by Judith Mehl
Should she take it as a warning, assuming Lauri was Ambrose’s killer? Or was it a perfectly innocent comment? Kat was still puzzling what Lauri was apologizing for, though the dark sedan parked cockeyed in the street was its own testimonial. Was she the only one suspecting more?
Admonitions to stay still shot at her from several directions, startling Kat into heeding them and waiting for the ambulance. Moving wasn’t an option anyway. All efforts centered on staying conscious. She tried to piece together what had happened, wondering why it bothered her that David Nettle was lingering nearby. Had she seen him earlier? She didn’t remember doing so. Had someone pushed her? A nagging fear persisted, but facing the sunlight, with many worried faces pacing around her, she questioned that fear.
A motorcycle roared close to her ears, the vibration in the pavement settling all too near. A man’s sneaker’s incongruously leapt from the pedals and reached for the ground as he simultaneously ripped the helmet from his head. Nick’s white face wavered above his wife, frightening her with his sickly pallor.
He grasped her hand, stretching his long legs in front of him as he plopped down next to her and gently squeezed her fingers. He saw the blood and gently wiped it away with his fingertips, his face turning more ghostly as he did so.
“I’m allowed to be covered in blood, not you.”
Kat saw him looking around, seeking the guilty party. When she reassured him six different ways that she was fine, he managed to leave her side for a minute and make some inquiries amidst the streams of people now lining the street.
She watched him as much as she could lying flat on her back, not sure what caused her accident but she felt like she’d been broadsided by a truck. Lauri’s skewed car in the intersection served as a likely clue, however. Many of the bystanders knew Nick, including Simon who had phoned him. From Simon he went to David Nettle, who seemed concerned, and described a last minute grab for her shoulder to pull her back when he saw the car racing towards her. She could barely hear Nettle voice his concern, and give his impression of what happened. He said he’d never forget that fleeting shot at her back before she was catapulted forward. He described the sleek feel of her brushed canvas jacket, with no room for purchase in that second’s awareness.
Fortunately, by the time Nick realized it was Lauri’s car that hit his wife, justice was removed from his hands. The police and an ambulance arrived almost concurrently with Detective Richard Burrows. The homicide detective knelt at Kat’s side as the emergency technicians came forward, and she joked, “Am I dead? Who killed me?”
He smiled in return, happy to see she had recovered consciousness and seemed coherent. “Nah, I just came to see who or what managed to nick your tough hide. Can’t you watch where you’re walking for once,” he growled, not concerned at all about her walking but unable to voice the rest.
He added, “We’ll talk later. Let the men do their work.”
She grasped quickly for his hand as he left and turned him back. Her fear escaped her eyes, conveying her concern. He nodded and folded her hand over her waist as the technicians belted her to the stretcher.
As she was lifted into the ambulance she noticed Lauri gesticulating at the intersection to a policeman. She hadn’t seen her that volatile since she’d gotten drunk at the Christmas party. She was obviously explaining what happened. Detective Burrows entered the fray as Nick jumped in the ambulance with her.
She drifted in and out of consciousness until settled into her room. By then she remembered Nick’s heroic arrival on a behemoth of a motorcycle she’d never seen before and asked about it. He shrugged. “It wasn’t mine.” As if to say, why worry if I left it in the middle of the street. She knew he wasn’t normally that blasé and let it go. More urgent concerns rivaled for first place in her beleaguered head.
“Have you heard exactly what happened? How did I get hit?”
“No, we’re waiting for Burrows now.”
She struggled to sit up, realizing she had bruised ribs at the very least. “Why Burrows. I’m not a homicide case yet.”
Nick frowned. “He’s worried about you. As we all are. As you should be! What did you do this time?”
“Nick! That’s not fair. I didn’t do a thing. Ask Simon. I just came from having a drink with him and Charlene when I got hit.”
“So he says. We’re waiting to hear the rest of the story.”
Miffed she was taking the blame, Kat scrunched back into the pillows, seeking comfort. The doctor entered, saving her from Nick’s scowl. She received her damage report in silence, considering herself lucky. The bruises up and down one side of her body and the lacerations on her temple and arm were mild.
They were only keeping her overnight because of Nick and Detective Burrows. She was sure of it but didn’t want to push. Besides, exhaustion hit. This was one time she’d comply with their wishes without complaint. Her demeanor might worry them a little, but she’d get a good night’s rest before facing the questions, “Was she pushed?” or “Was she deliberately struck?” Right now, neither seemed realistic. She’d hear what everyone had to say and then digest the information and draw conclusions tomorrow.
Burrows arrived, and enumerated the details as Lauri explained them. Lauri apparently played the distraught widow-type in front of Burrows. She couldn’t get Ed Ambrose out of her mind etcetera, etcetera, but she was sure that Katharine hadn’t been there when she accelerated around the corner. A crazy student driver coming from the cross street rattled her with his frantic left turn into her path.
Kat arched both brows in disbelief but Burrows shoved his hand upright in a holding pattern and continued his story. The details purported by Lauri formed the tale of an accident, pure and simple. The woman had apologized profusely, sputtering that she didn’t see what else she could have done under the circumstances. She must be allowed to come by the hospital and visit Katharine.
Kat interrupted his story to grab the phone and call the desk. “Please screen any visitors with me before letting them through. It’s crucial. Thank you.”
The detective promised to confirm that with the front desk when he left. He voiced concerned about her welfare and explained why he appeared so quickly at the site of the “accident.” He obviously wasn’t quite convinced by Lauri’s tale. He would have put a guard on her hospital room if he could have found a legitimate reason to do so. His instincts, however, didn’t hold a line item in the budget.
Nick and the detective filled her in with the information from David Nettle. Finally seeing Kat leave the campus coffee shop alone, Nettle had crossed the side street and rushed to catch up with her. He told Nick and Burrows that he needed to speak with her and reached to tap her shoulder to gain her attention. He made a failing attempt to pull her back from the street, but all his focus was drawn inward on what he wanted to discuss, until it was too late to rescue her. He did not see the car come swerving through the intersection until it was upon her. At least that was his story to the police. He deftly avoided explaining why he wanted to talk with her. He made some casual excuse to the police, which they had no reason to question.
Kat, who’d seen David Nettle’s glaring stares and hated looks in past days, had cause to wonder, but no proof. Did Kat feel him shove her into the car? In which case Lauri truly was innocent. Or was he trying to pull her out of the way as he claims, in which case Lauri was the killer. Or, the third possibility—it was really an accident.
Her head spun from the possibilities and the impact with the cement. She offered her fears to Nick and Burrows. They provided student corroboration on Nettle’s story. She confessed to the difficulty of identifying between a touch and a shove in a lightening move with a car screeching around the corner.
When the phone rang and it became clear it was her parents, Burrows scuttled out the door; clearly he didn’t want to answer questions from his old friend about why he was letting his daughter get hit by a car.
Kat spent a frantic half-hour soothing her parents’ frayed ner
ves over her close call.
“Yes, mom, for the third time. “I’m truly fine. You don’t have to come and babysit me. No, no. I know it wouldn’t be babysitting. I know you’d love to just come and visit and give up your best fishing season ever. That’s why you never come up in August,” Kat mocked.
She shifted uncomfortably in her bed. Nick attempted to adjust her pillows in sympathy, shaking his head, “No,” he didn’t want to take over the phone.
“Yes, mom. I’ll stop being facetious. But I’m truly fine.”
There was a resplendent, but brief pause.
“Yes, dad, you can talk to Richard. I’m sure he’ll confirm that it was just a freak accident. Give him a call.”
Her face turned visibly red. Nick turned to her, worried over her injuries. She shook her hand and motioned him away.
“Dad, you can’t call Richard those things. Don’t blame him because I got hit by a car.”
Another slight pause ensued. She frowned while absorbing the next blow. “Who told you I fell down the stairs in the old steel building?” Her glare at Nick burnt off at least one layer of skin.
“The plant has been closed for years. I shouldn’t have been in there. Yes, yes. I’ll be careful from now on. I promise.”
Nick attempted to massage her neck muscles as she sat on the edge of the bed. She was still making faces at him but adjusted her body to take advantage of the olive branch.
“Dad, for God’s sake, why would you want to bring Artie up here? He’s not exactly an attack dog!”
She nodded agreeably for once. “Well, it’s true he’s very intimidating, but much too large to fit in your suitcase.”
She smiled at Nick and threw him a kiss for the massage.
“No, dad. I don’t want you to sneak Artie’s offspring into your suitcase. I know they’re smaller and more portable, but they aren’t very threatening. Mom sent photos. They really are cute. Hard to believe they’ll grow so big.”
They’d finally come to agreement on something, and she’d swayed him from his original purpose of threats and intimidation.
“Goodnight, dad. Tell mom I love her.”
Nick tucked the blankets around her lovingly and kissed her on the forehead.
“I’m sorry. It was a slip of the tongue when he called this afternoon. Next time someone tries to kill you, I promise I won’t tell your dad.”
She huffed and puffed but couldn’t come up with a response and finally let it drop. Eventually, she meekly asked him to find if there was a chiropractor with privileges in the hospital. She wanted an adjustment and didn’t want to wait until they released her. Realizing when he was off the hook Nick scurried to find someone. He returned thirty minutes later with a petite gentleman in tow. Kat had taken the opportunity for a nap while waiting. Exhaustion settled in, along with stiffness everywhere.
The man that appeared before her, with a trim goatee, three-piece suit and wing-tip shoes was so far removed from Kat’s concept of a chiropractor that she narrowed her eyebrows at Nick.
The man brought in his assistant to set up shop. While he was preoccupied, Nick slipped Kat the man’s card, verifying his authenticity and his role at the hospital. It had taken Nick only a few minutes to secure her doctor’s approval of the procedure before calling in this man, who he introduced as Dr. Bradley. As soon as the doctor was ready, Nick left.
The doctor gently manipulated her spine, taking special care to avoid her bruises as he worked his way through the procedures, keeping up a non-invasive chatter as he worked.
The session eased kinks from her body but her mind was still distraught with the twist of events. Was someone deliberately distracting her? From what specifically? Though leaving Kat sore, her injuries were not enough to detract her. She needed the peace of mind of knowing she was doing all she could to pin down the killer, and possibly the person behind her mishaps. Dr. Bradley was able to schedule a mid-morning appointment for the next day, something Kat learned long ago was essential after taking the beating her body did from the fall, not to mention the impact from the car. She only wished it would clear her mind to see the path needed in her investigation.
Nick found her later, ensconced on the bed, propped on half a dozen pillows, a premium in any hospital. With the phone to her ear she begged Maddy to find more samples of Nettle’s and Lauri’s handwriting. She coaxed from her the promise of a near-dawn visit and was pacified temporarily.
“Isn’t seven a.m. a little early even for you?” Nick asked as he reached carefully around the pillows and pecked her on the cheek?”
“Not around here. Remember, they have you up by six to ask if you’ve slept well, even if you only managed to doze off by four.”
The thought of such treatment urged her to whine just a little, hoping the effect would elicit sympathy. “I know I promised to stay until tomorrow but I’ll accommodate if you want to change your mind. I can recover at home just as well.”
“No way. I need one good night’s sleep before you’re back on the streets,” Nick joked.
Chapter 23
Backward curving end strokes can indicate defensive tendencies, insecurity, and guilt. What does the writer want to hide?
“Elements of Graphology” by Barry Branston
Kat drummed her newly manicured fingernails on the bedcover in silent impatience while Maddy presented the latest in Lauri’s handwriting.
“Your graphology requests create the ultimate in depression,” Maddy barked as she threw the last sheet down on the bed in despair. “Grand mere would say, Il ist clair we only find the nasty, vicious traits of everyone!”
“Did grand mere even know French?”
“Ach! You hear that rumbling up there? She is shouting at you from behind the pearly gates!
Unruffled, Kat quietly responded. “Yes, we look for the nasty, because we’re looking for a bad guy. If we see a person with an unadorned signature that shows clear thinking and a well-balanced nature, we pass him by. He’s not our man, or woman, as the case may be.”
She settled back on her pillows and savored the scent of her smuggled coffee. Maddy may be in a difficult mood but anyone who brought real coffee to a trapped invalid deserved leeway. She sipped calmly, waiting for Maddy to digest this aspect of the investigation.
Maddy stretched out in her chair and chugged down a few ounces of her own French vanilla coffee. She organized her thoughts and developed some theories on the persona of Lauri Carmichael before speaking.
“Here’s the problem. We’ve got a lot of implications that she is guilty of something, scared, and deceptive.” Maddy pulled out the first sheet. “You said this obvious left-slanted sample is a formal rejection of the world. This person could be emotional but inhibited.”
Kat confirmed this belief and pointed out how well it fit with Lauri’s personality. She appears defensive and probably has a private rebellion against the past. No one seems to know her innermost thoughts. Kat looked through the rest. “Her other sample is more right oriented but she has some possible left ‘I’ slants. When the ‘I’ slants left in otherwise right-slanted writing, you can assume guilt feelings. She wants to hide something from the world.”
She scowled. Lauri could be trying to hide her fears of life without Ed, her concern over her future, even worry over being considered as a suspect. The new sample, when considered with the rest, created more questions than convictions.
Maddy was on a roll now. She whipped out another sample. “In this early sample, she has common end strokes.” Kat had taught her well and merely waved for her to continue.
She quickly switched the top sheet. “In this later sample, she definitely shows backward curving end strokes.” Kat reviewed it and speculated on the definitive changes in the woman’s handwriting, her speaking muffled by the thermometer shoved unceremoniously into her mouth. The saccharinely cheerful nurse also pulled forward her wrist to check for a pulse. Fortunately she found both to her liking and left quickly.
Kat grimaced.
“That woman would smile while shoving needles under your fingernails. She’s so sickly sweet I barely resisted sticking the hypodermic needle into her when she finished torturing me this morning. Her idea of dawn is when the stars begin twinkling.”
Maddy dropped her papers, then realized Kat was exaggerating and went back to sorting. “Don’t rile me while I’m working. Here, study these in sequence.”
Kat could see what she meant. The earlier writing, mildly erratic and the latest sample, revealed a writing slant that wobbled all over—very unstable.
“She’s getting worse, or has an additional worry that’s causing a decline. But what is it?”
Kat hesitated, deliberating carefully. “We can’t tell. And to confuse things more, some of her writing is controlled and careful. A sign of caution and distrust of others, not deceit.”
Maddy shuffled everything neatly back into her briefcase as she stood.
“We have to consider that she may be innocent. Don’t hound her, and don’t endanger yourself pushing her into a defense she doesn’t deserve.”
Maddy inched her way closer to the bed, all the while watching the doorway for new arrivals. She fidgeted, which wasn’t her style, but she wasn’t sure how to approach her concerns: how to convince Kat she was dead serious? Finally, she just blurted it out.
“How can you know whether that nurse is really safe? Don’t you worry about people coming in here and pumping your IV full of poison, or air bubbles or something?”
Knowing that the easy-going Maddy was deeply troubled or she wouldn’t have broached the issue, Kat attempted a laugh, though an unsteady one. “You watch too much TV. But if it makes you feel better, I know that Nick had stationed Carl outside my door all night.
“I was exhausted and it was still hilarious. The door was open just a little. From the mirror on the wall I could see out into the hall. He accosted each person that walked near my door. He tried to talk the nurses into a strip search before they entered.”
Maddy could see it. Carl was such a ladies man that the nurses probably drew lots to “take care of the patient.” Kat seemed subdued considering the situation and Maddy realized she wasn’t as confident as she pretended.
