Deaths of Jocasta (28 page)

I brought back my lunch and sat on the steps eating it, trying to figure out what to do next. No satisfactory answer came to mind.

After I finished eating, I walked around the building. The protesters were gone, the parking lot was uneventful. Few people were out on either the avenue or the side street. The midafternoon sun made me sweat even at the leisurely pace of my walk. I ended back where I was, but not wanting to sit like some gargoyle on the stairs, I strolled over to the edge of the overgrown back lot. The tall weeds and small trees were motionless, shimmering green in the bright sunshine. Nothing stirred in the still air; even the humming bees seemed to have gone home. I could smell the faint tang of leaves, a slight honeysuckle scent mixed with it. I picked one of the near flowers and sucked the nectar out of it.

“Well, Miss Knight, ever on duty.” O’Connor approached me across the yard.

“Someone has to prevent you from arresting the wrong person,” I replied.

“Is that what Dr. James is paying you for?”

“No. My sense of honor demands it.”

“Of course. Honor. A rare commodity these days.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting the scene of the crime. Who knows what might happen. Perhaps Dr. James’s memory will miraculously improve.”

“She didn’t do it.”

He ignored that. “Perhaps the one question I don’t know the answer to will resolve itself.”

I didn’t reply, knowing that he wanted me to ask.

“Don’t you want to know what that question is?”

“You want to tell me, so go ahead.”

“Are you in it with her or has she got you duped?”

“Make up your mind, so you can find evidence for whatever you want to believe.”

“Did you put the body in the basement for her?”

“No, but I did slit the throats of thirty-six orphans at her request. She paid me a buck a head.”

“Ever sarcastic. I rather like your sense of humor. I hope you’re not involved.”

“How kind of you,” I answered coolly.

“Do you smoke?” he asked, reaching into his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

“No, I don’t.”

“Good. It’s a bad habit.”

A breeze sprang up, lifting the hair off my forehead. The cooling air was welcome.

“Don’t light that,” I suddenly said, catching an odor on the fresh breeze.

“Why? Are you one of those?”

“No,” I answered. I paused, trying to separate the myriad smells of a hot city day, hoping I was only imagining one of them. “Do you smell anything?”

“No. Twenty years of smoking’s ruined my nose.”

I stood still, taut, sampling the air.

“Oh, Jesus,” I let out as I was hit with a draft of fetid air, an odor that didn’t belong in this warm summer afternoon. I glanced at O’Connor. His face held a somber look of concentration, the cigarette unlit.

“What is it?” he asked, no playful banter in his voice.

“A dead…animal. A dog, maybe,” I said.

“I hope so,” he replied.

“Oh, Jesus,” I repeated, softly, hugging myself as I shivered, despite the heat of the sun.

“Shall we check it out?” he asked, looking intently at me.

“No, I don’t…I don’t like seeing dead dogs.”

O’Connor turned around and strode purposely for the parking lot, calling out several names as he went. He immediately returned with a number of his men. They plunged grimly into the overgrowth. I watched as they slowly and methodically searched through the tangled brush. The minutes ticked by, punctuated only by the steady snap and swish of their movements in the weeds.

I stayed where I was, unable to move, still testing the air, hoping that somehow I could prove myself wrong. I wanted desperately to call out to those men, “I’m sorry, I made a mistake. You won’t find anything.”

Then one of them shouted, “Here. Over here.” And nothing more.

I sat on the grass, unable to get away from the smell now that it had been confirmed. It seemed to be everywhere. I kept breathing the decay to be sure that this was real, that this summer day had really veered so hauntingly awry.

O’Connor finally emerged from the brush, his face red and sweating, crushed tags of green clinging to his pants. He headed straight toward me. I noticed he was holding a handkerchief in one hand. I guess he had smelled the decay once he got close enough. He didn’t say anything, but showed me what was in his other hand, a plastic evidence bag containing an insurance form. Signed by Dr. C. James.

“We found her clothes and purse about ten yards away. This was in it,” he said, after I’d read it.

“How do you know it’s hers?”

“Not definite yet. But my instinct says so and it’s not often wrong. You want to help me?”

“No, I don’t,” I replied.

“Then why did you point out that body?” he asked. “A few more days in this heat and the medical examiner might have a hard time telling whether she was eighteen or eighty. Let alone what she died from.”

“My goddamn sense of honor,” I retorted.

“I’m getting a search warrant. And then I’m going into the clinic. If I find,” he flipped the insurance form to read it, “a file for Faye Zimmer, I’m going to arrest Dr. James.”

“Why tell me? You want my permission?” I replied sarcastically. “How long will it take you?”

“Not long. I’ve already put in the call. One of my guys is on his way to pick it up right now,” he answered, then continued, “You still going to side with someone who’s made a fool of you?”

“She didn’t do it.”

“I got evidence that says she did.”

“You’ve got evidence that somebody is setting her up. Find someone who hates Cordelia, or even Emma Auerbach, and you might find your murderer.”

“So, who would hate her like that? You’re stretching, Miss Knight.”

“Someone from Cordelia’s past, who’s found this a perfect opportunity for vengeance. Or Emma’s past. Cordelia just opened this clinic in the last few months. Emma’s been very noticeable in the pro-choice movement recently. Somebody’s noticed. Do a little more footwork before you take the easy way out.”

“Give me some names. Make a few suggestions. You know both Dr. James and Miss Auerbach. Who would hate either of them enough to kill a few innocent women to get back at them?”

I sat, trying to think of any possible names. O’Connor was right, murdering women just to make it look like Cordelia was botching abortions was an improbable sort of revenge.

“Well,” he demanded.

“I’m working on it,” I replied.

One of his men was walking across the lawn to us. He held out a piece of paper as he approached. O’Connor took it.

“Thanks, Rob,” he said. Then, “You want to come with us?” he asked me, as he turn toward the clinic.

I jumped up, angrily walking in front of him. He kept pace behind me into the clinic.

I nodded at Bernie, but didn’t say anything. O’Connor and I walked to the file cabinets. Then I put out my hand for the search warrant. We would do this by the book. He handed it to me, waiting patiently as I read it over. I handed it back and stood looking at him, but he motioned me to go ahead. I opened the drawer and started flipping through the Zs. It was in back, not in perfect alphabetical order, but Faye Zimmer’s file was there.

“Shit,” I muttered, looking at the accusing paperwork in my hand. O’Connor took it from me. He said nothing, just watched me.

“Five minutes,” I said. “Give me five minutes to talk to her.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he replied. “My men will be outside. If she’s really innocent, it’s not a good idea to run away.” He turned and went back out to the waiting room. But he didn’t stop watching me.

Nurse Peterson came out of one of the rooms.

“Where’s Cordelia?” I asked as I walked down the hall toward her. “I have to talk to her. Now.”

Nurse Peterson looked unsure.

“It’s important,” I said. “I’ll wait in her office.”

“All right,” she agreed and went back into the room she had just left.

I entered Cordelia’s office, aware of O’Connor’s eyes on my back. I paced as I waited for her, unable to be still. About a minute later, she entered.

“This had better be good,” she said, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Not good, not good at all, I wanted to say. Instead, I motioned her in, shutting the door behind her.

“Sit down,” I said, trying to think how to break it to her.

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Please.”

She sat, her arms still crossed. I sat opposite her.

“Two things,” I started. “First…I was way out of line earlier. I’m very sorry. I…I’m sorry.”

“Okay. I accept your apology. But I have patients waiting.”

“And second…you’re not going to like this.”

“Why? Are you sleeping with Alex?” she cut in.

“Oh, God, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t guess there is any easy way to tell you this.” I plunged on, “They found another body, apparently a patient here. You’re about to be arrested for murder. O’Connor is outside waiting for you now.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute, didn’t move.

“I…guess my patients will have to wait, then, won’t they?” she said slowly. She looked at her desk, in stunned bewilderment, as if she had no idea what to do now. I don’t guess they teach you how to be arrested for murder. “Who was it?” she suddenly asked.

“Faye Zimmer,” I replied. “Her file was—”

“Oh, my God, no. I just saw her on Wednesday.”

“Call your lawyer. Call now,” I said as she looked at me, to get her to take action in the few moments we had.

“Yes…yes, you’re right,” she replied, sitting forward. She started looking for the number.

“I’ll get a hold of Danny and…Joanne.”

She didn’t even notice my stumbling over Joanne’s name. “And we’ll get—”

There was a knocking on her door. Then it opened and O’Connor appeared.

“I know why you’re here,” Cordelia said to him.

He stepped into her office. I got up and closed the door. No sense putting on a show.

“Miss Knight has explained the situation?” O’Connor asked.

“Yes, Micky has.”

“I’m placing you under arrest, Dr. James. You have the right to remain silent…” O’Connor recited the list for her.

Cordelia sat motionless, listening to him, staring straight ahead until he finished. Then for a brief second in the silence, she looked at me, her eyes a wide, troubled blue. She stood. As she did, she moved her Rolodex around so I could see it, almost as if straightening her desk. It was open to one particular card. Cordelia took off her white jacket, hanging it up as if she were only going home for the day.

“I don’t guess…ask Alex to feed Rook, would you?” she said to me. “Alex has keys and tell Bernie—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” I answered. Then I added, “Do you have to do that?” as O’Connor pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

“Standard procedure,” he replied.

“She’s not going anywhere,” I told him.

“I’ll wait until we’re in the parking lot,” he said, putting the cuffs back in his pocket. “For you, Miss Knight. Shall we, Dr. James?”

I walked out first, followed by Cordelia, then O’Connor. I wanted to protect her, at least deflect the staring gazes.

Bernie shot me a glance as we went by, but I returned a curt nod to her questioning look. Several other men seated in the waiting room got up and went with us. O’Connor’s reinforcements.

When we got out of the building, O’Connor stopped and pulled out the handcuffs.

Cordelia looked again at me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of…what I can,” I said to her. “Ask to see your lawyer. Get your legal protection in place.”

“Thanks, Micky,” she replied.

O’Connor put the cuffs on her. She still looked at me, her only friend in this crowd. They led her away. I didn’t follow. I could do more good by going back in the building and getting on the phone. I spun around and reentered, not waiting to watch them load her into the police car.

“Micky?” Bernie questioned as I strode back into the office.

“Cancel the rest of Cordelia’s patients,” I told her.

“What will I tell them?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

“That…that Dr. James had been unexpectedly called away.”

“Okay.” Bernie nodded.

I headed for Cordelia’s office. The first number I called was the one from the Rolodex, Elana Dreyfuss, Esquire. The police had to let her call a lawyer, but they didn’t have to do it immediately.

I told Ms. Dreyfuss who I was and why I was calling.

Her response, in a very professional and erudite voice, was “Shit.” Then she asked where they had taken Cordelia and listened intently as I gave her the details. She told me she was on her way and hung up. Cordelia had a good lawyer.

Then I dialed Danny’s number.