Though the parking lot behind the restaurant was almost full and a queue of patrons extended onto the sidewalk, the hostess seated them at once, honoring the reservation. Miki excused herself to go to the ladies' room to untangle her hair. As she returned to the table, approaching from behind Gentry, she saw him remove a pillbox from his pocket and take something from it.
After seating herself, she said, "Is something wrong? I think I saw you take a pill."
"You did, but I'm fine. A little headache is all." He laughed. "Lots to be stressed about." He sipped amber liquid from a half-filled rocks glass.
"I agree."
"What are you drinking?" Gentry asked.
She pointed. "Not that. Whatever it is."
"Scotch."
"Pinot Grigio."
"Done."
After the waiter delivered a long-stemmed goblet filled halfway with pale wine, Gentry raised his glass. "To the future."
"Hear, hear." She sipped. "May it be healthy, happy, and productive, and free from the trauma of the last few days."
He nodded in the direction of the busy band members who were running cables and positioning amplifiers. "Jazz band tonight. Hope that works for you. I know you prefer contemporary."
"I enjoy most music. Not rap, though I do like the beat to some of it. An influence from having a kid in the house. With James away, I tend to listen to calmer stations and a good bit of country."
"Kids do influence our thinking—and our listening even more, I suppose."
When he didn't continue, Miki said, "I don't want to pry, but you look like you're not feeling well."
"Physically, I'm fine. I haven't had any luck finding another position of any merit, which weighs heavy on my mind."
"You implied yesterday that you were set."
"Money-wise. I'm still young, and I'm not much for hobbies. Even if I decide to retire at sixty-two, I'd have twelve more years to work." He took a big gulp of his drink, coughed, then set down the glass, shaking his head. "Damn cigarettes. Anyway, I'd like to work a few more years, be productive, contribute. However, I don't want a demotion. I'm accustomed to the whole administrative status thing."
"I understand what you're saying." Miki thought something in Gentry's tone didn't ring true. "Your weight loss is intentional then?"
Gentry toyed with his glass. "Truth is, I haven't been eating very well. Single man. I hate to cook, but I can nuke frozen entrees with the best of 'em. When I lived here, I ate most of my meals at the hospital, unless I was having dinner with friends or with you."
Miki laughed. "Chester is a marvelous chef. I avoid his meals when I'm in weight control mode."
"Chester is good. Hired him myself." Gentry gave Miki a menu. "We'd better order."
Miki studied selections. "I'll have grilled grouper, salad."
"Sounds good." Gentry placed the orders, adding a baked potato with all the trimmings and mango salsa to his and requesting a refill on the Chivas for himself and the wine for Miki. "What's happening with the investigation at the hospital? Have you heard anything more?"
When the waiter left the table, Miki waited a moment then plunged ahead. "The detectives implied I'm a suspect. That's ludicrous. Why? I mean, don't they need to come up with a motive?"
"Seems a jump to me. Though from what I've heard about the cases, you had means. You were working when both crimes occurred, so you had opportunity. But think about it, those things are true for about half the night shift at the hospital. They'll sort it out and leave you in the clear. I think they like to scare people. They talked to me as well."
"You? What motive could you have?"
"Don't know. They'll invent one, I guess. I happened to be in town during the period. They know I'm angry at the hospital. Also, I was in the building visiting my daughter both evenings."
"I talked to Jo about the cases today."
"Jo Ephraim. Nice woman. I tried hitting on her once—"
"Um . . . Too much information." Miki frowned and flushed.
"That's when she told me she was gay." Gentry grinned. "I like to believe I'm more astute."
Miki laughed. "Anyway, you know she and I are good friends. I have dinner on occasion with Sheila—that's her partner—and her, sometimes take in a movie."
"You mentioned it a time or two. The point?"
"Jo talked to the detectives last night as well. She wouldn't tell me what transpired, not even after I gave her a full report. What's more, she acted strange, distant." Miki swirled her wine and watched the red and gold reflections of the candle's flame set the surface aglow.
"Seems odd. Did she say anything?"
"No. That's just it. She asked about my interview. When I asked about hers, she grabbed a chart and left the room. I went back later, and the same thing happened. Oh yes, and she told me earlier, before I talked with Cavanaugh and Quinlan, that she had to see a patient. Then she sat there staring into space."
"Sounds like she has something on her mind." Gentry bit his bottom lip, then rubbed a hand over his beard. "You don't think, do you, that she has anything to hide?"
"Jo? No." Miki paused. "I don't think so. I mean, she had means and opportunity, like me. I can't envision a motive. Why would she want to murder a longtime friend and a charge nurse?"
Gentry raised a brow. "Sometimes longtime friends are problematic. I know Jo and Sanchez had a romantic relationship while they were in school. Hell, they lived together before Jo decided she preferred women."
"I didn't know about Sanchez. It's odd she never mentioned it. She told me about the soul searching she did before committing to the lesbian lifestyle."
"Rumor has it Arlene Porter embraced the lifestyle as well."
"Ah, come on. Arlene was married. Kids." Miki shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought.
"She wouldn't be the first woman to play both sides. Biologically, at least, it's easier for women to swing two ways."
Miki sipped her wine and thought she should watch her step at work. What else didn't she know about her friends and co-workers?
Gentry stood. "Dance?" When she nodded, he led her onto the floor and drew her close, swaying to the saxophone's mournful melody.
She snuggled into the familiar comfort of his arms.
27
Sunday morning gloom. He stared out his apartment window, avoiding the world at large, focusing on the sky. Cloudy. The day fit his mood.
It was time to move on with his plan, but the man felt pushed.
He crossed the living room to his desk, stopping to study family pictures. He ran his fingers over each one and removed it from the wall, making room for the cards. When his fingers left streaks, he went to the kitchen for a roll of paper towels. With painstaking care, he cleaned each photo, then smoothed the drawings his daughter made. He stacked the pictures, placing a piece of white paper between each.
After unlocking the center drawer and removing the cards, he hung them on the wall. He had to think, set his course. Who should be next? His desire was higher now. He needed to make a statement. But more than that, the timetable had advanced. He needed to get his work done in two weeks at the most. Before someone got in the way. The police detectives? Miki? The stress the detectives gave her might spur her to action. Make her nosey. Then she'd draw conclusions, maybe the correct ones.
Another card, perhaps? Clear the playing field. Or perhaps take a disciple. That might be the answer.
The problem with vengeance, with his plan, was that the limitation of the Bible verse forced him to set priorities, to restrict the scope of his work. He knew he couldn't go outside the parameters. That would be a sin.
He took the second from the bottom card from the wall. With a pen, he crossed through the name, adjusting, sparing a lesser person. At first, he hadn't wanted to include Miki, but now it was obvious she was part of the problem. He wrote Miki Murphy in block letters, then returned the card to its position. Later, he'd correct the card on his computer. Anonymity was crucial until his coup de grace
.
He'd have to think about the last card. Perhaps, just perhaps, he should change that name as well.
He slipped the top card from its tack, removed the paperclip, then pressed his thumbs against it to smooth the small u-shaped dent. After wiping both sides of the card with a towel to remove any prints, he eased it into a sandwich bag and slipped it into his shirt pocket. How? That was the question.
He glanced through the slats of his blinds as the sun broke through the clouds. There was work to do, choices to make, and so little time. He was, after all, the lord.
28
"How's Katie doing?" Miki approached Walden as he stepped through the ER's employee entrance around eight on Monday morning.
"She slept well, her temperature is normal, and her spirits are high. The nurse in PICU even volunteered the information that the preliminary culture reports came in, and the antibiotic is sensitive to Katie's infection. All good. Real good for my little girl. I'm going to see her now. I slept in my own bed last night. I feel somewhat rested."
"How's your other girl?"
Walden frowned. "Her labs get worse every day. I suppose I'll have to prepare myself."
"I—" Miki paused as Walden's comment sunk in. "John, it's the first I've heard you say anything like that. You sound as if you're hurting, more than usual. What's going on?"
"It's the whole thing with Katie, I suppose. I've given it a lot of thought. It's time I face the facts about my Madeline." He waved his hand in front of his face as if moving images out of reach, then knitted his brows. "Didn't you say you weren't working last night?"
"I wasn't scheduled, but Susan's child got sick, so I volunteered to work the remainder of her shift. I've been here since midnight." Miki considered returning to the subject of Madeline's imminent death, but reconsidered. Later, maybe Walden would confide in her. She believed he needed to talk to someone, but it was better not to push him. She glanced at her watch. "Where are you going now?"
"I'm going to check on Madeline, then I'll sit with Katie." He lifted his backpack. "I brought some of her stuff to keep her occupied. Of course, I'll be playing Barbie for a few hours."
"Father's duty." Miki laughed. "I've given report. I'll walk with you upstairs. I didn't get a chance to check on Madeline last night, so I can flip through her record now."
"Good. You can show me the newest labs on the computer. I like to keep up."
"Fine."
Miki and Walden exited the elevator as Gentry entered Madeline's room.
Miki motioned in Gentry's direction. "Is he going to be a problem?"
"Nah. We talked a bit yesterday. With Katie sick, I understand more where he's coming from. He wants peace for his daughter. Yesterday he said he was sorry for what he said, and I apologized for slugging him. He thinks we need to get along better for the sake of the girls. He said you implied he should lighten up on me."
Miki raised her brow. "What do you think? Can you do your part?"
"I'm okay with it." Walden's head bobbed. "As long as he quits accusing me of hurting my wife."
"Sounds fair." Miki stepped toward one of the mobile computer carts. "Want to see the labs?"
"No, you go ahead. Wilma will show me later. I'll go in and speak to Al. Put my good intentions to work."
Miki checked Madeline's chart and concluded the young woman was slipping faster than Miki had realized. The most recent reports hinted at multi-system organ failure, no doubt a precursor to her death. Miki couldn't guess at how long she had left. Maybe days. Possibly a couple of weeks. If she ran into Dr. Levine, she'd ask her opinion. After signing out of the computer, she headed in the direction of Madeline's room.
The ring of her cell phone halted her. While she waited in Madeline's doorway for Leslie Anson's secretary to put her boss on the line, she overhead Gentry say to Walden, "I thought that's what was going on. Very interesting. We need to talk."
Gentry glanced at Miki, waving in greeting before joining her in the hall.
"Give me a minute. I'm waiting for Leslie." She pointed to her phone. "Leslie, what can I do for you?" Miki said to her administrator. "No problem. I came in last night for Susan, so she'll work my shift tonight. I can be here as long as it takes."
After Miki disconnected, Gentry said, "If you don't mind my asking, what was that about?"
"She knew I was in the building. The detectives are here with a warrant for the medical records. She volunteered me to help decode the signatures, which can be a full-time job around here."
"Leslie is putting you in harm's way. I mean, given the fact the cops consider you a suspect."
"Perhaps, but I can't say no."
"Suppose not. Keep your mouth shut, identify the signatures, and make a list for them, which I'm sure they'll want. Leave as quick as you can. You don't want them to become too familiar with you or your habits."
"Why not? I've done nothing wrong. Maybe they'd think better of me if they knew me better."
"Trust me, my dear. They won't." Gentry took a step towards the elevator. "I'm going to see Katie, then grab a bite in the cafeteria. I'm trying to put on the few pounds you accuse me of losing. It would be nice if you joined me."
"I'd like to, but no. First the cops, then home and sleep."
"I'll call you later. Maybe for a drink, then supper?"
"Sounds good."
Miki checked Madeline. The young woman's tissues felt like paper, and her urine was the color of cream soda, both signs supporting the notion her organs were failing. After listening to her chest for a moment, Miki stuffed her stethoscope into her jacket pocket. "John, she's congested again."
"I know." He pointed to the stethoscope snaking out of his backpack. "I know."
"Maybe a breathing treatment will help her breathe more easily. I'll mention it at the desk."
After speaking to the charge nurse, Miki rode the elevator to the first floor and caught up with the detectives in the medical information department's workroom. She nodded to Cavanaugh and Quinlan before sitting at the head of the table. "Leslie Anson sent me to help."
"We asked her for your assistance."
Miki thought to ask why, then remembered Gentry's advice.
Frustration crossed Quinlan's face. "Listen, Ms. Murphy, we're in a time bind here. Can you go see why it's taking so long to get the documents?"
Miki stood and went to find the department director. Edgar Oster, the stocky, retirement-age, white-haired risk manager, met her en route. The oversized utility cart he pushed overflowed with patient charts.
Oster squatted to retrieve a chart that slid off the top of the pile. "Miki, I have some of the charts here. Our lawyers insisted the detectives work here, and the judge was kind enough to concur. Once we've isolated the ones the detectives need, we'll make copies."
"Wow. I'll be here for hours." She patted the highest pile. "I'll help get these inside."
"Thanks." Oster grunted and leaned into the cart. "I've scheduled the day with them, and someone from my staff will come to relieve me. Once you get us started, you can leave."
"I appreciate it." She opened the door to the workroom and felt a moment's satisfaction when Cavanaugh's and Quinlan's eyes widened. "I told you Sanchez had a very busy practice."
Miki helped Oster position the cart near the head of the table, sat, and took the top chart. "Edgar, are these in any particular order?"
"They go back two years to Porter's hire date, but they're in order by patient number."
Miki nodded to the detectives. "Are either of you familiar with a hospital medical record?"
"I'm not. You?" Cavanaugh motioned to Quinlan.
"No," Quinlan said.
"I'll run through it for you." Miki pointed to the colored bars on the tab of the manila folder she held. "These are color-coded to simplify filing and retrieval." She flipped open the chart. "The active record for an inpatient is in a different order than a closed chart—after the patient has been discharged and the sections are complete. These are closed. This
section is for physicians' orders. Any doctor who cared for the patient and wrote orders would do so here." She flipped to the next section. "Since there are no dividers, it's helpful to know the color of the forms." She pointed to a section of cream-colored forms with a dark bottom border. "These are progress notes. Again, any doctor caring for the patient would write here. Some of our therapists, nutritionists, and counselors document here, too."
"What about nurses? Porter?" Cavanaugh asked.
Miki turned to a section of light blue pages near the back. "You'll find nurses' signatures in the medication administration record, in the nursing documentation sections, on various flow sheets, and on special area forms such as operating room, emergency room, and recovery room form. Many times the nurses are only required to initial the individual entry, but they sign their name and their initials in the signature section on the page as well."
"So what you're telling us is we have to go through almost every page of those charts," Quinlan jabbed his finger at the loaded cart, "to find out who was involved with the patient?"
"It's the only way to get the information from the older admissions. The charts are retrievable by attending physician and consultants, but not by the names of hospital nurses and techs. It's a limitation of our system. I expect in the future we'll be able to index by nurse, once the entire chart is computerized. At the moment, our conversion to a fully digitized information system is a work in progress."
"Thanks for the explanation. Let's get started," Cavanaugh said.
"Guess it doesn't matter, date-wise, where we begin." Miki turned to the physicians' orders tab and pointed to a scrawl. "Sanchez."
"Damn. I can't read that." Quinlan scowled.
"His isn't bad." She put a finger on the page. "There's an S, part of an A, oh, and a Z at the end." Remembering Gentry's advice, Miki had an idea. "Might as well make a key." She photocopied the page and returned to her chair. Using the bandage scissors from her jacket pocket, she cut around the signature and taped it to the top sheet of a yellow pad. She jotted Sanchez next to the clipping.
Plan to Kill Page 10
