ready to go all the way with the process was a
dangerous thing to do; even more dangerous than
staying. Years ago, when he was still a uniformed
officer, he was called in to a domestic disturbance; the
woman who opened the door insisted that a mug had
fallen from the cupboard and hit her. Of course he knew
she was lying, so he convinced her to press charges. The
next day she dropped the charges, and went back home
to her husband. She was found dead in her home a week
later, and two young children were left without a mother
or father.
He walked down the hallway to Tracey’s room and
found her laptop inside a case on her desk. He picked it
up and went back to the living room where Shannon was
still sitting on the couch with her eyes open and staring
at something only she could see – most likely, she was
replaying the whole episode with Mary in her mind. He
coughed softly to alert her of his presence in the room,
and then walked to the front door. “I’ll be on my way,
Shannon, but if you change your mind, call me.” He
scribbled his home and mobile numbers on a business
card and handed it to her. Shannon took the card and
placed it in the pocket of her robe. She didn’t say
anything. She opened the door and watched him walk
down the breezeway to the stairs, then she quietly closed
the door.
Tom got in his car and put the computer bag on the
passenger seat. As he drove off, he looked toward the
window of Shannon Brinkley’s place, and saw the lights
going out. It wasn’t the first time Mary hit her, and
Mary hated Tracey. Could Mary have killed Tracey in a
fit of jealousy? She could have been angry enough to
follow her when she went jogging and confronted her in
the woods. The puzzle was far from being complete, but
as he drove off in the night, Tom hoped the pieces would
soon begin to fall into place.
#
By the time Kathy drove home it was already dark.
After spending the afternoon with Alexis, her mind was
filled with information that was screaming to be
processed and filed. She and Alexis had a special bond,
which the little girl’s family didn’t seem to mind. Kathy
believed Alexis and her story of Lily. Although she
never had an imaginary friend herself, her sister swore
up and down her own “friend” told her things she
couldn’t have known otherwise. The day her sister told
her about the secret things Kathy had written in her
diary about Billy McRae, Kathy ran to check her diary,
sure that her sister had broken into the lock; but the
diary was sealed and in exactly the same place where
she had left it, so she knew her sister wasn’t lying. From
that day on – even if her studies later on taught her
differently – Kathy believed that imaginary friends were
spirits that would connect with a few gifted people. And
how could she not believe in ghosts? The thought of
Tracey’s face in the photos made her shiver.
#
When his mobile phone rang, Tom was just getting
ready to pull into his driveway after stopping by the lab
to drop off the computer. He looked at the clock in the
car – nine o’clock sharp. He clicked the green button on
his phone and answered. “Lieutenant Lackey.”
The same raspy voice from the afternoon filled the
line. “Lieutenant, I told you I was going to call you.”
“Yes, I was expecting you. So, what did you want to
discuss?”
“Brad Johnson killed Tracey, Lieutenant. He was
afraid she would tell hospital administrators that she was
stealing drugs for him. If news of that came out, he
would have probably lost his job, and he couldn’t afford
that right now.”
Tom arched his eyebrows. “Are you sure of this?
How do you know?”
“I know. Go talk to the hospital people, and they
will tell you there was an ongoing investigation. Brad
Johnson is a junkie, Lieutenant, and Tracey was his
dealer. When they broke up she threatened to tell, and he
had to silence her.”
Tom made a mental note to go by the hospital the
next day, and he hoped to get more information from the
person on the phone. The voice sounded feminine, but it
was so muffled he couldn’t be sure. “Listen, can you tell
me what kind of drugs Tracey was getting for him?”
The line went dead. Tom had one more clue to
follow and one more truth to uncover.
Chapter 8
Tom walked through the sliding doors of the main
hospital entrance and went straight to the reception
desk. The area looked more like the lobby of a luxury
hotel than a hospital – well-cared-for plants had leaves
so green and moist they appeared to be freshly stroked
by the brush of an artist, and the sitting area featured
appealing and comfortable couches that would have
been perfect in a country club. The classy designer
decorations, tastefully spread around the room, clashed
with the blue signs on the walls directing people to
different wards. Instinctively, Tom breathed through his
mouth – after being hospitalized several times as a child
because of his asthma, he abhorred the smell of
antiseptic that was characteristic of hospitals. This place,
however, emanated the buttery sweet scent of gardenia.
“May I help you, Sir?” The woman at the reception
desk – a volunteer, according to her name tag -appeared to be in her mid-forties, with honey-hued short hair and warm brown eyes. Her lips were plump and
barely tinged by a touch of lip gloss the color of apricot,
set in a perfectly oval face.
“Yes,” Tom said, discretely showing her his police
badge, “I would like to talk to someone in
administration. I spoke with Your Chief of Hospital
Police, Mr. Barrett, on my way here, and he mentioned
he would be out this afternoon; he said it is okay for me
to speak directly to Mr. Russet.
“Of course, Sir. One moment, please.” She picked
up her phone and dialed an internal number. After
talking for less than thirty seconds, she placed the phone
back down and looked at Tom with kind eyes. “Mr.
Russet asked me to send you to his office. Let me give
you a map.” She traced the route on the map with a
yellow highlighter and handed it to Tom. “Here you go,
Sir. Follow the directions on the map; Mr. Russet’s
office will be on your right.”
The map guided Tom through several corridors until
he arrived near a small cluster of offices. He scanned the
name tags beside the open doors until he found the right
one. He knocked lightly and waited for the man sitting
at the desk to raise his head and acknowledge he was
there. Mr. Russet looked up and waved Tom in.
“I am Donald Russet. The receptionist said you
needed to talk to someone in administration. How can I
> help you?”
Tom walked in and sat in one of the two chairs
across from Mr. Russet.
“I am Lieutenant Lackey, with the Raleigh Police
Department. I am investigating the death of Ms. Tracey
Newman.”
The man shook his head and not one of the few
hairs left on it moved, trapped in place by an
unforgiving overdose of hair spray. Reading glasses
were lowered toward the tip of his nose as he focused on
Tom, and his long, thin fingers came together as if in
prayer. “That’s terrible news about Ms. Newman,
Lieutenant. The hospital is deeply sorry for her untimely
departure.”
“I understand there is some sort of internal
investigation going on, centered on Ms. Newman taking
possession of medications that were property of the
hospital.”
“Yes. Ms. Newman was unfortunately caught in the
act of filling her bag with several doses of Xanax and
Lendormin. Both are benzodiazepines.”
“Benzodiazepines?”
“Yes. They are medications similar to barbiturates.
Sedatives.”
“I see. Did the hospital press charges, Mr. Russet?”
“No. We decided it would be best to keep the matter
as discreet as possible to avoid any unflattering
publicity, but of course we were going to dismiss Ms.
Newman as a result of the investigation.”
“I understand. Did you tell Ms. Newman that she
was going to be fired?”
“Not immediately, Lieutenant. Initially Ms.
Newman was suspended from her duties at the
hospital.”
Tom arched his eyebrows in surprise. “She was?
Are you certain of that?”
“Of course. I talked to her myself.”
“The woman who reported her missing said that the
hospital called after Ms. Newman missed two days of
work.”
“That’s unlikely, Sir. Ms. Newman never came back
after she was told she was suspended.”
“Do you remember the exact date of your
conversation with her?”
“No, but I can look it up.” Mr. Russet stood up from
his chair and walked to a file cabinet. He pulled out a
beige folder which he brought back to the desk.
“Here it is. April 21. We spoke at three o’ clock in
the afternoon. She left the premises right after that, I
believe.”
Tom nodded and tried to work the timeline in his
head. Tracey left the hospital probably around threethirty or four, and nobody saw her, or her car, at the park during the afternoon hours. In fact, the park caretaker
who was on duty that day was sure that no car was left
in the parking lot by the time he left. Strangely, her car
was in the parking lot the next day, although the park
personnel didn’t think it was important enough to call
the police at the time. So, if Tracey left the hospital
around four at the latest, where did she go from that
time until after five o’ clock? There was no activity on
her credit cards and she didn’t make or receive calls. He
needed to talk to Shannon again, and find out if she had
gone back home to change before going to the park to
jog.
“How long do you think she was here for, Mr.
Russet? Fifteen…thirty minutes? An hour?”
“Oh, less than that, Lieutenant. We spoke several
times during the course of the investigation, so that
afternoon we only met for a few moments for her to find
out what we had decided. She was probably here for
about ten minutes.”
“So you would assume that she left the hospital
around three-fifteen?”
Mr. Russet nodded somberly. “Yes. I would say that
three-fifteen is correct.”
“Another question, Mr. Russet…do you know a
man by the name of Jack Little?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Who is he?”
“From what I’ve gathered so far, he does, or did,
landscaping work for the hospital.”
Mr. Russet raised his head knowingly. “Oh yes. We
contract a landscaping service – he must work for them.
Why do you ask?”
“I have reason to believe he knew Ms. Newman.”
“I see. Well, he was not directly employed by the
hospital.”
Mr. Russet stood up, sending a subtle signal that he
was ready to wrap up the conversation. As annoying as
Tom found his behavior, he got up and handed him one
of his business cards. “Thank you for your time, Sir.
You’ve been of great help.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m glad I could be of service. I
would really appreciate it if your department didn’t
mention Ms. Newman being involved in an internal
investigation. The last thing we want to do is to
undermine the integrity of our personnel and the good
name of our hospital. I am sure you understand,
Lieutenant, that it would be a sour pill for our patients to
swallow.”
“I can’t guarantee that, Mr. Russet. Unfortunately,
the press has a way of digging out the most guarded
pieces of information.” With that, Tom left the office
and headed out to the parking lot. He wondered if
Shannon knew about her friend stealing medications, so
he resolved to go back by the apartment a bit later in the
day. Right now, his focus was on Brad Johnson and on
the skeleton he was probably determined to keep in his
closet.
#
Kathy sat at her desk staring at the photos she took
at her house. She tried to magnify the images to see if
she could make sense of them, and understand once for
all if the foggy apparitions were the product of a faulty
flash or a ghostly visit. After looking at them for so
long, her eyes were burning and the mystery was still
unsolved. Could it be possible? Could it be that Tracey
came back to give someone a message?
It was all too much to process, and the sharp waves
of pain she felt in the crown of her head were a sure sign
that a migraine was on the way. She stood up and
stretched, her eyes immediately focusing on the empty
coffee pot near her desk. She decided to brew enough
for one cup – just a treat to offset the stress she was
under – and walked to the window to check on the
weather while the coffee was brewing.
Dark storm clouds were blowing menacingly from
the west, carried by an unfriendly wind that bent the
newly planted trees across the street almost to the
ground. The rain hadn’t started yet, but from the look of
things, it wouldn’t be long before it did. The gloom of
the day added to her mood, and she felt unmotivated to
do anything, even if she had several projects waiting to
be worked on.
A steamy, snorting sound coming from across the
room announced that coffee was ready, and Kathy
walked toward her small coffee station with nostrils
open wide, eager to capture every whiff of the
bewitching aroma that was quickly spreading through
the entire room. She poured a cup and took it back to
her desk, and before she could get sucked into the
images of Tracey again, she quickly exited the program
and clicked instead on a series of portraits that needed a
few touch ups. She went through each photo and jotted
down the numbers and respective adjustments on a
notebook beside her computer, and she was almost done
when someone knocked on the door.
She opened to find an acne-ridden teenager standing
timidly by the door, his shaggy blond hair strategically
covering his forehead where the pimples were probably
at their worst. His illfitting uniform gave away his
reason to be there.
“Oh yes, you’re here to pick up the packages, right?
They are over there by my desk. I already talked to
Wanda at the shop and she told me she would address
them for me since I ran out of shipping forms.”
“No problem, Ms. Spencer. Wanda told me to just
pick up the packages and to get the list of names along
with the codes.”
The phone rang from the other side of the studio.
“Would you excuse me one second, please? I will be
right back.” Kathy said as she hurried to pick up.
When she heard the voice of the bride’s mother on
the other end of the line her heart sank – this was going
to be a long conversation. “It’s wonderful to hear from
you, Mrs. Downey. Belinda’s portraits are beautiful! I
can’t wait for you to see them.”
She tried several times to shorten the conversation,
but the woman’s constant vomiting of new words and
new issues made it impossible. “Mrs. Downey, would
you excuse me for a moment? I have someone here to
pick up some packages.” Mrs. Downey continued to talk
as if she never heard Kathy’s request, so Kathy muted
the phone and yelled across the divider to the young boy
who was waiting by the door. “Hey! Can you please go
ahead and take the packages? I’m afraid I am going to
be on the phone for a while. The list is right beside my
computer.”
The boy yelled back. “No problem, Ms. Spencer, I
will take care of it.”
Kathy clicked off the mute button and almost
laughed when she heard Mrs. Downey still talking – the
poor woman never realized the sound was turned off for
a blessed few seconds. It took a while to finalize all the
details and to get the overwhelmed mother off the
Killer in Sight (A Tom Lackey Mystery) Page 10
