Plan to Kill

by Gregg E. Brickman

  Oster removed the pages from the folder and started an assembly line. Quinlan made the copies of signatures, Cavanaugh clipped them, and Miki taped them to a paper and jotted the names. They decided to get as many as possible from each chart, agreeing the job would go faster as they dug into the pile.

  "Ms. Murphy, write your signature on the paper for us." Quinlan pointed to an empty line.

  "Why?" Miki asked.

  "It'll save us time. I remember you saying you work shifts in the emergency room sometimes." Quinlan pointed and tapped the page.

  Miki wrote, but she didn't believe Quinlan's explanation. Her feelings about being set up grew.

  "A couple more times. Write a little faster, like you're in a hurry."

  Miki complied, scowled at the detective, then reached for the next chart.

  After about two hours, Cavanaugh said, "Ms. Murphy, I think we can take it from here. Thanks for helping."

  "Edgar," Miki said, "is that okay?"

  Oster moved to the head of the table and took Miki's seat when she stood. "Fine with me. I know you worked last night."

  They had five pages filled with decoded signatures and hadn't made a dent. Already twelve patient records admitted through the ER and containing both Sanchez and Porter's names sat in the center of the table awaiting further analysis. The task before the detectives was huge.

  Cavanaugh said, "I'm calling the station to get more help. This is going to take forever, and we don't even know for sure if we'll find anything."

  Miki was glad to escape. She closed the door behind her, thinking she'd call Ephraim and arrange to meet her for a late afternoon bite to eat. Gentry's comments about Ephraim weighed on her mind, and she wanted to confront her friend in neutral territory.

  29

  Standing in stockinged feet in her kitchen, Miki keyed Ephraim's cell number into her phone. When she answered, Miki said, "How about getting a cup of coffee later? We could meet at the diner you like in Coconut Creek."

  "Ah, Miki, it was a long night and a longer morning."

  "For me, too, lady. Trust me. However, we should talk."

  "I'll be at work tonight. Maybe then."

  "Nope. I'm off. Besides, I'd prefer to have this discussion away from the hospital."

  "Okay, okay." Ephraim huffed, sounding annoyed. "I'll meet you at the diner around five."

  "Works for me." Miki thought for a moment about her planned dinner with Gentry, then decided to eat two light meals. "Order me the tuna melt and a side salad if you get there first."

  "Will do."

  "What do you want?"

  "Same." Ephraim disconnected.

  Miki stared at the silent telephone receiver. She had never known Ephraim to be so difficult—or so rude.

  Eleven in the morning. She ate a bowl of oatmeal, washed it down with milk, and now she was ready to catch five hours of sleep. She felt like she needed more sleep, but it wouldn't happen today. At least, she wasn't working that evening. Later, she'd have something light with Gentry—if he called—then go home and try to get more.

  In truth, the schedule wasn't far from her usual habits. After work, she'd run some errands, stop at the gym or maybe a karate class, then a light breakfast, sleep, lunch at other people's dinner hour, then dinner when the cafeteria opened for the night shift around midnight. She maintained a semblance of the same schedule even on her personal time, perhaps going to bed closer to daybreak rather than at ten in the morning. Survival on the night shift.

  As she walked to her bedroom, she massaged the invisible band encircling her head, hoping to dispel the first inkling of pain. Tension, she thought. She finished brushing her teeth and popped two caffeine-laced acetaminophen tablets, knowing they wouldn't interfere with her sleep. She felt exhausted from the unexpected shift and the long session with the charts and the detectives.

  Miki settled into bed, and in what felt like minutes, the annoying buzz of the alarm jarred her from dreamless sleep. She glared at the clock, taking a moment to remember she planned to meet Ephraim. Then she slid out of bed, tugging the linens into place as she moved.

  After a quick shower, she dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt, grabbed her purse and gym bag, and headed into the muggy afternoon. She arrived in the diner's parking lot as Ephraim exited her white Lexus RX.

  Miki hurried to catch Ephraim. "Hey."

  Ephraim slowed her pace, glanced at Miki, and nodded. "Right on time."

  Pretending to study the menu, Miki considered the various ways to approach her objective. Her goal was to establish Ephraim's history and decide if she was a serious suspect for the murders. The detectives implied Ephraim had the means and the necessary knowledge, and she was available on the nights Sanchez and Porter died.

  What Miki couldn't imagine was motive. She also didn't think Ephraim was any more capable of lifting the one-hundred-fifty pound Porter onto the table in the old central supply than Miki was. A small woman like Ephraim would have dragged Porter across the floor then hauled her onto the table with great physical exertion, if it were even possible. Miki remembered one of the detectives commenting on the absence of drag marks across the floor, implying someone carried Porter or forced her to walk. However, there were no footprints for Porter.

  Unless, of course, Ephraim didn't work alone. An image of tall, muscular Sheila Kenton, Ephraim's domestic partner, crossed Miki's mind.

  What was she thinking? Ephraim was her friend and confidant. She focused on the menu, then glanced up as the waitress approached. "I'll have a tuna melt and a side salad. Light Italian. Water."

  "The same," Ephraim said. Her eyes followed the waitress as she walked away. "So, Miki, I always enjoy a meal with you, but this is unexpected. I believe you have an agenda."

  "I do, in fact, and I've been trying to decide how to ask about what is none of my business."

  "Might as well just spit it out. You look like whatever it is has given you indigestion."

  Miki raised and lowered her hands, turning palms up in a helpless gesture. She leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms. After taking a deep breath and exhaling, she cleared her throat. "You know I spent time with the detectives."

  "Yes."

  "I know you did, too."

  Ephraim nodded. "Your point?"

  "I think the detectives are making a case that both you and I had the ability to commit the murders."

  "So they told me."

  Miki exhaled, her breath raspy. "The thing is, Jo, I know I didn't do it, and I thought I knew you didn't do it."

  "I didn't. Where is this going?"

  "I couldn't see where you had motive."

  Ephraim stared stone-faced at Miki. "Past tense. Now you can see?"

  "No, not really. Don't get me wrong." Miki rubbed her brow, feeling pained by the discussion. "But I have cause to wonder." The words rushed out. "First you blow me off. You won't talk to me about the detectives. Then, even more so, because I believed you've always been gay."

  "I never told you I was always a lesbian."

  "Well, I guess you didn't. You told me you were never comfortable with men in a relationship, then you met Sheila and decided after much soul searching she was who you wanted. You never told me you had an affair with Sanchez. You let me believe you and he were good friends."

  "What difference does it make?"

  "Maybe it gives you motive. Then I discover Arlene was a closeted lesbian, and you may have had a relationship with her. I mean, I've met Sheila. I like Sheila, but she's as strong as a man, and she's possessive as hell."

  "Miki, you're right. It is none of your business."

  Miki's jaw dropped.

  "But, I'll tell you anyway. Peter and I were engaged and lived together for several years. I left him when we finished our residency. I'd met a woman I was attracted to, and we moved to Chicago together. Peter was hurt and angry. Then he married Karen—the first woman he met who would have him—two months later. Things didn't work in Chicago, and I had started a relationsh
ip with Sheila. I wanted to come home. When he heard I was hunting for a job in the area, he helped me connect at the hospital. He also made a big play to resume our relationship." Ephraim gazed around the restaurant, then at Miki. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but I went for it for a while. The truth is, I'm comfortable enough with either option—men or women."

  "Does Sheila know?"

  Ephraim sipped her water and nibbled at her sandwich. "Not only does she know, but she caught us in the act."

  "She stayed with you after? That must have been difficult for both of you."

  Ephraim pinched her brows together. "Sheila is a tough cookie, more masculine than feminine by personality. She has the notion she's a man stuck in a woman's body. Anyway, she let Karen know about the tryst—I think to make things difficult for Peter—then forgave me. That's how it is."

  "Arlene?"

  "Not me with Arlene. She dated Sheila in nursing school. When Sheila stopped by the ER one night a couple of years ago, their encounter was interesting. It took a moment for me to make the connection. They had history, they're both black—hell, they were even roomies. I thought Sheila was going to go there again. Maybe that's why I took up with Peter."

  Miki shook her head. "To be honest with you, I can't keep track of the players. Who would have thought?" She ate the last of her sandwich. "Do the cops know?"

  "Sure they do. Your good friend Gentry clued them in. That's how I became a serious suspect. They suggested Sheila and I did the killing to clear the playing field."

  "I don't quite understand their reasoning." Miki fiddled with the last pieces of lettuce in her salad bowl, feeling guilty for her thoughts. "Jo, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

  Ephraim leaned forward. "I'm not going to hold this conversation against you or let it come between us, but I don't intend to ever repeat any part of it with you." Ephraim's face softened. "I didn't have anything to do with the murders. You'll have to take that on faith."

  "I do feel better now about everything I heard."

  "Now it's my turn not to mind my business."

  "Go for it, girlfriend."

  "Your renewed association with Al Gentry is a concern. I know he was the one who told you about me."

  Miki nodded.

  "He has an agenda of his own," Ephraim said.

  "I know. He told me about his ongoing battle with Chairman Troicki and his feelings about his daughter and son-in-law."

  "Did he tell you he made a pass at me when I came to work here? Said he could set me straight. Thought he was cute. He got real pissy. Tried to have me fired from the ER group."

  Miki gulped, feeling deceived. "What else?"

  "You'll have learn that yourself. Seems like you're headed for more pillow talk. Ask him then." Ephraim checked her watch. "I'm going to be late if I don't hurry. Be careful with him. The man can be likable when it suits him, but I don't trust him." Ephraim dropped a twenty on the table and left.

  As Miki watched her go, she felt confused. Should she be concerned about Ephraim? Her responses seemed forthright and believable. Maybe Gentry. What motive would he have to set Ephraim up?

  She extracted her cell phone from her purse, thinking to call her son. Talking with James always settled her and made her feel more connected. Then she remembered he was in Rome, and he hadn't emailed his new phone number. With that realization, she felt very alone.

  30

  When Gentry called about dinner, Miki considered cancelling. The rehashing of their relationship seemed pointless given the current situation. Then deciding she needed company and someone to talk to, she accepted his invitation.

  Miki answered her doorbell at nine o'clock Monday evening. Gentry stubbed out a cigarette, then waved at the smoke to dissipate it. Instead of his usual suit and tie, he wore an open-collared dress shirt and black Dockers.

  "Sorry. Last one for a few hours. I don't smoke in the car or with you."

  "I appreciate both of those facts." She stepped away from the door. "You're a few minutes early, but I'm almost ready. Come on in for a minute." She looked him over. "Guess my jeans are okay."

  "More than okay." Gentry smiled and followed Miki into her living room. "What have you been up to today?"

  "I met Jo at the diner for a sandwich and then went to a karate class. I missed my morning session."

  "I forgot about your karate." He seemed puzzled. "What rank are you now?"

  "I tested for my brown belt a couple of weeks ago. I'll know the results at my regular class next week, but I think I passed. I'm not sure I'll go much further, maybe just keep on keeping on. The black belt testing is a whole new level, and I'm not really very good. I am, however, persistent as hell."

  "That agrees with my opinion of you." Gentry laughed. "That didn't come out right, did it? Maybe determined is a better word."

  Miki smiled, feeling cheered by the humor. "Do you want a cup of coffee or maybe a glass of wine while I finish dressing?"

  "No, I'm fine." Gentry sat in Miki's recliner and hit the lever to raise the footrest. "You hungry?"

  "I could eat. Where are we going?"

  "I thought we'd try the new Greek place on Sample, near Coral Springs Drive. They have a big sign in the window promising good food and drink."

  In her bedroom, Miki pulled on a pale blue knit top, changed to dangling earrings, stepped into mid-heel sandals, and grabbed her purse. She found Gentry asleep in the chair and touched his shoulder. "You sure you want to go out?"

  "Oh, sure. Long day."

  "Anything special?"

  "No. I've been dealing with my son-in-law. He seems to be unraveling now that he understands Madeline is slipping away."

  "How so?"

  "I can't put my finger on it, but he's lost focus. I found him talking to her as if she were awake and participating."

  "Ah, I hate to mention it, but he's talked to her since day one. I think it gives him comfort and makes him feel less alone."

  He shrugged. "Could be. Ready to go?" He stood and gestured toward the door.

  The ride to the restaurant was quick, and soon they sat at a tiny table in the small eatery. Three patrons bunched together at the far end of the bar, and couples, who seemed to have arrived for a late meal as well, occupied three more tables.

  Miki took in the surroundings. "The more they change this place, the more it stays the same."

  Gentry raised a thick, white eyebrow.

  "I mean it appears incomplete, like it will close soon, nothing special or unique. No foundation to the décor or the setting." She motioned to a tray of food the waiter was carrying to one of the tables. "Food looks good, though."

  A waiter approached the table. "Good evening. Dinner?" After they nodded, he handed them menus. "Drinks first, perhaps?"

  Gentry said, "Chivas, up, for me. Miki?"

  "Pinot Grigio." Miki's phone vibrated in her purse. "I want to check that," she said, reaching for the telephone. "I'm hoping it's my son. I haven't talked with James since this mess started. I sent him an email asking him to call." She glanced at the phone and frowned because it wasn't an international number on the small screen. "Hello." She listened for a few moments, fighting tears. "I'll come there. He'll make his own decision."

  "What was that about?" Gentry said, reaching for his drink.

  "That was Detective Cavanaugh. Jamal Dempsey's wife found him dead when she got home this afternoon. Cavanaugh wants to talk to us. I'd rather go to the station than meet them at my place or the hospital. You can either take me home to get my car and let them catch you later, or you can come with me. Somehow they know we're together." She lost the battle with her tears, which streamed over her flushed cheeks.

  Gentry gulped his drink. "Damn. Dempsey was a good man. What happened?"

  "Cavanaugh didn't say. What she did say was they were talking with everyone once more, and I was next on the list. She didn't leave me an opening to ask questions. I assume they'll tell me anything they want me to know when I get there."

&nbs
p; "I guess I'll go along with you and get it over with. With all due respect to the detectives, I need to eat first. You'd better as well. It'll help you cope better if you're not upset and hungry both. Knowing those two detectives, it could be a long night. You'll want to be on your toes with them."

  Pushing her wine aside, Miki pointed at a hamburger and fries on the menu. "That'll do. And cappuccino." She dried her face with her napkin and felt herself slipping into work mode.

  Gentry placed their orders, asking for another scotch for himself. "Now, I'm fortified for their bullshit."

  "I don't understand your attitude. Don't you care Jamal is dead?"

  "Sure I care. He was a bright young man with a promising career. But, I didn't have anything to do with it, and I resent being questioned as if I did."

  "Point taken. You know he has four kids under the age of six. I can't imagine what his wife is feeling."

  "Who knows? Maybe relief." Gentry upended his scotch, swallowed, and coughed.

  31

  Miki and Gentry announced themselves to the officer staffing the secure entrance to the police department. The young woman sat in a Plexiglas enclosed cage and communicated with the outside world through a small slot above the counter and a perforated metal disk at face level. A glass electronic door to her right led to a spiral stairway. Miki glimpsed a comfortable-looking lobby at the top of the stairs.

  As directed, Miki and Gentry moved toward the bolted-down, molded-plastic chairs. Miki nodded to a location that gave a good view of the elevator and the stairway. She sat a bit forward in the seat so she could place her feet flat on the floor.

  "At least we're alone. I was worried we'd see a lot of people here." Miki spun her pearl ring around.

  "We may before we're done." Gentry patted her arm. "Don't fidget. Who knows if they're watching and interpreting anxiety as guilt."

  She stilled her hands. "I wonder how long we'll wait."

  "I imagine they'll punish us a little for having the audacity to not come running the second they called."