The White River Killer: A Mystery Novel (7 page)

She frowned. “And did that nasty sergeant from the state police really say, ‘Another outstanding job by the Hayslip Police Department.’ That doesn’t sound like him.”

“It’s a direct quote. He said it front of about twelve people,” Hubbard said.

“And the state police got lost trying to find Shanty Town? Sergeant Connors is not going to like reading that.”

“I’m just a simple reporter trying to serve the public.”

After she completed her interrogation, Hubbard was dismissed from duty. When he stepped out to the sidewalk it was almost one p.m. It had been a surreal day, and it was only half complete. Now he was back in the real world, comprised of a broken tractor and tomato plants that still needed to see dirt. Someone else could take it from here. He took a deep breath and released the tension from his shoulders. As he walked across the square, he gazed into a beautiful blue sky with only a few scattered clouds. The remainder of the day should be straight up from this low point. The worst was over.

His cell phone rang. Hubbard drew the phone from his pocket and looked at the name on the display.

It was his ex-wife.

The sun slid behind a gray cloud.

7

T
RUST ME.
I
KNOW.

T
HE NAMEPLATE ON THE DESK READ
Dr. Henry Thomas, Neurosurgery
. Inside the private office, R.J. Hubbard, the uncle, some said
notorious
uncle, of John Riley Hubbard, waited patiently in the leather wingback chair across from the surgeon’s desk. He could see Thomas through the partially open door as he waved his arms, giving instructions to his staff in the hallway. The doctor snapped at a young nurse, telling her that he had an important meeting with Mr. Hubbard and the patients could wait.

He leaned back in the chair, trying to be patient. His left hand adjusted the crease in his black wool slacks. Satisfied, his hand returned to the arm of the chair and his fingers lightly strummed the burgundy hide. R.J. took great pride in his appearance. He was a striking figure; some people noted that he looked like a ‘patriarch’ in a Ralph Lauren advertisement.

R.J.’s cell phone rang. This was not a good time, but out of habit, he pulled it out of his tailored tweed jacket and looked at the screen. Juan—one of the few men he trusted and his longest-serving employee. Juan knew where R.J. was and what he was doing. The call had to be important.

R.J. stood and closed the office door. Thomas could wait, just like his patients.

He clicked on the phone. “Yes Juan?” R.J. listened and his day got a little worse—if that was possible. After a moment, he couldn’t contain his reaction. “A front page story? Is he crazy? What’s Andrews doing? Sheriff Toil called me about finding Abadi’s body early this morning. We don’t need this now. Andrews doesn’t understand what John Riley is like. He never lets go of anything—never—never—never. He’ll keep digging . . . He never let up on my brother’s murder. The state police said he drives them crazy with questions even now . . . No. I’ll handle it. I’ll find a way to get my nephew off this—but it won’t be easy . . .” R.J. felt the room begin to spin and he sat down in the chair. He took a deep breath, while trying to understand the pampered weasel’s motivations. No wonder the Andrews family kept the Boy King out of Little Rock—afraid of what the nut job would do. “He’s one weird son-of-a-bitch, but he’s a
smart
son-of-a bitch. He’s got a reason for playing up this story and I’ll figure it out—and when I do . . . Okay, I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got to meet with our little medical miracle, Dr. Thomas.”

The muffled buzz of conversation in the hallway continued. The doctor was canceling surgery scheduled for later in the day. Perhaps he was anticipating a conversation that would take a long time? This wouldn’t take much time all. R.J. glanced down at the large envelope that he had leaned against the chair leg. Nine years ago, when Thomas was in deep shit, R.J. knew that having a doctor indebted to him would be valuable one day.

The doctor was from Hayslip. It helped that he was aware R.J. Hubbard was a villain of Cain and Abel proportions. Thomas’s opinion of R.J., however, hadn’t prevented him from requesting aid from the gentleman farmer when he needed to hold on to his medical license. Almost five years earlier, the elder Hubbard entertained Thomas’s tearful appeal and mulled it over before offering terms for his help.

Attempting to perform an abortion on your underage girlfriend is never a good idea. Especially one conducted without any medical staff in support. The girl’s parents had found out about what the doctor had done and the whole story was heading for the evening news and the prosecuting attorney. Only R.J. Hubbard could stop something like this before it became a media firestorm in Arkansas. In the end the storm passed by, causing no damage. After significant cash gifts from R.J, the girl’s parents were placated.

R.J. Hubbard’s tarnished reputation never stopped anyone from asking for assistance. Especially when the need was great and the challenge deemed impossible. R.J. helped people he liked all the time at no cost. Those he didn’t like, he charged dearly. As repayment for this, he wouldn’t take money. Thomas’s debt would have a different currency.

One day, and it would be
someday
, he had emphasized to the doctor. He would require a favor from Thomas as compensation. Hubbard didn’t know what he would ask for in the future, but it would be significant. When asked, the doctor would do as he requested. Compliance on this point was not discretionary. If Thomas understood the terms of the deal, he’d be fine.

If not . . .

Today was that someday.

There was a knock on the office door.

R.J. shook his head with a muted wry smile—the man was knocking before entering his own office door. “Come in,” R.J. said.

Thomas entered and then closed the door. He wore a white lab coat with a stethoscope protruding from his outside pocket. He smiled and opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but seemed to change his mind. He went behind his large desk and sat down. His eyes glanced toward Hubbard, but refused to meet his gaze directly. His hand patted the thinning brown hair on the top of his head nervously. “Mr. Hubbard, would you like some coffee?” Thomas asked.

“No—”

R.J. was interrupted by a stressed conversation taking place just outside the door; a patient was running a high fever.

Thomas stood. “Get away from the door. I’m in conference with Mr. Hubbard.” He returned to his seat. “I’m sorry.”

The conversation subsided as the women moved down the hallway. The doctor turned back to R.J.

“You have patients waiting on you,” R.J. said. He reached down for the envelope. “I’ll get to the point. Do you know why I’m here?”

“I—I think so. I know I owe you a lot and—”

“You owe me everything.” R.J. pointed to the Oriental rug on the floor, the sailing trophies lining a bookshelf, the photos of Thomas’s family. “This office, your lifestyle, your marriage . . . and your freedom.”

“I know that. I’m happy to repay you, any amount. Wh—What do you want?”

“A week from this Friday, you are performing surgery on a man with a brain tumor . . .”

“What man?” The doctor flipped opened his laptop and began to frantically scroll through various screens. “Who? I’m a surgeon. I have surgeries every day. I don’t know—”

“Don’t interrupt.”

The apology sounded like it came from a frightened boy. “Sorry.” He closed the laptop, returning his focus to R.J.

R.J. paused for dramatic effect. “I will determine the outcome of that surgery.”

“The outcome? I don’t understand.”

“If certain conditions are met, I want you to do the best job you can. Save him if possible.”

“Conditions? What conditions?”

Hubbard continued, ignoring Thomas’s questions. “And if my conditions are not met, he won’t survive the operation.”

Thomas’s mouth fell open and he pushed himself away from his desk as if it had become toxic.

Hubbard held up a finger in the casual manner of a dog trainer regaining the attention of a border collie. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Use the trash can by your desk if you’re going to become sick. I’ll wait.”

“If you’re asking me to . . .”

“I’m not asking.”

Thomas froze in his chair; his expression looked as if the man was trying to remember how to breathe. Finally, he gathered himself, shaking his head broadly. “It’s impossible. The operating room is filled with people; nurses, an anesthesiologist, and techs coming in and out. All of them are watching every move I make. It can’t be done. Even if I agreed to such a monstrous thing, it’s impossible.”

“Not if you plan ahead. Create a distraction and the knife will slip. I know there’s a specific nerve cluster in that area of the brain that leads to the heart. I’ve done my homework.”

“There will be an autopsy. I’ll be arrested and charged with murder. Don’t you see?”

“There won’t be an autopsy. It’s a risky operation as it is. The family will insist on a quick burial. I’ve already taken care of that.”

“The family knows about this?”

“You know what you need to know.”

Thomas became teary-eyed. “What kind of monster are you?”

The side of Hubbard’s mouth turned up in a sarcastic grin. “The worst kind. The kind you’ll see in your nightmares, if you don’t honor our deal. It wouldn’t be difficult for me to arrange for all the sordid details surrounding that poor young girl’s abortion to see the light of day.”

The color drained from Thomas’s face. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Not yet. Not until we’re finished.”

“Please, no.”

“You don’t have a choice. You know that. You know who I am. What I can do. You made this deal with your eyes open.”

“Who is it? “Thomas’s head bent down, and he pressed his hand against his eyes.

Hubbard remained silent, waiting for Thomas to regain his composure. After a long minute, Thomas looked up. His eyes were red.

“I don’t think I can do it.” Thomas pleaded.

R.J. noted the change in Thomas’s voice. It was the response of a beaten man. This had been surprisingly easy. It was time to ease the man’s anguish. “We all do things that we don’t think we can do when there’s no other choice. Trust me. I know.”

“What day is his surgery? I can’t remember my schedule. Who is it? Who do you want me to . . .
to kill?”

Hubbard didn’t respond immediately.
There’s no other choice
. After a moment, he responded. “Me . . . I guess I need to make an appointment. You’ll have to bump a patient to another day.”

He handed Thomas the X-rays in the envelope.

Over an hour later, R.J. was in the medical center parking deck searching for his car. His hand raked through his silver hair as he tried to remember; was his Jaguar on the seventh or eighth level? Nothing looked familiar.
Goddamn this thing in his head.

Thomas reacted as R.J. expected, and the elder Hubbard had his bittersweet victory. There was still more to accomplish, and very little time to do it. He had to close things out.

R.J. strolled down the concrete ramp to the seventh level of the medical center deck. His cell phone rang. He walked to the short exterior wall before answering.

“Hello, this is R.J.”

“Oh, I am so glad we finally reached you.”

He recognized the warm voice of Carlos Rodriguez’s wife. “Hello, Mrs. Carlos. I had my cell turned off for a while. I’m in Little Rock. How can I help you?”

“We had a call from John Riley and we know how you like to be kept up to date. He wants us to find a housekeeper for him. He needs someone to be at his home when his daughter comes home from school and during the summer.”

R.J. didn’t reply for a moment, trying to absorb the new information. “Emily? She’s going to live with him now? My nephew is having a very busy morning.”

“I don’t know how it happened. He said he just found out. John Riley’s very nervous about having her at home. He says he doesn’t know what to do with a little girl. He works all the time and he couldn’t bear the thought of her coming home to an empty house. He said he did that growing up. Wasn’t his mother there after his father died?”

R.J.’s voice became softer, more reflective. “It’s . . . complicated. I think I get it now.” His attitude became businesslike. “Well, he doesn’t understand how expensive it is to have a housekeeper. I’ve tried to teach him about money—”

“Your nephew said it would be just for a couple of months until he could figure things out. He’d get a loan from the bank. Did he ask you for help? Do you know about this?”

“No. He didn’t call me. He never asks for my help. You did right by telling me.” Sometimes John Riley acted like he had stopped growing at twelve. “What does he want his new housekeeper to do?”

“He didn’t really know. Be there for Emily was most important. He said maybe she could make Emily lunch.”

“That’s more like something for a nanny or a mother. If he’d just get married again . . . Okay, sounds like you’re going to have to create a list of duties for her. But it doesn’t matter. He can’t afford a housekeeper.”

“Do you want me to tell him that?”

Hubbard held up his hand before he realized that Mrs. Carlos wouldn’t be able to see his gesture. “No, if he knew I was against this he’d just want it more . . . Okay, this may work out for all concerned. I want Luis Espinoza’s sister for this job.”