“And what about what I heard last night? And the night before? The whispering and the screaming? You know I’m not a superstitious woman, Lou. Explain why I heard what I heard. It was another night of no sleep,” Doreen said.
“I don’t know what you’re hearing, but I can’t believe in ghosts. I can give you a sleeping aid for tonight. It’s not healthy for you to lose this much sleep,” Lou said in her nurse tone. “And anyway, aren’t their rules to ghosts? They stay put in the place they died? Why would Irene Lentz be traveling down to the sixth floor or to the eighth floor?” she asked, directing the last part at Barney.
“You’ve seen too many movies, Lou,” Barney said and shook his head at her.
“Maybe we have multiple ghosts. Maybe it was Houdini,” Doreen piped up, nodding to Barney. “You said they held those séances on the roof every Halloween trying to contact him.”
“What about Frances Farmer? Or DW Griffith?” Mary Ann jumped in.
“You really believe that? That we have multiple ghosts?” Lou said and shook her head. “I will find the resident who was crying last night and prove to all of you there are no such things as ghosts,” she said.
“No. No. NO,” Barney emitted a harsh whisper. “We all heard something. A presence, or rather several presences, ARE here. It’s spooky. None of us slept last night. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Do you?” He put his arm around Mary Ann.
“Could the ghost be killing us?” Doreen said as she leaned in. “Maybe it killed Babs. And the others?” she added. Lou had heard enough. She stood up and put her hands on her hips and felt as though she was about to scold a table full of schoolchildren.
“No one is killing anyone, Doreen,” she said. “I’m very sorry about Babs, Barney. I really am. She was a wonderful woman and she died too soon of a heart attack. Her passing upsets us all and I can imagine that’s why many of you are unable to sleep. It’s entirely normal in this situation,” she said and wished her voice wasn’t so curt. She modulated it to be more caring before she continued. “This building has a fascinating history, I’ll give you that, and I’m sure it’s thrilling thinking about all that happened between these walls. But ghosts don’t exist. If any of you find yourselves unable to sleep another night, please come to me. I’ll dispense sleeping aids.” Barney scowled back at her as the women looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes.
“Why don’t you go and try to prove us wrong. When you find out that you are indeed dealing with a presence you can’t explain, then we can talk. Until then, we don’t have anything else to say to you,” he said and turned his back on her. The women followed his lead.
“I will do just that and put this ridiculousness to rest,” she said and stomped away, leaving her unfinished food behind her.
Detective Eva Murphy hated going to the morgue and Larson knew it. He sent her off alone each time they had to deal with the Coroner, explaining that the more she went, the more desensitized she’d be to it. She had to credit him with helping her get to the point of no longer passing out the moment the smell of death, sweet and rotten simultaneously, assaulted her nose. That was a huge step forward.
Each time her olfactory sense caught that specific smell, she flashed back to the first day at the Body Farm and the embarrassment she saw on the faces of her Behavioral Science Unit seminar classmates. She considered herself a strong, not easily frightened woman, but her fainting spell surprised even her with its intensity. After that first time, each subsequent whiff of death caused the same embarrassing fainting and she took great pains to hide it from her colleagues.
The smell invaded her dreams late at night. She would wake up, shivering and covered in a cold sweat, from dreams where she passed out in front of her colleagues. She’d hidden her phobia through most of her time in Patrol. Luckily, she hadn’t come across a single dead body. Dead bodies were the job of the murder squad, however.
Her first case with Larson was a home invasion, and she had unexpectedly walked in on two dead victims. Larson caught her before she hit the floor and after that, he made it his mission to have her overcome the phobia. He never spoke of his intentions but instead made an excuse not to go to the morgue each time they called.
Murphy took a deep breath before opening the door to Autopsy Room #1 of the LA County City Morgue. She nodded to the coroner, Dr. Leann Grimley and held her breath as long as she could.
“Hello there, Detective Murphy. Come on closer, you don’t need to be shy,” Dr. Grimley said as Murphy let out her breath in a whoosh. She held onto the edge of the table for support as the smell hit her nostrils. She might not pass out but that didn’t mean it didn’t torture her all the same. She breathed the smell deep into her lungs and reminded herself that this was the squad she chose.
Dr. Grimley touched her on the shoulder. “You’re getting better.”
Murphy nodded. “I’ll get there. So, what do you think?”
“We’re lucky this woman’s friend dialed 911 instead of just calling in the doctor.” She pointed to a small puncture in the crook of her arm. “See this?”
Murphy glanced at it and nodded. “I’m looking at a puncture wound, correct? Could it have been made by her doctor at the nursing home?”
“Her medical files showed she had no appointments in the last month. This is fresh and was made less than 24 hours before her death. The tox screen came back clean so I’m postulating an air bubble in the vein.”
“How does that kill someone?” Murphy asked.
“It’s called murder by embolism, and it was first used by the Nazi’s at the Meseritz-Obrawalde hospital,” Dr. Grimley said. “This method killed in minutes. The nurses would inject about 100 milliliters of air into their victim’s veins creating an air bubble. The bubble then traversed to the heart where it got stuck in the chambers causing the blood to stop flowing. The victim would go into cardiac arrest in seconds. With an older woman like Barbara, well, not many doctors would check for a syringe mark.”
“Outside of the Nazi’s, has anyone else used this method in the last, I don’t know, twenty years?” Murphy asked.
“There have been numerous cases of this type of murder. The media dubbed past killers using this technique Angels of Death. A nurse in Germany killed fifteen patients using this method and there have been pretty famous murder cases here in the States and in England,” Dr. Grimley said.
“Are they always medical professionals?” Murphy said.
“Typically yes,” Dr. Grimley said as she put the sheet back over Barbara’s body. Murphy nodded, the smell scrambling her thoughts.
“Thank you for putting her ahead of the others on such short notice,” Murphy said as she walked quickly to the door. She couldn’t take it much longer.
“You’re welcome, Detective. I hope you find whoever is doing this. They put the entire medical community in a terrible light,” Dr. Grimley called out after her.
Murphy nodded as she pushed the door open, took huge gulps of chlorinated air and broke into a run. She sprinted up the two flights of stairs and blasted through the exit doors before she slowed to a fast walk, gulping in the hot, smog-filled LA air.
She turned her face towards the sun and reminded herself that she’d made it. And it was the fourth time in a row. Even with her lack of concentration, she’d also gotten the information they needed.
Murphy dialed Larson. “Grimley is calling it a suspicious death. You ever heard of Angels of Death? Doctors and nurses killing their patients?” Murphy asked.
“Yea, I have. Was she poisoned?” Larson’s voice sounded as excited as she felt.
“Embolism. Perp injected air into the vein. She found a needle puncture in the crook of her elbow,” Murphy said as she clicked her door open. “You have Dr. Jerris’ address?”
She heard Larson flipping through the files. “He’s at Cedar’s.”
“Meet you there,” Murphy said and clicked off. She felt the thrill of the chase starting up. Dr. Jerris and Nurse Louise were the most obviou
s suspects but were there others? She let her mind wander down the pertinent questions.
Who had the motive? Opportunity? What were the unique properties of the weapon? How hard was it to find a vein, use a syringe? A diabetic would know. All sorts of medical professionals.
But did an Angel of Death need to be a medical professional? Any history buff who had an interest in the Nazi’s could track down the method, or an interest in serial killers come to think of it. She started up the car and bet that Larson had already made up his mind on the nurse.
Murphy and Larson found Dr. Tom Jerris in the commissary of the Cedars Sinai Medical Center. The place resembled a labyrinth and, after a half hour search, they found him seated at a corner table reading a Scientific American and eating a yogurt.
“Dr. Tom Jerris?” Larson flashed his badge at the doctor.
“What can I do for you, Officer?” Dr. Jerris gestured to the seats around him without looking up from the magazine. Murphy and Larson sat on either side. “We’d like to ask you some questions about Barbara Monroe from the Sunshine assisted living home.”
“She died of heart failure, didn’t she?” he asked. Murphy stared hard at his Scientific American until he got a clue and put it down.
“The coroner deemed hers a suspicious death,” Larson said.
Dr. Jerris shook his head in confusion. “She was 75.”
“What does that have to do with anything? The coroner found a puncture in her arm. You didn’t take her blood two days prior to her death, did you?” Murphy asked.
“No, I didn’t take her blood. She stopped seeing me some months ago,” Dr. Jerris said, all business like.
“When was the last time you saw Ms. Monroe then?” Murphy asked, leaning in although she doubted she would intimidate a man such as Dr. Jerris.
“Let’s see.” Dr. Jerris closed his eyes. “I’d say last May. When it rained that one week.” He opened his eyes, his lips forming a thin line. “I remember that since I was none too pleased to have to go over there. You know how the roads get. No one knows how to drive in LA when it rains.”
“And that was to see Ms. Monroe specifically?” Larson asked as Murphy wrote down the date.
“Yes. She wanted me to check a mole, thought it was cancerous or something. I checked it, cut it off, and took it for biopsy.” He paused and scowled. “When I called her with the negative results, she told me I had a terrible bedside manner and she had found a private doctor.” Dr. Jerris stared pointedly at Larson. “I sat in two hours of traffic to get to that woman. Good riddance, I say.”
“How was her heart?” Murphy cut in.
“Great. Normal blood pressure for her age. I’d say she was healthy. A bit of a hypochondriac but aren’t they all.” He rolled up the magazine and stood. “That’s all I have for you. Gotta get back at it.” Murphy and Larson got up as well.
“We might need to speak again,” Murphy said.
“Not a problem, just call my office,” he said on his way out the door.
“Eager to leave us,” Larson said to Murphy. She couldn’t help but stare at the Doctor’s receding back. He was definitely guilty of something, she thought. They followed him out.
“Think he’s our perp?” Murphy fished.
“He didn’t seem surprised by the coroner’s report.”
“Aren’t doctors trained not to show surprise?” Murphy said as they headed for the parking garage. He could easily have done it, she thought, and definitely was on the list.
Lou Fairbanks set soup and a sandwich in front of Dads and plopped in the chair across from him. She had taken up Barney’s challenge with a fury and neglected all her other tasks to talk to each and every resident on the ninth and eleventh floors in search of the mysterious, crying woman. There were six women in total on both floors and none of them looked as though they had spent the entire night crying. She had done her due diligence and administered depression questionnaires to each one of them just to be absolutely sure they weren’t suffering in silence, but all of them came back normal. Every single one of them was well adjusted.
Almost too well adjusted, she muttered angrily to herself. The effort had taken an enormous toll on her and the migraine that started after her conversation with Barney and his gang in the cafeteria had dogged her the entire morning. She needed to call Dr. Jerris, she thought, and gingerly touched the bump on the back of her head.
On second thought, she would wait. What could he say to do that she hadn’t already done herself? She was a nurse after all.
She noticed Dads ignoring his lunch and pushed the sandwich plate closer to him.
“Eat, Dads. Lunch.” She tapped him on the hand to get his attention. His gaze never shifted from the window. “I can’t handle you doing this today. Please.”
Dad turned to her as his eyes focused. “You look tired,” he said.
“I am tired. Very tired. Eat.”
Dads picked up his sandwich and took a bite. The tension released out of Lou’s shoulders, and she sat back in the chair. “Thank you, Dads,” she said.
He nodded and mumbled, “Good. It’s good.” She softened a touch and smiled. He had these kinds of lucid moments several times a week, but they were getting to be spread further and further apart.
Dads took another bite, his eyes sliding down to the soup.
“How was your day?” she prodded, trying to engage him. It surprised her that she even cared.
He nodded on command. “Fine,” he mumbled back.
“What? I don’t understand,” Lou asked but his eyes unfocused before he said anything more. He dropped the sandwich onto the plate and pushed both it and the bowl away from him. It was only a matter of time now, she thought. He really seemed as if he would go soon.
“You need to eat, Dads.” She hated how her voice turned into a whine. “Please. For me?” His face stayed blank.
She wished for the millionth time she had more friends. Or even one friend. Just someone else to talk to besides Dads. Like Lindsey. She hadn’t found anyone to replace her yet. In one of his more lucid moments, Dads claimed her caustic character kept everyone away. Who wanted to be friends with someone like her, he reasoned.
She pushed that nasty thought away. “Do you want some tea? I can make us some tea,” she said instead and heaved herself out of the chair with a considerable amount of effort. She went to the kitchenette, filled the teakettle with water and set it onto the hot plate.
“Unfortunately, I still have my afternoon rounds left,” she said, and kneaded her forehead. “I’m so tired, Dads. I’m just so very tired. My patients demand so much of me,” she said, setting two Lipton tea bags into chipped coffee cups. The kettle whistled, and she filled the cups to the brim. She added a touch of white powder from a vial to Dads’ cup and made sure to stir it well, hiding all trace of it.
“We need a good night’s sleep. That’s all. A good night’s sleep,” Lou mumbled to herself.
A dark fog swirled around her as Lou fought to wake up. Thump! Thump! Someone was in their room, and she had to stop them from hurting her. Thump! Thump! She struggled towards the surface of consciousness, fear pushing her forward. Thump.
Lou woke with a gasp and sat up in bed, disoriented. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and strained to see what was making such a noise.
Thump! The sound came from the window, but she didn’t see anything or anyone there. She scrubbed her face with her hands. Could she still be sleeping? She pinched her arm.
“Ouch.” She rubbed the spot until the pain went away. She was definitely awake. She got up to get a closer look and gasped in horror.
The yellow light from the streetlights streamed through the window and, at her current angle, revealed two handprints in the middle of the pane of glass. When she sat back down on the bed, they disappeared. She got up, and they appeared again. She rubbed her eyes again and stepped closer, never taking her eyes off them. She had to angle her head several times to make them out, but they were definitely still ther
e. When she got up to the window, she ran her finger over the edge of one of them and her hand recoiled in shock when she left her own smudged fingerprint on the inside. Ice-cold fear invaded her body and dumped adrenaline into her blood stream.
The handprints were on the outside of the window not inside like she had previously thought.
She placed her own hand against the right imprint and found the size to be similar. A woman’s imprint then, she thought. She undid the lock on the latch and threw the window open. She stuck her head out and stared up at the sky and then back down to the street below. She didn’t know whether she was expecting some sort of Spiderwoman hanging off the side of the building, but the side of the building was empty.
“Get ahold of yourself, Lou,” she said and pulled herself back into the room, closing the window behind her. Dads snored in response.
She sat back on her bed, scared and perplexed simultaneously. How in the world could anyone leave those handprints? And if it was the ghost of Irene Lentz like Barney claimed it was, then why was she leaving handprints on HER window? Someone who didn’t believe in her very existence. She shook her head and got under the covers.
A sob broke the silence in the room. The same sob she heard last night. The woman whimpered, and the sobs picked up in volume. Lou had never heard such grief stricken sobbing.
It got louder, and Lou could swear the sobbing was coming from inside her own room. It swirled around her, getting louder, then softer, then louder again. Lou pressed her hands over her ears, willing it to stop and after several moments, the sobs lessened and then grew fainter. A faucet turned with a squeak, and the sound of water filled the room like the night before.
Lou peered over to Dads. He was still asleep, she thought in relief.
Thump. Thump. The sound reverberated around the room. She pulled the covers over her head, her eyes wide with terror. Why was she doing this to her?
THUMP.
She flinched and burrowed down further into the bed, positive that the ceiling would fall in on them. Dads, she thought, and peeked out from under her covers. He sat on his bed wide-awake, his head cocked to the sounds swirling all around him.
The Elk (A Caine & Murphy Paranormal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 6
