Blind-sided

by Monette Michaels

  She entered the room. Both the occupants looked up.

  “Oh, Ms. LaFleur. Isn’t it terrible?” Missy cried out between escalating sobs.

  Walter gazed at the ceiling.

  Jeanette glanced over at Scott. He looked as confused as she felt.

  “What’s happened, Missy? Why is the clinic empty? Where is everybody?” Jeanette kept her eyes on Missy, who, if possible, bawled harder.

  Realizing Missy was incapable of answering, she turned to Missy’s improbable comforter. “Walter?”

  Jeanette hated dealing with Walter. He was a weasel-like opportunist, which was why she never envisioned him in the role of hand-holder to a crying woman. He must want something from Missy. Glancing at Missy’s chest, surging with each wail and moan, Jeanette could guess what that something might be.

  Walter dropped Missy’s hand. He shoved the box of tissues toward the hysterical girl. “Here, Missy, knock yourself out.” Then, he turned his head to look at her and Scott.

  Now that she had Walter’s complete attention, she said, hopefully for the last time, “Will you please tell me what’s going on here?”

  “Jeanette!”

  Dr. Rutherford’s voice sounded behind her.

  Scott whirled around to face the new threat. He swept her along with him, using his body and the wall to protect her from a new danger.

  “Dr. Rutherford,” gasped Jeanette. She was proud of the fact that she could speak to him at all. She’d dreaded facing him today, considering what she suspected. “Why is the clinic empty?”

  Rutherford looked past them at Walter and the still weeping Missy. His displeasure at the scene in the break room was evident in the stiffness of his posture, the tightening of his mouth.

  “Walter,” he said. “Why don’t you drive Missy home? I’m sure she is not fit to drive.”

  Addressing Missy, he added, “We’ll call when the clinic is open again, my dear.”

  Scott pulled Jeanette further into the room away from the doorway, away from Walter’s exit and Rutherford’s entrance.

  Walter pushed Missy ahead of him, out of the room. “Come on, you watering pot, let’s get away from this house of death.”

  His malicious chuckle lingered long after he’d gone.

  “I really need to have a talk with that young man.” Dr. Rutherford glared at Walter’s retreating figure.

  Turning his head, he directed his complete attention to Jeanette, ignoring Scott. “I’m sorry you came all the way in today, Jeanette. After your incident yesterday, I thought you would want a few days off.”

  Trembling at the reminder of the attack, Jeanette sank into the chair vacated by Missy. Immediately, Scott positioned himself behind her. His hands kneaded the tightened muscles of her shoulders. She sighed and leaned into the soothing motions of his hands. His fingers were magical, imparting to her some of his strength, telling her she was not alone.

  She could do this, as long as she didn’t have to look into the eyes of the man standing across from her. She was afraid of what she would see, even more afraid of what she might reveal.

  Fixing her gaze on a spot just past Rutherford’s ear, she asked, “What did Walter mean by house of death?”

  Rutherford hesitated, then stepped further into the room. Pulling the chair Walter had vacated to a position across from her, he sat. He stared at her like a hypnotist in a Grade-B movie, willing her to look at him.

  Jeanette’s fixed stare moved with the doctor, her focal point lower, but still looking at the wall just beyond his ear.

  Rutherford exhaled and waited, but Jeanette refused to look into his eyes.

  The doctor gave in first and shifted his scrutiny to Scott. “And you are?”

  “I’m her boyfriend. Answer her question. What did Monnier mean? What the fuck is going on here, Rutherford?”

  “Scott!”

  “Sorry, cher.” Scott caressed her neck and shoulders.

  Rutherford swore under his breath. Jeanette averted her eyes from the dirty white wall long enough to catch a flicker of some ugly, intense emotion sweep across his face, before he answered Scott.

  “God, I don’t know what’s going on with this world.” Rutherford rubbed a hand over his head, disarranging his carefully groomed hair.

  Jeanette had never seen the doctor so emotional. But what emotion? Fear? Anger? Hate? What had happened bad enough to close the clinic? The last time a clinic had been closed at the Medical Center had been when a doctor died…

  Fear took possession of her stomach in an icy grip. Someone had died. She dreaded his next words.

  “Dr. Randolph… Sally.” Rutherford buried his face in his hands. “They’re dead, my dear.”

  Both of them dead? That didn’t make sense. She grasped wildly for Scott’s hand on her shoulder.

  Through numb lips, her words came out in gasps. “How? When?”

  She’d stopped examining the wall at Rutherford’s revelations. His skin had a gray tinge about it. His attire was disheveled. He acted and looked grief-stricken. He looked really upset, but Jeanette couldn’t trust the evidence of her instincts anymore.

  “The police aren’t sure about Sally,” he said, “There’s no body. Just the note Alex left, confessing to murdering her, confessing to…” Again, he buried his face in shaky hands. “It’s hard for me to admit this, but he confessed to sabotaging my program, my life’s work. Oh, God. What am I going to do?”

  Jeanette gasped. She looked at Scott. He shook his head, leaned down, then whispered in her ear, “Don’t say anything. We’ll talk later.”

  She nodded, then turned back to the doctor. Was there a quick flash of calculation in the gaze directed toward them?

  Scott gripped her shoulder in a reflexive move. He’d seen the look, too.

  The man was putting on an act!

  The bastard was stringing them along, fishing for what they knew. Well, two could play at that game. She stammered out what she knew would be a logical question.

  “Dr. Randolph sabotaged the program? How? And why did he kill Sally?”

  She had a fairly good idea why Dr. Randolph wanted to kill Sally. He hadn’t wanted the baby. Plus, Sally knew what was going on and could connect Randolph to Rutherford. She was a liability.

  But, they had to suspect Sally had already told Jeanette all about it. So, why kill Sally?

  “My dear,” Rutherford said. “You and Sally were instrumental in digging into the files, finding the holes and outright lies that Alex and his little chippies had woven into the medical and billing records.”

  Rutherford’s face was now an emotionless mask. Except, when he mentioned Sally’s name, Jeanette could have sworn a flash of anger burned in his eyes. To her ears, his words sounded too glib, as if he’d practiced them for the maximum effect on his audience.

  “Fraud in my program,” he continued. “My God! They must have skimmed tens of thousands of dollars. And the false data they created — the study is flawed. I’ll have to start all over.”

  “Little chippies?” Scott asked, his disdain for the man coloring his question.

  Rutherford either didn’t notice the tone of Scott’s voice or chose to ignore it. His face was still a picture of studied concern as he answered, “Yes, chippies… bimbos… call them what you like. They were all under Randolph’s control. Sally was one of them. So were Jeanette’s predecessors. It’s obvious to me and the police…” Rutherford paused. “Sally, poor girl, found a conscience. She tried to fix things by helping dear Jeanette straighten out the mess.”

  He shook his head. “Alex obviously found out. Poor Sally. I heard she was carrying Alex’s child.” He sighed. “I don’t think we’ll ever find her body. Alex admitted to dumping it in the Manchac Swamp.”

  The image Rutherford’s words cast was too horrible to bear. Jeanette murmured a prayer for her friend’s soul and that of her unborn child.

  “What happened to Randolph?” Scott asked.

  “He died in a brothel. The police fou
nd a letter with his horrible confession. Probably his guilt weighing on him.” Rutherford shook his head. “It was God’s will. Alex was not a nice man. Poor Sally must have gone through hell. In his note, he described in intimate detail how he tortured her. Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

  He didn’t look or sound sorry.

  In fact, it sounded as if he was warning her!

  “Oh, my God!” Jeanette swallowed the bile that threatened to explode from her throat. Her throat burning, she started to cry, great heaving sobs.

  She couldn’t sit there another second and listen to Rutherford. She understood what he was trying to do. He’d never be blamed. No matter what she, Scott and Charles found, Rutherford would set up others to take the fall.

  And, the police already believed him.

  Her sobs turned to moans, like those of an animal in pain. She tried, but couldn’t control the anguished sounds coming from her. What had she done? Two more people dead. If only she hadn’t poked her nose into the mess. If she had just quit and gone on minding her own business. If…

  “Jeannie, love, don’t.” Scott reached down and scooped her into his arms. “I’m taking her home.”

  He carried her to the door.

  Rutherford said, “The police want to speak to Jeanette about her and Sally’s investigations. I’ll have them get in touch.”

  Jeanette couldn’t answer. And Scott didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I can walk.”

  Her body shuddered through one last sob.

  Scott put her down, but kept a hand on her.

  The sun was shining. How dare it.

  Life all around her was going on, but Sally — and her baby — were dead. And Jeanette feared it was all her fault. How could she live with the guilt?

  She shuddered, but no tears followed. She was all cried out.

  “Jeannie?” Scott’s insistent voice beat on her numbed senses. “Aw, hell, come on, darlin’, let’s get out of here.”

  Unresisting, Jeanette allowed Scott to lead her to the car. Her mind chased thoughts, testing them, rejecting them, then started all over again — a vicious circle of what-ifs and what-should-have-beens. But, uppermost in her mind, she needed to single out the potential sources of concrete evidence connecting Rutherford to his crimes. She had to find the proof before Rutherford could alter it.

  She owed it to Sally to prove Rutherford was the mastermind.

  “Scott.” Jeanette dug her heels into the pavement, tugging on his arm. “We need to get over to Charity Hospital and check out the Eye Bank lab. And the morgue.”

  “What?” Scott let go of her arm and pulled her around to face him. “Why?”

  “Rutherford will destroy any evidence implicating him in the crimes and make it look like someone else did them. Most likely Dr. Randolph and Sally.”

  “I’ll do it after I take you home. I don’t want you anywhere near those places until we get the cops involved.”

  “No. I need to be there. I know what paperwork to look for. You don’t.” She reached out and grasped Scott on his forearms. “Besides, Monnier is driving Missy home. Rutherford is here. We can be in and out of each of those places in a matter of minutes. There probably isn’t even anything there. Please Scott, I have to do this — for Sally.”

  Scott’s lips thinned in displeasure. He stared at her.

  She stared back.

  It was a stand-off, and Jeanette was not going to be the one to blink first.

  A frustrated male groan.

  “All right. But we’re making this fast. If there is anybody in the morgue, we don’t go in. I go in alone. If there is anybody in the Eye Bank lab, neither of us goes in. Got it?”

  Jeanette smiled. “Got it.”

  ———

  The morgue was empty.

  Scott cursed beneath his breath. He wanted Jeanette out of this mess — way out. He wasn’t sure they’d find anything. Rutherford seemed to have covered all the bases. The man was brilliant — and slippery. The worst kind of criminal in Scott’s mind.

  Yet, there was the sloppiness in the handling of the billing records and patient files. Jeannie might be right. There could be evidence still waiting to be destroyed. And once it was, they would have lost their chance of proving anything but the story Rutherford wanted known.

  Jeanette walked into the room ahead of him. Scott flipped on the lights, then locked the door behind them. Looking over at the daily schedule, he sighed in relief. No funeral home pick-ups were scheduled. Glancing at the body drawers, there were no new autopsy permits. A quiet day at the morgue. They shouldn’t be interrupted.

  Unless another body was delivered.

  He determined they would be out of there in less than ten minutes. Should be enough time, by definition.

  “Scott, come here.” Jeannie’s excited voice snapped him out of his reverie.

  He walked over to the row of filing cabinets set next to the morgue’s answer for a workstation.

  “What’ve you got there?” Scott reached for the papers Jeannie held out to him.

  “Donor consents.” Jeannie smiled. “Forged donor consents for bodies brought in as John Does. Looks like Walter forged relatives’ consents to donate organs after the corpses were finally identified.”

  Scott skimmed the first few documents. He frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “I know the codes.” Jeannie pointed to the autopsy number. “See the letters JD before the number and year? All incoming John Does are coded that way. Corpses with identification are coded as letter A with a number and the year.”

  “Okay. I can see that some of the John Does are later identified and their real names are typed in, but how do you know the consents are forged?”

  “Look at ‘em! Pull out and compare the first two.”

  Scott did so, holding them side-by-side.

  She pointed. “The hand-writing on the relatives’ signatures is the same as the witness signature.”

  “And the witness in all of these is Walter Monnier.” Scott flipped through the twenty or so consents. “But these are for all sorts of post-mortem harvests, not just corneas.”

  “Yeah. But look to whom the organs other than the corneas are released.” She pointed to the lines at the bottom of the page indicating who’d picked up the various body parts.

  Scott glanced at the place Jeannie indicated. “They’re in code again.”

  She pulled him to a chart on the wall above the file cabinets. “See that? It lists all who have authority to take anything out of this room. I recognized the Epi Study code right off because the receipts for the Eye Bank donor corneas are in my files for the time up through the convention. The other code is listed up here as…”

  “SRP.” Scott looked down. “Okay, so Walter forges consents for organ donation. Ships the corneas to Rutherford’s Epi Study and the other assorted organs to SRP where they are re-sold. That only proves that Monnier committed a crime, not that Rutherford had knowledge or ordered him to do it. Maybe Lopez ordered it.”

  “Granted, but I have proof that Rutherford’s study knowingly billed out the donor corneas after the Eye Bank cut the project off as SRP corneas, so that is proof of fraud.”

  “Jeannie, hon, I believe you, but all that proves is that someone in Rutherford’s office did that. You said so yourself. Rutherford is setting it up that Randolph, probably with Sally’s help, committed all the bad acts. I bet he’ll lead the police to a bank account in the name of Randolph with ill-gotten gains deposited, back-dated and all, to prove it.”

  “Don’t forget Charles linked Rutherford to SRP.”

  “Okay, but all Rutherford has to say is that he is not in the day-to-day running of the company. That he is as shocked as anyone about what has happened, and so on ad infinitum.”

  He grasped Jeannie’s hands and pulled her to him. Resting his chin on her head, he said, “The man is cunning. These consents are, I’m sure Charles will tell you, circumstanti
al evidence. To prove a crime, you’ll need more than this.”

  “I know that, but surely it’s enough to get the program suspended until the university investigates. The doctors on the Medical School Review Board will support that action. Once the patients hear about the misrepresentations and faulty consents, they’ll come forward with even more evidence, maybe enough for civil suits.” Jeannie heaved a gulping sigh. “At least, we’ll stop him from hurting and ripping off more innocent people.”

  Scott tipped her chin up and placed a light kiss on her full lips. “Yeah. That’s a good start. But you’ll be tweaking the gator’s tail, darlin’. I don’t want you or Little Bits to be his next targets.”

  Jeannie gasped, then went silent. Her eyes reflected she’d accepted the danger for herself, but the mention of Little Bits had thrown her. First fear, then concern, and finally steely determination stared at him from her eyes.

  “Okay, it’s almost summer break. I’ll send Brigitte to the Retreat House with Sister Mary Cecille. She should be safe enough there for a month. After that, we’ll reassess the situation. How does that sound?”

  To Scott it sounded wonderful. “We” would reassess meant she’d already begun the process of accepting him in her day-to-day life now and in the future. Yeah, it sounded great.

  “That’s a plan.” Scott picked up the consents which had fallen to the floor. “Let’s fire up the copier and make copies of these, then put them back.”

  “No. Let’s take the originals with the time and date stamp and leave the copies. No one will notice the difference except Monnier. Maybe we can put the fear of being outed in him.”

  Scott shook his head. “You do realize that makes you an even bigger danger to the man. He’ll figure it had to be you who took them. Monnier could do time for his crimes. These documents prove he’s been falsifying papers and stealing body parts. He’ll come after you.”

  Jeannie’s look of grim determination never wavered. “But you’ll be watching my behind. I put my money on you.”

  Wiggling her fingers, she said, “Now gimme those papers. I’ll copy them, then we can go to the Eye Bank lab next.”