Deaths of Jocasta (19 page)

“No mistake,” O’Connor retorted.

“But…that’s not right,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t…on Friday…”

“Don’t say anything else,” I suddenly broke in. “Call your lawyer.”

“Quiet, you,” O’Connor snapped at me. “Now, Dr. James, why don’t you tell me what you did on Friday?”

“He’s only trying to trap you. They’ll twist whatever you say…”

“Sergeant Ranson, your friend is interfering with police work,” O’Connor interrupted.

“Michele,” Joanne said, a warning tone in her voice. But if Joanne had really meant for me to be quiet, she would have said so.

“No,” I shot at her, so O’Connor would believe I was defying her. “Cordelia. Don’t answer any more questions. Call your lawyer.”

“But, Micky…I’m innocent,” she said, still trying to make sense of what was happening. But she didn’t say anything else, only shaking her head at O’Connor’s further questions.

“Search the files,” he finally said, seeing she would answer no more questions.

“No, you can’t,” Cordelia burst out, standing up. “Those are confidential.”

“Beverly Sue Morris is dead,” O’Connor shot back. “I don’t think she much cares about confidentiality now. I think she might be more interested in us catching her murderer.”

“They are confidential,” Cordelia repeated.

“Or perhaps you don’t want us to see what’s in those files,” he taunted.

“Get a search warrant,” she defied him.

He nodded to one of his men, ignoring Cordelia.

“She is right, you know,” Joanne spoke up. O’Connor turned to glare at her. “Detective O’Connor,” she continued, “I’m sure Dr. James is only interested in protecting the rights of her patients. It will be more useful, in terms of your investigation, if you don’t obtain evidence illegally.”

O’Connor continued glaring at her. Joanne coolly returned his gaze. It turned into a staring contest. O’Connor abruptly turned on his heel.

“We’ll get a search warrant, Dr. James. And we’ll tear this place apart. We’ll search the whole building. We’ll spend days doing it,” he stated angrily. He paused to let that sink in. “But all I want is the file for Beverly Sue Morris. Do you object to my ‘disturbing’ your patients’ rights? Or do you object to my seeing that file?”

“There is no file because she wasn’t a patient here,” Cordelia answered.

“So you say.”

“Joanne…” I said.

“By the book, Sergeant Ranson. I’m doing it by the book,” O’Connor responded. “Merely inquiring if Dr. James wants to do her civic duty and help us catch a murderer.”

“I want to talk to my lawyer,” Cordelia said.

“Fine. You do that. And I’ll work on getting the search warrant. And if I get it first…” He trailed off.

“Can he do…?” Cordelia said, looking from me to Joanne.

“One way or another, I’ll see those files,” O’Connor interjected.

Joanne nodded her head slowly.

“All right,” Cordelia said tightly. She stalked to the filing cabinets. I watched her angrily flip through files. Then she tensed, the angry motion still. For a moment, nothing moved, then O’Connor stepped in and took the file that she was holding in her hand.

“Beverly Sue Morris,” he read triumphantly.

“But that’s not…” Cordelia said dazedly. “Let me look at that,” she said as she took the file back from O’Connor. She rapidly flipped through it. “She was one of Jane’s patients. Jane Bowen, our part-time gynecologist/obstetrician. This doesn’t make sense,” she added, half to herself.

“What doesn’t make sense, Dr. James?” O’Connor asked.

“Jane’s only here Mondays and Thursdays. Not Fridays,” Cordelia answered.

“If Jane Bowen couldn’t see a patient, would you take over for her?”

“Yes, at times,” Cordelia replied, but seeing where his questioning was leading, continued, “But I didn’t perform an abortion on her on Friday. I don’t perform abortions here.”

“Where do you perform abortions?”

“We do them at a gynecological clinic that Jane is affiliated with,” Cordelia answered carefully.

“Do you perform abortions, Dr. James?” O’Connor questioned.

Cordelia met his gaze for a moment before answering, “I have. I can. I don’t usually. It’s not my specialty.”

“Care to come down to the station and answer a few more questions now, Dr. James?” O’Connor dug at her.

“Not until she’s talked to her lawyer,” I answered for her. And I’ve talked to Danny, I thought.

“How did poor Beverly Sue get in the basement?” he asked, ignoring me.

Cordelia’s head jerked up.

“I don’t know,” she replied angrily at him.

“Or don’t remember?”

“Are you pressing charges?” Joanne asked. “By the way, how was Beverly Morris murdered, if she was?” she continued.

O’Connor glared at her again.

“What about the intruder who ‘just happened’ to show up right before we found the body?” I questioned.

O’Connor turned his glare to me.

“For all we know that body’s been there since Friday afternoon,” he replied.

“It wasn’t there this morning,” I reminded him.

“Who, besides you,” he broke in impatiently, “didn’t see the body and did see the intruder?” he demanded. “Did you see this mysterious burglar, Sergeant Ranson?”

“No, I didn’t,” she finally replied. “But if Michele says—”

“Michele,” O’Connor cut in, “who just happens to be working for Dr. James’s clinic. How convenient. Not good enough, Ranson, you know that,” he finished, then started to turn away, but shifted back to her and said casually, “How come you never married? Smart lady like you should be able to get a man.”

I wanted to get up and hit him. He was good. But only if you were on his side.

“I’ve been married,” Joanne replied tersely.

“Yeah?” he said, still seemingly casual. “What happened? I never heard that.”

“We’re divorced,” she responded neutrally.

“Yeah, well, I’m Catholic. We don’t believe in divorce.”

“Just practical things, like transubstantiation and the infallibility of the Popes,” I commented.

“You got a Catholic problem?” he shot at me.

“Oh, no, I think the Inquisition was one of the most benign periods in history,” I retorted, deliberately baiting him.

He turned his back to me. He probably didn’t know what the Inquisition was.

Cordelia came back into the waiting room. She looked drained. She sat staring at her hands, as if they had somehow deceived her.

“It’s late, O’Connor. Is there any real need for us to be here?” Joanne asked, after he continued to ignore us for about twenty minutes.

“Naw, you can go,” he said, not even turning around.

I stood up. Joanne walked over to Cordelia and put her hand on Cordelia’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” she said gently. “We’ll take you home.”

Cordelia nodded assent, shakily standing up.

“Not Dr. James,” O’Connor said.

“Then we’ll stay,” I said, sitting back down. “I’ll stay,” I amended.

“Are you charging me with something?” Cordelia asked him.

“Well, it is late,” he said. “I’ll be nice, Dr. James. This here patrolman,” he nodded at one of the uniformed officers, “will take you home. And he’ll hang around just so you don’t decide to take any sudden trips. We want to know where we can find you.”

“Home. Then here taking care of my patients,” she retorted.

“You do that. Just be careful.” He motioned the patrolman and Cordelia out. “Take good care of your patients,” his voice floated after us.

“Damn him,” Cordelia said under her breath.

Joanne and I walked with her to her car, the patrolman following behind. He got in the driver’s seat.

“Call your lawyer,” Joanne said as Cordelia got in. She nodded tiredly, shutting the door.

“Cordelia…” I said, leaning in the window. But there was nothing to say. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

She turned to look at me, then covered my hand with one of hers.

The patrolman started the car. I moved away as he backed out.

Joanne and I walked around the building to her car. It was almost four in the morning. We got in and she started the car.

“Bastards,” I said to the policemen in the building, adding to Joanne, “There’s got to be a way to prove she didn’t do it.”

“If she didn’t,” Joanne said, as she pulled away.

“If? What do you mean if?” I demanded angrily.

“People make mistakes.”

“Let me out,” I said, suddenly furious. “Just fucking let me out of the car.” I opened the door even though we were still going.

Joanne jammed on the brakes. She grabbed my arm. I tried to pull away. She reached with her other hand and got the back of my neck, pulling me roughly back in the car.

“You idiot,” she said harshly. “You damned idiot. What good are you going to do anyone by running off half-cocked like that?”

“How can you think she did it?” I spat back.

“I don’t. At this point I don’t know anything was done.” She shook me harshly and pulled me closer. “I haven’t seen an autopsy report and I don’t know how that girl died.” I felt her fingers pressing into the back of my neck, tightly, angrily. “It may have nothing to do with Cordelia,” she finished.

“What if she died of a botched abortion?”

“I don’t know. Take things one step at a time.”

“She didn’t kill that woman,” I stated.

“People make mistakes,” Joanne replied tersely.

I grabbed Joanne by the shirt.

“No, not Cordelia. You can’t say that.”

“Can you promise me she’s perfect? That her hand can’t slip? You’ve seen how tired she is,” Joanne retorted.

“Maybe not that. But I can promise you that if she did make a mistake, she wouldn’t let the woman die, then dump her in some dirty basement to cover it up. Not Cordelia.”

Joanne didn’t say anything. But her grip slowly loosened, finally turning into an embrace, her hand gently rubbing the back of my neck.

“No, not Cordelia,” she finally said.

I let go of her shirt, resting my hands along the ridge of her collarbone.

“Will you help?” I asked. “Can you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Alex and Cordelia have been friends since junior high. I could never explain—not to mention Danny.”

“Danny’ll help.”

“Yeah, if she can.”

“She’d better,” I replied.

I looked at Joanne. I felt pressure from her hand on the back of my neck pulling me closer. We kissed, the anger becoming passion.

“My place?” she whispered in my ear. “I think I’d better change clothes before I show up for work tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I assented, breathless from our kissing.

Joanne drove us to her apartment.

“Shower?” she asked as she let us in.

“Yeah,” I agreed, wanting very much to get the grime of this day washed off. “You first,” I offered.

“Together?” she amended.

We did, making love under the streaming water, then collapsing into bed and a good-night kiss. Then a kiss that wasn’t good night, sex taking us past exhaustion, so when we finally rolled away from each other, we had no choice but to sleep.

I was awakened a few bare hours later by the phone ringing. Joanne answered it.

“I know…Yes, I was there,” she confirmed to someone. “Uh-huh…she was with me. We’d gone out to dinner together.” Then a pause. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know something…Alex, she’s my friend, too…Sorry, I’m tired…That’s okay, I needed to get up…Yeah…I’ll call you. As soon as I know something. Bye.”

She hung up.

“Bad news travels quickly,” I said propping myself up on one elbow.

“I guess,” she replied, lying back down. “God, I’m tired.”

Her alarm clock went off.

“Sorry. No rest for the weary,” I said.

Joanne got out of bed.

“I’ve got to keep moving or I’ll never be awake by the time I get to work.”

I slowly swung my legs out of bed.

“Me, too,” I mumbled, still sleepy.

“You can sleep in,” she offered.

“I want to go to the clinic. Tell Cordelia to shut up if she starts trying to be too nice a Southern girl and helping those poor hardworking policemen.”

“Good idea,” Joanne agreed as she headed off to the bathroom.

I forced myself to do some stretches. Anything to keep my body moving. I finally woke up, not from the exercises but from remembering what had happened last night.

I was dressed when Joanne came out of the bathroom.

At my request, she dropped me off at a bus stop. I wanted to go back to my place and get my car. And change my clothes. I didn’t want Cordelia seeing me in the same things I had worn yesterday. Joanne had offered to drive me to my apartment, but I wanted her to find out what was going on as soon as possible. She didn’t need much persuading. We both wanted to know what was in the autopsy report.