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

by Bette Golden Lamb

  She motioned for him to open the outer door. He gave her a perfunctory nod, the door lock buzzed, and she stepped into the foyer.

  “Listen, Maxxy,” I need you to hear me out, okay?’ I’m not looking for a place to bed down. I’m looking for Shelly Wilton in 3C.”

  “Yeah, you, the police, and my grandmudder. So what?” He held his door half open. “Far as I’m concerned, her rent is cool for another month. She pays the dough, she gets her privacy. If you ain’t got a warrant, go ‘way!”

  Before he could slam the door in her face, Gina blurted, “So where you from Maxxy? You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Maybe back East?”

  “Yeah, so what’s it to ya?”

  “Nothin,’ nothin.’ Just that I get lonely for my home turf. Hearing you talk is music to my ears.”

  He took a closer look at her. “Yeah? So where you from?” The door opened an inch or two more.

  “The Bronx … Grand Concourse.”

  “Gidouttahere! You, too?”

  “Moved here a couple of years ago.” Gina smiled. “Beats shoveling snow.”

  The super opened the door all the way and gave her a you-ain’t-shitting-me-sneer while he pulled a ring of keys from the loop on his jeans, motioned for her to follow him. She started up the steps, tried to avoid smelling his trail of stale sweat.

  “So what’s up with Shelly? Seems like a good enough kid to me.”

  “Yeah, I like her, too. But I’m worried. She hasn’t shown up for work for two days. I’ve called her. Not a peep.”

  “Thinkin’ about her myself since the police came by.”

  Gina ran her hand along the freshly painted banister as they climbed two flights of newly carpeted stairs. The rug was already spotted from foot traffic carrying the dregs of bad weather.

  Shelly’s name was typed on a card above her bell. He knocked, waited a moment, then turned a key in the lock.

  The first thing that hit Gina was the feeling that no one lived here any more. It felt empty, sterile. She shrugged off a chill of fear that told her Shelly was dead and started looking around the one-bedroom apartment.

  The place was surprisingly tidy. Gina always thought of Shelly as a kind of sloppy character, judging from her desk at work. But the person who lived here was more artistic than messy.

  Several of the paintings scattered around on the walls were signed by Shelly in bold letters. That was a total surprise. Gina couldn’t remember Shelly ever talking about being an artist. They were interesting paintings, mostly nudes. The fleshy subjects had tentative stares that gazed into space. Something had them puzzled.

  Probably a statement about life; I’m sure as hell puzzled by it most of the time.

  All seemed in order. If Shelly was murdered, it didn’t happen here, even a clueless amateur could see that.

  Maxxy’s restless jingle of keys told her that he’d had enough. Before he could say anything to move her out of the apartment, she hurried into a bright, spacious bedroom.

  The first thing she saw was a jumble of paint tubes and a dozen well used brushes in a jar. They were on a color-splattered drafting table next to a wooden easel that held a large, partially completed painting. Again, a nude.

  A double bed at the other end of the room was a scramble of burgundy sheets, with an orange comforter half-on, half-off. A small teak dresser held a few novels and one framed picture of Shelly posed between an older couple. Probably her parents. Perched on the end of the dresser was a telephone and message machine. There were no blinking lights.

  “Whadaya say, Bronxie? Had enough?”

  Gina wanted to stay, wanted to learn more about the woman who had worked with her for the past year, someone she knew so little about.

  Are we all destined to be strangers? Walk around smiling, nodding, thinking we know so much about each other when we know nothing about what really goes on in each other’s heads or in each other’s hearts?

  She looked at the super, noticed the gold band around his left ring finger. His eyes held dark circles, the kind of hollowness earned from pacing the floor with a sick child night after night.

  “You have children, Maxxy?”

  His chest seemed to expand; he laughed. “Oh, yeah! My little six-year-old boy did this.” He pointed to his name on the neck of the sweatshirt. ”Not too much of a guy yet, but he’ll catch up later.”

  “Sure he will.”

  “And I have a beauty of a deuce. She’s already breakin’ hearts.”

  He shut the door behind them and they went down the two flights. Gina realized there was nothing here to explain Shelly’s disappearance. Just as Yee had said. She’d hoped for at least some kind of clue, but there wasn’t even a telephone message on her answering machine. All she really knew was that Shelly had disappeared without a clue.

  “Thanks for helping me out, Maxxy.”

  “Anything for a Bronx pal.”

  At the front door she shook his hand.

  “You’re a lucky man to have that family.”

  “Bet your sweet ass, kid.”

  ₪ CHAPTER 15

  The cafeteria was quiet, about an hour too early for the surge of noon-hour traffic. There were a few clusters of people here and there, but still plenty of empty places to sit. Gina, who’d opted for the early lunch slot, grabbed a bowl of minestrone and an espresso, then claimed a window seat. She stared out at Ridgewood’s native California-style garden – usually vibrant, it looked sodden and miserable from the constant dousing of the past few days.

  She held up a spoonful of the thick vegetable soup, but couldn’t bring herself to eat it. The utensil sank back into the bowl while she filtered events of the past few days.

  “Hi, Gina!”

  She turned – Eddie St. George.

  “You look lonely,” he said. “Mind if I join you? I could use some company.” He stood next to the table, looking down at her, then quickly glanced around the room before returning his attention to her.

  Gina was surprised he wanted to sit with her after she was so rude the other day

  She nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

  He lowered his tray, which was filled with some kind of Chinese concoction – plenty of crispy noodles spread across over-cooked vegetables. Then he eased his long, lanky body into the molded plastic chair. When he was comfortable, he looked at her with soft green eyes that again made her think of Harry. As he started to eat, she studied him more closely. There was sadness in the droop of his shoulders, and he continually released a barely audible sigh before he took each bite of food.

  Troubled man.

  The moment forced her to stop thinking about her own problems, made her realize how much she missed direct patient contact, the opportunity for insight into human suffering. The world needed more compassion, not the misdirection of indifference and compulsive anger.

  Her thoughts eased the tension of the Gordian knot in her skull. Suddenly she was hungry, the first time in several days. She picked up her spoon and dipped into the minestrone.

  She noticed the CHEMwest rep was staring at her, a forkful of food poised in front of his face. Megan Ann was right: he was very attractive.

  “What would it take to convince you to have a drink with me after work?” St George said.

  Her first thought was: was she or wasn’t she still engaged to Harry? Second thought: would going out with him be fair to Megan Ann, who was seriously into to this guy? Without really sorting it all out, she decided it might be good to kick back with someone for an hour or so.

  “We could do that,” she said.

  * * *

  The rest of the shift was dismal. She and Tina barely spoke to each other. Chelsea, caught in the middle, tried to mediate, but soon gave up and spoke only when spoken to, or when taking a patient call.

  Alexandros popped into Advice around 2:00. Gina took call after call and barely nodded to her. At one point the manager indicated she wanted to speak to her and Gina reluctantly put the next call on hold.
r />   “How are you doing?” the manager asked

  Gina forced a smile, one she didn’t remotely feel like giving, and in a neutral voice said, “It’s a busy day.”

  Alexandros sat down next to her. “Not what I meant.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean: Am I still thinking about the big, bad boogieman? Worrying about imaginary scary things that go bump in the night? Or, have I crossed the line and gone totally nuts?”

  Alexandros flipped a strand of hair away from her eye, said nothing.

  “I’m fine,” Gina said, “just doing my job.”

  “If you need me, I’m in my office.” Without another word Alexandros walked out of Advice.

  “What was that all about?” Chelsea asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” Tina said.

  * * *

  Five on the dot, Gina edged out from behind her desk and left the Clinic, another day without settling her disagreement with Tina. As she walked to her car, she made what was now a routine check to see if anyone was following her; everyone seemed to be an after-work mode that didn’t include her: Get out and get gone. She slipped into the Fiat and sat behind the wheel, cell phone in hand.

  There were no messages from Harry, or from anyone else.

  She ran her fingers through her hair several times, grateful it needed so little attention. Then she opened her purse, and without checking in the mirror, put on fresh lipstick. She sat for another few moments, then with determination, pulled away from the curb.

  * * *

  Eddie St. George sat in his Jaguar and watched Gina enter The Hideaway. He’d deliberately forced himself on her in the cafeteria, curious as to whether she would recognize his voice from the phone calls. He was drawn to her and wanted to put his trust in her, tell her he was the one who had called. But the cafeteria hadn’t been the right place. He again noticed how attractive she was – the kind of woman he always thought would be the right fit for him.

  No! He could not get involved with this woman, or any other – it only made what he had to do for Father that much more difficult. He would have a drink with her, make up an excuse for having to leave early, and then be on his way.

  His cell vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. The message screamed:

  MORE. TONIGHT.

  Leave me alone!

  He glanced at his watch. Too late to visit any of the other medical offices and clinics up and down The Peninsula, where he could slip in without being noticed. And he was too tired to troll the streets and bars to find the right woman for Father.

  Before he could change his mind, he got out of the car and, with long, determined strides, entered the cocktail lounge.

  Right away he spotted Gina. The Advice nurse had settled at one of the small tables in the back; a waitress was taking her order. As he approached, he heard her order a Margarita.

  “Make that two,” Eddie said.

  The waitress wrote up the ticket, flashed a perfunctory smile, and moved toward the bar.

  The tables were like oversized dinner plates, jammed together in a crowded dishwasher. Eddie could not only hear the patrons next to them, he could smell the nearest woman’s perfume.

  Gina eased out of her raincoat and draped it across her shoulders. A Kelly-green polo shirt contrasted with her dark eyes, making them piercing, yet somehow soft.

  “I didn’t think you’d show,” he said.

  “Same here.” She laughed. “But against my better judgment, here I am.”

  “I’m glad.” He reached for her hand; she pulled it out of reach.

  “It’s just a drink,” she said. “Don’t put any more into it than that.”

  “Sorry. The Ridgewood rumor mill has it that you broke up with your boy friend. I guess not.”

  “Maybe the rumor mongers will figure it out for me. As it is, I sure don’t know.”

  “Well, it’s still good to just sit back and relax after an unusually difficult day.”

  “Something special going on for you?”

  “New chemo product. I got tapped to set up a special presentation involving Alan Vasquez, Michael Cliffords, a financially challenged patient, and a couple of our bigwigs. Took hours, but we finally agreed on a time that would fit everyone’s schedule.”

  “Glad it was you and not me,” she said. “I used to work for Cliffords; good guy, but busy, very intense.”

  “I agree. But I couldn’t figure out Vasquez. What’s he normally like?”

  Gina gave a curt laugh. “You’re asking the wrong person when it comes to the Ridgewood administrator.”

  He was going to ask for details, but the waitress arrived with their order and scooped up the twenty-dollar bill he’d placed on the table.

  Gina lifted her drink and they touched glasses. “To friends.”

  “Are we friends?” The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His chest tightened, he covered his shortness of breath by coughing as though he’d swallowed wrong.

  “Do you need a good whack on the back, or would that really make you wonder if we’re friends?”

  He waved away her offered treatment. “I’m okay, but I’m still wondering why you agreed to have a drink with me?”

  She took a long sip of her Margarita, looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know, guess you looked like a man who needed some company.” She glanced away, lowered her head. “Truth is, I needed some company. Couldn’t stand the thought of going back to an empty apartment.”

  He felt the cell vibrate again, stopped listening to her. He knew what was on the message screen:

  MORE! TONIGHT!

  She smiled, stood. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” He managed to nod, watched her zigzag through the tiny tables to the restroom – tall, athletic, dark haired. Not at all what Father would expect.

  Colors flashed in his head, blossomed from everywhere in the room. He pulled out his inhaler, rapidly pushed the pump. A few moments passed before he could breathe freely again.

  MORE! TONIGHT!

  TONIGHT!

  He hesitated, then reached into the side pocket of his jacket, trapped a roofie with thumb and forefinger, and then dropped the hypnotic sedative into Gina’s Margarita.

  When she returned, she slipped back into her seat, folded her hands in front of her on the table, and looked at him with sad, red-rimmed eyes.

  It was me. I’m the one who called you.

  But he couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t trust anyone to know who he was, what he’d done.

  Gina lifted the glass to her lips, sighed, then set it down.

  “Maybe we’ll do this some other time.” She stood and walked out.

  ₪ CHAPTER 16

  Gina drove a practiced route around her apartment complex, searching for the parking place. Tonight, even sacred hydrant slots were violated by illegal parkers. Then the windshield wipers stalled; she could barely see a thing.

  “Damn Italian electronics!”

  She toggled the switch several times but the blades refused to move.

  “Keep this up and I’ll turn you into a pile of scrap metal, you neurotic monster.” The wipers immediately went into high speed.

  “That’s better.”

  She finally found a spot and shoehorned the Fiat into a space that really needed to be at least a foot longer.

  “Idiot!” she chastised herself. “Drinking with some guy you barely know? What’s that all about? What a loser you’ve become.”

  She tromped through the rain, wiping the water out of her eyes, picturing Eddie St. George. He looked like a regular guy, typical of most of the pharmaceutical reps who paraded up and down the hospital halls drumming up business. He was well mannered, expensively dressed, attractive. And ready to do almost anything to make a good impression.

  She hadn’t seen many of his kind since leaving Oncology to work in the clinic, but she knew they were still out there, lugging their heavy satchels up and down the long corridors, wearing pasted-on smiles even when their clothes were soaked with perspir
ation. And she knew what was in those cases -- samples of the popular, the newest drugs their companies had to offer so the Docs and NPs could not only satisfy patients that were ever alert to the advertising that saturated the media, but continue to prescribe their company’s on going line of products. And, of course they carried, all the goodies for the RNs and other staff to insure the reps were always welcome wherever they turned up.

  Gina, on more than one occasion, had gone with Cliff Michaels, along with other doctors and nurses, to weekend Giant-Dodgers games after several big CHEMWest drug orders had been placed. Best seats in the stadium, of course, and free.

  Several of the Oncology MDs she’d worked with took their vacations in Hawaii, Hong Kong, Tokyo, or Paris, at CHEMwest’s expense. Sort of a ‘thank you’ for having used the drug company’s efficacious chemo therapy rather than some other company’s efficacious chemo drug.

  But it was the sales reps that were at the front. They carried all the bits and pieces that kept a huge inter-dependent machine well lubricated and functioning smoothly. It was business, big business. And the doctors were the targets.

  She’d noticed, however, that up close and personal, Eddie St. George wasn’t as typical as he tried to make people believe. Sitting at that little table in The Hideaway, he was attentive and distracted at the same time. Her problem was that being with him only made her think about Harry.

  She’d needed to get out of her own skin for a while and he’d made himself available. But for reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint, it was as if he was forcing himself to make casual conversation and there was something more he wanted to say. Or was it that she’d been out of the dating scene too long?

  Well, enough of Eddie St. George. She needed to get on with her life.

  Go, Megan Ann, go. Good luck with that dude.

  The street was empty, dark, and the air heavy with the smell of moss, supersaturated plants, humus, and mold. Just what her allergist ordered.

  The thought made her sneeze.

  She used her key to enter the lobby, quickly closed the door behind her, and waited for the elevator. Lack of sleep made her legs heavier and heavier, and when she stepped out of the elevator, she almost collapsed and had to grab for the wall to keep from falling. Total exhaustion swept over her; she was lightheaded and weak. Two nights without her standard eight hours of sleep and then a frustrating date. It was dragging her down.