Deaths of Jocasta (20 page)

I arrived at the clinic around nine thirty. The building was crowded and hectic, but voices were lowered, hushed whispers hissing down the hallways.

The police had sealed the door to the basement, the yellow tape glaring against the dull green walls.

The waiting room was quiet, subdued. Fewer patients were here than yesterday. I wondered if it was just standard fluctuation or if word had gotten out. Would you want to see a doctor in a building where they’d just found a dead body?

“You want to change your appointment?” I heard Bernie saying into the phone.

O’Connor would be interviewing anyone who might have seen Beverly Sue Morris here on Friday. And, of course, they would talk to their friends.

“Hi, Micky,” Millie said as she came out to put something on Bernie’s desk. “You look like death warmed over. Late night?”

“Fairly. How’s Cordelia?”

“She looks like death, period.” Millie shook her head. “Do you know what’s going on here? I’ve called Hutch, but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

I nodded, then looked at the patients in the waiting room. “Storeroom?”

“Twenty minutes,” she replied.

I nodded.

She headed back toward the examining rooms.

Cordelia stepped out of one of them. She looked up and saw me, giving me a wan smile. Millie was right, she looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, her skin a sallow shade. She glanced at something Millie was showing her, then back at me, a nod, an acknowledgment and then she reentered the examining room.

I went back into the hallway, glad that O’Connor and his boys weren’t present, although I had no illusions that he wouldn’t show up later. I had hoped to snag Bernie’s telephone, but she obviously was going to be on it for a while. I went in search of a pay phone.

“Good morning, Michele,” Sister Ann called to me from her office as I walked by.

“Morning,” I replied.

She beckoned me in.

“The tape on the basement door. Do you know why it’s there?” she asked.

“I do. And I’ll even tell you if you’ll let me borrow your phone to make a quick call. Local.”

“Fair enough.” She got up. “I’ll run and get some coffee. How do you like yours?”

“A rumor of milk. Thanks.”

She headed down the hallway.

I dialed Danny’s office. She wasn’t in, so I left my name and Cordelia’s clinic number.

Sister Ann returned, handing me a mug of coffee. She looked expectantly at me. I took a sip of coffee, then closed her door. I sat back down.

“There was a body in the basement,” I stated flatly.

“Oh, dear. Deceased, I presume.”

I nodded.

“How…? Who found it?”

“I did.”

“I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

I shrugged a fake nonchalance.

“One of the old men of the neighborhood?” she inquired.

“No.” I shook my head. And I told Sister Ann about the young woman I had found. I didn’t leave out the part about her being a patient of Cordelia’s. Sister Ann would find that out soon enough anyway. Better from me.

She said nothing, listening intently to my story. When I finished, she said, “What do you think happened?”

“I know what didn’t happen,” I answered. “I know Cordelia didn’t mess up an abortion and then cover her mistake by dumping the body in the basement.”

“That young woman had an abortion?” Sister Ann asked. I’d forgotten I was talking to a nun.

“I don’t know. Not for sure. I haven’t heard the autopsy report yet,” I answered, tensing for the lecture.

“What you say is true…Don’t worry, I’m not going to proselytize,” she said, seeing the tight look on my face. “I’m sure you and I disagree and I don’t care to waste my time in a useless argument. Dr. James is, at least according to her moral code, not a murderer. Nor is she one of those weak-willed people who fall into this sort of abyss, because ‘things got out of hand.’”

“No, she’s not.”

“But still, a young woman died and ended up in our basement. That disturbs me.”

“And me,” I added.

“What—” she began, but was interrupted by a knocking on her door. It opened and Aunt Greta stepped in.

“Here are the reports that Father Flynn—” Aunt Greta stopped when she saw me. “What are you doing here, Michele?”

“Indulging my latest perversion, Aunt Greta. Nuns.”

“Don’t be offensive,” she reprimanded me.

“It’s a state of being for me,” I retorted.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, Mrs. Robedeaux,” Sister Ann broke in. Aunt Greta stood her ground. “If you’ll just wait in the hall,” Sister Ann prompted.

Aunt Greta backed out, leaving the door open. I got up and shut it.

“The police will surely question you,” I said. “They’re out to get Cordelia.”

“I can only tell them the truth,” Sister Ann answered.

“Do that. Just make sure you tell them the whole truth and not just the truth they want to hear.”

She nodded.

I stood up.

“If there’s anything I can do…” she said.

“I’ll let you know,” I finished.

I went back into the hall, pointedly ignoring Aunt Greta. I saw Millie duck out of the clinic and make for the storeroom. I went to join her.

“Is it okay if Bernie listens in?” she asked me as I slipped through the door.

“Sure,” I said, leaving the door ajar.

“Hi,” Bernie said as she came in. “Anything to get away from that phone.”

I told them the story, including all the details, just as I had with Sister Ann. I emphasized that we didn’t know how the young woman died.

“The paperwork doesn’t prove anything,” Bernie interjected. “Hell, people are probably stealing tons of receipts and insurance forms right now. Speaking of which, I’m sure the phone is ringing. Keep me up-to-date,” she added as she headed back to her phone.

“Do they think the woman was murdered?” Millie asked.

“So far. Their theory seems to be that Cordelia butchered her on Friday and left her to die.”

Millie made an angry, hissing sound, then shook her head. “Who’s on the case?” she asked.

“Some bull by the name of O’Connor. He was pissed to hell that Joanne was here.”

“Joanne’s a hard-ass,” Millie said. “Well, she is,” she added in response to my look.

“I thought Joanne and Hutch got along,” I replied.

“Oh, they do. Hutch says Joanne’s the best cop he’s ever worked with. She doesn’t make mistakes. And if you work with her, you don’t either.”

“You try not to.”

“I’ll ask Hutch about O’Connor. But if I were doing an investigation, I wouldn’t like Joanne looking over my shoulder.”

“I’m doing one and she is,” I answered.

“How bad is it for Cordelia?” Millie asked, her tone serious.

“I don’t know yet. Soon.”

She nodded somberly. “I need to get back. Thanks for filling me in.”

I followed Millie back to the clinic. Aunt Greta was making the halls too dangerous to be out and about in. O’Connor, I was guessing, was due to show up anytime now.

I had just sat down and procured a magazine replete with promises on ways to improve my love life when Bernie called me.

“Phone call,” she said. “Take it in Dr. James’s office.” She pointed the way.

It was Joanne.

“Micky,” she said, then uncharacteristically, paused.

I waited.

“It’s not good,” she said.

“How not good?”

“Bad. A perforated uterus. She died of shock and blood loss sometime on Friday afternoon. An incompetent abortion, in the medical examiner’s opinion.”

“Shit,” I breathed.

“Yeah.”

After a pause Joanne continued. “There’s more. Another woman. She was found early this morning around the Industrial Canal. And…”

“A botched abortion,” I finished, hoping Joanne would contradict me. But she didn’t. “How…?” I started, but I wasn’t sure of my question and Joanne had no answers.

“You going to stay at the clinic?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“If I learn anything else, I’ll call you.”

“Okay, thanks. Joanne…” I started to ask if I would see her, but backed away.

“I’ll try to come by the clinic after work. If you’ll still be there?”

“I will.”

“Right.” She hung up.

I sat for a moment, still cradling the receiver, then I put it down and started back for the waiting room. I was trying to decide when and what to tell Cordelia.

“Another phone call, Micky,” Bernie called to me.

I turned back to Cordelia’s office.

It was Danny.

“How’d you get your nose stuck in this?” was her greeting.

“You know me, Danno, can’t take me anywhere. I keep stumbling over dead bodies.”

“A bad habit, Mick.”

But there was no sense of fun in our banter. Just a way to ease into the serious part.

“I know. What’s the story?” I asked.

“So far as I know, the case is circumstantial. Nothing directly proving that Cordelia performed an abortion on this woman, and, even if she did, that that was what killed her. O’Connor might arrest her, but he probably won’t. He needs a few more pieces of this puzzle.”

“That’s it?” I said. “A few more pieces of the puzzle? What are we supposed to do? Hope he doesn’t find them?”

“Look,” Danny cut me off. “I’ve talked to Hastings Johnson and Karen Shapiro. They’re on this one. I told them it stinks. And that I’d be on the stand as a character witness for Cordelia James, because if there was ever a person who wouldn’t commit murder, then she is that person. Okay?”

“Sorry, Danny,” I apologized.

“You’ve heard the latest?” she asked.

“Perforated uterus and another body.”

“My, you’re quick. Dare I ask who your source is?”

“Joanne. But only because she called first.”

“Good. She’ll keep O’Connor honest. Find out what you can.”

“I’m doing that.” I heard O’Connor’s voice in the outer office. “Speaking of which. Guess who just arrived.”

“Call me if you have any complaints of police brutality.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be here. Seriously, call me if anything happens.” If he arrested Cordelia.

Danny and I said good-bye.

“You can’t barge in here,” I heard Millie exclaim.

“I can’t, huh?” O’Connor replied. “You are obstructing a policeman in the performance of his duty. I need to see your esteemed Dr. James. Now, if not sooner.”

I stuck my head out to observe, but didn’t move to interfere. Millie could probably handle him better than I could. Another figure in white came up behind him.

“If you go in there,” Elly said, “you might have to drop your pants and get a shot in the rear.”

“Dr. James’s office is three doors down, on the left. Why don’t you wait there?” Millie suggested.

O’Connor grunted. I ducked back inside and made myself comfortable. I could hear his lumbering steps coming down the hallway. I wanted to be here when he interviewed Cordelia.

He grunted noisily when he entered and saw me ensconced behind Cordelia’s desk. I’m sure he would have liked to have had Cordelia looking across her own desk at him sitting behind it.

“Good morning,” I said cheerily. “Or is it afternoon yet, Detective…O’Connor.” I left a pause just long enough for sergeant to fit in.

“What are you doing here?” he growled.

“My nails,” I replied, as I nonchalantly examined my left hand.

“Well, little Miss Private Investigator. Do you know how Beverly Sue Morris died?”

“Perforated uterus. Very likely a botched abortion. As did the woman whose body was found near the Industrial Canal early this morning.”

He grunted his displeasure. “Who told you that?” he barked.

“You mean I was right? It was really just a wild guess.”

“Bullshit! Who told you? Ranson?”

“No,” I prevaricated. “An old college buddy.” I let it hang.

“Who?” he demanded. Then without waiting for an answer. “This is bullshit. It was Ranson.”

“Danielle Clayton. I’m sure you know her.”

“Uh,” he grunted a vague negative.

“The Sherard murder case? The Rampart Street rapist? I thought you cops kept up with the D.A.’s with the best conviction records.”

He merely grunted again. But he knew who Danny was. And he got my message. By the book.

“Are you here to arrest me?” Cordelia stood in the doorway.

“Come in, Dr. James. Sorry, your chair’s taken,” O’Connor said with a glance at me.

I got up, motioning Cordelia to her chair. I perched on a window sill behind her, looking protectively over her shoulder. She needed to be sitting for what O’Connor was going to tell her.