“It's dangerous.” Luis kept his voice low.
“Luis, don't quit because of me. Maybe it's the reporter in me, or maybe — just maybe — it's because my childhood friend was murdered on our wedding day.”
She shook her head.”Luis,” she continued, “we can't stop until we get to the bottom of this.”
He shook his head as if in amazement.
“What?”
“You're a tiger.” He pointed to himself. “But me? I'm frightened. You have no idea how frightened I am.”
She saw the tears in his eyes. “It's me. You're frightened for me.” She wiped his tears away. “I'm scared. But I'm not dead yet, so don't picture me so vulnerable.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “It's too hot here. Things are too hot here.”
Elia released herself from his embrace. “Honey, we've been going back and forth ever since Vicente died. Either we're in — or we're out.” She put her hands on his arms. We've been in since the beginning. Let's finish this.” She said it quietly, calmly.
Luis shook his head. “Mierda.” He again shook his head, planted a quick kiss on Elia's lips, and again swore softly.
Chapter 91
Elia was on the balcony, her feet on the bottom rung of the railing, Luis's laptop slanted on her thighs.
Luis came out carrying two iced teas and looked over her shoulder. “Googling. What're you looking for?”
Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “Huh? Oh.” She shook her head as if to shake herself out of the zone, that far off land that the mind drifts to when thoughts are flying around inside the head. “Just curious.”
“About?”
“Seton Hill.” She frowned. “Something's bothering me. ‘Where the plane crashed on 9-11.’ Why did I hear that exact same phrase somewhere?” She punched some more keys. “Okay. I'm in.”
Luis pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “That happens to me.”
Elia turned to look at him with a question in her eyes.
“You know. I can't put my finger on something. It'll come.”
“Luis, how old do you think Lorraine is?”
“I don't know. Forty-five? Forty-two? Forty-seven? She looks fit; I don't think the gray hair can help us. And it's obvious she's not a smoker; her skin is good.”
“Let's say she was twenty-one when she graduated.” The keyboard clicked. She shook her head. “Not that year.” She kept typing. “She's single, right?”
“How would I know?”
“She's single, or at least she's still using her maiden name.” She put her face closer to the computer. “Look. Here she is.” She turned the computer so Luis could see. “She was already gray in college.”
He took a quick look before Elia claimed the laptop again. She cozied up to the screen to look at Fegan's classmates.
They were all women. It wasn't until several years later that the all women's college became coed, and several more before it became a university.
Elia perused the online yearbook and quickly scanned the graduation photos. “What?” She sat back in her chair and brought her hand to her face and played with her lower lip. Then she looked at the screen again and thought back to Bermuda and the boat and the dive.
“Bonnie Senzo.” She looked at Luis. “Bonnie Riser.” She pushed the computer at Luis. “And she didn't have that golden hair in college.”
“Important?”
“Not the hair.” She took the computer back. “They knew each other twenty-some years ago.” She looked off into space.
“Majors. Let's see.” Her fingers played the keyboard. “Lorraine majored in chemistry and pharmacology. Makes sense, I guess.”
She scrolled down to S and Senzo. “Another double major.” She frowned.
“Well?” Luis was staring at her. “What's it say for Bonnie?”
“Forensic science and pharmacology.” She turned to Luis. “Bermuda. She knows pharmacology — and all that CSI stuff. Bonnie? Vicente? Bonnie and Harry?”
Luis held up his hands in a stop signal. “Parate.” Number one, Harry didn't murder Vicente; he wasn't in Bermuda. Number two, what the hell are we doing?”
“Here you go again. You're having second thoughts.” She started ticking off points on her fingers. “Let's start with number two. What we are doing is helping the police.” Now it was she who held up her stop sign. “Wait. The police. What are they doing? Have we had any information from them about the break-in at Vicente's house? No.”
Luis got to his feet and opened his mouth to speak.
“I'm not finished. The police. What about the police in Bermuda? I talked with Vicente's parents the other day, and they've heard nothing.” She swiveled in her chair to watch Luis who was now pacing back and forth on the balcony. “So to reiterate, señor doctor, we're helping the police.”
Luis stopped pacing to look at her. “It looks like we're doing their work.”
“Somebody has to do it.” She turned back to her computer and looked at the Seton Hill page again and nodded. Number one. Harry wasn't in Bermuda, but Bonnie and Jacob Riser were. Riser tried to run me down on the beach and then tried to hunt me down on the road. He's a doctor, knows about drug interactions.” She pointed to the computer screen. “And look what Bonnie majored in. She's the perfect person to help murder Vicente.”
Luis leaned against the railing, his arms folded in front of him, and looked down at his wife, the computer cradled in her lap.
“Well?”
He turned to the sea and hit the railing with an open hand. Staring out at the ocean, he said in a low voice, “Riser. He dove with us. Your air hose. Sliced.”
Chapter 92
Riser staggered from the house. The woman he married had no mea culpas. She had looked at him with eyes as hard as steel and full of hatred and contempt.
He drove off the island and pulled off the parkway at Freshfields Village and stopped, motor running. Relaxed-looking tourists sauntered throughout the open-air village in and out of the upscale shops. He rested his head on the steering wheel, his hands forming a cushion.
He had seen that look of contempt before. Many times. But enough. She tried to kill that woman. “No.” He shouted inside his closed car. A family of four walking past jumped at the noise. They looked, then hurried on. He hit the steering wheel with the palms of his hands. “Damn it. No!” He maneuvered back out on the parkway and turned toward Kiawah. “Not this time, Bonnie, not this time.”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He found Luis's number and made the call.
“First Frank, and now Jake. Sounds like a summit,” Elia said when Luis ended the call.
“Sounds like a train wreck.”
Chapter 93
“Honey, I called Angel's parents; she's awake now. Let's go see her.” They had finished breakfast and had strolled down the boardwalk to watch the tide come in.
“You called her parents?” Luis asked. “That's kind of intrusive, don't you think?”
She ignored that question. “I knew the hospital wouldn't tell me anything. And before you say another word, I asked if we could visit.”
“And?”
“And they said that would be nice.”
Luis bent down and kissed his wife on the cheek. “You are nice.” He looked at his watch. “When?”
“Now?”
They arrived before lunch and found Angel sitting up in bed. Her face was swollen, and black and blue was turning a mustard yellow. Her head was bandaged, and an IV was running into her arm. She looked better than the last time they saw her. She looked confused when she saw them.
“I'm Elia Christie, and this is my husband Luis Echevarria. We're friends of Vicente's. Do you remember us?”
As if a dark cloud dissipated, a look of recognition settled on her face. She nodded and smiled tenuously. “We were going to meet.” She frowned. “Did we meet?”
Elia stood at Angel's bed and covered her hand with her own. “We met for a few minutes, but you had the
accident before we saw each other again.”
The dark cloud reappeared. “My mom told me Mr. Scharff died.”
Luis pulled chairs up to the bed. They sat quietly for a few moments. “Do you remember why Mr. Scharff was bringing you to Kiawah?” Luis spoke soothingly.
She frowned and shook her head. “I remember he picked me up.” She sounded frustrated. “Why? I'm trying to remember.”
“About Vicente?” Elia asked.
“I guess.” Again she shook her head.
“Your head injury,” Luis said. “You still have some swelling; you'll remember.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. “I hope so,” she said sleepily.
Luis's own eyes flew wide open. “Damn!” he whispered.
Elia looked alarmed and turned quickly to Angel.
“What is it?”
“Angel? Can I ask you a question?” Luis said softly, bending close. “Angel?” He touched her shoulder.
“She all right?”
“She's sleeping. Damn,” he repeated. “Let's go. We'll come back.”
“What was that all about?” Elia asked. They were on Bees Ferry Road going toward Kiawah.
“Where is my head?”
“What are you talking about, Luis?”
“Vicente's papers.”
“Okay…”
“The ones I found in the locker at Cassique. I know what he was so upset about, and why he felt he couldn't tell anybody.”
“China, bleeding,” Elia began ticking off the reasons.
“Old news.” He pointed behind him in the direction they had just traveled. “I want to talk to Angel.”
“Are you going to share?
He slapped the steering wheel. “Ethics.” He slapped the wheel again. “What was I thinking? There's someone in Charleston I want to talk with.”
Chapter 94
Luis looked up the number, made the call and an appointment. He snapped his phone shut. “Okay, let's go see Vicente's chief.” Luis held the door and waited until Elia gathered her purse and notebook. He picked up the papers he found at Cassique. “Got a paper clip in that portable office?” he asked with a nod toward her purse.
She rummaged a minute and came up with one. He clipped the papers together and rolled them in his hand. “Let's go.”
She motioned to the papers. “Is this number six?” she asked as they waited for the elevator.
“Number six?” Luis pushed the down button and looked lost at her question.
“We were ticking off the problems and never got to six. Is this it?”
His face cleared. “As a matter of fact, it just might be; I'm thinking.”
They arrived at the hospital and were directed to the third floor office of Dr. Paul Kittrick.
“You left the papers in the car.”
“Not the time for them.”
Kittrick's door was open. He sat behind a pristine desk. Sharpened pencils stood like sentries in a pewter cup. His blotter was spotless and centered perfectly on the desk. One sheet of paper was in the center of that perfect blotter. Three books were in a perfect little stack on a corner of the pristine desk. His laptop was open and sat three inches to the left of the sheet of paper.
When his secretary tapped on the door and opened it for Luis and Elia, he closed the laptop, straightened the already perfectly placed sheet of paper, then stood.
He shook their hands and motioned for them to sit. He sat, opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer, gave himself a couple of squirts, rubbed his hands together, put the sanitizer away, then looked at Luis and Elia as if that dance had never been performed.
“Vicente. You want to talk about Vicente.” The paper on his desk must have moved, because he had to rearrange it.
“We do.” Luis and Elia had discussed ahead of time that they would keep each other cool. So far so good with the first seconds. “Before Vicente died, he told us about some problem he was having at work.”
“Problem?” The books must have moved; he set them straighter.
“We weren't sure what the problem was at the time; he died before he could tell us.”
Kittrick moved the computer a fraction of an inch, rearranged his pencils, and centered his chair at his desk. Elia stared at him as he did his calisthenics. To her credit, she didn't sneak a peek at Luis.
She cleared her throat and put herself back in the game. “But we think we have a good idea what was bothering him.” She kept with the “be cool” plan and kept her tone emotionless. The same tone she used when interviewing people for stories. She had found that if people detected that she had her own opinions on a subject, they would be reluctant to give their own. Some wouldn't even talk with her.
Kittrick put his folded hands on the desk on top of the perfectly placed sheet of paper. He stretched them back and forth, cracking his knuckles. “He did have some trouble here, I can attest to that,” he said with a nod. More cracking.
Luis took a breath, as if he were about to jump off a high dive. “Vicente seemed frightened when we saw him in Bermuda.”
“I imagine he was. He was sick.”
“It was more than that. He didn't want to go to the hospital; he was scared.” Luis kept his eyes on Kittrick's face. “Why do you think?”
Kittrick straightened the three books. “Hospitals are scary places.”
Elia changed the subject. “Vicente could be outspoken, we know. Is that why you didn't choose him to be chief resident?” She asked it so innocently.
He nodded and permitted himself a satisfied smile. “He was that, for sure. Couldn't have someone like that as chief.” He must have seen the disgusted looks on Luis and Elia's faces. “The chief is an ambassador.”
“I thought the chief was your best resident,” Elia said, her patience evaporating.
“He argued. About the resident program. If he thought the residents weren't getting the training and guidance he thought they should, he'd bring it up at meetings. He argued — or should I say — questioned treatment plans. Now I ask you, does that sound like someone who should be chief? Is that a good doctor?”
“That's an excellent doctor,” Luis said. “And sounds like an excellent chief. Since we know he was outspoken, and we know he was worried about side effects of Cyptolis, did he talk to you about it?” He leaned forward in his chair, looking anxious, as if the answer would solve the riddle.
Calisthenics with the books. Kittrick sighed. He gave a great imitation of a harried mother after twenty questions from a four-year-old. Then his demeanor changed. He sat up taller in his chair, reached for his pencils and stopped midair. He refolded his hands and cracked knuckles.
“He did argue. He wanted to stop the Cyptolis. I wouldn't let him.”
“But the liver involvement.” Luis raised his voice. Elia reached over and touched his leg.
“It relieves spasticity. It's the best drug on the market.”
Luis sat back in his chair and breathed deeply. “Pavnor should have black boxed it.”
“Luis. The bleeding. Don't forget the bleeding,” Elia said.
“Did you notice hepatic bleeding in your patients?” Luis asked.
“Some. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“But it was out of the ordinary. Hemorrorhaging.” Luis took a deep breath and didn't wait for a reply. “Look Dr. Kittrick, we don't want to get you into trouble. We just want to find out why Vicente was murdered. And to do that, we think we have to find out more about what was going on in his life.”
Kittrick started to interrupt. Luis held up his hands to stop him.
“What was important to him. And that was Cyptolis. But why was it? We think we're getting close, but we aren't there yet. Please help us.”
“Why is it so important to you?” Now it was Kittrick who held up the stop sign. “Don't get me wrong. We all want to know who killed Vicente.” He carefully rearranged the perfectly aligned books. “But what's your fascination with Cyptolis?
“What don't you get?
It's because of that drug that Vicente died. What we don't know is what is so damn important that people had to die. Because we don't doubt for a minute that Aaron Scharff died for the same reason.” Luis pushed back in his chair and stood. “Let's go, Elia, we'll find our answers somewhere else.”
As a parting shot, Elia nudged the pile of books out of alignment.
At the door Luis turned to Kittrick and seemed about to say something. Elia grabbed his hand. They left without another word.
Kittrick pulled a Chap Stick out of a drawer, smeared some on his dry lips, stood it on its end in the center of a paper. He studied it, moved it a smidgen, studied it. Then he whacked it across the room.
He quickly retrieved it, wiped it off, and returned it to the center of the paper. Moved it a smidgen, studied it, moved it.
Elia spoke first once they were outside. “What do you make of him?”
“I think he's OCD who can't stand a glitch anywhere. I think he didn't want any waves in his neat little ship, so he ignored Vicente's concerns. As he said, Vicente spoke up about a lot of things. And he didn't give any credence to any of it. This was just one more rant from his least favorite resident. He ignored it.”
“So he's not a bad guy.”
“Oh, he's a bad guy, just not our bad guy.”
Chapter 95
“Who do we see first?” Elia asked, as they drove back to Kiawah.
“Why not meet them together?”
“When and where?”
“Today. Want to call them?”
She didn't answer, just scrolled through her numbers. “Frank called us first; I'll start with him.” She made the call and Hanssen set a tentative time and place until she could talk to Riser.
“He suggested Bohicket Marina. He said to keep right at the roundabout and head toward Seabrook. The marina'll be on our right.” She looked at Luis. It's daylight and there'll be people around, so I guess we can go through with this.”
Die Before Your Time (Elia Christie / Luis Echevarria medical mysteries) Page 21
