January 29
A
FTER
L
ILLY HAD
flown to Montana and purchased a nondescript, rundown vehicle, she’d driven back to the state of Colorado. Her plan was to search the medical records of every known hospital and clinic for information pertaining to Drake Maguire or Drake Stipman. It wasn’t clear from his résumé when his name change occurred. When he originally practiced medicine in the state of Nevada, it could have been under Stipman. Lilly reasoned it was possible that Drake went back after his name change to have his Nevada records listed under Maguire.
To Lilly’s dismay, these names weren’t that uncommon. She looked at every record that matched Drake’s birthday with either Maguire or Stipman. In Colorado, that netted ten records between the two. The other issue was that many of these files were stored on microfiche, and she’d have to return after they pulled and printed the files. Each record garnered in this fashion took several days—and in one case, two weeks—to retrieve. The only visit she found likely was for Drake Maguire receiving stitches at a clinic. Anything that was taken care of by a private physician wouldn’t be accessible. In some instances, people refused to give her the records, either not buying her explanation that she was Drake’s wife collecting his records for insurance purposes or questioning the forged medical release.
Currently, she was in Las Vegas near Drake’s last address in Nevada as listed on his résumé. As in Colorado, she would hit the major medical centers first, then work her way down to the smaller clinics. Then she’d begin at the facilities closest to his previous residence and work her way outward.
Colorado had given her the opportunity to perfect her ruse. She’d dressed conservatively, but with a shirt she could unbutton to show cleavage if a young male was working the medical records department. If it was a young woman, she would pretend onset of contractions to hasten the interaction; an older woman, and she would talk about having the twins and how nervous she was, gathering several nuggets of grandmotherly advice along the way.
She stood in front of the mirror, putting the final touches on her hair and makeup. The once roomy lab coat was now tight around her belly and she’d given up buttoning it. Placing her stethoscope around her neck, she picked up her pocket holder that contained a penlight, scissors, and a set of hemostats.
It was never as difficult to get into the hospital as one would hope. Typically, if she were even stopped, she would claim she was a new physician on staff who had lost her badge. If they asked for further credentials, she’d show her Colorado license and feign how difficult it was working in a new facility to get away to spend hours at a slow government office to obtain a new driver’s license. Generally, this garnered sympathetic nods, and she was on her way.
The medical records office was nearly as easy. As she made her way down into the bowels of this hospital, she discovered the door to medical records electronically guarded by a badge entry device. She knocked on the door and waited, leaning against the cement-bricked wall. An older gentleman opened the door.
Lilly pushed her way in. “I’m so sorry, I lost my badge. You don’t know how hard it is to get around this place when you lose that thing.” She approached the desk and grabbed a brochure to fan her face. “These babies are killing me. Is it hot in here to you?”
“Not in the least,” he said, rounding to the back of the counter. “How can I help you today?”
An old curmudgeon. She didn’t have a play for that.
Placing the brochure on the desk, she pulled her notebook out. “We got a call, a patient we’re expecting in the ER, a referral from an outlying clinic, but they say he gets treatment here. I need to know if you have any records for Drake Maguire, birth date May 10, 1973. Oh, he may also be listed under Drake Stipman. If you don’t find anything with that birthday, can you do a larger search? I guess he’s had a head injury and is presenting with some confusion.”
He paused, studying her. “What’s your name? When did you start working here?”
Lilly surmised hiding her true identity would be difficult. No matter how much she changed her looks with a cut and store-bought hair dye, possibly even using color contacts like her nemesis, there was one characteristic she couldn’t hide. The only benefit of giving a false name would be to hold people off her trail for a little longer.
“Misty Rainforth. I was hired in the last couple of weeks.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk, playing with his upper set of dentures as he contemplated her statement. Lilly did her best to portray boredom and looked about the room, hoping that her elevated heartbeat wasn’t evident at the side of her neck as she turned her head. Finally, he made his way to the back. It wasn’t long before he returned with several thick files in his hands.
“Did you find more than one patient?”
“No, these are all his.”
That was interesting, it meant his records weren’t in storage and he’d likely had a recent visit. A file this thick, considering Drake’s age, meant a serious health crisis.
“Is there somewhere down here I can look through these?” She smoothed her hands over her belly. “I don’t want to haul this all back to the ER.”
He acquiesced and carried the record to a small room with a single table and chair. The chart was divided into several sections. Lab work, radiology, MD notes.
She began flipping through the lab work, beginning with the most recent. For the last couple of years, Drake had a complete blood count, which looked at the makeup and number of cells in the blood. It wasn’t unusual to have this test performed, but then the tests began to occur every six months. That was fairly odd unless the doctor was trying to track a chronic disease—a blood disorder like anemia, for instance. About four years ago, he was tested every three months, and then Lilly discovered why.
An abnormal CBC.
Lilly noted a critically high white count corresponding with increased levels of immature white blood cells. His red blood cells and platelets were critically low. She continued through the lab work. Bone marrow studies. Spinal fluid results. These confirmed her original suspicion.
Drake Maguire had cancer—leukemia to be specific. This diagnosis had occurred before his name change.
Continuing through the lab section, she noted the paternity tests and other results pertaining to the hunt for a donor match when she stumbled across an aberrance, a lab sheet for DNA matching from an anonymous donor several months after Drake’s bone marrow transplant. It was buccal cells, obtained from a cheek swab. Whoever this person was, he wasn’t a DNA match to Drake.
But why would Drake pursue testing for a DNA match after his bone marrow graft?
Lilly flipped to the doctor’s notes, starting with the dates that corresponded with the abnormal lab work. This chart was before the advent of computer documentation, and the handwritten notes were a challenge to read. After Drake’s initial diagnosis, he’d been started on chemotherapy. Per this physician, Drake had briefly been in remission and then relapsed within a few months, and the medical team had investigated the issue of bone marrow transplant early in the course of his treatment. The oncologist in charge of his case outlined that they tested his wife, mother, twin brother, and two sons.
After this doctor’s note was a lengthy entry from a social worker. Her note included the following statement: “Wife and mother are not a match. DNA testing of the sons has proven that they are not biologically Drake’s children. Spouse is very upset over these test results and is requesting further genetic testing. Patient does not want to place children under any more stress and is refusing wife’s request. Seems unlikely further DNA testing would shed any light on the issue. Twin brother is currently incarcerated, but courts allowed testing for DNA matching since other family members prove negative. Brother, Drew Stipman, has proved to be a match for Drake and will be the donor for the bone marrow transplant.”
Lilly flipped to the demographic information and jotted down Drake’s address at the time of his diagnosis. It was interesting that he’d had issues with paternity in the past, and she wondered about the feelings of this woman, his previous wife, considering she wanted to pursue further DNA testing regarding her children.
She gathered the chart and returned the record to the man at the front desk. After leaving medical records, she made her way to the laboratory. A sliding glass window was utilized for the transfer of specimens. She pushed one side open and greeted the young woman who was seated at the desk.
“I was wondering if you could answer a question for me about how long you keep pathology specimens on hand.”
“We keep them a long time. With medical malpractice the way it is anymore, we usually don’t throw anything away.”
“Can you see what you might have pertaining to Drake Stipman?” Lilly rattled off his date of birth as the woman typed.
“Looks like we have quite a bit; blood, bone marrow aspirate, and cerebral spinal fluid, as well. It might take a while to get it from our off-site storage.”
“I don’t need you to get it now. It’s just good to know it’s there.”
Lilly left the building and walked to her newly purchased junker. Even though it was the desert, it was cool in late January. Once inside, Lilly picked up several maps from the passenger seat and found the section for the address she’d culled from Drake’s medical record. She pulled out of the hospital parking lot, cranking up the heat. Cold air with the faint smell of antifreeze misted from the vents.
The community hid behind a gated wall. She waited several minutes for a car to pull forward that she could piggyback access behind. Earth-tone stucco houses, each three stories with a pool in the backyard, sat on one- to two-acre lots. As she turned and entered into a cul-de-sac, she busied herself checking the numbers on the mailboxes. Based on these, Drake’s old house should come next.
She looked up and punched the brakes.
The lot was empty. All that remained was a charred fireplace column and a murk-filled pool in the backyard. She got out of her car and walked the lot. Bits of old charred wood still lay in the frosted grass. A neighbor looked at her from the next home, and Lilly walked over to greet him.
“Hey,” she said, extending her hand. “Misty Rainforth. I’m an old friend of the Stipmans’. I thought I would surprise them with a visit, but I see they’re not home.”
“You haven’t been in touch for a long time. They haven’t lived here for years, and they’re not together anymore. It’s tragic what happened to that family.”
“Must have been a terrible fire.”
He nodded. “Whole thing went up like a tinderbox. Never found who did it.”
“They think the fire was set intentionally?” Lilly pulled her shoe through the grass.
“That’s not in dispute. Only thing they don’t know is who set it.”
“Do you know where I can find Ms. Stipman?”
“She’s probably the same place she’s been for the last few years. After her boys died, she moved to a small apartment on the other side of town.”
“Her children died in the fire?”
“Yep. Horrible. I can still remember it like it was last night. The mother was lucky to get out alive.”
“Do you happen to have her address?”
“Probably. Wife’s inside. She’ll get it for you.”
February 14
D
ANA ENTERED HER
small, cottage-style home and set her briefcase down on the hope chest that sat in the foyer. Her feet ached with each step, and pulling off her shoes didn’t ease the pain. Unbraiding her hair as she walked to her living room, she stilled as she saw a man sitting in her chair, acting as if it was his name on the mortgage. He sat nonplussed, watching her TV, the back of his head visible and unmoving. The intruder had one of her beers popped open, the condensation leaving a ring on her cherry-wood table. Dana pulled up onto her stockinged toes and inched backward, at first thinking maybe he hadn’t heard her clamoring into the house over the noise of the TV, but then her disbelief proved false when he turned his head around and leveled a gun at her chest.
Her unexpected visitor was Drake Maguire.
“Dr. Morrell, come and have a seat. There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”
The knowledge of her impending death collided with her instinct for self-preservation, and she turned on her heel and lunged for the front door. She felt the pain first, a crack at the back of her right thigh, as her leg gave way beneath her. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the doorknob as she fell. Drake was next to her within seconds, scooping her up and throwing her over one shoulder, his gloved hand boring into her wound. In the few seconds she had, she pulled up his shirt and began to claw at his lower back. Drake didn’t even flinch from the scratches, and he threw her onto the chair he’d vacated. He took a seat on the floor before her and wiped the blood from his glove onto her white Berber carpet.
“Do I have your attention now?” He twirled the weapon around his index finger.
Dana prayed a neighbor had heard the gunfire and would call the police. However, cool weather kept people indoors, and societal mores prohibited people from getting involved. In light of this, her sense of doom did not diminish. She pressed her right hand firmly against the back of her leg. It did little to stem the flow of blood, and she glanced down, watching the crimson pool spread on the camel moleskin chair underneath her. She could feel faint shock tremors begin to rattle within her as her skin tone faded. She tried to focus, but her normally crisp vision was fuzzy.
“I need to know where Lilly is.”
She shook her head in response and leaned back in the chair, the flow of pain like heat waves rippling across her vision.
“Dana,” he chided in singsong.
“I don’t know where she is.” Her tongue was like a wooden block in her mouth.
“Interesting.” Drake pulled himself up onto his knees, obviously attempting to draw her line of sight back to him. She refused to look.
“Dr. Reeves has been making quite a pain of herself lately. It seems she’s been to nearly every hospital here and in Nevada, looking into my old medical records. Thankfully, my mother has spies, and after Lilly visited one such place, my mother was alerted by a staff member. Unfortunately for me, it was too late to discern what information she gathered, if any. But at that point, Lilly sealed her fate.”
“Why would you care about what she’s doing if you’re innocent?” Dana pulled her head up and met his gaze, seeing the cold stare as it drank from the well of evil within him. She regretted every moment she’d doubted Lilly’s explanation of events. After Lilly’s disappearance, Dana had made feeble attempts to try to locate her, but nothing that would rise to what a true friend should have done.
“Well, that’s a curious question, isn’t it? I’m sure you’re realizing now that possibly I’m not all that innocent.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, but even if I had one iota of information pertaining to Lilly’s whereabouts, I would never give it to you.”
“Even if it would save her life? What about your life?”
Dana remembered the first time they’d met. Lilly had been entertaining a patient in the PICU, a young girl with a sick heart. There’d been a quiet tenderness in her interaction with the child. A vulnerability Dana felt was rare. A confidence that was strong and sure. The memory brought comfort. Dana shook her head to keep her darkening peripheral vision at bay.
“Do you recognize this weapon?” He raised it like a ceremonial chalice. “I do from searching Lilly’s place. It’s never good to have a victim surprise you with a firearm. Were you worried that she might use it to commit suicide? You were such a good friend to her, to try to protect her like that.”
“How did you get in here?”
“The spare set of keys you gave Lilly.” He reached into his back pocket and removed the ring, jiggling it from his fingertips. “She was nice enough to label them and everything. You should be more careful who you leave these with.”
“She never told me they were missing.”
Drake clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’m sure there were too many other things on her mind for her to worry about such trivial matters.” He walked toward her on his knees. “You see, Lilly’s prints are all over this weapon. I’m going to shoot you with it and conspicuously place this set of keys she labeled right here.” He tapped her end table. “I’m also going to leave this weapon behind and maybe a little note of confession. If I can’t find Lilly, I’ll get the police to hunt her for your murder. You won’t be around to tell your version of events.”
There is a moment of choice in each person’s life to either stand firm or wither under the pressure. Dana’s mind focused little on Drake’s threat. She’d known his intent as soon as she became aware of his presence. What consumed her thoughts was her life as she led it and whether or not it had been enough.
Did I love my family enough?
Did I take care of my patients well enough?
Did I serve a friend in crisis to the point where she could see you, Lord, and not me trying to help her?
Dana was confident about two of the three answers. The last thought in her mind was a prayer of hope that the answer to the third question was also
yes
.