Fatal Reaction (26 page)

CHAPTER 69

A transporter, a young girl wearing maroon scrubs and white sneakers, pushed a wheelchair past Derrick and Dr. Davis, halting their heated conversation.

“What do you intend to tell her?” Dr. Davis’s stare was hard to read.

“I don’t intend to tell her
anything
, unless I absolutely have to.” Derrick could see that wasn’t the right answer.

“You can’t keep sitting on her like this. Emily’s going to see the news sooner or later.”

“And by the time she does, hopefully the Dorian Carmichael story will have fizzled itself out.”

“I spoke with Mitchell Altman this morning, and we both agree it’s best if we can get Emily home as soon as possible.”

“The
CEO
agrees? Based on what, his vast medical experience? No. All due respect, Dr. Davis, but sending Emily home too soon was the catalyst for this whole series of events, and from what I hear, might’ve been for Stephanie Martin as well.”

Dr. Davis bristled at the mention. “This wasn’t my mess, Derrick. I’m cleaning it up the best I can, but you have to work with me. Terri Tate has been relentlessly trying to identify Dorian’s second patient,
Emily
. The longer you let her remain here, the more likely it is that someone will talk, that you will lose the benefit of privacy. The care Emily’s getting here, she can get at home.”

“Then you try to sell her on that, see how she reacts.” Derrick worked to smooth the anger from his face and pushed the door to Emily’s room open. “After you.”

Dr. Davis mustered a smile and walked into the room with an act of confident cheer. “Good morning, Emily. How are you doing today?”

Emily’s color had returned, and she’d even managed to dampen and comb her hair, the curls much less unruly than they had been.

“I’m feeling better, thank you. Is everything all right?”

“Fine, why wouldn’t it be?” said Dr. Davis.

“You and Derrick were out in the hall awhile. I was worried.”

“No reason to worry. I was just giving Derrick the good news.”

“Good news?”

“The new drug regimen is working better than expected,” Dr. Davis said. “Mind if I have a look?” She gestured at Emily’s abdomen, and Emily moved her hands aside.

Derrick stood by her bedside, trying not to give anything away with his expression. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions, especially with Emily.

“The redness is gone, and the discharge has stopped. Looks good. Looks real good.”

“Good enough that she can go home?” Derrick played along, expecting Emily to shoot the whole thing down.

“Home?” Emily asked, as if it were the last thought on her mind.

Dr. Davis smiled. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but yes, I expect that you’ll be able to go home tomorrow and that, as long as you take all of your medication as prescribed, you’re on the road to a full recovery. I need you to promise me something, though, okay?”

Emily nodded, not putting up half the argument Derrick expected. “Sure, what is it?”

“The minute you feel anything out of the ordinary, you tell someone.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Emily said. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

CHAPTER 70

Jared pulled into Pemberton Trace at sixty miles per hour, tires sliding on a faint coating of fresh powder, in complete shock that he hadn’t drawn police attention.

He almost wished he had.

Ana’s snow-covered Jetta was parked in a visitor’s spot outside one of the buildings. Even though he expected it to be there, seeing it was a shock.

He pulled in next to it and slammed his car into park. His hands shook as he pulled the keys from the ignition, rushing out of his car so fast that he left the wipers in the “on” position.

“Hello.” He knocked on the first door he came to, praying that someone would answer. “Hello, please, open up.” He knocked faster and louder. Still, no answer
.
He went to the next door and pounded on it until his fists hurt. “Hello?”

A middle-aged man in an expensive, pin-striped business suit answered the door. He was halfway through tying a Full Windsor, his red tie draped over his left hand. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Noreen Pafford.” The man seemed to be trying to place the name. “Short hair, about this tall? Blond highlights? She’s a nurse.”

“Oh yeah. I know who you’re talking about. She lives in unit thirteen, around back.” The man smoothed his tie flat. “Is everything all right?”

Jared ran off without answering.

“Noreen, open up.” He knocked progressively harder. The man had followed him. “Noreen, hello? Open up.” He jiggled the door handle and found it locked.

“Hey, guy, you’re making me nervous.”

The last thing Jared needed was a confrontation, but he’d deal with one if he had to. He kept knocking, determined to get in.

“Guy, seriously.” The man produced a cell phone from the holster on his belt. “Do I need to call the police?”

“Yes,” Jared said. “And ask for Mike Richardson. Tell him Ana’s in trouble.” He ran around to the front window, trudging through a foot of packed snow, and squinted to see through the mostly drawn curtains. Cold seeped through his pant legs, and his socks soaked through as the snow melted. Peering into the lifeless space, it was obvious the house was empty.

Jared rushed past the dumbstruck neighbor, who held his phone out to the side.

“What are you waiting for? Get going on that call. Mike. Richardson.”

Jared raced back to his car. Heat poured out of the vents full-blast, and he shoved his feet under the dash, straining to pull out his wallet and Wendell Cobb’s business card.

He plugged his cell phone into the charger and dialed. The call, placed to Wendell’s private number, was immediately answered.

“Wendell, it’s Jared Monroe.”

“Jared, I’m glad to hear from you. I was beginning to worry.”

“Listen, I need a favor.”

“If it’s about Colby, I haven’t heard anything back from her lawyer and—”

“It’s about Dorian Carmichael.”

There was an immediate, dramatic silence. Wendell cleared his throat and let out a deep breath. “Jared, what are you up to?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Dorian’s in lockup, and if there’s anything you can do to get him out, I’ll post bail.”

“As your lawyer, I seriously advise against that.”

“And as your client, I’ll take that under advisement. I need him out, now.”

“I—”

“Dammit, Wendell, I know you can pull strings. I need him out of there. Do it and call me back.”

A brief pause followed. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Make it happen. The sooner, the better.” Jared spun out of the parking lot, headed for the county jail.

CHAPTER 71

The precinct hummed with activity, the background noise making it hard for Mike to hear what Coop was saying.

“She’s what?” Mike shouted into the receiver.

“Stephanie Martin is dead. I found out when I went to County to question her.”

“What about Colby Monroe?”

“She’s been taken to Radiology for testing, but she’s awake. I gave the charge nurse my card, and she says she’ll call as soon as Colby is back in her room, but it’ll be a while. I’m on my way back to the office. I’ll see you in ten.”

“See you then.”

There was no guaranteeing Stephanie knew anything about her organ donor, or the lengths Dorian had gone to, but she was, up until recently, the only living lead to Sydney.

Mike checked his cell for a return message from Ana, who hadn’t been answering his calls all morning.

He stared at the picture of her and Sydney on the corner of his desk. The photo had been taken almost a decade earlier, and the two couldn’t have looked happier, or more like their mother. The chestnut hair with a hint of red in the sunlight and the slight tilt to the corners of their smiles were mirror images of hers, but their serious eyes were their father’s.

Ana’s father had pulled Mike’s ass out of the fire more times than he cared to count, and he loved Sydney and Ana more than anything in the world. Losing a friend who had put his life on the line in exchange for Mike’s was the closest Mike could imagine to losing family, until now. Mike was almost glad his former partner wasn’t here to see this.

“Mike, you have a call on line two.” The voice of Dorothy, the switchboard operator, boomed through the speakerphone.

Mike wiped the tears from his eyes and pushed the button.

“Sergeant Mike Richardson speaking.”

He was answered by a moment of silence and the unsure voice of a man who eventually identified himself as Peter Ross.

“I’m not sure exactly what to say here. I was told to call you.”

“Told by whom?” said Mike.

“I don’t know his name.”

Mike was starting to get annoyed. “You were told to call me by someone you don’t know, and you’re not sure why. I’m sorry, but if you have nothing to tell me, I have to go.”

“The man drove a silver BMW, and he was at Pemberton Trace apartments. He came to my door asking for Noreen Pafford, my neighbor, and he seemed agitated. He kept knocking on her door and looking in her window. I told him I was going to call the police, and he told me to ask for you, specifically.”

Shit, Jared Monroe.

Mike had watched him leave after the second round of questioning, and he remembered his car.

“Did he say anything else?”

“He did. Someone was in trouble. I can’t remember the name he said. I barely remembered yours. It was a girl’s name. Something with an ‘A,’ maybe.”

“Ana?” Mike’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Ana, yes. That’s it. I wasn’t even going to call, but—”

Mike hung up the phone and dialed Dorothy’s extension.

“What’s up, Mike?”

“Radio out, find out who is closest to Pemberton Trace, and get them over there, immediately.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Dorothy, just do it,” he shouted, and snatched his keys off his desk. His thoughts turned to Dorian in county lockup, his theory changing from murder to conspiracy.

Noreen and Dorian were in this together.

He dialed the warden on his way out the door.

CHAPTER 72

Ana woke to the sound of a slamming door and the smells of leather and pine. She was bound to a wooden kitchen chair, her ankles taped to the legs, and her wrists together behind her.

“Where am I?”

Noreen didn’t immediately answer.

“You know, I’ve been hearing some interesting stories about you. Here I felt a little guilty about kidnapping the grieving sister, the do-gooder medic with the tragic past.” She filled a cup of water at the sink and pressed it to Ana’s lips. “Drink.” Ana drained the entire thing in three gulps. “Rumor mill at County says you’re quite the little home wrecker.” Ana didn’t bother to argue. “I have friends there, too. It’s how I first knew about Dorian and Colby Monroe, not that they weren’t obvious. I mean, she had guilt written all over her. Funny, isn’t it? You and I, and this whole six degrees of separation thing? He’s with Colby, you’re with Jared, and now you’re at Dorian’s cabin. Someone has to make him understand that he can’t just have every woman he wants. When this is all over, he’ll be locked away for good.”

Any doubt that Dorian was onto something had disappeared with the needle stick.

“Are you going to kill me, too?”

“Too?” Noreen smirked. “Are you calling me a murderer?”

“Is there another way to say it? I can see your issue with Colby, but what did Marco or Sydney do to you?”

Noreen sat in the chair across from her. “To me? It was more about what they did to Dorian, at first, not that I wasn’t implicated.” She looked at her watch. “Now it’s about what’s right. My lawyer called, you know. A courtesy to let me know my ‘attacker’”—she used air quotes—“is about to be out, roaming the streets. Apparently another
friend
of his, Jared Monroe, knew someone who could pull a few strings. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Ana didn’t, but she refused to answer on principle. “Doesn’t matter. If Dorian puts two and two together, he’ll find us, and nothing will happen to you until he does.”

“So you
are
setting him up?”

“I was trying to help him.” Noreen slammed her palms on the table. “You think he was the least bit thankful? No. He accused me of blackmailing him, had sex with me to keep me quiet, and then ran off with Colby. I mean, who the hell does that?”

“You
framed
him for rape.”

“And murder.” Noreen regained her calm. “This all started with your sister. Yes, we lied to her, but if she had let it go, she’d still be alive. She was relentless. Second opinions, constantly calling the office, looking for reports that didn’t exist—I should’ve just manufactured a report that said she had cancer and the whole thing would’ve dropped there, but she just kept coming.”

“Sydney was like that.”

“You’re telling me.”

“But you didn’t have to kill her.”

“Didn’t I?” Noreen shrugged. “I don’t see that I had a choice.”

“How did you convince her to meet you at a place like the Aquarian?”

“Same way I got you to knock on my door. Leave a trail of bread crumbs. Works every time. I gave Sydney just enough information to implicate Dorian, and offered to help her make him pay for what he’d done. Isn’t it funny how if there are a male and female suspect, the finger always points to the man? All I had to do was tell Sydney that I was sorry, set up a meeting at the Aquarian, a place layered in enough prints to keep the police busy for a decade, and play the ‘girl code.’ Sister solidarity and all that shit. A couple of drinks, a long chat, and some zopiclone in the bottle—she didn’t see it coming. The thing about medicine, Ana, and I’m sure you can appreciate this, is that we know everything about our patients. Dorian had written that prescription for Sydney’s insomnia, but she refused to take it. I had it filled in her name. I knew her pharmacy, her date of birth, and it’s not like they asked for ID or anything. It should’ve been painless. She should’ve gone to sleep, permanently. That crackhead motel manager would’ve found her and the note.”

“You spelled my name wrong,” Ana said.

“Did I?”

“You used two ‘n’s.”

“Doesn’t matter. I suspected the medical examiner would figure out what happened and rule it a homicide. There was still no reason to implicate me. Anyway, the zopiclone made Sydney sick. She kept saying she had to throw up. She shoved her finger so far down her throat, I thought she’d gouge out her windpipe. I tried stopping her, but she wouldn’t listen. I shoved more pills down her throat when she went unconscious, but she came to and made herself sick again. She wouldn’t stop asking for you. She begged me to call you, kept begging me, until I hit her with the succinylcholine.”

“Same drug you used on me.”

Noreen nodded. “Only, her I let die.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Noreen shrugged. “Because, really, the big picture is kind of impressive. Because you asked me if I was going to kill you, too, and the answer is yes. Not because I have anything against you, but because it’s the only ending that fits. You’ve led everyone in Dorian’s direction, and what makes more sense than for him to silence you? I’m walking away from this, Ana, and Dorian’s taking the fall.”

“You
hope
.”

“I’m a woman, Ana, and we’re cast as victims, not villains. I don’t need hope. The ball’s already in motion.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“We’re
never
wrong.” Noreen smiled and took a bottle of red wine from a rack on the counter. She rummaged through a drawer, found a corkscrew, and used it. She whiffed the bottle’s opening and seeming pleased, poured herself a glass. “To Sydney.” She raised it in toast.

“And Marco?”

“I told Dorian to find an outside lab to run the tests. I
warned
him that running the donor tests through County was too risky, but he wouldn’t listen, and you know what got him pinched? A grudge. Do you believe that? Took the better part of two hours of torture to get
that
out of Marco. He was determined not to talk.” Noreen swallowed the rest of the wine and poured herself another glass. “Dorian was a resident on a transplant team, years ago, when Marco’s daughter, Jasmine, was born with biliary atresia. She was put on the transplant list by a month old, but Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t believe in transplants, at least not unless they can be done without blood transfer. There wasn’t a facility within five hundred miles willing to help with that. Every surgeon told Marco and his wife, Faith, that their daughter wouldn’t survive without a transplant, everyone except for Dorian. He gave Faith false hope that the transplant was unnecessary, and their daughter died because of him. I guess we know how Marco felt about that. Everything he’d done over the past decade was to bring Dorian down. It only took me a few months.”