"Yes." After a moment, a voice said, "I'm Charlie Ulric. In the spirit of cooperation, we'll do this with a conference call. If I determine my physical presence is necessary, we'll terminate the interview and reschedule."
"Fine." Cavanaugh bit her bottom lip and flung the word from it. She sat and motioned Quinlan to do the same. While positioning her digital tape recorder on the desk, she said, "We'll be recording this conversation."
Ulric said, "As will I. Proceed."
She took a breath, then made introductions for the record, including the date, time and location of the conversation.
"Mr. Troicki," Cavanaugh said, "when we spoke with you at the hospital the day before yesterday, you were unable to tell us your whereabouts during the time frame for each of the three homicides. You said you needed to check your calendar. I'm assuming you have access to it now. Where were you on each of those dates?'
Troicki stared at the telephone. "Charlie?"
"Answer the lady."
Frowning, Troicki pulled a pocket calendar from his inside jacket pocket.
Cavanaugh made a note in her small spiral casebook.
"Remind me," Troicki said, smiling. "What dates are we discussing?"
"So quickly you forget little details like murder." Quinlan said, sitting forward in his chair, his posture threatening. "Sanchez died in the evening on Saturday the seventh. Porter died on Thursday the thirteenth in the early morning hours. Dempsey died three days ago, on Monday the sixteenth in the afternoon."
Troicki marked his calendar in pencil. "On the seventh, I think I took my daughter to dinner. You can verify with her if you like."
"How do we reach her?" Quinlan had his pen ready.
Troicki scratched his head. "She's in France on vacation. The dinner was bon voyage."
"Convenient." Cavanaugh scowled. "The thirteenth?"
"We had a meeting about the hospital construction project. I went in a couple of hours before to attend to some details, I think. That's my habit."
"It was only last week. Who can verify you were occupied with hospital business and not otherwise involved?" Cavanaugh said.
"I don't believe anyone can. I often go in before dawn. The day started like every other. I don't remember a thing out of the ordinary."
"Except there was a nurse murdered near your construction site in a hospital where you are chairman of the board. I presume that's not an everyday occurrence." Cavanaugh shook her head in frustration, moving Troicki up a notch on her suspect list in the process. "Where were you when Dempsey was killed?"
Troicki tapped his calendar with the eraser end of the pencil. "Let's see. Nothing on my calendar." He seemed thoughtful. "I remember reviewing a couple of contracts before leaving around four."
"Can anyone verify you were here?"
"Don't think so. I gave my secretary the afternoon off. She had a dental appointment, I believe."
"You remember her schedule better than your own," Quinlan said.
Ulric said, "Is there anything else you want to know? He has been forthcoming with his answers."
"There is." Cavanaugh flipped a couple of pages in her notebook. "Tell us about the Century Medical Arts Building you planned to build."
"What's to tell? I can't arrange the funding and the project is on hold," Troicki said.
"I was under the impression it was private investor funded."
"What gave you that idea?"
"Isn't it true both Doctors Sanchez and Dempsey invested in the project, and they were to be major shareholders in the building as well as owning office space?"
Troicki shrugged. "Could be. I'd have to check the project documents."
"You have to check the documents to remember if each physician gave you a half million dollars? Seems significant to me."
Troicki leaned toward the phone. "Charlie, help me out here."
Charlie Ulric said, "Detectives, what is the relevance of your questions, and what is the source of the information? Those construction documents are proprietary information and have not been released to the public."
"A patient who came forward in response to the media coverage overheard a discussion between the physicians, in the presence of Arlene Porter, I might add. We've verified the information with the dead doctors' widows. We can't verify with Porter, for obvious reasons."
"Mr. Troicki," Quinlan said, "did the investors lose their money?"
"Charlie?" Troicki was wide-eyed.
"Answer the question. It's a matter of company record in any event."
Troicki said, "If their estates lose the money depends on if I can raise the balance or not. I expended the upfront deposits on development costs and land purchases. They're not refundable."
"How did the doctors feel about that?" Cavanaugh asked. "Did you talk to them about it?"
"They were angry. Dempsey, well, he was unreasonable. He's young and said he couldn't afford the loss. I told him he shouldn't have made the investment then." Troicki stood. "I've had enough. Charlie, I've had enough here. I have work to do."
Quinlan stood, a head taller than Troicki. "Who else invested in the project? Who knew about the investments? Seems to me that's the one thing tying the three murders together. Your project. Investors and people party to the information."
Troicki turned red and bellowed, "Total crap. Bullshit. Ridiculous."
The voice over the telephone said, "Interview's over."
44
Miki's Thursday afternoon appointment with the criminal attorney, Kyle Everson, unnerved her even though his manner was helpful and cordial.
He said, "It's probable you'll be taken in for questioning, possibly arrested. They're in a bind and have to arrest someone soon." He rubbed his round face. "The mayor went on record saying there is a suspect."
Everson stressed he didn't want her talking to the police again without him present. He asked for a retainer, explaining his fees would be higher if the police arrested her, and then higher still if a trial ensued.
Miki wrote a check and placed it on the receptionist's desk before leaving the suite.
When she got home, she gritted her teeth and called her ex-husband at his office. After polite greetings and comments about James, Miki gave Dan a synopsis of her involvement with the murder investigation at the hospital and her meeting with Everson. "I'd have less to worry about if you would agree to pay more of the cost of James' education if I have more legal fees."
"I can't afford it," he said. "Besides, it seems to me it's a hospital issue, and they should pay your legal expenses. Another reason is I'm involved in the construction project at the hospital. You know that. If I lose the contract, I'll have problems."
"Fancy sounding excuses, you ask me. I already told you I don't see them standing behind me. Everyone is covering his own ass. I'm not asking you to write a check for the lawyer. I'm only asking you to agree to cover James' expense if I have to dip into the money I set aside. It would give me breathing space. You'd be arm's length away from the mess. I need to look out for myself, not trust the hospital."
"Then look out for yourself, darling. I don't want to be involved."
"Good for you. I'll be sure to tell our son that when he has to quit school. Oh, and maybe I'll tell him about how you got so well off and why I'm not."
"Get a grip. He's twenty-six years old. He can afford his own education. My marriage and lifestyle are footprints set in concrete. Let it go, sweetheart."
Miki slammed the phone into the receiver. Damn man, she thought.
When he said he didn't want to be married, she'd given her ex-husband the divorce without any hassle, not being overjoyed to be single, but not upset either. Their marriage had become convenient. Perhaps inconvenient was a better term. She agreed to an even split of assets, then later learned he'd hidden investment earnings offshore from her and the IRS. Confident in her ability to support herself and meet her obligations, she hadn't protested, didn't take him to court, and resisted the urge to report him to the Feds. No
w she took a moment to imagine calling and making the report, knowing all the while she wouldn't stoop to the SOB's level.
Dan had partnered with Troicki several times since the divorce, providing the electrical contracting on some of Troicki's major projects. The money must be good, she thought. Her ex and his new, younger, prettier wife resided in a fancy house in an exclusive neighborhood. She'd spent most of her assets helping James with college.
Still steaming from the phone call, Miki transferred the balance of her savings into her checking account. She reviewed the balance. The funds covered the check she wrote in the lawyer's office. At least there was that.
Tears filled her eyes. If she lost her job under a cloud of suspicion, getting another one right away would be difficult. She would have no choice about taking money from the college fund. She dialed the phone to tell James. Maybe he could find a scholarship in addition to his Veteran's benefits to help him along.
James' Italian phone number buzzed through to a recorded message. She didn't understand most of the words, but caught enough to know the number was no longer functional. She dropped into the chair. Now what?
45
John Walton sat in a reclining patient chair at his wife's bedside with Katie in his lap. "I'm glad you're feeling better, sweetie."
"Me too, Daddy." Katie snuggled closer. "Do you think Mommy knows I'm here?"
"I think so, but Mommy doesn't have long to live. That's why I brought you here, even though the nurses didn't want me to."
"I understand." Katie knitted her brow. "If she wakes up a little, tell her I miss her."
"I'll do that."
"Can I go to my room now?"
Walden glanced up as Gentry entered. He waited while Gentry kissed Katie on the forehead, then asked him to carry her to the pediatric unit.
Walden settled into his chair and contemplated his wife. Madeline all but disappeared into the fluffy air mattress protecting her skin from breakdown. She'd lost more weight and now weighed four pounds less than her eighty-nine pound daughter. Her breathing rasped in an uneven rhythm.
It was nearly time. Maybe his last chance to talk to her. She never answered anymore, not even in his mind. Odd, he thought. Perhaps it was in his head all along. He pondered the notion for a moment, then took her hand in his.
Madeline's fingers felt cool, bony, the skin thin as rice paper and almost as dry. Someone had manicured her nails. Wilma, he supposed. He kissed her palm, letting his lips linger for a moment.
"My love," he said in a quiet voice, "it's time for you to go. You can, you know. Katie and I will be okay. I have it worked out."
He put a rolled washcloth in her palm and positioned her fingers. Then he laughed. "I guess I do that from habit. It probably doesn't matter anymore. I wish it were over. I . . . I . . . never thought I'd wish you dead, but now I do. I can't bear watching you suffer a minute longer." He paused. "What was I saying? Oh yeah. I saw a movie once. I can't remember who was in it. The thing in the movie was that time wasn't relevant for people in heaven. If God sent someone to earth to live a life, everyone knew he'd be back in a minute or two, even if the life was long. I think that's what it will be like for you. Before you know it, I'll be with you. Maybe sooner than you think. Katie, too, but I want her to live long."
Gentry returned. "Am I interrupting?"
"No, sit with us. She doesn't hear me anymore anyway. I talk, just in case. Wilma told me hearing is the last sense to go, so I keep hoping."
"Katie was very tired. She settled into bed and went to sleep."
"Is my mother with her?"
"No, she'll be here in a bit. I sent her home."
Walden shifted his weight forward, preparing to stand.
"Stay here. Katie is fine. If she needs anything before Elsie arrives, the nurse will call you here."
"Okay, then. I wanted to talk to you anyway."
Gentry's eyes widened, his expression expectant.
"Will you provide for Katie? Financially, I mean."
"Of course I will. She'll be my only heir after Madeline's gone. Why are you asking?"
"I can't take care of her. Not properly. Not like she deserves. I mean, I keep her fed and clothed, but I've put nothing away for her college or for her to have a secure life. I don't know if I have it in me anymore. I'll never get ahead."
"You don't have to worry about Katie's future. But you do need to worry about your own. You're a young man. Life goes on. It must."
"No, Al. You're wrong. Madeline is my life. I just can't stand to see her this way any longer." He wiped at the corner of his eye. "I need to do what I can for her. Then. Then, I don't quite know."
Gentry lifted a pillow off the foot of the bed and passed it to Walden. "Give it some thought. I'll talk to you later." He kissed his daughter's cheek, said, "Goodbye, baby girl. I love you," and left.
46
Miki spotted Gentry exiting the elevator on the first floor. She hurried to catch him before he left through the hospital's side door to the west parking lot. "Al, how's John? He called in for the shift and said Madeline has taken a turn for the worst. I thought I'd go upstairs and check on him."
"Taken a turn for the worst is, perhaps, strong language. My daughter is drifting away, one damaged cell at a time. I believe John has it under control at the moment. I'd say let him be."
Miki knitted her brow. "John has my sympathy. Her whole illness has been very hard on him. What's he doing?"
"He's sitting at the bedside. He took Katie to see her mother for a few minutes, let her have a moment. I suspect he'll sit there until the end. I hope it's not long coming. I said my goodbyes and got out of the way." He frowned. "As much as I'd like it to be different, I believe it's a moment for a man and his wife to be alone."
"You don't think he needs support?"
"Not now. Later. I think later." He walked toward the exit.
Miki fell in step with him. "Do you think he'll be okay?"
"No, I don't. I believe the man will lose it. I've thought for months that John's overall mental health is an issue. When my daughter finally dies . . . I don't know what will happen with him."
"Won't Katie give him a reason to hang on?"
"Maybe. He knows I'll provide for her and her grandmother will care for her. He's made sure." Gentry pushed open the side door, grimacing with the effort. "I've been here all day. I'm going to move my car over to the condo and relax a while. Perhaps I'll come later. Perhaps not."
"Al, how are you feeling? I'm concerned. You're pale and look like you hurt." She reached up and touched his cheek.
"I'll be fine, Miki. Don't worry about me." He stepped into the night and crossed the lot with long strides.
As Miki watched him go, she reflected on his facial expressions. She recalled the pills he swallowed at Mangos. The man is ill, she thought, wondering why she hadn't noticed sooner. It was obvious he worked hard to hide whatever the problem was from her, perhaps from everyone.
She paused a minute, decided to take Gentry's advice and avoid Madeline's room for a while. Following her usual routine, she took the elevator to the sixth floor and stopped at the nursing station. "Wilma, how's it going?"
"Fine, Miki." The large woman smiled showing both rows of small white teeth. "All's well in continuing care."
"Have you talked to John yet?"
"He didn't answer when I spoke to him. He's sitting there, staring into space, seeing his own demons, I suspect."
"I certainly hope he's not seeing demons." Miki turned to leave. "Call me if you need help with him."
"I will. Trust me."
Miki took the stairs to the fifth floor. While she continued her downward journey—she stopped on each level to talk to the staff and check patients—she thought about the deaths of her friends.
As angry as she was at Ephraim—Miki had avoided her for the last two shifts—she couldn't conceive of Ephraim as a killer. Not even Ephraim with an agenda. Sheila, Ephraim's domestic partner. Now there was a girl with
an attitude. She had both the size and the skill to accomplish the killings. Did she have motive? Jealousy? Money? Did Ephraim lie about her relationship with Sanchez? Maybe with the others as well. Ephraim was a woman of varied tastes, it seemed.
She thought about the charts she reviewed with the detectives. Ephraim's name was on many of them as the emergency physician caring for the patient. She then referred the women to Peter Sanchez as the surgeon and Jamal Dempsey, the on call anesthesiologist. Should Miki warn Ephraim? Could she even talk to her anymore? It was possible Ephraim was on the killer's agenda, too. Or, was it possible Ephraim and an accomplice were the killers? Miki shook her head, rejecting the idea.
Miki held firm in the belief the murderer also had her in his sights. She pictured her new security system with its coded entry and automatic call-in features. She had even contacted condo management and moved her parking space to one under the light a few feet from her front door. She believed she'd done as much she could to protect herself, short of leaving town or buying a big gun.
Playing detective in her imagination, Miki remembered Sanchez insulting Steven Baxter, the short, plump, effeminate emergency physician who often worked nights with Ephraim. Sanchez had said, "Swish on over here, fat boy." Miki watched from a distance as both Ephraim and Dempsey smiled at the rude comment. Arlene was there as well. Did she laugh out loud? Miki couldn't remember, but it was Arlene's style to enjoy the rudeness. Miki doubted Dr. Baxter capable of murder, from either an emotional standpoint or a physical one.
Arlene's husband, Bob Porter. He was a strong possibility. Arlene had many and varied sexual interests and often spoke of theirs being an open marriage. Had he tired of the arrangement? He was a huge, powerful man who worked as a surgical technician at the hospital. He could have the knowledge to kill medically, and he had the strength to do so without assistance. Miki thought he may have heard one too many rumors on the hospital's infamous slime-vine. Maybe it got to him.
Plan to Kill Page 17
