"No problem," Elena said. "I wanted to talk with you, and this is a great way to do it. I just wish we had more time to get together."
The two women were seated in the dining room of Cathy and Will's home. Elena looked around her and decided that one day she'd have a cozy house like this—neat but functional, attractive without being frilly. But that was a dream for another day.
"What's on your mind?" Cathy asked.
The front door opened and Will called, "Anybody home?" Cathy answered. "We're in the dining room. Elena brought soup and sandwiches. They're in the kitchen. Help yourself and then come join us." She looked at Elena. "Does Will being here affect the talk you wanted to have?"
"No, actually I think some of this may require a lawyer's perspective."
In a few minutes, Will was settled at the table, across from the two women. "Hope you don't mind if I dig in. I only have a half hour for lunch today."
"Eat and listen," Cathy said. "Elena has some things to tell us."
Elena took them through the story of her session with Josh and the conversation with Karri Lawson that followed. "It's good to know that I wasn't directly responsible for either death. Will, here's my question for you. Since neither Mark nor Mr. Pulliam had any chance of surviving, was Karri's action in discontinuing life support murder? Homicide? Manslaughter?"
"Realize that this is pure conjecture on my part, but I can't imagine a district attorney taking a case like that to a Grand Jury. So the answer is probably 'None of the above.' "
Elena nodded. "That's what I thought. Which brings me to my second question. What should I do about her confession? Should I contact Dr. Matney and tell him about it?"
Cathy put down her glass. "Let me take that one. You and I both know how things work in a medical center. By now, Dr. Matney is knee-deep in the politics of trying to get that appointment as dean. Situations like this one fall into the category of 'out of sight, out of mind.' Why bring it up again? You don't need his recommendation. You've completed your training. You have a job. Your employer knows the truth and is satisfied. I'd leave it at that."
Will held up his finger while he chewed and swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. "I think you should sit down tonight and write out a complete account of your conversation with Karri. Make it as close to verbatim as you can. Tomorrow, call Josh Samuels and ask him to lock up his notes of your session, including the recording he made."
Elena thought about that for a minute. "Is that really necessary?"
"It may never come up again," Will said. "But, if it does, it'll help that you put the story down while it was fresh. And Samuels's corroboration of what you said under hypnosis would be important."
"I can see that, I guess," Elena said. "But it worries me that Karri is still working in the ICU. What if she decides that disconnecting people from life support gives her a thrill? Maybe she'll start to think she should be the one to decide who lives and who dies."
"Don't you think that's a bit far-fetched?" Cathy asked.
"After what she's done, I'd believe anything," Elena replied.
They were silent for a couple of minutes. Then a smile brightened Will's face. "How about this? Karri doesn't know my investigator, Ramon. Nicest guy you'll ever meet, but he can act pretty tough if the situation warrants it. He could 'run into' Karri in the hospital cafeteria, draw her aside, and say something like, 'We know what you did. And if you so much as think of doing it again, we'll see that your license is lifted and you face the stiffest criminal penalties possible.' "
Cathy chimed in. "What if she asks, 'Who's this we?' "
Will grinned. "I suspect he'd give her a knowing look. 'You know. And don't forget it.' How's that?"
Elena pondered that for a moment. "We could try it. I'd like to think this was a one-time thing, a way of hurting me because Mark dumped her to stay with me."
Cathy tilted her glass and crunched a piece of ice. "That's settled. Now what about the person who murdered Charlie Lambert? We're not talking about withdrawing life support from a patient who's dependent on it. This was a man on the road to recovery. He might not be the same person as before his stroke, but he'd be alive."
"I've been waiting for the police to come knocking on my door," Elena said. "If Nathan Godwin gives them that bottle of Anectine with my fingerprints on it, I don't see how I can avoid being arrested."
"Either he hasn't called the police yet, or they're taking their time with their preliminary investigation. In either case, we still have some time. We'll try to come up with a solution before they get to you." Will pushed back his chair. "Right now, I'm due back at the office. We'll talk about this later."
"Jane, this is Dr. Gardner." Elena snugged her cell phone against her ear with her shoulder and used both hands to wheel her car into the hospital parking lot. "I have one more stop to make before I come back to the office. Anything going on?"
"Nothing that can't wait until you get here. Your first patient of the afternoon cancelled, so you've got a little time."
"I'm at the hospital. Given the cell phone reception here, you'd better have the operator page me if you need me."
Elena wasn't sure where the office she wanted was located, so she took a moment to consult the directory in the main lobby. She envied David the opportunity to get to know the place he'd practice, instead of being thrown into the middle of it with almost no warning. But she was proud she'd been able to adapt so well to her role in Cathy's practice. If only everything else was going smoothly.
She found the office number, determined its location using the map alongside the directory, and set out in that direction. As she walked, Elena rehearsed her speech. The Jefferson family had come to the office that morning with their mother. A review of Cathy's previous notes confirmed Elena's impression that this was a woman slipping further into the heartbreaking world of senile dementia. Mrs. Jefferson was totally out of touch with reality now, and there was no way her family could care for her at home. Elena hoped that the hospital's social worker might be able to help find an answer.
Here it was, room 1003. She read the name on the door: N. Cook, Social Worker. Elena tapped on the door, and a pleasant female voice replied, "Come in."
File cabinets occupied the space along every wall except for the door through which Elena entered. A scarred metal desk sat in the center of the room, and the woman behind it was almost hidden by a stack of papers. She motioned Elena to one of the two mismatched client chairs across from her and beamed a thousand-watt smile at her visitor. "Have a seat. I'm Natalie Cook. How can I help you?"
Elena offered her hand. "I'm Dr. Elena Gardner. I—"
The social worker's expression was one of pure shock. "How in the world did you ever find me?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're Mark's wife, aren't you?"
"Do I know you?"
"No, my mother made sure of that long ago." She leaned across the desk and Elena saw the resemblance before the next words confirmed it. "I'm Natalie, Mark's sister."
20
Elena felt as though she were inside a huge snow globe that some giant hand had given a shake. Her world had just turned upside down. "Natalie? But your name is Cook, not Gardner."
"Cook is my married name. After my mother threw me out of her house, calling me a hippie who'd never make anything of her life, I migrated to Santa Fe. I was scratching out a living selling trinkets in the town square when I met Clark. He was the youth pastor at a church there. We started dating and were married six months later."
"Your mother never mentioned you."
"No, when I didn't live up to the image she had in mind for her daughter, it was as though she'd taken white-out and erased my name from the family Bible. She wouldn't take my calls, returned my letters unopened. The only reason I know that you and my little brother were married is that one of my high school friends had my address and sent me the clipping from the paper."
Elena tried to assimilate what she was hearing. "How do you go fro
m selling jewelry on the square in Santa Fe to practicing social work in Texas?"
"Clark was called to be associate pastor of the First Methodist Church here in town, and we found out the hospital was looking to add a social worker. I didn't have any training, just a couple of years of college, but I bluffed my way through the interview and got the position. I've been learning on the job ever since."
"Do you and Clark have any children?"
Natalie bit her lip. "Last year, Clark decided he wasn't cut out for ministry—or for marriage. I'm alone now."
Elena hitched her chair closer. "Natalie, you're not alone anymore. I'm glad I found you. But I have some news about your family."
"Sorry I'm late." Elena tossed her purse into her desk drawer. She snatched her white coat from the hook behind the door and shrugged into it, then scanned the hall. The plastic bins outside every exam room door held a chart. She was starting behind, and to catch up she had to put aside the events of the past hour. There'd be time enough to think about them this evening when she had dinner with David.
Elena tapped on the door of the first exam room and entered to find an elderly woman fidgeting on the edge of the exam table. Her right shoe lay on the floor, and she was flexing the toes of that foot.
"Mrs. Musgrove, I'm Dr. Gardner. I'm terribly sorry to keep you waiting. I was held up at the hospital." Elena perched on the rolling stool and studied the chart. This was the woman's first visit to the practice. She listed a chief complaint of foot trouble. "Tell me about the problem with your feet."
The woman kept her eyes fixed on her foot, as though her gaze alone might make it well again. "I've got this place on it that won't heal."
"How long has it been there?"
"Maybe six months, might be a bit longer."
"Does it hurt?"
"No. But I told my daughter about it. She took one look at it and made this appointment. I don't think it's much, do you?"
Elena had no trouble finding the ulcer on the bottom of the woman's foot. It was about an inch in diameter, fairly shallow, with a clean central crater. She placed her fingertips lightly on the top of the foot. The pulse was weak, and the skin was cool. Elena pulled a hatpin from the lapel of her white coat and lightly jabbed the woman's foot. "Feel that?"
"Not really. But I don't have much feeling in my feet, anyway."
Elena thought she knew what the woman's problem was, but she wanted to be certain. "How's your weight?"
"I don't see what that has to do with my feet, but now that you mention it, I've been losing weight, even though I eat quite a bit."
Elena went through several more questions. She made a couple of notes on the chart, then set it aside. "Mrs. Musgrove, I think you have diabetes. I'm not sure how long you've had it, but it's affected the nerves and the circulation in your feet. I'm going to have my nurse set up an appointment for some lab work to confirm that diagnosis. Meanwhile, here's what you need to do to keep that ulcer from getting worse."
She gave the woman comprehensive directions, all the while trying to ignore the clock in her head that was saying, "You're behind. Hurry up." This patient deserved her best, and if it took a bit of time, so be it.
The afternoon went by quickly. Some patients presented with problems that were simple, some with problems that were challenging. When she finished with the last patient on her list, it was almost six o'clock. She looked into the waiting room, expecting it to be empty. Instead, she saw a middle-aged Hispanic man in the far corner thumbing through a magazine. He wore a dark blue uniform of some kind. Maybe this was a mechanic, here to see her about an injury.
Jane was still checking out the last patient, so Elena approached the man and said, "I'm Dr. Gardner. Are you here to see me?"
The man put down his magazine and stood up. Elena got a closer look at his uniform, and his solemn expression confirmed her fear. "I'm Jesus Hernandez, Dainger Police Department. I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time, Doctor?"
He retrieved a worn leather briefcase from near his feet and followed Elena into her office. She eased into the chair behind her desk and waved him to a seat opposite her. It took everything she could muster not to show the panic she felt. "How can I help you, Officer?"
"Doctor, we're working a case that involves a patient of yours, Charles Lambert. To assist us in our efforts, I'd like you to allow me to take your fingerprints."
So that was it. No questions. No Miranda warning. Just a request for fingerprints. Elena had never been printed before. No military service. No fingerprinting when she began her residency. The police couldn't say the prints on the Anectine bottle were hers unless she gave them this sample.
Should she call Will? Surely they had to have some sort of warrant to do this. Wasn't there something in the Constitution about unreasonable search and seizure? She might be able to delay the process for days, maybe even weeks. But what would that gain her?
She pushed back the sleeves of her coat and held out her hands. "Certainly."
As the man went through the process, Elena had a thought. "Tell me, did the police chief send you to do this because you're Hispanic? Did he think that would make me more cooperative?"
A ghost of a smile flittered across Officer Hernandez's face. "No, ma'am. I'm a second-generation Texan. I can't do much more in Spanish than order in a Mexican restaurant." He handed her a moist towelette to clean her fingers. "The chief sent me because I'm the best one on the force at taking fingerprints."
Will stopped his client in mid-sentence with an upraised index finger and reached to punch the flashing button on his private line. Only a few people had this number, and he didn't want to miss a call from any of them. "Yes?"
"Will, it's Elena. Can you talk?"
"Let me call you back in five minutes."
It was actually ten minutes before Will shook hands with his client and showed him out of the office. The incorporation of a small business for the man was a simple matter. Will had a hunch that Elena's call didn't signal anything simple. Five minutes later, he knew he'd been right.
"The police came for your fingerprints? Did they read you your rights?"
"No," Elena said. "No questions. Not even any pressure to cooperate. He just said, 'I'd like you to allow me to take your fingerprints.' I started to tell him I'd need to call my lawyer, but then I decided there was really no benefit to refusing."
"You could have made them come back with a warrant, but you're right. This way, you paint yourself as a cooperative citizen with nothing to hide."
"How long do I have before they show up with handcuffs, though? If Godwin gave them the Anectine bottle, they're bound to identify my fingerprints on it."
Will pulled a legal pad toward him and scribbled a few words. "First they'll take a statement from you and ask you a bunch of questions. How do you explain the fingerprints on the bottle? Can you account for your whereabouts during the time of Lambert's death? By the way, where were you then?"
"I was in medical records, signing charts. And, before you ask, there was no one else around. The place was empty."
"Not good," Will said.
"But I have a little time. Right?"
"Some. Let me call my source at the police department and see what he knows." Will scribbled a note on his pad. "Can you come by this evening to talk about this?"
"Ummm . . . I'm supposed to have dinner with David tonight. There are some things we need to discuss. Can this wait until tomorrow?"
Will wondered what could be more important than avoiding an arrest for murder. "I suppose so. Meet me in my office at noon tomorrow. If you hear from the police before then, call me immediately."
"It seems to me that the only way I can be cleared is—"
The silence stretched on. "Elena, are you still there?"
"Let me think about this."
Will heard a click, and realized he was holding a dead phone. He wasn't sure what Elena had in mind, but he was willing to bet it involved thinking outside the box. Way outside
.
David paused with a bite of enchilada halfway to his mouth. He'd hoped this would be a quiet dinner, one when he could convey to Elena how he felt about her. But she'd led with startling news, and that had been the topic of their conversation since. "She didn't know about Mark?" All around them, the little Tex-Mex restaurant buzzed with conversations, but David kept his attention riveted on Elena. "What an amazing story."
Elena dipped a chip into the salsa. "Her mother had effectively disinherited her, cut off all communication. She knew we were married because a high school friend tracked down Natalie's address and sent her a copy of the story. She recognized me from the picture. We're still not sure how her name ended up in the list of survivors in Lillian's obituary. Probably one of Lillian's acquaintances mentioned her."
David chewed and swallowed. "Wow. Sort of like the line from Casablanca. 'Of all the hospitals in all the states, you had to come to the one where she works.' "
"I don't think that's what Bogart said, but I get the picture. And I'm glad I found her. I think there's a connection there that will be good for both of us. I really need a friend right now."
"Excuse me, but what am I?" David's words were light, his tone serious.
"I'm sorry. Of course you're a friend. A good one, too."
David forced a smile. Tell her now. She knows it, but she just won't let herself admit it. "Elena, let's not ignore it. You know how I feel about you. Mark's been gone for more than half a year. Isn't it time you began thinking about the rest of your life?"
He saw her open her mouth, then close it again. Maybe his words had hit home this time. Finally, she shook her head. "There's just too much uncertainty in my life right now. Maybe, when I get out from under this cloud—"
David nodded. At least it wasn't a "no." Just a "maybe later." He could live with that.
Elena bit into a chip, then licked a bit of salsa off her fingertips. "Tell me, how's Mrs. Gomez?"
Diagnosis Death Page 23
