Plan to Kill

by Gregg E. Brickman

  Gentry said, "Tell me how you really feel."

  "I'm not implying—"

  A woman Cavanaugh assumed was the secretary joined the group and motioned toward the detectives. "Gentlemen, the detectives are waiting."

  Cavanaugh wanted Troicki to finish his thought. She made a mental note to ask about it.

  "I'll be on my way." Gentry took his leave, nodding to Cavanaugh and Quinlan as he passed.

  Several minutes later, the detectives sat facing Gardner and Troicki in Gardner's well-appointed office. The round table's position afforded a view of the front of the hospital and the lush courtyard Gentry mentioned.

  After Cavanaugh brought the men up-to-date on the investigation, Troicki said, "I'm a busy man. Get on with your questions."

  Quinlan said, "Like I told your gatekeeper," he motioned toward the door, "we have several questions for both of you, but we'd like to see each of you alone. Mr. Troicki, we can start with you."

  "I don't have time for this circus." Troicki scowled, shoving back his chair as if intending to rise.

  "Either here or at the station, sir. Your choice." Quinlan's voice rang with authority.

  "I'll have your job for talking to me with such disrespect."

  Quinlan laughed. "Help yourself." He grinned at Cavanaugh.

  Gardner stood. "Stay here for your interview with the chairman. It'll be faster. I've got a couple of urgent things to attend to anyway." He turned to Cavanaugh. "Have my secretary page me when you're ready."

  She nodded.

  Troicki nodded, scowled, and glared at each detective in turn. "Get on with it."

  "Mr. Troicki," Cavanaugh said as the door closed behind Gardner, "how were you going to finish your last statement to Al Gentry?"

  "What statement?"

  "When I saw the three of your talking in the corridor. You seemed to be blaming him for something."

  Troicki laughed but didn't smile. "Not really. The man annoys me, and I choose to annoy him in return. When he's in town, I spend half my day dealing with him and the backlash of his behavior."

  "Explain," Quinlan said.

  "He thinks he's entitled to free access to the hospital, acts like he owns the place, shows up wherever his wants."

  "I thought he was an esteemed board member, like a professor emeritus maybe. Former hospital president, retired in honor." Quinlan knitted his brows, fixing his eyes on the chairman.

  Troicki exhaled, gritting his teeth and hissing. "More like being kicked upstairs. I, personally, don't want any more of his interference. Look, Detectives, I'll be frank with you. Gentry made a slew of enemies when he was here. Enemies on the medical staff. Enemies among the employees. Enemies on the board. He's conniving, underhanded, self-serving, and a pain in my ass."

  Quinlan chuckled. "Sounds as if you don't like the man. Is that why you forced him to retire or was there something specific that happened?"

  "I broke his hold on the hospital." Troicki straightened in his chair. "He's the kind of man who likes things his way. I like things my way. I won. There you have it."

  Cavanaugh said, "How did Gentry get along with Dr. Sanchez?"

  "There was no love lost there. Sanchez operated on Gentry's daughter. The young woman hasn't recovered. The last person he wanted as chief of staff was Sanchez. I wanted Sanchez. I thought he wouldn't get in the way of the new building and what I wanted to achieve there."

  Cavanaugh considered Troicki's response for a moment. "Did he get in the way?"

  "I'm sure you'll read it in the board minutes. Yes, he did. As soon as it was obvious the obstetrical services weren't included in any of the new space, he objected to almost every detail. I thought he'd be an ally. In the end, he was a major problem."

  Quinlan said, "Mr. Troicki, do you know Arlene Porter?"

  "If I met her, she didn't make an impression. I saw her picture the other day. Attractive lady, I suppose." He shrugged.

  "What do you know about her?"

  "That she's dead."

  Quinlan glanced at his notes. "What about Dr. Dempsey?"

  "The young man caused us a lot of grief when it came to Gentry's kid. I wanted to send him packing, but the board preferred to bury it . . . especially after the husband and Gentry agreed to the settlement from the insurance company. I'm not sorry he's dead. I expected him to do something else to put the hospital in a bad public light. Not right away, perhaps. Soon."

  Cavanaugh grimaced. "It's all about the hospital to you, then?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Each of the victims worked at Jackson during the same period several years ago." Cavanaugh glared at Troicki, holding eye contact. "I believe you were involved in a construction project there as well. Am I correct?"

  "What of it?"

  "Did you know any of them when you were there?"

  "Don't remember. It's been a few years."

  Cavanaugh said, "Where were you the night Sanchez was killed?"

  "I don't remember. I'll have to check my calendar."

  "Where were you the night Arlene Porter died?"

  "I don't remember."

  Cavanaugh leaned forward. "On the morning Porter died, the night shift security supervisor," she checked her notes, "Zoller, saw you in the lobby. Why were you in the hospital before six in the morning?"

  "I'm an early riser. I come here and get things signed, then I go to work. Maybe that was the situation."

  Cavanaugh shook her head, then made a note. "Where were you yesterday afternoon? Surely you can remember yesterday."

  Troicki shifted his position and stood. He extracted his wallet from his jacket pocket, produced a business card, and dropped it on the table. "My lawyer. Call him."

  After the door slammed behind Troicki, Quinlan said, "That went well. Don't you think?"

  36

  Miki exited through the administrative suite's side door, hurried through the corridor, and slumped into a large upholstered chair in the corner of the hospital's front lobby. She needed to get to her car and go home, she needed to sleep, and she needed to determine what she was going to do should administration decide to carry through on the threat to suspend her. She needed a moment to regroup. Always the pragmatist, she decided her first priority was sleep. The rest would fall into place when she wasn't tired.

  Gentry dropped into the matching chair next to her. "Miki, you must be exhausted. What are you doing here at nine-thirty in the morning?"

  "Getting my job threatened." She fought to stem the tears brimming in her eyes, but failed. Wiping at them with her hand, she sniffled. "Not true, exactly. Anson said Troicki wants me suspended, but she and Gardner refused."

  "Why?" Gentry dug in his pocket and offered a pressed handkerchief.

  Miki accepted it. "They refused because it wouldn't be according to policy." Miki made a disgusted face.

  "What I meant was, why does Troicki, the frigging son of a bitch, want you suspended?"

  She dried her tears, then blew her nose. After a couple of deep breaths, she said, "My association with you. Troicki thinks I'm giving away company secrets."

  "I was with him two minutes ago. He could have asked me what information you shared. I'd have told him—nothing." Gentry scowled.

  "You would have been accurate."

  "Now what?"

  "I'm going to get a lawyer."

  "Why do you need a lawyer? You're not considering fighting the suspension if you get it, are you?"

  "No. Different issue, but I have to decide if I want to work for a place that lets a guy like Troicki call the shots, even if the underlings defended me thus far. I figure it's only a matter of days until they find a way to give Troicki what he wants." She patted at her eyes with a clean corner of the handkerchief. "The lawyer. I keep getting the sense I'm a murder suspect. I believe I should be prepared."

  "You're jumping to conclusions. The detectives are shooting buckshot, seeing what they can hit." He glanced into the lobby. "Here comes John."

  Walto
n shuffled across the lobby, stopping in front of Miki and Gentry. His eyes were red-rimmed.

  "I'm feeling surrounded by tearful people. What's the problem, son?" Gentry asked, his voice soft.

  "I've been trying to call you."

  Gentry took his cell phone from his pocket. "Silenced. Damn. What's wrong?"

  "It's Katie. She's going to surgery at this very minute. She spiked a high fever. Johnson thinks she has an abscess. He's going to put in a drain." He sat. "She's so sick." His whole body shook.

  Miki leaned forward. Reaching across the small coffee table separating her from Walden, she patted his forearm. "Johnson is a good man. You can have confidence he'll do his best."

  Walden nodded, his movements exaggerated. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about Dempsey getting near her. The bastard. Got what he deserved, you ask me."

  Gentry said, "I wouldn't go around saying that—if I were you. Not with the detectives looking for suspects."

  Walden said, "Yeah. Well, you know what I mean."

  "Sure do, son." Gentry glanced at his watch. "How long did Johnson say the surgery would take?"

  "Maybe an hour. She went to the OR a couple of minutes before I came downstairs. He told me to meet him in the ICU at eleven."

  "Where's Elsie?"

  "Mom's in the waiting room. She sent me away. My pacing made her nervous."

  Gentry paused, looking thoughtful. "Let's the three of us go across to my condo. I'll make coffee, and I have fresh bagels. Miki, you probably need something before heading home."

  Miki said, "Fine, then I can walk around outside to my car and not have to face anyone."

  Walden pivoted toward the elevator. "I don't know if I should leave. I mean . . ."

  Gentry punched a number into his phone and waited. "Elsie, we're taking John across the street to feed and water him. Call me at this number if you need him before eleven." He snapped the phone closed. "She said—and I quote—good."

  Miki glanced at Gentry. "You go ahead, I'll be along in a minute."

  37

  Cavanaugh focused on the hospital president, who occupied the chair vacated by Troicki. "Mr. Gardner, what do you think of Gentry?"

  "To be honest, my feelings are complicated. Gentry hired me, promoted me, mentored me, and positioned me to succeed him. When Troicki took over the board, Gentry was already talking about retiring. He'd been sick—problems with his stomach—and said he'd tucked enough away to live out his years."

  Cavanaugh said, "Do you know any of the details about his illness?"

  Through the large window, Cavanaugh saw Gentry and Walden step into view. Gentry turned toward the hospital, perhaps focusing on the assembled group, then moved from sight.

  Gardner shook his head. "No, he's secretive. I know Dr. Pancoast treated him and, I believe, still does when Gentry is in town. A year or so ago, Gentry took a few days unscheduled vacation. Rumor had it he checked into our smaller sister hospital across town. I tried to verify the information but couldn't. He told me a couple of days ago that he's fine now. Said it was stress causing his discomfort."

  "Mr. Troicki implied Gentry brings trouble whenever he shows up. True?" Cavanaugh said.

  "No. This hospital was Gentry's life. He raised his daughter while he worked here. After she left the nest, he poured himself, heart and soul, into the job. Just because he talked about retiring doesn't mean he was going to or that he was ready. The whole retirement thing hit him hard. I think he gets involved because he cares about the place. He left a part of himself here, and I'm not talking about Madeline Walden."

  "Interesting," Cavanaugh leaned closer to Gardner, moving into his personal space. "You seem very supportive of him. When we were eavesdropping on the conversation in the hall, I'd have sworn your allegiance lies with Troicki."

  "The political reality of the situation. I'm a survivor, and I support Troicki. No choice, even though I don't like the man. I married late. My wife is young, only forty. I have three kids, one in middle school, two in high school. I need this job, the benefits, and the generous retirement package. I'm going to support whoever signs my contract. That's Troicki now. Used to be Gentry. Fact of life."

  Cavanaugh checked her notebook, then flipped to a clean page. She stood, bending forward until her face was eight inches from Gardner's. "Where were you the night Sanchez died?"

  "Home with my family. The hospital operator notified me at the administrative supervisor's direction, and I came in."

  "The supervisor was Miki Murphy?" Cavanaugh moved away and sat.

  "Correct."

  Quinlan said, "Along those lines. We might as well get it out of the way. Where were you when Porter died?"

  "The same. Home. Called in."

  "Were you there all night?"

  "No. My wife and I went to my kid's concert at the school, took the family to Wings, then went home, which is where I stayed until I got the call."

  "Yesterday afternoon?"

  "In my office. Linda can verify."

  Cavanaugh said, "That won't be necessary. Someone suggested there was bad blood between Dr. Dempsey and Miki Murphy. Something about him wanting her fired."

  "Not bad blood. Not at all. I'd call it a routine squabble. Miki insisted Dempsey do an evening case." Gardner squinted, staring into the distance. "Ever since the Walden problem, he's been adamant about not working tired, but that wasn't the case here. His call shift was almost over, and there was an emergency. Miki demanded Dempsey start the case instead of waiting for his relief. She was within her rights and doing her job. Dempsey missed his wife's birthday dinner as a result. He was pissed, demanded I fire her."

  "You didn't."

  "No. We chatted, the three of us. She apologized for being insensitive. He apologized, said he knew she was thinking about the patient. That sort of thing. I gave him and his wife a gift certificate for a fancy dinner. Worked out."

  "So, you're telling me there was no ongoing issue?"

  "Not to my knowledge. They got along fine. As a matter of fact, I saw them chatting before an early meeting a couple of weeks ago. Seemed fine to me. I noticed because of the complaint."

  Quinlan chewed the end of his pen. "Can you explain why Doctor Ephraim bothered to tell us about the incident if everything was hunky-dory?"

  "Beats me. As far as I know, it was a momentary lapse on Dempsey's part. He didn't seem to hold a grudge. Even came by and told me the dinner was wonderful. His wife loved it. Miki told me Dempsey apologized again in private a few days ago." Garner raised a hand at the wrist as if signaling, What else can I say?

  38

  Miki caught up with Gentry and Walden in the parking lot of Gentry's condominium and followed them up the three flights.

  Gentry waited at the top of the stairs, holding the doorknob and bending a bit at the waist. He appeared to have trouble catching his breath. After a moment, he straightened, opened the door, and held it while the others stepped into a small breakfast area.

  "You okay?" Miki asked.

  "Hey, some days it's a longer climb than others."

  Miki smiled, not believing his comment, but she decided to let it pass. She glanced around. "I always liked the wood floors in this condo."

  "One of the reasons I picked it." Gentry motioned toward the tile-topped table. "Have a seat. I'll put on a pot of coffee. I'm assuming you both want caffeine."

  Walden nodded. "Yeah. Black."

  "Miki?"

  "Yes, please." She sat in the chair facing the kitchen and watched as Gentry puttered around. After a few moments, she stood. "Can I use the bathroom?"

  Gentry motioned in the direction of the hall. "You know the way."

  On her way, Miki glanced into a guest bedroom on the left. The stuffed toys piled on the bed suggested Gentry still planned to accommodate Katie. How sad, she thought, Madeline's unfortunate situation has almost destroyed the family.

  When she finished, she wandered into the L-shaped living area, drawn by a seascape painting centered over
the sofa. Mahogany shelves on one wall displayed art pieces from Gentry's oversea travels. He often commented about haunting the art galleries in any place he visited.

  "I've always liked these pieces," she said. She pointed to several colorful vases on the highest shelf. She raised her voice so Gentry could hear her in the kitchen. "I remember you mentioning Madeline picked them out when you were in France."

  Gentry stuck his head through the archway. He looked thoughtful. "Twelve years ago, I guess, after she graduated high school."

  She heard footsteps and turned to see Walden.

  "They are Madeline's favorites. I asked once why she didn't take a couple for our house. She said they belonged with her dad. Made this apartment feel a little like their old home."

  Miki said, "Sounds like she wasn't happy Al sold the house and moved here."

  "She got over it soon enough." He stopped in front of a display of family pictures arranged on the wall over the antique roll top desk.

  "I see you dispensed with the whole formal dining thing." She motioned to the space that once held a table. Gentry had furnished it with the desk, a recliner, and a reading lamp. A small laptop computer displayed a slideshow screen saver. "I like this. Maybe I'll do the same thing."

  "I shipped the big table to the house in Virginia. The dining area there is too big to be empty, and I have a den as well as a second bedroom. When I lived here year round, I used the table some for company—the kids and Katie."

  Miki joined Walden in front of the photos. She pointed to one of Katie as a baby. "Cute." She looked left, pointing. "That one of Madeline is beautiful."

  Walden leaned close to the picture and ran a finger over the image of his wife. His eyes teared. "Dr. Levine told me this morning it won't be long now, maybe a couple of days. Her kidneys aren't working any more. Nothing. Dr. Levine knew Katie was on her way to the surgery again, but still she told me. It's not right, you know. She should have waited to tell me later, when Katie is out of trouble."

  Miki put a hand on his arm. "It's hard for you, John. There is never a good time to get that news." She heard the clink of cups on tile. "Sounds as if the coffee is on the table. Let's talk there."