Yee,” the detective said as she came around the counter and offered a hand.

  “Gina Mazzio.”

  “The advice nurse from Ridgewood General, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Nice to meet you. That doesn’t always happen in my line of work.”

  “Mine either.”

  “Thought I’d be Chinese, didn’t you?”

  Gina forced a small smile. “Crossed my mind.”

  Yee led Gina back through the swinging
doors and wove a path through a haphazard placement of desks that nearly filled the large room. She stopped at an untidy cubicle in a far corner of the area.

  “Have a seat,” Yee said, pointing to a straight back wooden chair. She plopped into a castered desk chair with well-worn vinyl upholstery. “Got your messages. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. It’s been a killer couple of days, if you’ll pardon the pun.” She pushed her hair back and re-clipped it. “What’s going on?”

  Gina unfastened her raincoat belt, undid the buttons, and sat down. She gave the room a closer look: it was grungy, like no one had really cleaned it in a long time; take-out cartons rested on several desks, and, from the aromas coming from the detective’s desk, Gina would have bet Yee’s dinner was stashed in one of the metal drawers. She glanced at her watch: About the same time she’d called Friday night. Maybe Yee was eating her dinner as Gina had suspected when she called.

  Same time, same game.

  “You know, detective,” Gina said, “I’m not a happy camper. You were flippant with me on Friday, and I had to come in here to get you to respond to my phone messages.”

  Yee gave her a so-who-the-hell-cares kind of look.

  “I really wanted to get a hold of Detective Mulzini, who helped me about a year ago, and was very kind.”

  “You and Mulzini have a thing for each other?”

  “Hardly,” Gina said.

  Yee opened her notebook to a fresh page. “So what was that all about?”

  He looked into some death threats that came my way because of a union situation. He also handled an extortion and murder situation involving the hospital’s bone marrow cancer treatment patients. It was pretty wild. Anyway, I always felt he had me in his sites. He was great.”

  Yee’s face relaxed. “Yeah, he’s one of the good guys, but don’t ever quote me. I’d deny it to the end.” She tapped a pencil from end to end, briefly studied a picture on her desk that Gina couldn’t see. “So what’s happening to bring you here tonight? Not the same problem, I hope.”

  Gina slipped out of her raincoat, mostly to stall while she thought about what she was going to say. She would have to be logical, not run off at the mouth as she had with her manager.

  “You remember the call Friday when this … this creep told me a woman had been sliced up?”

  Yee nodded.

  “Well, late last night, the same weirdo called me at home. Told me another woman had been cut into pieces, a nurse that I work with, Shelly Wilton.”

  “Called at your apartment, not the hospital?”

  Gina nodded. “It was scary … scary to know he could find me so easily, that anyone could find me so easily.” Gina bowed her head, covered her eyes to hide the tears that welled up without warning

  “It’s okay. I understand. Go on.”

  “I didn’t want to believe him, but when I went to work today and Shelly didn’t come in, I was frantic. Tina, another coworker, said it wasn’t unusual -- Shelly is supposedly known for taking time off unexpectedly.”

  “You work with her and never noticed?”

  Gina reached for a tissue from the detective’s desk and dabbed at her eyes. “When I thought about it, I realized it was true. But it’s not my thing to get into other people’s business. As long as we’re fully staffed,” Gina shrugged, “life goes on.”

  Yee looked around the squad room. “Sort of the same thing here.”

  “I tried to call Shelly on and off all night, then again today. No one answers. Something’s happened. I just know it.”

  Yee continued to write as Gina spoke. “First of all, I’m going to have to do a fly-by and see if this Shelly Wilton is there, or if someone knows where she might be. Maybe she is sick.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you’ll stay away. I’ll let you know what’s up.”

  “God, it would be such a relief if she was there,” Gina said.

  “Is your address in the phone book?”

  “No! In fact, not even my telephone number is in the book. It’s been that way since I moved to San Francisco.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “No. My fiancé lives with me, but he’s not always in town.”

  “Name?”

  “Lucke. Harry Lucke.”

  “Occupation?”

  “Travel Nurse. Goes all over the country on assignment.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Gina thought for a moment. “He’s in town, but we’re, uh, taking a time-out … for the time being.”

  The detective closed her notebook, leaned back in her chair and leveled her gaze at Gina: “Does he know Shelly Wilton?”

  “No! And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  ₪ CHAPTER 14

  It was almost 4:30 when Tina told Gina there was a personal call waiting for her on Line #3.

  Harry!

  The thought gave her a momentary high that crashed with the reality of their situation. Besides, she wasn’t ready to talk to him, and she had the disturbing thought that this time they might not find their way back together. Still, where was he? It wasn’t like him to stay out of touch this long.

  She became transfixed by the blinking light.

  Maybe it was Yee, finally getting back to her. If so, the cop had taken her own sweet time about it. She was antsy to find out what Yee had discovered during her so-called fly-by of Shelly’s apartment – if the detective even went there.

  Mostly, Gina didn’t want it to be that voice again. She held her breath and took the call.

  “I stopped by Shelly Wilton’s apartment about an hour ago,” Detective Yee said without preliminaries.

  Gina’s throat constricted, she squeezed both hands into tight fists until her knuckles turned white. She waited, expecting Yee to lower her voice, then tell her that Shelly was not only dead, but cut up and scattered all around the apartment.

  “What did you find?” Gina whispered rapidly. “Is she all right?”

  “Everything appeared to be in order. No sign of anything unusual. But no sign of Ms Wilton, either. Or any clue as to where she might be.”

  “Did you speak to the super?”

  “Ms. Mazzio, I did what needed to be done.”

  “Then what do you think?”

  “It’s too soon to think anything.”

  “But we can’t just ignore the nut who called me at work, and then at home. And we can’t ignore the fact Shelly hasn’t come into to work for the past two days.”

  “We’ll let it play out a little longer. She may turn up.”

  Gina hated the way Yee retreated into a condescending mode. A voice riddled with a there-there-you’re-a-nut-case cadence.

  “Easy for you to say,” Gina snapped. “No one’s stalking you … you with your big gun and badge.” Then in almost the same breath, “Why did I ever think you’d do anything helpful or significant?”

  She punched the disconnect button. The line lit up almost immediately. She refused to pick it up; she would just have to find out for herself what was going on with Shelly.

  Gina turned and stared at Chelsea, who’d been called in to take Shelly’s place. But seeing the on-call nurse only accentuated her fears about the missing nurse.

  And as for Yee? Screw her!

  “Stop looking at me that way,” Chelsea said. “I’m only here because Shelly didn’t show up for work. Would you rather be understaffed?”

  Gina held up a hand. “Sorry, Chels. I’m just worried about Shelly. Believe me, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Don’t pay attention to her,” Tina said. “She’s a born complainer. Kvetch, kvetch! Never satisfied about anything. Aiyiyi!”

  “Bite yourself,” Gina blurted.

  “There goes the drama queen. Always a sage word for us lesser people.”

  Gina wanted to punch her out, but instead of taking the Bronx approach to settling things, she headed for the door. “It’s five and I’m out of here.” Her eyes bored into Tina’s. “And I wish you
’d stop taking those nasty pills. They’re much too efficacious.”

  As she walked out the door, she heard Chelsea say, “What nasty pills?”

  * * *

  The Fiat coughed, spat out billowing exhaust smoke and fumes, then shuddered into silence. Gina pounded on the dashboard, tried again.

  “What’s with you? Why can’t you do smooth? Why can’t you do easy? Why can’t you do what the hell you’re supposed to do?”

  The starter whirred away, paused as though the car was actually considering her litany of questions, then the ignition caught and fired. The engine roughness smoothed out quicker than usual; the tach needle trembled only slightly, then settled in to indicate a steady rpm.

  She let loose a huge sigh. “I knew you could do it, baby.”

  She entered into the flow of traffic, a vision of spaghetti doing a number in her head. But instead of pulling a hard right to take her home, she headed straight out toward the Sunset district.

  Twenty minutes later, after a ferocious search for a parking place, she climbed a long flight of concrete stairs and stood at the doorway to Shelly Wilton’s apartment building. The structure dated back a few decades, but it had been recently renovated and the smell of fresh paint permeated in the air. She peered at the metal mailbox and studied the names of the occupants.

  She pressed Shelly Wilton’s apartment buzzer, tapped her foot as she waited for a response. Giving up, she rang for the super and within a minute a man wearing a grimy, almost threadbare, gray sweatshirt popped his head out the door.

  Gina wanted to smile at the work of the amateur embroiderer who had stitched “Maxxy” around the neck of his shirt in ugly shocking pink. Instead she concentrated on how the garish color highlighted his sallow completion.

  “We’re all outta apartments, honey,” he yelled.

  Gina stared at the big scruffy man, eyed the stenciled Shit Happens on the front of his well-worn sweatshirt, then pointed at his chest:

  “Ain’t it the truth,” she yelled back And then, even louder, “Don’t call me honey.”

  He gave her a blank stare, then started to close his door.

  “Wait!”

  “Did’nya hear me, lady? Ain’t got a single empty pad right now.”