“Well, the department’s been a little busy and … Nolan … that smartass bastard … ridiculed my suspicions from the start.”
Jennie leaned forward into the light and nodded.
“So it’s not so much a matter of cracking a case as it is keeping your ego intact, is that it, Frankie?” she asked.
“No. I mean, I don’t mind shoving it to Nolan, but there are people in grave danger out there if I’m right, and I’m about ninety-five percent convinced I am. I just don’t know to what extent both sisters are involved, if both are.”
“So you have a ways to go?”
“Not much. That’s why I wanted to put off going in tomorrow, see? Once I do …”
“You’re retired.”
“Exactly, and this case might fall through the cracks. They’ll leave Palm Springs and prey on other people, Jen.”
She stared at him a moment.
“What does Nolan think now?” she asked softly.
“He’s come around to my way of thinking and he feels like the horse’s ass he is,” Frankie said happily.
“So then he won’t let the investigation die if you go into the hospital.”
“It’s not that simple, Jen. This is my baby now. A good detective develops a passion for his cases, and another detective coming on might very well not have the same passion. These women, they’re … very intelligent, and the MOs are sophisticated. I mean, they’ve gotten by coroners from here to the East Coast.”
“But they won’t get by Frankie Samuels. No sir,” Jennie said bitterly.
“Jen.” He sighed and sat back. “Most of my adult life,” he began, “I’ve been a cop. I’ve eaten, worked, slept cop. It’s been who and what I am. Now, practically overnight, I’m told I’ve got to become a different person. I’ve got to bury the identity I’ve had. All right, I’ve come to terms with that, but let me say goodbye my own way,” he pleaded. “Let me give the old flatfoot one last moment of glory.”
“Oh Frankie, I’m just scared,” Jennie said. “I don’t want that old flatfoot to take you with him.”
Frankie nodded.
“He won’t, Jen. I promise. If I don’t wrap it up before I’m supposed to go in now, that’s it; it’s over.”
He saw the tears streaming down her face and went to her, kneeling beside her and wiping the tears off gently. Then he kissed her and embraced her, lowering his head to her lap. She put her hand on his head and stroked his hair.
“I love you, babe, and I’m sorry I lied to you and I’m sorry you’ve suffered at all.” He looked up at her.
“I’ve been afraid, Frankie. I’ve always been afraid. I know you go to war every day. Most of the time, I filled my life with things just so I’d keep busy and not think about it. But every time you came home to me, I felt this great relief and this great surge of love. I know I became complacent at times, overconfident, maybe; and I just came to believe I’ve been lucky. I’m sorry you had this heart problem, but I didn’t look at it as tragically as you did. I saw it was a way out. Maybe I’m selfish for wanting you all to myself, but I want you, and that flatfoot Frankie Samuels is just going to have to give you up.”
“He will, Jen. I swear.”
She put her hands under his chin and he rose to bring his lips to hers.
“Hey, I’m home in time for dinner for a change,” he said, and she laughed. “What?”
“I was so angry at you, I didn’t make any dinner.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to take me out.”
“Fine thing. A man comes home from a hard day’s work and …”
“And takes his wife to dinner. Get used to it,” she said. “I’m close to retirement age myself.”
They both rose just as the phone rang. He stared at it.
“It might be Beth or Stevie,” she said with confession in her eyes.
“You ratted on me?”
“I had to vent my feelings on someone. Isn’t that what your grown children are for?”
He laughed and lifted the receiver. It was Beth.
“What are you doing, Dad?”
“Just living up to my idealistic beliefs,” he kidded. “How do you like it?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Why, because it’s me?”
“Oh, Dad.”
“Look, you and your brother don’t have to worry,” he said. “I’ve got it all figured and …”
“I want you around, Dad. I want you there to see my children.”
“Children? You’ve got children?”
“Eventually.”
“Sure you want them around Dirty Harry?”
“I’m sure, Dad. You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“No sense in stopping now,” he said. “How was your date?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Little bird flew in from L.A.,” he said winking at Jennie. “So?”
“He’s very nice.”
“Nice?”
“We seem to share a lot of the same beliefs, ideals …”
“Did he wear sneakers?”
“What?”
“Just an in-joke. Look, I’ve got to take your mother to dinner. It’s some sort of punishment.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Okay. Call the counselor right now and get him off my case, will you?”
“You want me to do that?”
“Why not? You’re good when it comes to talking to people,” he said. He could almost feel her pride and happiness.
“Okay, Dad. Have a good dinner,” she said. He hung up.
“What?” he asked when he saw Jennie staring at him with that smile on her lips.
“You really are a pussycat, Frankie Samuels.”
“Meow,” he said and she laughed.
“What will it be: Chinese, Italian, Mexican …?”
“Let’s go to that cozy little Italian place on North Palm Canyon and make believe we’ve just met,” Jennie said.
“Well, you do have to get to know the new me,” he said.
“In that case I’d better put on something sexier and fix my face. There’s a new me just waiting to burst out, too, you know.”
He watched her go off and felt himself lose years. That’s what being in love meant, he thought, staying young at heart for the woman you worshiped. It made the prospect of a new identity and a new life that much less difficult to accept. He decided to change his clothes and freshen up himself. After all, he had to make a good impression on his date.
Susie went to bed almost as soon as she and Faye returned to their apartment. She had no appetite, and Faye did not push her to eat. It was better she went to sleep; she was emotionally exhausted.
Faye, however, had a hearty appetite. The tension and the excitement had burned up calories. She was absolutely ravenous, going at every leftover like a pack rat, mixing foods, eating things without warming them, and drinking one glass of wine after the other as if it were water. She had all the dishes on the table and was picking from one after the other when the phone rang.
At first she wasn’t going to answer it, thinking it might be that policeman checking to see if she and Susie were home. Then she thought she could easily say Susie was still out on her date. After the fifth ring, she relented and picked up the receiver.
“Where the hell you been, Sullivan? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” Sue Cohen said. Her agency supervisor sounded peaked.
“Visiting dear friends,” she replied.
“I told you a dozen times if I told you once, check in with me when you’re between assignments. I want to know if you’re around and available.”
“I’m sorry,” Faye said.
“Yeah, well, apparently you’ve made a very good impression on Dr. Stanley because of the way you handled that crisis with Mrs. Weinstein. He had this new family specifically ask for you when they called me.”
“Really?” She couldn’t help feeling great pride in herself and a little sad
that she had only Susie with whom to share it.
“Yes. We have a man about sixty-six coming out at about midafternoon. He had a heart attack a little under a year ago, retired with his wife, and moved to Palm Springs. A little less than a week ago, he had a severe angina attack. They kept him in CCU under observation. He’s done well, so they want to move him out, but the family would like some private duty, and as I said, Stanley had them ask specifically for you.” Faye blushed with pride. “You have the morning shift tomorrow. Any problems with that?” she demanded quickly.
Faye thought a moment. She really wanted to get herself and Susie away.
“I’m afraid there is.”
“What now?”
“I meant to tell you yesterday, but I got too involved in things. We’re leaving Palm Springs. Going north.”
“Leaving? Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” her supervisor said softening. “Good private-duty nurses are harder and harder to find.”
“Thank you,” Faye said. “If I need a recommendation …”
“No problem. Keep in touch, and if you should return to Palm Springs …”
“I’ll call you immediately,” Faye said.
She cradled the phone but stood there thinking for a moment. Mrs. Cohen had sounded jealous over Dr. Stanley’s enthusiastic recommendation. She knew why her supervisor was jealous. She took a deep breath and turned slowly. Her bedroom door was open and she heard someone taking off his clothes. He had been waiting there patient all this time. How like him, she thought.
She began to unbutton her blouse as she walked toward the bedroom. She paused in the doorway. He was standing there naked, his back to her, gazing out the window. But he knew she was there.
“Get undressed,” he said, “and lie down. I’ll be right with you.”
She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it and then lowered her panties to her ankles. He kept his back to her, but it was such a strong, muscular back and those shoulders … She could see the turn in his waist and the firm lift in his buttocks. When she was naked, she placed herself on her back on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling.
“Ready, Doctor,” she said. After a moment he was at the side of the bed gazing down at her. She watched him slip on his surgical gloves and then tie his mask around his face.
“The heart,” he began, moving his fingers over her breast, “is a remarkable organ. It’s slightly bigger than your fist and beats about forty million times a year, every year of your life.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she said.
“It reacts to your thoughts and feelings. Right now, your heart is starting to pound, isn’t it, Miss Sullivan?”
“Very much so, Doctor.”
“Take a deep breath and close your eyes,” he ordered, and she did so. “Try to control your breathing, try to control your body, try to control your heart,” he said, but he continued to move his fingers over her breasts, the tips of those fingers just touching her nipples. They became erect so quickly they stung.
Then his hands traced the lines of her body and moved down to her stomach.
“Breathe in, breathe out. Gently now.” His fingers turned into a spider, crawling over her pubic hair and settling against her pelvis. His palm began to rotate over it, and her entire body moved with it. Then his assistant and his nurse, who had been waiting in the shadows, quickly moved to his side.
“Heartbeat?” he asked.
“Eighty-five,” his nurse reported.
“Blood pressure?”
“One-thirty over eighty but rising.”
“Temperature?”
“Normal.”
“Heartbeat?”
“One hundred.”
“Blood pressure?”
“One-thirty over eighty-five, Doctor.”
“Thank you. Lift those legs, please,” he told his assistant. “Good. Now spread them, please. Okay, Miss Sullivan, breathe in, breathe out. Here we go,” he said, slipping his hard phallus into her. At first it was as cold as a surgical instrument, but it quickly became warmer and warmer. She gasped. His hand was over her heart. “Easy, Miss Sullivan. Easy. Relax. That’s it. Now we’re doing well.”
Her skin felt as though it were on fire. Despite her efforts to control it, her heart broke free of any restriction and pounded madly. Her breathing quickened and quickened as the doctor moved himself deeper into her, touching her so profoundly within, she thought he had nudged her very soul.
She cried out as he continued to build her toward one explosion after another. She reached around to take hold of his buttocks, the wonderful, muscular buttocks, but the assisting nurse quickly seized her wrists and pulled her hands down to her sides.
It went on and on until she could barely breathe and then suddenly it stopped and she felt herself sink into the bed. She kept her eyes closed.
“Sew her up, please,” Doctor Stanley told his assistant. She felt his hand over her forehead. “You did very well, Miss Sullivan. Very well, indeed. I’ll see you in recovery,” he said, and he left her.
She lay there, enjoying the aftermath, waiting for her blood to cool, but that was interrupted by screaming and a pounding on her front door. She threw on her bathrobe and rushed out. The noise had woken Susie, but she remained behind in her own doorway, waiting.
It was Tillie.
“They’re on the phone. I don’t understand what they’re saying.… Please come talk to them.”
Faye followed her into her apartment and picked up the receiver.
“This is Faye Sullivan, Mrs. Kaufman’s next door neighbor. What’s going on?”
“Hello, Faye. Dr. Pauling. I’m afraid Mr. Kaufman had a cardiac arrest a little while ago. He just passed away. We did all we could.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Faye said.
Tillie began to cry.
“If there is anything I can do for Mrs. Kaufman …”
“I’m here with her, Doctor. She’ll be fine.”
“We’d like to do an autopsy, of course, but we’ll need her permission.”
“I’ll speak to her, Doctor, and we’ll get back to you.”
“Thank you, Faye. Sorry.”
She hung up and went to comfort Tillie, who had collapsed on the sofa.
“Now, now, Tillie. We knew this was going to happen.”
“I know, I know. To know is one thing, but to have it happen … Oh, poor Morris, poor, poor Morris,” she wailed. “What am I going to do? What will I do?” she asked, rocking herself.
“I’ll be here for you, Tillie. We’ll do what has to be done. You’ll tell me who you want to contact.”
“Who do I want to contact? I have one living sister, and she’s sick and alone herself. She can’t travel to a funeral. None of our nephews and nieces have had much to do with us, and all of Morris’s brothers and sisters are gone. I’m alone, all alone.”
“No you’re not,” Faye insisted, hugging her.
“Oh, Faye, oh, dear, dear Faye. You and your sister inherited the troubles of two old people when you moved in here.”
“We’ve been through it before, Tillie. Many, many times.”
“Oh God, oh God,” Tillie moaned, rocking again.
“Tillie,” Faye said, sitting back. “You don’t especially like autopsies. I mean, your people, your religion …”
Tillie paused.
“No,” she said firmly.
“I don’t see why you should agree to it, anyway. We all know the cause of Morris’s death. Why cut up his body just to satisfy some doctors who seize every opportunity to experiment and toy with dead people’s organs?”
“Oh, how horrible. No, no autopsy.”
“I’ll let them know your feelings, and then you and I will sit down and quietly plan out what has to be done. I’ll do all the phone calls for you.”
“You’re a godsend,” Tillie said, her tearful eyes full of love and awe. “You’re a true nurse, Faye. Such a Florence Nightingale. I know you did all you could to help Morris.”
“All I co
uld,” Faye said smiling. “Just as I will for you,” she added.
After she made the phone calls, she returned to her apartment and found her sister pacing in the living room. She stopped the moment Faye entered. Her eyes were wide and tearful.
“She’s suffering, isn’t she?”
“What did you expect?”
“It had to be done. You said so yourself.”
“I never said so.”
“You did. I don’t have to hear you say it, Faye, to know it’s in your mind.”
“Let’s not argue about it now.”
“No. No,” Susie said, looking toward the Kaufman’s residence. “We’ve got to think about her.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t leave Palm Springs and just let her linger here, suffering, being lonely, can we? Morris needs her, and she needs him.”
“She doesn’t need him. He was a drain, a dead weight.”
“He was her husband, and they spent most of their adult lives together. It’s for better or worse, remember? Before we leave Palm Springs, we’ve got to help her leave, too. Okay? Okay?” Susie pursued.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ve got too much to do,” Faye said. She left Susie mumbling to herself about what had to be done.
20
Frankie and Jennie did have a wonderful dinner. They both drank too much wine and were giggling like teenagers when they returned home. Frankie thought that if it was possible to fall in love again and again with the same woman, he would do so. Impulsively, groping each other with an abandon that revived their memories of earlier days, when it seemed impossible to keep their hands off each other whenever they were alone, he and Jennie embraced in the entryway and kissed so passionately, neither cared that they were standing in a window in full view of anyone in the street.
Frankie started to unbutton Jennie’s blouse. She kept her eyes closed, her head against the wall as he planted kiss after kiss on her neck. She continued to giggle, but once he had her blouse undone and he kissed her breasts and then her stomach, her giggling stopped and she moaned softly. He undid her skirt.
“Frankie, wait …”
“What for?”
“Let’s go into the bedroom,” she pleaded.
Angel of Mercy Page 19
