Under the Knife

by Tess Gerritsen

  He was grasped firmly by both arms and directed across the lobby, into the administrative wing.

  “Is this an arrest or what?” he demanded. They didn’t answer. “Hey, I think you’re supposed to inform me of my rights.” They didn’t. “Okay,” he amended. “Then maybe it’s time I informed you of my rights.” Still no answer. He shot out his weapon of last resort. “I’m an attorney!”

  “Goody for you” was the dry response as he was led toward a conference room.

  “You know damn well you can’t arrest me without charges!”

  They threw open the door. “We’re just following orders.”

  “Whose orders?”

  The answer was boomed out in a familiar voice. “My orders.”

  David turned and confronted a face he hadn’t seen since his days with the prosecutor’s office. Homicide Detective Pokie Ah Ching’s features reflected a typical island mix of bloods: a hint of Chinese around the eyes, some Portuguese in the heavy jowls, a strong dose of dusky Polynesian coloring. Except for a hefty increase in girth, he had changed little in the eight years since they’d last worked together. He was even wearing the same old off-the-rack polyester suit, though it was obvious those front buttons hadn’t closed in quite some time.

  “If it isn’t Davy Ransom,” Pokie grunted. “I lay out my nets, and look what comes swimming in.”

  “Yeah,” David muttered, jerking his arm free. “The wrong fish.”

  Pokie nodded at the two policemen. “This one’s okay.”

  The officers retreated. The instant the door closed, David barked out: “What the hell’s going on?”

  In answer, Pokie moved forward and gave David a long, appraising look. “Private practice must be bringin’ in the bucks. Got yourself a nice new suit. Expensive shoes. Humph. Italian. Doing well, huh, Davy?”

  “I can’t complain.”

  Pokie settled down on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “So how’s it, workin’ out of a nice new office? Miss the ol’ cockroaches?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “I made lieutenant a month after you left.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “But I’m still wearin’ the same old suit. Driving the same old car. And the shoes?” He stuck out a foot. “Taiwan.”

  David’s patience was just about shredded. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or am I supposed to guess?”

  Pokie reached in his jacket for a cigarette, the same cheap brand he’d always smoked, and lit up. “You a friend of Kate Chesne’s?”

  David was startled by the abrupt shift of subject. “I know her.”

  “How well?”

  “We’ve spoken a few times. I came to return her pen.”

  “So you didn’t know she was brought to the E.R. last night? Trauma service.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing serious,” Pokie said quickly. “Mild concussion. Few bruises. She’ll be discharged today.”

  David’s throat had suddenly tightened beyond all hope of speech. He watched, stunned, as Pokie took a long, blissful drag on his cigarette.

  “It’s a funny thing,” Pokie remarked, “how a case’ll just sit around forever, picking up dust. No clues. No way of closing the file. Then, pow! We get lucky.”

  “What happened to her?” David asked in a hoarse voice.

  “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He blew out a lungful of smoke. “Last night she walked in on a very bad scene.”

  “You mean…she’s a witness? To what?”

  Pokie’s face was impassive through the haze drifting between them. “Murder.”

  * * *

  THROUGH THE CLOSED DOOR of her hospital room, Kate could hear the sounds of a busy hospital: the paging system, crackling with static, the ringing telephones. All night long she’d strained to hear those sounds; they had reminded her she wasn’t alone. Only now, as the sun spilled in across her bed and a profound exhaustion settled over her, did she finally drift toward sleep. She didn’t hear the first knock, or the voice calling to her through the door. It was the gust of air sweeping into the room that warned her the door had swung open. She was vaguely aware that someone was approaching her bed. It took all her strength just to open her eyes. Through a blur of sleep, she saw David’s face.

  She felt a feeble sense of outrage struggle to the surface. He had no right to invade her privacy when she was so weak, so exposed. She knew what she ought to say to him, but exhaustion had sapped her last reserves of emotion and she couldn’t dredge up a single word.

  Neither could he. It seemed they’d both lost their voices.

  “No fair, Mr. Ransom,” she whispered. “Kicking a girl when she’s down…” Turning away, she gazed down dully at the sheets. “You seem to have forgotten your handy tape recorder. Can’t take a deposition without a tape recorder. Or are you hiding it in one of your—”

  “Stop it, Kate. Please.”

  She fell instantly still. He’d called her by her first name. Some unspoken barrier between them had just fallen, and she didn’t know why. What she did know was that he was here, that he was standing so close she could smell the scent of his after-shave, could almost feel the heat of his gaze.

  “I’m not here to…kick you while you’re down.” Sighing, he added, “I guess I shouldn’t be here at all. But when I heard what happened, all I could think of was…”

  She looked up and found him staring at her mutely. For the first time, he didn’t seem so forbidding. She had to remind herself that he was the enemy; that this visit, whatever its purpose, had changed nothing between them. But at that moment, what she felt wasn’t threatened but protected. It was more than just his commanding physical presence, though she was very aware of that, too; he had a quiet aura of strength. Competence. If only he’d been her attorney; if only he’d been hired to defend, not prosecute her. She couldn’t imagine losing any battle with David Ransom at her side.

  “All you could think of was what?” she asked softly.

  Shifting, he turned awkwardly toward the door. “I’m sorry. I should let you sleep.”

  “Why did you come?”

  He halted and gave a sheepish laugh. “I almost forgot. I came to return this. You dropped it at the pier.”

  He placed the pen in her hand. She stared down in wonder, not at the pen, but at his hands. Large, strong hands. How would it feel, to have those fingers tangled in her hair?

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Sentimental value?”

  “It was a gift. From a man I used to—” Clearing her throat, she looked away and repeated, “Thank you.”

  David knew this was his cue to walk out. He’d done his good deed for the day; now he should cut whatever threads of conversation were being spun between them. But some hidden force seemed to guide his hand toward a chair and he pulled it over to the bed and sat down.

  Her hair lay tangled on the pillow and a bruise had turned one cheek an ugly shade of blue. He felt an instinctive flood of rage against the man who’d tried to hurt her. The emotion was entirely unexpected; it surprised him by its ferocity.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, for want of anything else to say.

  She gave a feeble shrug. “Tired. Sore.” She paused and added with a weak laugh, “Lucky to be alive.”

  His gaze shifted to the bruise on her cheek and she automatically reached up to hide what stood out so plainly on her face. Slowly she let her hand fall back to the bed. He found it a very sad gesture, as if she was ashamed of being the victim, of bearing that brutal mark of violence.

  “I’m not exactly at my most stunning today,” she said.

  “You look fine, Kate. You really do.” It was a stupid thing to say but he meant it. She looked beautiful; she was alive. “The bruise will fade. What matters is that you’re safe.”

  “Am I?” She looked at the door. “There’s been a guard sitting out there all night. I heard him, laughing with the nurses. I keep wondering why they put hi
m there….”

  “I’m sure it’s just a precaution. So no one bothers you.”

  She frowned at him, suddenly puzzled. “How did you get past him?”

  “I know Lieutenant Ah Ching. We worked together, years ago. When I was with the prosecutor’s office.”

  “You?”

  He smiled. “Yeah. I’ve done my civic duty. Got my education in sleaze. At slave wages.”

  “Then you’ve talked to Ah Ching? About what happened?”

  “He said you’re a witness. That your testimony’s vital to his case.”

  “Did he tell you Ann Richter tried to call me? Just before she was killed. She left a message on my recorder.”

  “About what?”

  “Ellen O’Brien.”

  He paused. “I didn’t hear about this.”

  “She knew something, Mr. Ransom. Something about Ellen’s death. Only she never got a chance to tell me.”

  “What was the message?”

  “‘I know why she died.’ Those were her exact words.”

  David stared at her. Slowly, reluctantly, he found himself drawn deeper and deeper into the spell of those green eyes. “It may not mean anything. Maybe she just figured out what went wrong in surgery—”

  “The word she used was why. ‘I know why she died.’ That implies there was a reason, a—a purpose for Ellen’s death.”

  “Murder on the operating table?” He shook his head. “Come on.”

  She turned away. “I should have known you’d be skeptical. It would ruin your precious lawsuit, wouldn’t it? To find out the patient was murdered.”

  “What do the police think?”

  “How would I know?” she shot back in frustration. Then, in a tired voice, she said, “Your friend Ah Ching never says much of anything. All he does is scribble in that notebook of his. Maybe he thinks it’s irrelevant. Maybe he doesn’t want to hear any confusing facts.” Her gaze shifted to the door. “But then I think about that guard. And I wonder if there’s something else going on. Something he won’t tell me…”

  There was a knock on the door. A nurse came in with the discharge papers. David watched as Kate sat up and obediently signed each one. The pen trembled in her hand. He could hardly believe this was the same woman who’d stormed into his office. That day he’d been impressed by her iron will, her determination.

  Now he was just as impressed by her vulnerability.

  The nurse left and Kate sank back against the pillows.

  “Do you have somewhere to go?” he asked. “After you leave here?”

  “My friends…they have this cottage they hardly ever use. I hear it’s on the beach.” She sighed and looked wistfully out the window. “I could use a beach right now.”

  “You’ll be staying there alone? Is that safe?”

  She didn’t answer. She just kept looking out the window. It made him uneasy, thinking of her in that cottage, alone, unprotected. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t his concern. That he’d be crazy to get involved with this woman. Let the police take care of her; after all, she was their responsibility.

  He stood up to leave. She just sat there, huddled in the bed, her arms crossed over her chest in a pitiful gesture of self-protection. As he walked out of the room, he heard her say, softly, “I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “IT’S JUST A little place,” explained Susan Santini as she and Kate drove along the winding North Shore highway. “Nothing fancy. Just a couple of bedrooms. An absolutely ancient kitchen. Prehistoric, really. But it’s cozy. And it’s so nice to hear the waves….” She turned off the highway onto a dirt road carved through the dense shrubbery of halekoa. Their tires threw up a cloud of rich red dust as they bounced toward the sea. “Seems like we hardly use the place these days, what with one of us always being on call. Sometimes Guy talks about selling. But I’d never dream of it. You just don’t find bits of paradise like this anymore.”

  The tires crunched onto the gravel driveway. Beneath a towering stand of ironwood trees, the small plantation-era cottage looked like nothing more than a neglected dollhouse. Years of sun and wind had faded the planks to a weathered green. The roof seemed to sag beneath its burden of brown ironwood needles.

  Kate got out and stood for a moment beneath the trees, listening to the waves hiss onto the sand. Under the midday sun, the sea shone a bright and startling blue.

  “There they are,” said Susan, pointing down the beach at her son William, who was dancing a joyous little jig in the sand. He moved like an elf, his long arms weaving delicately, his head bobbing back and forth as he laughed. The baggy swim trunks barely clung to his scrawny hips. Framed against the brilliance of the sky, he seemed like nothing more than a collection of twigs among the trees, a mythical creature who might vanish in the blink of an eye. Nearby, a young woman with a sparrowlike face was sitting on a towel and flipping listlessly through a magazine.

  “That’s Adele,” Susan whispered. “It took us half a dozen ads and twenty-one interviews to find her. But I just don’t think she’s going to work out. What worries me is William’s already getting attached to her.”

  William suddenly spotted them. He stopped in his tracks and waved. “Hi, Mommy!”

  “Hello, darling!” Susan called. Then she touched Kate’s arm. “We’ve aired out the cottage for you. And there should be a pot of coffee waiting.”

  They climbed the wooden steps to the kitchen porch. The screen door squealed open. Inside hung the musty smell of age. Sunlight slanted in through the window and gleamed dully on the yellowed linoleum floor. A small pot of African violets sat on the blue-tiled countertop. Taped haphazardly to the walls was a whimsical collection of drawings: blue and green dinosaurs, red stick men, animals of various colors and unidentifiable species, each labeled with the artist’s name: William.

  “We keep the line hooked up for emergencies,” Susan informed her, pointing to the wall telephone. “I’ve already stocked the refrigerator. Just the basics, really. Guy said we can pick up your car tomorrow. That’ll give you a chance to do some decent grocery shopping.” She made a quick circuit of the kitchen, pointing out various cabinets, the pots and pans, the dishes. Then, beckoning to Kate, she led the way to the bedroom. There she went to the window and spread apart the white lace curtains. Her red hair glittered in the stream of sunlight. “Look, Kate. Here’s that view I promised you.” She gazed out lovingly at the sea. “You know, people wouldn’t need psychiatrists if they just had this to look at every day. If they could lie in the sun, hear the waves, the birds.” She turned and smiled at Kate. “What do you think?”

  “I think…” Kate gazed around at the polished wood floor, the filmy curtains, the dusty gold light shimmering through the window. “I think I never want to leave,” she replied with a smile.

  Footsteps pattered on the porch. Susan looked around as the screen door slammed. “So endeth the peace and quiet.” She sighed.

  They returned to the kitchen and found little William singing tunelessly as he laid out a collection of twigs on the kitchen table. Adele, her bare shoulders glistening with suntan oil, was pouring him a cup of apple juice. On the counter lay a copy of Vogue, dusty with sand.

  “Look, Mommy!” exclaimed William, pointing proudly to his newly gathered treasure.

  “My goodness, what a collection,” said Susan, appropriately awed. “What are you going to do with all those sticks?”

  “They’re not sticks. They’re swords. To kill monsters.”

  “Monsters? But, darling, I’ve told you. There aren’t any monsters.”

  “Yes, there are.”

  “Daddy put them all in jail, remember?”

  “Not all of them.” Meticulously, he lay another twig down on the table. “They’re hiding in the bushes. I heard one last night.”

  “William,” Susan said quietly. “What monsters?”

  “In the bushes. I told you, last night.”

  “Oh.” Susan flas
hed Kate a knowing smile. “That’s why he crawled into our bed at two in the morning.”

  Adele placed the cup of juice beside the boy. “Here, William. Your…” She frowned. “What’s that in your pocket?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I saw it move.”

  William ignored her and took a slurp of juice. His pocket twitched.

  “William Santini, give it to me.” Adele held out her hand.

  William turned his pleading eyes to the court of last appeals: his mother. She shook her head sadly. Sighing, he reached into his pocket, scooped out the source of the twitching, and dropped it in Adele’s hand.

  Her shriek was startling, most of all to the lizard, which promptly flung itself to freedom, but only after dropping its writhing tail in Adele’s hand.

  “He’s getting away!” wailed William.

  There followed a mad scrambling on hands and knees by everyone in the room. By the time the hapless lizard had been recaptured and jailed in a teacup, they were all breathless and weak from laughter. Susan, her red hair in wild disarray, collapsed onto the kitchen floor, her legs sprawled out in front of her.

  “I can’t believe it,” she gasped, falling back against the refigerator. “Three grown women against one itty-bitty lizard. Are we helpless or what?”

  William wandered over to his mother and stared at the sunlight sparkling in her red hair. In silent fascination, he reached for a loose strand and watched it glide sensuously across his fingers. “My mommy,” he whispered.

  She smiled. Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him tenderly on the mouth. “My baby.”

  * * *

  “YOU HAVEN’T TOLD me the whole story,” said David. “Now I want to know what you’ve left out.”

  Pokie Ah Ching took a mammoth bite of his Big Mac and chewed with the fierce concentration of a man too long denied his lunch. Swiping a glob of sauce from his chin, he grunted, “What makes you think I left something out?”

  “You’ve thrown some heavy-duty manpower into this case. That guard outside her room. The lobby stakeout. You’re fishing for something big.”