A Heartbeat Away (22 page)

33

Officer George Campbell had worked with Richmond PD for twenty-two years. Over the years he had heard plenty of stories, but none quite like Tori Taylor's. He'd certainly never heard of a heart recipient being a witness to the murder of the heart donor. That said, he'd seen evidence of the break-in at her house and he'd seen all he cared to see of the heart some weirdo had sent her. So someone was playing a game with her. But just why, he wasn't sure. Could she be right? Was she being targeted because of memories she'd inherited from her heart donor?

He sighed and sipped a cup of lukewarm black coffee as he called the office to listen to his voicemail.

“Officer Campbell, this is Tori Taylor. I was staying at the Jefferson Hotel downtown. Someone delivered some flowers with a note saying ‘You're next.' I left the flowers at the desk. I'm scared. I'm leaving town.”

The call had come in late the afternoon before.

He cursed. Why hadn't he been told that she called?

His first move was to call the Jefferson. The desk clerk assured him the flowers were still there, being held for Dr. Taylor.

His second call was to Captain Ellis, Baltimore PD.

After speaking to several officers, he mentioned Tori Taylor's name. He was immediately placed on hold, and thirty seconds later was talking to the captain.

“Captain Ellis.”

Campbell launched into his story and wasn't halfway through before Captain Ellis began chuckling.

Campbell wasn't amused.

“George,” Ellis said as if they were the best of friends, “I'm sorry you've gotten mixed up in all this. I'm afraid the woman you're calling about is certifiable. Crazy as a rabid fox. Maybe her heart medications are screwing with her smarts, know what I mean?” His words poured out in a rush.

George could hear the squeak of a chair and a heavy thump, as if the captain had leaned back and dropped his boots on the edge of his desk.

“For starters, think about it. Who has access to a heart like that?”

“Someone sick, I'd say. A killer without a conscience. Someone who could do something like that and—”

“Who else?” Ellis interrupted. “A surgeon, George! The woman probably went down to the hospital and took her own sick heart and mailed it to herself. Surgeons have access to the pathology lab. What do you think they did with the heart they took out?”

“Captain Ellis, with all due respect, she doesn't seem like the type to be playing such a joke.”

“It's not a joke to her. She's sick. I sent a psychiatrist down there to interview her, and she confirmed everything I'm telling you. The memories must be made up. There's nothing to suggest she's a reliable witness to any murder. The woman is paranoid, plain and simple. Paranoid people invent threats. They like the attention.”

“I don't know, sir. I've interviewed her myself and the memories she described seemed real.”

“Well, whatever this doctor has been telling you, let me tell you that I'm sure of one thing: the memories didn't come from Dakota Jones.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Dakota Jones isn't a real person at all. She's an alias.”

George Campbell almost choked on his coffee. “What?”

“Dakota Jones was working for Baltimore PD. She was undercover, working narcotics.”

“Well, I'll be—”

“Exactly. Dakota Jones didn't have a past to remember.”

“And you didn't tell this to Dr. Taylor?”

“Didn't think it was her business. Besides, when she told me she had Dakota Jones's memories, I pretty much knew she was a kook from the get-go.” The chair squeaked again. “Anyway, when we lose one of our own, we always investigate. I had an officer on the scene very soon after that fire started, and he didn't detect any evidence of foul play.”

“So what do you make of Tori Taylor's—”

“Look, George. I've got reliable information from one of my best officers and then I've got a crazy woman telling me she thinks Dakota Jones was murdered. Who would you believe?”

“I see what you're saying, sir.”

“Do me a favor. If she calls you back, find out where she is. I'd like to bring her in for questioning again. My psychiatric consultant thinks she may be of some danger to herself or others. Better yet, tell her to come up here and ask for me.”

George cleared his throat.
Dr. Taylor? Crazy?
“Okay, sir.” He hesitated. “By the way, what was Dakota's real name?”

“Officer Emily Greene. One of Baltimore's finest.”

Phin looked concerned. “What's wrong?”

Tori reached under the table to rub her leg. “My ankle has been bothering me. Something like a chronic sprain.” She shrugged. “But I don't remember spraining it.”

“I checked the GPS last night. We still have about a two-hour trip.”

Tori looked at Mary Jaworski's business card. “We can put her office address into the GPS.”

He nodded.

She watched him sip his coffee. “I hope it's okay you took off like this.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You didn't give me a choice. You show up to my place, tell me your life is in danger … what's a man to do?”

“My knight in shining armor.”

“Oh yeah, that's me.”

“Seriously, Phin. I didn't know what else to do.”

“I get it. You don't need to explain.”

She looked around the room. There were a dozen other hotel guests eating from the free breakfast buffet. She wanted to talk to Phin about their relationship, but somehow, in the middle of a crowd stabbing toaster waffles didn't seem to be the place. “Ready?”

He drained his coffee. “Let's go.”

They checked out and headed north on I-95. After nine, Tori tried calling Mary Jaworski again. “Still no answer. All I get is voicemail.”

“Isn't there an office number?”

“I tried that, too. All I get is a recording. I hope her office isn't closed. She didn't mention going on vacation or anything.”

“She's probably just busy. Hopefully she won't be too put off by us just showing up.”

“I'll explain the threats. She'll understand. If anyone can help me make sense of all these dreams, she's the one.”

They drove on, thankful for the sunshine. The traffic wasn't even too bad. The worst part was Phin's annoying tendency to change from radio station to radio station, searching for his favorite songs. Just as she was starting to enjoy a song, he'd change it. She hadn't noticed it in other areas, but when it came to listening to music with Phin, he was a diabetic kid in a candy store. Everything looked good at first but could only be sampled in small quantities.

“Musical ADD,” she muttered.

They followed the mechanical female voice of the Garmin navigator. As they approached the final turn toward a professional building, they were surprised to find the building's parking lot blocked by four Baltimore PD squad cars and the front door ribboned off with yellow crime-scene tape. Blue lights on two cars at the edge of the parking lot strobed at a dizzying rate. Tori looked away.

She thought she recognized one face in the crowd of blue uniforms, a stocky, muscular officer.

They parked and walked across the lot toward the trio of officers. She looked for a name badge. It was him. “Officer Bundrick?”

He looked over, obviously surprised to see her. “Dr. Taylor? What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same question.”

“You go first.”

“I came to see the psychiatrist, Dr. Jaworski.”

“You did? You have business with her?”

“You might say that.”

“Would you recognize her?”

“Of course.”

He lifted a radio from his belt. “Ron?”

“Go ahead.”

“I might have a lady here who can ID the body.”

34

Christian slapped the CXR up on the view board and nodded. “This is good news, Ms. Dexter. The chest is clear.”

Kesha shifted in her seat. “I still don't understand why you're looking at the chest. It's his leg.”

Christian took a deep breath. “One of the possibilities is a rare type of cancer. Cancer can spread. The lungs are one place that cancer spreads. I wanted to look at the lungs to be sure that what is in Mike's leg hasn't spread there.”

Her lip began to tremble. “You sayin' my boy has cancer?”

“No.” Christian let his hand rest on Kesha's arm. “But it's one possibility. We still need to do a few more tests. I'd like to schedule Mike for an MRI of his leg and then consult a surgeon for a biopsy.”

“Is it serious?”

“Sometimes a mass like this is serious. Sometimes it's just a benign growth and not serious at all.”

She sat quiet and unmoving.

“Do you understand what I am saying? Is there anyone else I should talk to? How about your friend Dakota?”

“She didn't come with me today.”

Christian opened the chart and scanned for Kesha's address. “Does Dakota live near you?”

Kesha seemed to squint at him in question. “She's my neighbor.” She straightened. “Why do you ask about her?”

Christian couldn't look up and meet her eyes. “She reminded me of an old friend, that's all.”

He made a note in the chart and handed Kesha another X-ray request slip. “This is for an MRI. I'll ask the front office to schedule it right away. Then I'll need to see Mike again, okay?”

She nodded.

When he stood, she didn't move.

“Is my boy gonna die?”

“I know you're scared. That's normal. But we don't know if it's cancer. Even if it is, there is good treatment available. It's way too premature to give up hope. Mike needs you to be strong.”

She sniffed. “He's all I got left.”

“Let's take it one test at a time. MRI first, then a biopsy. Then hopefully, I'll have good news for you.”

She stood and nodded. “I'll bring him with me next week.”

Tori's hand covered her mouth. “What are you saying? Is Dr. Jaworski dead?”

The muscular officer frowned. “I'm sorry, Dr. Taylor. At this point, all we can say is that we have a body.”

“Where? In her office?”

“In one of the medical exam rooms.” He hesitated. “If you knew her, perhaps you could give us a hand and ID the body.”

Tori looked at Phin. She couldn't believe this. “Sure.”

“Okay,” he said. “I know you're a doctor so you're used to seeing all kinds of stuff.” He shook his head. “But I have to warn you. It's a bloodbath in there.”

“Who found the body? Who comes in on a Saturday?”

“A cleaning lady.” He nodded at the duo. “This way, ma'am.”

She looked at Phin, who shook his head. “I'm staying right here.”

Tori stepped over the crime-scene tape and followed Officer Bundrick. He led her through a tastefully designed waiting room, one with actual art, not like the utilitarian one where Dr. Taylor's patients had to wait back at the university hospital. In the hallway beyond, they bypassed at least a dozen men and women in uniform. Photographs were being taken.

The door to the exam room stood open. There was blood on the floor, spilling from the exam table, blood on the wall, and blood saturating the chest of a body. She wouldn't have known it was a woman except that she wore a denim wraparound skirt. The body was pale, and the right arm hung over the side of the table.

Her eyes were drawn away from the blood to the yellow “Live Strong” band around the right wrist.
Just like Mary's.

Tori forced herself to look at the body. A white blouse looked as if it had been dyed deep red. Jelly-like clots matted the front of her clothing. The face was pale, the eyes open. Her last seconds on earth could not have been pleasant.

She stepped back, fighting a wave of nausea. “It's her. It's Dr. Jaworski.”

She stumbled back into the hall, seeking air. Before she entered the waiting room again, she turned and called back, “Officer Bundrick, I know this may sound strange, but I need to know something.”

He walked down the hall to within a few feet of her. “What is it?”

“I need to know if her chest has been opened. Did someone steal her heart?”

His expression changed. Hardened. “Why would you ask me that? We have not released any of those details.”

“So it's true?”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss—”

She turned. “That's all I wanted to know.”

Halfway across the waiting room, she realized she was tracking blood. She looked down. “Ugh!”

“Don't worry about that,” he said. He followed her outside where she quickly found her place at Phin's side. With his arms around her, she began to cry, deep sobs of pain.

A moment later, she pushed Phin to arm's length. “Don't you see it?” she whispered. “This woman was killed because of me. Someone wants me dead because of what I know about Dakota Jones. And because Mary Jaworski figured it out, they killed her first.”

A few minutes later, Officer Bundrick walked over with an open cell phone. “Here,” he said. “Could you talk to Captain Ellis?”

She sniffed and took the phone. “Captain, this is Tori.”

“Dr. Taylor, what a coincidence we find you at a crime scene.”

“I was coming to meet Dr. Jaworski to discuss my interview.”

“Yes, yes. I've been in contact with an officer from the Richmond, Virginia, PD.”

“Officer Campbell?”

“Yes. He told me all about the threats. The heart. Even the flowers. I think it's time you came on in to the department. I want to arrange to keep you in a safe place.”

“You believe my story now?”

“I believe Dakota Jones was murdered, if that's what you mean. And I know from what the psychiatrist told me that Dakota must have had a very troubled past.”

“I believe someone killed her mother, too.”

“The interview suggests a very hard life of abuse.” He paused. “You're an important witness for us in this homicide. Now that Dr. Jaworski is dead, you're the only one who can testify as one who carries the heart of the victim. This is a very unusual case, Dr. Taylor. I want you to come over to the station. I'm going to arrange transfer to a safe place for your protection.”

She took a deep breath and mouthed the words of relief to Phin:
He believes me.
Then, into the phone, she said, “We'll come right over.”

She handed the phone back to Officer Bundrick and recited her conversation with the captain back to Phin.

Once in their rental car, Tori took a deep breath. “I can't believe this.”

“At least someone is taking you seriously and is going to keep you safe.”

She nodded. “Can we stop for a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.”

A few minutes later, they sat, sipping Kenyan coffee at the nearest Starbucks.

Tori's cell phone sounded. “Hello.”

“Dr. Taylor, it's George Campbell.”

“Officer Campbell, I'm so glad you called. I just got done speaking with Captain Ellis.”

“You did?” He halted. “Look, Dr. Taylor, we don't all feel the same way about this.”

“At least he believes me. I'm on my way in to see him now. He wants to put me in some sort of protective custody or something.”

“What? Did he tell you about Dakota Jones?”

“Only that he believes she was murdered and that I'm a key witness.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Mr. Campbell?”

“Dr. Taylor, when did your threatening phone calls start? How soon after your transplant?”

“Not until after I moved home.”

“When was that?”

She sighed. “Why is this important?” She counted back. “It was right after I came to Baltimore the first time.”

“After you told your story to Baltimore PD?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Something isn't right. Where are you?”

“Baltimore. I told you, I'm on my way to see Captain Ellis. He practically insisted.”

“I'll bet.” He cleared his throat. “I may be off base here, but humor me. Who else knew about your theories about transplanted memories?”

She thought about it. “A few surgical residents. Charlotte. Phin. The Baltimore PD. Some of my doctors on the transplant service knew I was having nightmares.”

“Tori, Captain Ellis told me something I think you should know.”

“I'm listening.” She pushed her coffee away and straightened her posture.

“He told me that Dakota Jones was an alias. Her real name was Emily Greene and she worked for Baltimore PD as an undercover narcotics officer.”

She shook her head. “What?”

“He told me you were crazy and that your psychiatric interview essentially proved it.”

“Really?”

Tori tapped her fingers on the tabletop.
Is this guy playing me? Why would Captain Ellis say I'm crazy? Certainly the psychiatrist wouldn't have reported that!
She sighed. “And now, no one can dispute his words.”

“Why is that?”

“I've just come from a crime scene at Dr. Jaworski's office. She was murdered.”

“What!” She heard a door shut, and he lowered his voice. “You need to get out of there.”

“I don't understand.”

“Look, Dr. Taylor, I'm sorry about all this, but I think it may be best to come on home. I don't think I'd be walking right into the Baltimore PD just now.”

“But—”

“Listen, the threats started
after
you talked to Baltimore PD. What if they are the ones trying to cover up the facts surrounding Emily Greene's death? Think about it. Why would Captain Ellis tell you and me entirely different stories unless he's trying to throw us all off track?”

She sighed. She wanted to scream. Just when she was beginning to think she was close to safety. Now she didn't know what or who to believe. Was she being played? By whom? “So who was Emily Greene?”

“I did a little checking. She'd been on the force for six years. Exemplary record. Grew up on the Eastern Shore. Her parents still live there.”

“I can't come home. Whoever wants me dead is watching. They even followed me to my friend's house, Phin MacGrath. We snuck out the back and rented a car to come to Baltimore.”

“I hope I'm wrong.”

“So what's my next move?”

He sighed. “I don't know. But if you don't show and the captain calls, do not tell him where you are.”

She looked at Phin. His face showed the distress and confusion of trying to discern what was going on from her half of the conversation.

“Dr. Taylor, I'd advise you to leave now. He'll have all of Baltimore PD looking for you.”

“Okay.”

She stared at her phone in disbelief. In two short minutes, her world had been reconfirmed as dangerous and crazy. She didn't know what to believe.

“There's one more thing, Dr. Taylor. Something Captain Ellis said to me prompted me to ask a few questions down at the university hospital's pathology lab.”

He cleared his throat.

She was growing impatient. “What'd you find out?”

“The heart that was mailed to you.” He paused. “It was yours.”

An hour later, when Tori Taylor failed to show up at the Baltimore PD, Captain Ellis issued an APB for a couple driving a blue Honda Accord. Female around thirty-five, slender build, curly light-brown hair, wanted for questioning in the murder of Dr. Mary Jaworski. Suspect revealed facts about the murder that only the killer would have known.