Quintic (73 page)

“I’m sure she wouldn’t have
killed me.”

“
Funny,
that’s what she’s saying about the two dead girls. Patricia, for
Christ’s sake! They’re still dead.”

“
Yes, I
know, but it’s not like she’s a vicious murderer or some psychopath
serial killer now, is she?”

He just
stared at her. Bea
, the ex-waitress, had
killed twice, neither time in self-defence. “What do you think
killers are? Fuck, Angel, they can be just your ordinary next door
neighbour. Who happens to off someone just because they weren’t
friendly enough, and it was a fucking rainy Sunday
night!”

“
OK, I get
it, Christopher. You were worried.” As always, it surprised her.
And took her breath away. And angered her. She could take care of
herself, couldn’t she? Well, maybe not that time, but she was
convinced Beatrice wouldn’t have murdered her in cold blood. “I’m
sorry. Next time, I’ll make sure it’s safe before I do
anything,
d’accord
?” She put her hand on
his arm gently. “OK?” She watched him frown, fists not relaxed yet.
She pleaded, “Christopher, OK?”

She waited
forever for him to answer.

Her eyes
were slowly turning green. He yielded,
“All right, Darling of mine.” He would make sure she was
indeed safe. She wouldn’t do anything unsafe for she wouldn’t
do
anyfuckingthing
. As soon as she
got the clear from the doctors, he was going to move her in with
him, no more discussions. Until he sorted this whole mess out.
Until he closed Lemieux’s case. And long after that.

She was
moved to a private room shortly after breakfast,
at Christopher’s insistence she suspected. As was the
private nurse bustling about in her new room. The big motherly
figure of a nurse kept fluffing her pillows, pulling her covers
right up under her chin, stroking her cheek, telling her to rest,
tugging her hair behind her ears, fussing as if she was a child. It
wasn’t enough she had Christopher watching over her, making sure
she ate all her plate, stayed in the bed and all. She had to deal
with two of them now.

She liked it
for a
time. It grew annoying by late
afternoon. It pissed her off by early evening. At eight, she sent
him home. “Out!”

“
Fuck,
Patricia.”

“
Fuck
, Christopher.”

“Cute.”

“
No, not
cute. Infuriating!” A deep breath. “I’m tired. I need rest, and I
can’t relax if you’re in the room.”

“
I’ll keep
out as soon as you sleep. Close your eyes, I’ll massage
your−”

“
You’ll
not
massage
my anything. We’re in a hospital!”

“
You have a
very filthy mind, Pussycat. I like it.” The Big guy flashed a
wolfish grin. “I was going to say, I’ll massage your
hands
. I
know you enjoy it when I rub your hands,” he teased back,
demonstrating as he spoke.

She did
indeed like it, had to fight to keep her eyes open. “I won’t rest
if you don’t. You look exhausted,
mon chéri
. Please, go get some
sleep.”

He finally agreed to leave.

Quiet fell
after his departure.
Naps and police
interviews had occupied the last ten hours. Steve stopped by first;
she gave him a full report on her evening. Christopher stayed by
her bed the entire time. As she was telling Steve the details of
her conversation with Beatrice, she caught Christopher shaking his
head.

“
What, Big
guy? I hadn’t meant to ask, but one thing had led to the
other.”

He shook his head and shrugged
but refrained from growling.

The thought
had occurred to her out of nowhere “
Do you know if the girl was having an affair? With the
cook? Or perhaps the older waitress?
”
A love triangle between
waitresses gave an interesting kinky twist to her story.

“
It turns
out I was right about the love thing between the waitresses,” she
pointed out to the two officers. “But, unfortunately, I didn’t
identify the right waitress. Better luck next time as they say.”
Neither Christopher nor Steve laughed at her jest. Cops,
really.

N
aps and police interviews and
meals kept her day busy. Dreadful food. No red wine. No maple
syrup. Overcooked veggies. Bland meals. How could anyone survive on
that stuff? She had believed hospital food were rumours highly
exaggerated but
nooo
. She was in a private room
with first-class services.

She told
Olga-the-nurse (probably not her real name, but the drugs fizzled
her short-term memory), “Imagine what the four-in-a-room commoners
ate!” She shuddered at the thought.

“
I
would
die
for a decaf latte and a lemon pie.” The Big guy growled at
her unfortunate choice of words. “I promise to behave if you get me
a coffee from Vitto’s and a slice of that delicious pie they had at
the Italian bakery near your place. Please,
mon chéri
,” she begged
Christopher.

“Forget it. I’m not leaving
this room.”

The man was
most infuriating! “I’m injured; shouldn’t you be waiting on me hand
and foot like a queen? Or, at the very least, a
princess?”

“I am. You get the unrelenting
protection of my body.”

“But I’d rather have maple
syrup.”

“
Next time I
get you alone to myself, I going to dip my di−”

“
Christopher!” She cried out in slight outrage.
Olga-the-nurse didn’t even blink.

She
had spent her day between naps and police
interviews and meals and visits. The entire team had shown up. The
Big guy had not looked happy about his officers showing up, one or
two at a time. None lingered for long; all brought
sweets.

Reid brought
maple cand
ies, Shapiro, Frankke and
DesForges, a bottle of wine each. Hamilton gave her a dirty
magazine, sporting naked
men
. To tease Christopher, she
flipped through the glossy pages. She wasn’t looking at the
pictures, though; Christopher made for a more interesting subject
as she studied him from the corner of her eye. His eyebrows shot
up. His fists tightened once again, but the corner of his mouth
twitched. He had that glint in his eyes. She might be bald,
unwashed and wearing the ugliest hospital gown ever, she was still
arousing him. Damn, the man drove her crazy. Her man.

Bridget
gave her flowers. Ingrid
stopped by with girlie magazines, a bottle of wine, maple candies,
maple donuts, croissants, sweet-and-salty popcorn, flowers, a new
nightgown, bottles of expensive shampoo and conditioner, perfume,
lingerie and tears in her eyes. The woman knew drama. With Ingrid’s
gifts, Patricia had enough supplies to spend the week (except for
clean, everyday clothing and edible food).

“Thanks for the gift.” She
hugged Ingrid to her side. “I like them all.”

“
Patricia
can never have too many pieces of lingerie,” Christopher
agreed.

Even Charles
showed up.
He arrived in the late
afternoon after everyone had gone. He brought two coffees, a tall
decaf latte for her and a double espresso for Christopher. No lemon
pie, though, but she had donuts and everything now.

They
spoke for awhile; she did most of the talking.
Charles looked happy but worried about her. He was extra nervous
around Christopher although she strongly suspected it was
Christopher that had called him. All was going to be
well.

Now
v
isits were over, and the hospital had
gone quiet. Patients were tucked in for the night. She was finally
alone, thinking of her hotel bed, imagining Christopher in his bed.
She missed his bed and the warmth of him. That led to her thinking
about Lemieux.

S
he had to do something
regarding Lemieux. And the creep. Beatrice had completely ruined
her plans. No rental agency, no car shop, no creep. What to do
about the creep, what to do,
fast
. Christopher had the wolfish
cop face on, the look that spelled, loudly, “
Enough of this fucking nonsense! I’m taking
over
.”

That
she had found the damn murder weapon purse,
granted accidentally, didn’t matter; he believed she was in danger
and thus he was (over) reacting full-blast by securing her. As soon
as she left the hospital, she wouldn’t be able to take a step
without him hearing about it right away. And, depending on how
unsafe he thought she had acted − and she had acted very
hazardously lately she was ready to admit, at least to herself −
she might not even be able to take such a step.

She could
predict his next step: he would try to lock her up somewhere. He
had not threatened to handcuff her to his bedposts yet, but from
the looks of him, the Big guy had thought about it the entire day.
Could she wait? She pretended to think about, fooling herself
again, even though she already knew the answer.
Non
. No. Absolutely
not. She was not going to take a chance on the creep surprising
Christopher; her breath hitched just imagining their
confrontation.

Her private
nurse had left for the night (and not a minute too soon), so the
head nurse came to check on her. “Your vitals are a bit erratic,
sweetie. Are you feeling all right?”

Of
course
, her heartbeat was erratic, damn
it! She was stuck in bed while the same creep that had tried to
rape her two years ago was about to shoot down her infuriating
boyfriend!

“Would you like a mild
sedative?”

“
No, thank
you,” she declined. She had plans. “But could you maybe unhook me?
Those machines are quite noisy; I’ll never fall asleep,” she
pleaded.

“Let me check with the
doctor.”

Minutes
later, she was free. A piece of cake. When the nurse stopped by a
bit later, she faked sleep. Too easy.

She had her
gear in her bag, compliments of Frankke who had brought it in from
Beatrice’s apartment. The officer had even tucked her pack in the
room’s locker, where it had kept out of sight and out of her
thoughts until Christopher’s departure.

Could she
still deploy the plan
still? Of course.
She felt no head pain, not even a slight headache. Beatrice’s blow
had been mean but perhaps not that hard for Patricia hardly felt it
anymore. She was in splendid form.
Truly
. She could go now if she
wanted to. Hum.

Except
she lacked clothes.
Christopher had taken them. “
I’ll wash them. Bring you clean ones
.” No doubt, he had meant subconsciously to reassure
himself that she couldn’t,
wouldn’t
leave without them. And
of course, she wouldn’t; she couldn’t go hunting the creep in a
hospital gown, now, could she?

Where to,
then? Her hotel? She didn’t mind taking a cab in the green frock,
but her hotel was as far as she was willing to go thus clad. None
of the hotel personnel would say anything; they were all so very
classy. Plus, once in the place, she could borrow one of the
hotel’s rentals. That car would be so much easier to trace than a
truck from the rental agency, but Christopher wouldn’t know unless
someone on the staff rated her out. That might happen soon than
later, though. The Big guy had made quite a few friends at her
hotel (contacts as he called them). OK then, on second thoughts,
the hotel was a no-go.

Back to the
plan, a revised plan. She had with gear but without clothes or
transportation. What if she waited until the morning for
Christopher to bring her clothes back? What if the doctor signed
her leave then? She might look well enough in the morning,
especially considering how damn well she was feeling right now! As
soon as the doctor gave her the go, Christopher was going to take
her straight home never to be seen again until the creep was
caught. Not an option. The plan had to go down tonight. Damn, she
was tired of all this! She considered taking a nap− No! She needed
to keep Christopher safe first so they would have plenty of time
for a nap later.

How about
Ingrid? Although Ingrid rarely questioned her, would the woman call
Christopher? Ingrid and Christopher were not the best of pals, but
her friend might call the cavalry if she was worried. Hum.
How about if I go over for a nap and
some clothes, then sneak out early morning?
Ingrid never slept much, so her chances of sneaking out
unnoticed were slim at best. Not Ingrid then.

Patricia
went through everyone she knew from her friends to Christopher’s
team and Vitto’s family, but obviously, she couldn’t go to any of
them. She didn’t want any of them involved or asking questions or
calling Christopher. That should have told her something. The
stupidest of ideas. But all she could think about then was
Christopher not finding out, Christopher not stepping into the
middle of it, Christopher not getting hurt by the creep. Or worse.
So, so much worse. As Lemieux.