Devil Wind (Sammy Greene Mysteries)

by Linda Reid

  Sporting just a bath towel, his thick waves of sandy hair tousled and wet, Reed opened the apartment door on the third knock.

  “Very nice,” he said, admiring Sammy’s form fitting sheath and high heels. “And the dress is a winner, too.”

  A faint flush exposed Sammy’s secret pleasure that he’d noticed her efforts. She’d last worn this dress at the spring correspondents dinner in D.C.

  “Cool digs.” She peered past him at the spacious loft with its floor-to-ceiling view of the marina. Today, the Pacific was a froth of waves caused by the Santa Anas. “Didn’t realize residents lived this well.”

  “Fellow.”

  “Huh?”

  “Cardiology fellow. Three years internal medicine residency, one year chief resident, now I’m a fellow.”

  “That you are.” Sammy’s appreciative look lasered onto Reed’s half-naked body. Though she teased him, she was well aware that Reed had paid a heavy price, rejecting his family’s banking legacy to become a doctor. He’d worked hard and he’d done it all on his own. It was something Sammy had always admired.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” She held up a paper bag. “Blueberry bagels. For old times’ sake.” Her green eyes twinkled at the reference. When they’d first met at an Ellsford University party more than four years ago, Sammy just assumed her Brooklyn Jewish working class roots precluded a serious relationship with the blond-haired, New Hampshire WASP. But Reed had pursued the perky redhead until they’d become a steady couple. And though he’d learned to like brisket and chicken soup, he tenaciously held onto the blueberries in his bagels.

  Now he raised an eyebrow. “Why does the phrase ‘beware of Greeks bearing gifts’ come to mind?”

  “Friends of Greeks,” Sammy parried.

  “How is Pappajohn?”

  Sammy’s smile faded. “Actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said, walking through the half-open doorway into the apartment. “He’s having a rough time.”

  Reed shut the door. “I guess I can put off sleep for a little while longer.” He rubbed his eyes. Holding up his towel with one hand, with the other he pointed past the kitchen alcove to the main room. “Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t dress up on my account,” Sammy said as he padded off barefoot toward the bedroom. With his demanding schedule, how did he ever have time to keep working out?

  Alone, in the large open area, Sammy wandered around, stepping over medical books and journals stacked in every corner, searching for a place to settle. Despite the magnificent view, the loft’s décor could only be described as minimalist: a couple of beanbag chairs, a low glass coffee table, and a plain leather couch. Nothing on the sterile white walls. Doubtful Michelle, or any female for that matter, had had a hand in the selections. Sammy knew she no longer had a claim on Reed. Still, she found that observation oddly satisfying.

  Minutes later, Reed returned looking handsome in tight jeans and a button-down shirt. He sat down on the couch and motioned for her to join him. “Okay, what’s up?”

  Trying not to miss details, Sammy told him what she and Pappajohn had found at Ana’s apartment and the reaction of the detectives. “They’re not investigating the break-in. They’re not even looking for Sylvie.”

  “Sylvie?”

  “The roommate. Said they’re too busy with more important cases. Can you believe that?”

  Reed shrugged. “I know from what’s been going on at the hospital, there’s been a rash of violent crime since the fires. These crazy winds have caused all kinds of fallout, not to mention yesterday’s accident at Canyon City. And then there’s Y2K. Everybody’s got their hands full this week—doctors, firemen, LAPD. I guess they feel a case like Ana’s can wait until things die down a little.”

  Sammy shook her head. “LAPD will never take her death seriously. Even Gus said so. You should have seen how they treated him. Made him feel like two cents. Here the poor guy’s just lost his daughter and this one cop—named, uh, De’andray, practically called him a lame father to his face.” Sammy smiled sadly. “I know from lame fathers. Maybe Gus should have tried harder when Ana ran away, but he didn’t abandon her as a kid.” Sammy paused. “Anyway, I thought maybe you could help him get some closure.”

  “How can I help?”

  “A small favor.”

  Reed’s eyes narrowed. “I knew I should never have answered the door.”

  “I just need a copy of Ana’s autopsy report. What’s the big deal?”

  “Can’t Pappajohn get it from the medical examiner?”

  “The clerk says it won’t be off the computer for a week.” Sammy snorted. “Y2K.”

  “I thought the ME told him the results.”

  “Claimed her death was an accident, but something you said. Or rather,” she looked at him intently, “something you didn’t say, makes me wonder if there’s been a cover-up.”

  Reed exhaled, exasperation visible in his face. “I know you love conspiracies, but what could I have said—or not said—that could possibly suggest a cover-up?”

  “In the hospital morgue, when I asked if the fires caused Ana’s death, you hesitated.”

  “Only because the ME has to make the call, based on the autopsy,” Reed explained.

  “And how long do autopsies usually take?”

  Reed didn’t answer.

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t surprised when I told you the autopsy was done and the case closed in less than twelve hours?”

  “I admit it was faster than usual, but I just told you everything’s mixed up this week. No doubt the coroner rushed some cases to get their stats up by the New Year. Like it or not, the ME’s office serves the city. Without the numbers, the powers-that-be won’t approve next year’s budget.”

  “So if they rushed, they might have missed something?”

  “Like what?”

  “TMJ dislocation.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  Sammy told him what she’d read in the detectives’ report. “Could that mean she was beaten?”

  Reed looked away for a moment as if considering how to answer. “Michelle wasn’t sure. The jaw dislocation and the skull fracture could be related to her fall. Like I said, the medical examiner makes the final determination. Not an ER resident. Or a cardiology fellow.”

  “The report of Ana’s apartment break-in didn’t mention a skull fracture,” Sammy declared as if it were an “aha” moment. “It’s got to be a cover-up.”

  Reed ran a hand through his thick waves. “Why are you doing this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what’s this really about?”

  “I want to help Gus. If Ana was assaulted, he needs to know the truth.”

  “How can that possibly help him?”

  “If someone murdered her, don’t you think he’d want to get the killer?” She took his hand in hers. “My God, Reed, when you lose someone you love, you spend a lifetime wondering what you could have done to save them.” Reed had been so supportive as she’d struggled to come to terms with her mother’s suicide. “It takes years to let go of the guilt. Doing something—anything—helps.”

  Reed pursed his lips. “Guess you’re right.”

  “Then you’ll get the report?”

  “I’ll try. I’ll check with the ME’s office when I go in to the hospital tomorrow morning.”

  Sammy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You always were a good guy.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’m a gitina shima.”

  She was caught in a dark forest of kindling bursting into flames all around her, stoked by winds that knocked her off her feet onto the sizzling brush tickling her legs. Wind and fire all around her, no matter how fast she ran, she was unable to escape. Filled with smoke, her lungs felt as if they’d burst. “Help me!” Her throat had been rubbed raw from screaming. Finally, too exhausted to continue, she lay down on the ground and prayed. “Please don’t let me die! Save me!
”

  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  A pair of cool hands reached out for her, pulling her upward. “That’s it. Sit up slowly.”

  Ana blinked open her eyes. No fiery inferno. She was in a dark bedroom, bathed only in pale moonlight. Tree shadows swayed on the lacy curtains next to the soft, warm bed.

  “It’s me, Courtney. You’re in my house. In Malibu.”

  Ana forced herself to focus. Squinting, she saw that it was her erstwhile rehab roommate. The slim brunette was wearing only a thong and torn T-shirt.

  “You are here.” Ana’s whisper became a wheeze and then a cough. “I rang the doorbell, but—”

  “Power’s been out. And I wasn’t exactly sober until after Christmas.”

  Ana sat up straight. “What? After Christmas? How long have I been here?”

  “It’s Monday evening. Found you in the bushes Saturday morning. You were really out of it. Fever, coughing, like asthma, and you could barely walk. Took me almost an hour to lug you up here.”

  Courtney leaned over and felt Ana’s forehead. “You’re cooler now. All night you were talking in tongues. Almost thought you were a goner.”

  “Three days?” Like a curtain rising, the memories returned. Sylvie burned and fighting for her life at the hospital, the trashed apartment, her narrow escape from Kaye’s thug, jumping over the wall here, and then blacking out. “I’m in trouble.”

  “Using again?”

  “No,” Ana said, reality crashing in on her with the force of a tidal wave. “I’m running. For my life.”

  Courtney grabbed a mug filled with amber colored liquid from the night table. “Hot toddy. Brandy and honey cures everything. Have a few more sips, and then you can tell me the truth.”

  “Blueberry bagels and macaroni, bacon bits, and cheese,” Sammy chuckled. “Grandma Rose would be spinning in her grave.”

  “I don’t eat at home very often,” Reed admitted. “But trust me, this beats the hospital cafeteria chow.”

  “Don’t doubt that.” Sammy laughed. “And the company can’t be beat.”

  “Why am I not surprised that you ruffled the network suits?” Reed asked after Sammy had caught him up on her career. “Ever since the OJ trial, journalism has become more entertainment than news. Woodward and Bernstein are out.”

  “Corruption, graft, and cronyism are not out,” Sammy said. “We still need guys like them.”

  “People get complacent when they’re not hungry. Even Woodward and Bernstein are well paid these days. And the suits now control the paychecks. It’s hard to walk away from the good life.”

  “You did, choosing medicine over your family’s money.”

  “I’m not exactly on the street.” Reed waved toward the moonlit window and the starlight view. “You might have been.”

  “That’s why I wanted so much to help.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. “We should all help each other.”

  Reed slid his chair closer to hers and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I’m here to help anytime. You know that.”

  Sammy looked up into his gentle eyes once again. The invitation was clear as their lips touched. Her arms circled his muscled chest, pressing him close, their embrace so natural, so much like home. She’d forgotten what a wonderful feeling that had been. And why it hadn’t lasted.

  With food scrounged from the pantry in her belly, a lukewarm shower, and a borrowed pair of jeans and T-shirt, Ana was beginning to feel well enough to share her story. She walked back into the bedroom where Courtney was seated on the plush pile carpet, knocking down shots of brandy.

  “Ready for more?” Courtney held up the almost empty bottle before pouring herself another glass.

  Ana shook her head. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “It’s the holidays.” Courtney’s face set in a pout. “My present to me.”

  Ana’s expression held a note of pity. She’d read in the tabloids that Courtney’s battling divorced parents had both flown to New York last month for her kid sister’s rehearsals in a Broadway revival of Little Orphan Annie. Neither returned to L.A. when Courtney had been rushed to the hospital. Looked like she and Courtney did have a lot in common.

  “Holidays suck,” Ana agreed, stuffing the money left on the armoire when she’d changed clothes into her new pockets. She picked up the thick orange disk from the bureau.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not sure.” Ana explained the dangerous game Sylvie had been playing lately, handing Kaye information on the johns, while working with LAPD to get dirt on Kaye.

  Courtney whistled. “And I thought I lived on the fucking edge.”

  Ana told Courtney how Sylvie had laughed the night of the party. “Said she had a plan to break away from Madam Kaye.” She held up the disk. “There could be compromising photos. Or video. I wouldn’t put it past Sylvie to tape some of her clients. It’d be nice to find out, but it didn’t fit in the computer at the library.” She handed the disk to Courtney. “I think it’s what Kaye’s goon was after.” Ana hugged herself, chilled by the horror of the past forty-eight hours. “I’m desperate for a way out myself.”

  Courtney turned the disk over in her hands. “I think I know what this is. Wait a sec.” Jumping up, she dashed out of the bedroom and stumbled down the stairs.

  Ana sat down on the edge of the bed, fighting off the shivers. Courtney’s brandy on the carpet seemed to beckon, the half full glass of alcohol promising to numb her growing fear. She reached for it, then pulled her arm back. She had to stay clear-headed and strong. To stay alive. For Teddy.

  “Got it. My accountant used one of these.” Courtney stood at the doorway holding a small gray box from which dangled a few loose cables. “He called it a Jazz drive. Holds about a gig, costs about a thou. Said he needed it to run my TV revenues.”

  “Does my—Sylvie’s—disk fit?” Ana asked, daring to hope.

  “It’s already in this drive.” Courtney took a seat at her desk near the window. “As soon as the power comes on, I’ll try to wire it up to my computer and we can see Sylvie’s show.”

  The sound of the wind battering the window jolted Sammy from sleep. Night had fallen. She felt the cool sheets against her bare skin and relished their softness for a moment before realizing she was in Reed’s bed. She patted the warm space beside her. “Reed?” He was gone. She sat up and flipped on the light switch above the bed. The alarm clock on the end table read 10:59 p.m. “Jeez, my show!” She had less than an hour to make it to the studio.

  The alarm went off as she leapt out of bed, nearly falling over the table, trying to silence it. That’s when she saw the note lying beside the clock. Sammy grabbed it, squinting to make out Reed’s chicken scratch. Doctors!

  Set the clock for eleven. You seemed exhausted. Got called into the hospital tonight. Next time hope you will stay. Reed.

  As she slipped on her dress and heels, she thought about the cryptic note.

  He’d come back into her life. Or more correctly she’d come into his. He’d overcome her hesitation by reassuring her that, despite testing the waters, he hadn’t made a commitment to anyone else. Was that because he still had feelings for her?

  Next time hope you will stay.

  Next time. As she hurried out the door, she wondered if next time she would.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  December 28, 1999

  Tuesday a.m.

  Sammy smoothed the wrinkles from her dress and opened the studio door at 11:59, expecting a new producer for her show.

  Instead, a familiar voice greeted her, “Now that’s more like it.”

  She was surprised to see Jim in his usual seat. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have brought chicken soup. I thought the doctors sent you home to rest.”

  “I hurt too much to lie down. Figured I might as well work.”

  Sammy rushed over, reaching out for a hug.

  Jim held up a hand. “Everything’s sore.” He pointed to the clock. ”You’re on in one.
No time for sentimental reunions.”

  “Nonsense. Grandma Rose used to say, there’s always time,” Sammy leaned in and encircled the air around him with her arms. “An air hug for a true hero.”

  Jim gave a tentative head shake, his grimace suggesting that even that movement was painful. “Nah, it was just like being back in Nam. You act or you die.”

  “You fought in the Vietnam War? I thought you were a pacifist.”

  “There are no warmongers in foxholes. It’s the chicken hawks in Congress that never saw combat we should worry about. Just ask your buddy Pappajohn. He was a veteran, too. Thirty seconds.”

  Sammy raced into her booth, flipping on the television as she sat in her chair, and pulled on her headphones. The TV screen played a montage of the day’s disasters, fires out of control in the Santa Monica mountains near Malibu and the Canyon City tower collapse. The crawl underneath listed the number of dead now as six. A dozen homeless victims were still in critical condition.

  On Jim’s cue, Sammy began, “This is Sammy Greene on the L.A. Scene. I’d like to wish my listeners happy holidays, but tonight, I can’t. Looks like Santa brought our city a giant lump of coal this year, with one natural disaster after another.” She paused to clear her throat.

  “Saturday, the Santa Ana devil wind brought down the old Canyon City Hall tower. Down on the backs of its poorest and most vulnerable citizens. Six people dead, hundreds injured, many hospitalized in critical condition. Among the victims, one infant and one college student volunteering at the tent city. Carmen Moran sacrificed her holiday break to help those in need and now her family faces the heartbreak of her loss. Our thoughts and our hearts go out to everyone who suffered in that horrible accident and their loved ones and friends. If you’re the religious type, send them your prayers. And, while you’re connected with God, ask him ‘Why?’ ”

  From the corner of her eye, Sammy saw a thumbs-up from Jim. The phone lines were already blinking. “I haven’t been around that long myself, but long enough to see that human error, negligence, hubris, and hatred have brought more death and destruction than any natural disaster. Was there a human hand behind the tower’s collapse yesterday? Devil’s breath? Or poor construction, faulty engineering?