by Wally Duff
“Do you think the combination of Klonopin and alcohol would make him compliant enough to climb on a chair while he lets someone hang him, because if it didn’t, the killer has to be really strong?”
“Gotta ask the M.E. about that, but I’m guessin’ it would,” he said. “Unless our CSI guys are wrong and there were two perps.”
83
Monday afternoon, Kerry was upstairs for her nap. I called Alexis.
“Hope this isn’t a bad time,” I said.
“Not at all,” Alexis said. “All I’m doing is riding up and down on these stupid elevators in the doctor’s building trying to call on doctor’s who don’t want to hear my pitch. What’s up?”
I told her about Clark’s death.
“From what I’ve heard about his financial problems, I’m not surprised he killed himself,” she said.
“But maybe he didn’t.”
“Did the police find any evidence that someone else was there?”
“Nothing, and that’s what bothers them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The CSI guys always find fibers and hairs and stuff like that, but this time the scene was totally clean. That’s why I need to find out if he was on Warren’s committee.”
The phone was silent.
“’Lex, are you still there?”
“I’m thinking. I might have a way to find that out. I’ll call you back.”
Two hours later, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Kerry and Elmo were on the floor doing a puzzle. Ralph watched. My cell phone rang.
“Sorry it took so long, but I finally scored with an OB nurse,” Alexis said. “Clark was the vice chairman of Warren’s committee investigating Fertig.”
Yes!
“And Denning?”
“He was on the committee too.”
“Any other names?”
“There are two more members, but the OB nurse knew only one. It’s Dr. Paul Demarco. He’s a general surgeon like Clark was.”
“Kind of a small committee. Why aren’t there more doctors?”
“I asked her that. She said it was to keep the results from leaking.”
“Someone might need to visit Demarco.”
“Why?”
“There seems to be an outbreak of suicides in our medical community. He might be in danger.”
84
Tuesday night, Kerry and I went out trick-or-treating. Kerry was dressed like a ladybug, thanks to my mother. The costume Mom made for her granddaughter arrived from Omaha that morning. I went as Flo, the Progressive Insurance lady. Worked for me because it wasn’t hard to cobble together.
Carter handed out candy, and the highlight of the evening was when we rang the doorbell at our home. Carter took pictures of us asking for candy. It was a major photo-op.
The rest of the week went downhill from there.
Friday night, before Carter came home and we went out on date night, Janet Corritore called me.
“I have Clark’s lab results,” she began. “His blood alcohol was 0.23, and there was a high level of clonazepam.”
“What’s that?”
“The trade name is Klonopin.”
“The drug you said was in Clark’s desk drawer.”
“I did. We checked the bottles for fingerprints. There weren’t any.”
“Kind of hard to open a bottle without leaving any fingerprints.”
“Another mistake by the suspect.”
“You still think there is only one killer?”
“Nothing points us the other way,” she paused, “at least not yet.”
An hour later, Carter and I went to a movie, a vapid love story with a typical Hollywood ending. After, we went to the Wishbone on North Lincoln.
It’s a couple of blocks from our house. We can walk there from the movie theater and be close to home in case our babysitter needs us.
“I’m frustrated,” I said.
“Why?” Carter asked.
“It’s this damn Dr. Demarco. Ever since Clark died, I’ve been trying to see this guy, and I can’t get it done.”
“Is he critical to your story?”
“He’s the only solid lead I have, but he won’t talk to me.” I took a sip of my Bloody Mary, the house specialty. “On Halloween, I tried all day to make an appointment for an interview, but he refused to see me. On Wednesday, I called his office and tried to make an emergency appointment for Kerry.”
“How could he refuse to see a sick child?”
“He could and did. His nurse told me to go to the ER.”
“What did you do then?”
“I called Eddie and asked him to call Demarco’s office to try and get an immediate appointment for me.”
“Figuring that Demarco would do it for another doctor. Smart.”
“But it didn’t work. They told him Demarco’s first opening was in six weeks. Eddie argued with them, but they didn’t budge.”
“What about going to Demarco’s home?”
“I met with Shanda and Alexis on Wednesday afternoon to see if one of them had his home address. Alexis did.”
“Why did she have it?”
“To send personal invitations to the doctors for dinners she’s having.”
He sipped the Pride cabernet he’d selected.
“I found out from Shanda that Demarco has Thursday afternoons off. My only concern was his wife. She might think it unusual that a strange woman was standing on her front stoop ringing the doorbell.”
“A good point.”
“But Shanda said he’s single.”
“Divorced?”
“Not according to Alexis. She said he’s been single for as long as she’s called on him. Yesterday, I went by his home and knocked on his door. I saw him peek out, but he wouldn’t open up.”
“Did you try and ask him a question anyway?”
“I did. I identified myself as a reporter and shouted out that I wanted to talk to him about Dr. Fertig. He yelled out to go away.”
“Why do Alexis and Shanda think he did that?”
“Shanda thinks he’s a jerk and treats most woman like this. Alexis said he’s grudgingly nice to her, but only because she takes him out to expensive dinners when she convinces her company to pay for it.”
“Since he seems to have problems with women, and I’m obviously a man, maybe I can make an appointment to interview him.”
I put my hand on top of his. “Honey, would you? That would be terrific.”
“I’ll call him tomorrow, but it might take a while before I can set it up. I hope that’s okay.”
It wasn’t, but I didn’t have any other choice. “I guess I’ll have to live with it.”
But it still infuriated me that Demarco wouldn’t see me because I was a woman.
85
It was Sunday when Carter did his weekend daddy thing with Kerry while I caught up with my domestic chores around the house.
“Kerry, would you like to go with Daddy to Ann Sather’s restaurant?” Carter asked.
“YES!” Kerry screamed.
Our little girl loves the Swedish pancakes and cinnamon rolls they serve there. Her momma does, too, but I had other things to do.
Carter struck out with Demarco on Friday. He said he would try making an appointment again on Monday, but that wasn’t working for me. I was on the way to see the doctor with a backpack full of my necessary items for an interview, including my recently registered Glock with glitter on the barrel.
After parking in front of Demarco’s home, I pulled out the gun and jacked one bullet into the chamber before I exited Carter’s tan Toyota 4-Runner. I felt more secure with a gun. People were dying, and I didn’t want to be one of them.
Demarco’s home was a pre-war, two-story brick house. The yard looked professionally cared for. I stood on the front porch like I did on Thursday and rang the doorbell. And again, no one answered.
I knocked loudly several times, but the house remained silent. I looked around. There were tw
o newspapers on the front sidewalk. I walked over and toed them with my ASICS running shoe. The papers were from Saturday and today.
Maybe he isn’t home after all.
I drove the Toyota into the alley behind his home, parked in his driveway, and left the keys in the ignition in case I needed to leave in a hurry.
Peeking in the garage windows, I saw two vehicles — one a Jaguar and the other a Range Rover. If he was out of town, he hadn’t driven either of them.
I knocked several more times on the back door, but no one answered. Doctors were dying. I hoped Demarco wouldn’t be one of them.
After putting on latex gloves, I took out my lock pick gun and torque wrench. The doctor’s tasteful landscaping effectively shielded his back stoop from his neighbors and their seeing me open the two high-quality door locks.
It took two minutes. I twisted the knob. If the security system was on, I would hear it beep and immediately leave. If it was off, I would go in and snoop around.
I opened the door two inches. There were no beeps. The security system was off.
Good for my team.
I pushed the door to enter and encountered a new problem. Demarco had a security chain on the door.
86
“Dr. Demarco?” I yelled through the partially opened door.
No one answered, but I was greeted by a tap, tap, tap sound coming from somewhere inside.
What the heck is that?
Tap, tap, tap.
Was Demarco making that noise signaling for help? Worse, if he was already dead, was the killer still here?
I could call 911, but if I did, how would I explain the two back door locks I’d opened?
“Dr. Demarco? Are you okay?”
Tap, tap, tap.
Going in the front door seemed to be my only other option, but with no cover, I would be dangerously exposed to the neighbors watching me spend at least two minutes illegally opening those locks with my tools.
The back of the house was my only safe way in. A window flanked each side of the door. I peeked in the one on my right and saw a breakfast room. I tried the window, but it was locked.
The left one was not. I slid it up, paused, and listened again. The same low-pitched, rhythmic tapping continued. There were no human sounds.
“Dr. Demarco?” I yelled again. “Tap faster if you can hear me.”
Tap, tap, tap. The rhythm didn’t change.
My heart pounded in my ears making it difficult to hear anything. I didn’t move and took several breaths to slow my heart rate. I needed to listen for other sounds in the house.
Tap, tap, tap was the only thing I heard.
I took out the Glock from my backpack and chambered a round. I dropped the backpack down on the porch and took in one more deep breath before I climbed through the window and slipped into the kitchen.
Holding the gun in front of me, I turned to my right and slid off the security chain. A quick exit might be necessary, and I didn’t want anything to block my escape, but I did close the door.
The tap, tap, tap came from a room in front of me and to my right. I found the source of the noise in the dining room. Water dripped down from a light fixture on the ceiling and onto the top of a walnut dining room table.
Tap, tap, tap.
There was a dark circular spot on the ceiling indicating the water came from the second floor. I touched the water. It was cold.
I sniffed my wet fingers and detected a metallic odor. I’d encountered it before among the wounded and dying in Afghanistan and Iraq.
It was the unmistakable smell of blood.
87
I walked to the front door. The security chain was fastened like it had been on the back door. Unless Demarco made a habit of entering and leaving his home through his back window, he had to be in here.
“Dr. Demarco?” I said, as I tiptoed to the stairs. “Hello?”
Tap, tap, tap from the dripping water and blood was my answer.
I ascended six stairs and stopped.
“If anyone is here, I have a gun, and I will use it!” I shouted. “Come out with your hands on top of your head!”
Tap, tap, tap.
I stopped at the head of the stairs to orient myself. The dining room downstairs was to my right. I looked in that direction. The master bedroom was visible through an open door. The lights were on. The water causing the tapping had to be coming from in there.
Standing still, I listened again. I didn’t hear any new sounds. I sniffed and detected the same metallic odor I’d smelled downstairs, only now it was more intense.
I’m done yelling.
I rushed through the door to the master bedroom, going in
low, moving my gun back and forth to cover the entire room.
It was empty.
There was a contemporary chrome canopy bed to my right. To my left was the door to the master bathroom. It was closed. There was the muffled sound of water running behind it.
One more yell can’t hurt.
“Dr. Demarco, are you in the bathroom? If you are, please say something!”
My legs felt like they wouldn’t support my weight. I reached out to steady myself on the wall.
I don’t have to do this.
I could back out and call Janet. She could figure it out.
But he might still be alive!
If he were, I had to save him.
“I’m coming in!”
The closer to the closed bathroom door I came, the more intense the smell of blood became. It caused my nose to clog up.
While holding the Glock in my right hand, I pushed open the door with my left.
Dr. Paul Demarco sat in the bathtub staring at me through open gray eyes. Crimson water slowly sloshed over the top of the tub.
His left arm hung over the edge of the tub. There was a slash on the inside of his wrist. Water and blood dripped down his hand onto his fingers and then to the floor.
And then he waved at me with his bloody left hand.
88
“Help!” I screamed, as a gallon of adrenaline surged through my system.
Whipping around, I sprinted down the stairs and bolted through the back door. I jumped into the Toyota, turned it on, jammed the accelerator to the floor, and roared out of the alley.
I stopped two blocks away and called Janet. My hands shook, and I misdialed three times. I ripped off the latex gloves and finally got her number right.
“I need you!” I yelled, still breathing rapidly.
“Have you been running?” Janet asked.
“Not exactly.” I took in a deep breath. “A dead man waved at me.”
The line was silent a few beats. “Where are you?” she asked.
“A couple of blocks away from Dr. Demarco’s house.”
“Is he the one who waved at you?”
“He is.”
“Give me his address.”
I did.
“Go back and park behind the house.” I heard her moving around. “There in ten.”
My heart was still hammering when Janet arrived in a carmine red Porsche 911 4S. She got out. I stood next to Carter’s Toyota.
“Where’s his body?” Janet asked.
I pointed over my shoulder. “In the master bathroom on the second floor.”
Janet threw paper booties and latex gloves to me. I put them on. We walked up to the back porch. She stopped. I did too.
“Give it to me,” she said. “Exactly what the hell happened in there?”
“I came here to try and interview Demarco. He didn’t answer the front door, but the Saturday and Sunday papers were on the sidewalk. I was worried that something might have happened to him. I came around here to the back and saw two cars in the garage. I assumed he was here.”
“You were obviously worried about him.”
“I was. I went in and found the body. I came down here and called you.”
“How did you get in the back door?” she asked.
