Miki left the station and pointed. "Follow me. I think the office is best." Her intuition told her she wasn't going to like Quinlan or the meeting. She braced herself, deciding to answer questions and not volunteer any information.
After pulling two chairs over for the detectives, Miki sat behind the receptionist's desk, leaned back, and put her folded hands on the desktop. She exhaled through parted lips and waited.
Cavanaugh slipped out of her jacket, hung it over her chair, then sat, leaning forward. She nodded to Quinlan, who dropped into the seat to her right, then looked at Miki. "Tell me about your duties as a nursing supervisor."
"I'm the administrative-on-duty for the hospital during my shift, though we have someone on call for big issues. I'm responsible for arranging nursing staffing, solving problems as they arise, expediting delivery of supplies or medications if necessary, interfacing with physicians, getting involved with patient care if warranted, and generally being all things to all people at all times. Staff is sparse on the night shift, and the nursing supervisor does what is required to make the hospital run." Miki watched as Cavanaugh wrote on a page about halfway through a small bound notebook like the one she peeled the plastic wrapper from during their initial encounter many hours before. A productive day for the detective, Miki thought.
Cavanaugh tapped her pen against her pad. "You said you have something to do with the delivery of medications."
"Yes. Pharmacy doesn't have a courier at night. Sometimes the pharmacist delivers, but most often staff nurses have to run to get the drugs. If they're busy, I go for them."
"Do you have a key to the pharmacy?"
"Yes. The nursing supervisor carries a master, as does the security supervisor on every shift. Sometimes we need to get into places in a hurry."
"Do you ever go into the pharmacy when no one else is there?"
"Yes."
"When . . . and why?"
"Perhaps the pharmacist is making a delivery. He'll leave the drugs for a different area on the counter for me to pick up. We work together to get the job done."
"So you go in there alone?"
"I just said that."
"Are there security cameras in the pharmacy?"
"No."
"You're sure?" Quinlan said.
"Of course, I'm sure," Miki said, feeling exasperated. "The security cameras are in the side room by the ER. I stop there almost every night to chat with the guards."
"Good friends, huh?" Quinlan said.
Miki frowned and bit her bottom lip to keep herself from snapping.
"No comment?" Quinlan asked.
"I didn't realize you were asking a question. It sounded more like an offhand remark to me." Miki took a deep breath. "The security guards and I work together. It's good to maintain personable relationships with people. That's what I do."
Cavanaugh held a palm up to Quinlan. "Ms. Murphy, are you aware Dr. Sanchez died from a digitalis overdose?"
"Yes."
"How did you become aware?"
"Dr. Ephraim spoke with the medical examiner. She told me."
Cavanaugh raised her index finger. "Follow me here. The doctor died of a digitalis overdose." She extended a second finger. "We think the nurse died when someone jabbed a three inch cardiac needle into her heart and injected a lethal dose of epinephrine." She held up a third finger. "You knew both victims." The fourth finger. "You have easy access to both drugs." The fifth finger. "And, you saw both victims almost every night you worked, including the nights they died. In fact, you brought Sanchez to the ER, and you discovered Porter's body. Very interesting."
Miki's jaw dropped. She glared at Cavanaugh. "Are you accusing me of murder?"
"No, but I'd say you're on our short, short list," Quinlan said.
"I think you need to fix your damn list then." Miki stood. "I have a hospital to supervise."
"We could take you to the station to continue this conversation at our convenience." Quinlan eased from his chair. He towered over Miki.
"Do what you must. Just let me know and give me a chance to call in relief and a lawyer."
Quinlan made a disgusted face. "You think you need to lawyer-up. Now why would that be? Got something to hide?"
"No, sir. What I have are two detectives making unwarranted accusations and threats. I'm feeling the urge to protect my own interests." Miki left the room, shoving the door closed behind her.
Hyperventilating, Miki ran to the central stairwell. Once inside, she crumbled onto the second step and buried her face in her hands. She calmed her breathing and her nerves, but sat for quite a while trying to put everything in perspective.
She needed to protect herself from the police and their incomplete investigation. Maybe she needed a lawyer. She'd think about that. Perhaps the detectives had pressed everyone with accusations. Perhaps not. She reasoned they had pushed Jo Ephraim, hence Ephraim's non-response to her question. Miki felt alone and in danger, and wondered if someone, perhaps Ephraim, had pointed the police in her direction. She wanted an ally, but she'd have to select one with care. Maybe she would discuss it with Al Gentry at dinner.
25
Gentry sat for a couple of hours at his granddaughter's bedside, then excused himself at midnight, crossing the street to his condo while reflecting on the visit. The nurses said that Katie, though sedated, was stable. At least there was that. Walton had appeared, hung around a few minutes saying nothing, then told the nurses to call Madeline's extension when Gentry left. He shook his head—his son-in-law left the ICU without even a glance at Katie.
Gentry eyed the outside stairwell to the fourth floor, his usual choice since his apartment was on the end of the building. The elevator was in the middle, a quarter of a block away. His belly hurt from Walton's punch, and he wasn't sure he could make the climb. He turned left and, using the wall for support, shuffled along, giving in to the discomfort he'd hidden for two long hours. Once inside his apartment, he quickened his gait, hurrying for the bathroom and the relief he'd find in the medicine cabinet.
Cued by the site of the commode, Gentry's stomach roiled. He gagged, then spewed bloody vomit, provoking a coughing spasm and sharp pain in his side. Sitting on the floor, he waited for his insides to quiet before struggling to his feet and rinsing his mouth of the sour taste. He knew he was bleeding, but reasoned it was from the sucker punch rather than from the cancer. Seemed plausible to him. He hadn't vomited blood in more than three months.
Two green pills and one red would handle it. He'd sleep and feel better in the morning. He swallowed the pills, choking on the water. Thinking about the days to come, he transferred several green pills to a small enamel box, which he positioned next to his wallet on his dresser.
The pillbox was a present from Madeline. She gave it to him many years earlier, before Katie was born. Even then, he had trouble with his stomach. She said if he was going to take pills, he should do it with class. Gentry smiled at the memory, then flashed to a vision of Madeline with infant Katie in her arms.
After undressing, he sat on the side of his bed in his underwear, lit a Camel, and poured two-fingers of scotch. As he sipped, he retrieved the messages on his cell phone.
"Mr. Gentry. This is Kara, Dr. Collin's nurse. You missed your appointment for chemo today. In fact, you've missed a total of five appointments. Please call as soon as you can." An electronic voice announced the woman left the message on Tuesday afternoon, four days prior.
He listened to a similar message for each day of the week except Friday. The Friday message said, "This is Chuck Collin. Al, it's urgent you get in here. You've missed this whole round of chemo, and we need to get you on schedule. We've discussed the consequences. I'm expecting you in my office on Monday. Call me if you can come earlier. I'll give the drugs myself."
Gentry rubbed his stomach, thinking the pills and the booze dulled the pain. He gulped the last of the scotch, then choked as a drop went into his lungs. After a minute of deep, raspy breathing, he stacked three pillows and
leaned against them, drawing his long legs onto the bed. Saturday was a big day, and he needed his strength.
He fell asleep thinking of his girls and longing to join them. Madeline unresponsive. Katie oblivious. His dear wife long dead.
26
Miki examined the forest green sheath, matching heels, and gold filigree necklace and earrings as she arranged them on her bed. She clipped the sale tag from the dress with small scissors while trying to remember when and why she purchased it. After a moment, it came to her. She'd made the purchase in anticipation of the hospital Christmas party a couple of years earlier, then discovered she'd be the only one in her social circle without an escort. She had a relationship with Gentry at the time, but they chose to keep it private, away from the hospital. She volunteered to work and never wore the dress, pushing it further into her closet.
She sat on the side of her bed and thought about her past relationships. Her divorce was contentious, and she'd avoided entanglements for a long time after gaining her freedom. The thing with Gentry grew from a bud of friendship and blossomed. Then he left the hospital, called her as he drove out of town, putting their romance on hold, and rolled into the sunset.
Why, then, was she willing to go to dinner with him now? The pain of his abrupt departure from her life drove her back into social solitude. She stood and walked to the dresser.
She smiled into the mirror as she hooked a frail earring through the tiny hole in her left ear lobe. His personality and magnetism drew her. Always had. Though she felt the sting of his leaving, he attracted her nevertheless. It seemed appropriate to have dinner with him. Date? No. Friend. That's all.
Miki applied make-up, using liner and shadow to draw attention to her brown eyes and dabbing on extra foundation to conceal the dark half-moons under them. She had slept fitfully, never waking, but never falling into solid sleep. Pushing Gentry aside, her thoughts strayed to the eventful week at the hospital. The interview with Cavanaugh and Quinlan stayed on her mind. They suspected her.
She smoothed blush under her cheekbones. Thinking. Both Sanchez and Porter were health care workers, giving of themselves to the service of others. Paid, yes. But, there were easier ways to make a buck. Much easier. Who would do such a thing to two good people? For what gain?
Miki scrunched her dress towards her shoulders and closed the back zipper. The doorbell rang as she caught the braided loop of thread into the hook at her neckline. She scanned herself in the full-length mirror, slipped into her heels, and hurried to open the door. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
Gentry smiled.
She felt his eyes appraising her.
"You're stunning. That color becomes you." He produced a modest vase of pink roses from behind his back. "For you."
"Al, thank you. You shouldn't have." She accepted the flowers. "To tell you the truth, I admired these in the gift shop window when I left the hospital this morning."
"Busted. I hoped you'd think I searched far and wide for these precious posies."
Miki laughed and affected a British accent. "And well that you did, gallant prince." She curtsied. "I'll put these on the table, then we can be off."
"My chariot awaits thee, fair maiden."
"Wrong country. In fact, wrong century."
"That it is, my dear. That it is." His usually warm voice rang cold.
Miki wondered why, then decided Gentry had had a long day as well. "Did you see Katie?"
"I spent most of the afternoon with her." He touched her waist and guided her in the direction of his BMW 330 convertible.
"I see you kept my favorite red car."
Gentry shrugged. "I planned on trading it in on something practical, then I paid off the note and decided to keep it. I think one of life's simple pleasures is a ride in an open car on a moonlit night." He held the door. "I'd like to leave it down if it's okay with you."
"I'd like that." She waited until he was in the car. "About Katie?"
"Not inclined to be social, I see." Gentry smiled.
"Al, I'm sorry. I'm so worried about everything. It's too much to take in."
"Understood, but maybe we can set some of it aside for the evening. It will help clear our heads." He paused. "Katie's awake. Oriented, but feverish. The surgeon is waiting for results of the cultures they took during the procedure, then he'll adjust her antibiotics. He said we shouldn't worry. In time, she'll be fine."
"Good to hear. Did you run into John?"
"He was civil. Nothing more." Gentry started the car, then tapped the steering wheel with long, thin fingers. "He said Madeline is having problems."
"I know. I keep an eye on her chart. Her labs show her kidneys are failing."
"Expected, I suppose." Gentry braked to ease over a speed bump. "It would be better if she died. She has no life like she is." He paused. "That's what I said before the boy chucked me in the gut."
"Perhaps he'd have less animosity towards you if you quit calling him a boy."
A flash of anger crossed Gentry's face.
"I'm sorry. I had no call to say that." Miki touched his arm.
"True, you didn't. Even so, you're correct. I should quit thinking of him as a juvenile—in spite of the fact he acts like one."
They turned onto Sample Road and rode in silence for a couple of blocks, passing car dealerships and strip malls.
Miki said, "Can I ask a personal question?"
"I figured you'd want to ask me why I ran like I did and then didn't stay in touch."
"Maybe I'll do that later when I can see your eyes," Miki said. "Right now I'm wondering—you don't have to answer—but what's the truth about you and Troicki? You have to admit your arrangement with him is strange, and your soured relationship with Gardner isn't the secret you might think it is."
"Why do you say that?"
"I overheard him curse your name under his breath at a meeting last week."
Gentry raised a white eyebrow and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's an effective management strategy to blame your predecessor. What's the story with the meeting?"
"I attended an early morning committee for Leslie. One of the docs, I think it was Sanchez, asked a question and put Gardner on the spot. He stuttered and stammered a bit, then said it was a planning and budgetary issue. Claimed his predecessor caused the oversight—that would be you. Sanchez argued with him—arrogant as hell. Gardner was angry. Face went purple. I thought he was going to have a stroke. I happened to be sitting next to him and heard him call you a son of a bitch."
Gentry's loud exhalation sounded exasperated. "Some things never change." He braked for a red light. "This is the story, condensed for Reader's Digest. You know Troicki forced himself onto the board."
"Sure. Everyone knows. Troicki produced a bunch of money for the new building with an attached string to the chairman seat. Rumor is he has his eye on state office and needs a couple of prestigious positions to beef up his resume."
"I think that's accurate, at least on the surface. Anyway, Troicki set about discrediting Casper, the previous chairman—which he did very well, by the way—and grabbed the chairmanship from him. Sanchez had a couple of the other board members in his pocket. He was their wives' gynecologist—did surgery, delivered babies. Sanchez openly opposed Troicki and his board member puppets did the same. Then Sanchez's tune changed. According to the new plan, the board elected Troicki chairman and Sanchez became the leading candidate for chief of staff, bypassing the current vice chief, who should have been next in line."
"That's why Pancoast resigned from the medical staff and took his practice across town?"
The light turned green, and Gentry accelerated with the flow of traffic. "True. He told me he felt humiliated. He was supposed to be the next chief and thanks to interference from Troicki, Sanchez slipped into the slot. You know as well as I do being chief of staff is a big status thing at Medical Center by the Sea. The usual result is the chief's referral practice increases, and they make a lot of money. After they finish thei
r term, they tend to keep the increased patient load and the money that goes with it."
"Which is what happened for Sanchez. He added a new partner to handle the volume."
"Yes. The thing is Pancoast believed Sanchez had something on Troicki. I don't know what, but even after they cut their deal and assumed their new positions, relationships weren't good."
"Pancoast keeps in touch with you?" Miki asked.
"On occasion. He was my private physician for years as well as being a good personal friend."
"Why, then, did Troicki want you gone?"
"Gardner sucked up to him from the beginning. Troicki and I butted heads in the meetings because he wanted to run the hospital—I wasn't about to allow it—and I tried to block him from getting the construction contract. It seemed a breach of ethics for the chairman of the board to get a major contract, even if it was his donation that made the project possible. The result was I agreed to leave under certain conditions—you already know them. He didn't have a lot of choice in the matter because not only did Sanchez have something on Troicki, I do as well."
"Interesting. What?"
"Ah . . . That's not important at this moment, I don't think."
Miki considered pursuing the topic, but knew Gentry wouldn't share the information if he didn't want to. "Why didn't you refuse to leave? I mean, it sounds like you had a choice."
"I realized I didn't give a shit anymore." He raised both hands at the wrists and steered a moment with his forearms. "Time to move on, but I wanted to get my licks in. There you have it." He glanced at her and grinned. "A little personal revenge."
Miki saw the Sample Road entrance to the Interstate. She now believed some of the talk she'd heard about Gentry being a skilled, dirty tricks politician and vowed to keep their relationship on a friendship level. "Where are we going, by the way?"
"Dinner and dancing at Mangos on Las Olas." Gentry merged onto the freeway. "It's not fancy, but the food is good."
For the remainder of the way, they rode in companionable silence. The wind noise caused by the increased speed prohibited conversation.
Plan to Kill Page 9
