Knock Off (23 page)

“You’d have to be as dumb as a stick not to see the connection.”

“D.A.s are funny that way,” Liam said. “They won’t sign off on arrest warrants for prominent cardiologists without bulletproof probable cause.”

“How do we get that?”

“By identifying the blackmailer.”

“Any possibility they have big black ‘B’s tattooed on their foreheads?”

“Nope. Now, on to our next topic.”

“Jeez, Louise!” I tossed my hands in the air. “Would you mind handing me a memo or something so I’ll know how many ‘topics’ we’re going to cover?”

“Next to last one. Daniel Summers, the juror who bit it yesterday?”

“Juror Number Eleven.”

“No autopsy yet, but the preliminary X-rays showed two distinct and separate skull fractures.”

Resting one hand on my hip, I asked, “And now you’re going to tell me that the finding is inconclusive because he could have hit his head on more than one step?”

“Nope. One fracture was horizontal, at the base of the skull. The other was a contra-coup fracture at the right front temple.”

“Meaning?”

“The first fracture is most commonly caused when
someone is hit from behind with something long and cylindrical, like a pipe. According to the forensic blood evidence at the scene, the vic smashed his head against a concrete slab, which most likely caused the other fracture.

Or . . .”

“I hate when you say that.”

He grinned. “Or Mr. Summers fell and fractured his skull against one of the wrought-iron railings. Then managed to get up, climb the stairs, fall again, and fracture his skull a second time on the decorative planter.”

“So his death will definitely be investigated as a murder, right?”

He nodded. “I’ll call my guy on the force and have him check to see if anyone reported a boxy, dark sedan in the area at the time of the murder. I’m also still trying to track down Nurse What’s-Her-Face.”

“Callahan,” I supplied before realizing he’d said it just to get a rise out of me. Too bad. I wasn’t about to let his warped sense of humor spoil my exuberance. “This is great.” I was going to get my job back, and I was thinking Dane now owed me an apology, a raise, and a big freaking bonus. “What should I do?”

“Go see Dave Rice.”

My heart skipped a beat. “His wife died last night. I can’t go bother him at a time like this.”

“Trust me, he’ll respond better to you in person.”

“He hung up on me. Twice.”

“Because he couldn’t see you.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s a lot harder to tell someone to kiss off in the flesh.”

“God, you’re asking me to be like those slimy reporters who shove microphones in people’s faces twenty minutes after their kid got hit by a train. Can’t you do it?”

“Nope. This is definitely woman’s work. Buck up, Finley. You can handle it.” He stood and headed for the door.

“Oh, and call me before you go inside the Halls’ house.”

“Why?”

“So I can listen in. Just dial my number and put it on speaker.”

“You are so not inspiring confidence in me.”

“That comes with time,” he said, then added, “a com-ponent of patience,” and left.

“Patiently go screw yourself,” I grumbled as I poured myself a big mug of coffee and went to my computer.

On the upside, I’d won both the Betsey Johnson dress and another link for my Rolex on my eBay auction. On the downside, I had twenty-four hours to pay for the items. So, after downing the pot of coffee and eating one box of Lucky Charms, I headed out for the first of what I was pretty sure would be two very unpleasant tasks.

It took me less than twenty minutes to reach Dave Rice’s house. It was in a small community off Route 1 just south of Jupiter. Dreading every second of my assignment, I approached the front door slowly, hoping my knees and my hands would stop shaking before I had to face the grieving widower.

No such luck.

Dave Rice opened the door. His expression was vacant, his eyes red and ringed in dark circles.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Rice, I am so sorry to bother you today. I’m Fin—”

“I know who you are.” He sighed heavily, then stepped aside for me to enter. The house smelled of disinfectant, and what had once been a family room had been trans-formed by the addition of a hospital bed, several IV poles, and assorted other machines.

At least fifteen pill bottles sat on the bar separating the sickroom from the kitchen. We went into a sunny nook, its cheerfulness seeming like an affront to the grief I read in his eyes. A plain file folder sat in the center of the table. He placed his palm on it and slid it across the glass top, positioning it in front of me. “I think this is what you’re looking for.”

Opening the folder, I saw it contained a single document. A pharmacy bill. Not for Brad Whitley, but for the heart donor, Ivy Novak. Even after several passes, I wasn’t clear on why or how this was supposed to help me.

“I know I did the wrong thing,” he said, glancing off into space as he spoke. “I knew it then, too. Maybe I should have said something.”

“About?” I prompted.

“I was a medic in the first Gulf War. My job was pretty much making sure the wounded kids were bandaged and as pain-free as possible so they could be transported to the hospital in Germany.

“Ivy Novak’s injuries were severe. She was going to die.

Her organs were shutting down, and once that happens, they’re no longer viable for transplant. Dr. Hall had to make a judgment call. With a new heart, Brad Whitley had at least a chance.

“I honestly believed the doctor did the wrong thing for the right reason. I still do. That’s why I voted to absolve him of any wrongdoing.”

“But?” What wrong thing?

“My wife got sick. We’d lost our savings, and our HMO

said that since she’d been cancer-free for less than five years, they weren’t responsible for any of her medical bills.”

He stood and grabbed two of the pill bottles. “This one”—he paused to hand it to me—“is three grand for a thirty-day supply. And this one runs about fifteen hundred a month. Impossible for me to swing when I was earning twelve bucks an hour at the home center. Jenny thought I was earning the extra money doing side jobs. I couldn’t tell her what I’d done. What I’d set into motion.”

“What did you do?” I felt a sudden stab of fear. What if I had it wrong again, and Dave Rice was the killer?

It was like he’d read my panic. Tears spilled from his eyes. “I didn’t even know they were being killed until Mrs.

Evans called me.”

I relaxed a little.

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I was just trying to save my wife.”

He dissolved into wrenching sobs. I tried patting his back, getting him water, but he was well past any consola-tion I could provide. He pushed the folder at me. “Take it and go.”

“Is there someone I can call?” The police? No, that seemed harsh; the guy was in his own personal hell. That could wait.

So, taking the folder, I left him to his grief. I had ten minutes to get to the Halls’ place on Singer Island. I grabbed the phone and called my sister in New York. My call was transferred to an operator.

“Dr. Tanner, please.”

“Dr. Tanner is in surgery. Can she call you back?”

Crap, what good was having a surgeon for a sister if she was in surgery when you needed her? “Um, yes, have her call her sister as soon as she’s free. It’s very important.”

My next call was to Liam. “I’m at the Halls’ gate,” I said, switching to the speaker phone. I quickly repeated an abbreviated version of my encounter with Dave Rice.

“Can you fax me what he gave you?”

“Gee, sure, I keep a fax machine in my glove box for just this kind of situation.”

“Sorry. No big deal. I’m sure there’s someplace with a public fax machine nearby. As soon as you leave the Halls’

place, you can take care of it. I’m sure the Evans’ family doctor can explain whatever’s on that bill that’s worthy of blackmail.”

“I could show it to Dr. Hall.”

“Wrong answer. Never show your cards to a suspect.”

“I can see the daughter.” I whispered for some stupid reason. I was still in the car, so she probably thought I was babbling to myself. “She’s watching me.”

“Go do your thing,” Liam said, his voice calm. “Make it quick. Keep it simple. Then get the hell out of there.”

The Halls’ home was pretty much what I expected.

Tasteful, with formal and informal spaces designed for entertaining. Vases of freshly cut flowers adorned nearly every table. The daughter, Zoe, with the typical surly teenage attitude, had me wait in the foyer while she got her parents.

My attention flitted around the room, picking up little details here and there. The art looked like it could be originals. The rugs were antiques. I figured that the custom crystal light fixture over my head ran somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty grand.

None of that was as interesting as the letter on the foyer table. It was from the Friends’ Academy Office of Academic Standards and Student Affairs. As a former private-school girl, I knew about those letters. Zoe Hall was in danger of failing one or more of her classes.

“Miss Tanner, please come with me.” While Zoe’s manners were above reproach, the request still came out sounding more like, “Screw you and the horse you rode in on.”

Meredith and Kent Hall sat at opposite ends of an ornate Louis XV sofa. At first, I thought that might be some sort of body-language way of letting me know there was dissension in the ranks. But, no, it was only to accommo-date Zoe, who slipped comfortably between them. Actually, she sat slightly closer to her father than her mother.

Photographs in polished silver and gold frames lived happily among various porcelain figurines, also French.

Most of them were of Zoe. Zoe goes to school; Zoe goes to the zoo; Zoe graduates from something; Zoe as a Candy Striper; Zoe on horseback. It was definitely an only-child mambo.

“I came to apologize for any inconvenience my actions may have caused your family.” Couldn’t get much shorter or sweeter than that.

“Zoe,” Meredith said, patting her daughter’s knee. “I had Cook make tea. Would you please bring it in?”

Zoe looked like she’d rather spit on me, but she dutifully exited the room.

“That isn’t necessary,” I said. I hate tea. Tea is for colds, flus, and the British.

“I do hope you realize the gravity of the situation you’ve incited,” Dr. Hall commented.

I noticed his cheeks redden and figured that wasn’t a good sign. “Yes. But in my defense, I never mentioned your name to the police. I guess they just made that as-sumption because I had some files pertaining to the malpractice case in my car at the time of my arrest.”

“That matter is closed,” Meredith reminded me just as Zoe returned with the tea.

Worse than tea. Rose-colored herbal tea. It smelled a lot like the eau de toilette one of my step-grandmothers gave me every Christmas.

Zoe poured with practiced grace. Obviously, among her many talents, she’d also studied Emily Post. “Thank you,”

I said, accepting the toilet water. It tasted worse than it looked. She filled the three other cups, then rejoined her parents.

“Your timing couldn’t be worse,” Meredith said. “Zoe is interviewing at colleges. She plans on following in her father’s footsteps, and we don’t need that scandal revisited. Not when it could affect her future.”

I gulped the tea even though I knew better. “Well, then, Zoe, I wish you all the best, and again, I do apologize.”

I started to stand when Dr. Hall said, “I assume, then, that we won’t be hearing any more rumors about your . . .

activities?”

“Rumors?” I repeated. “Heaven’s no. From now on, I will only deal in facts.”

The Halls seemed satisfied. I was just hoping the perspiration I felt dripping down my cleavage didn’t show.

“Are you insinuating you have some relevant facts?” the doctor asked.

I could hear Liam groaning in my head. “Relevant facts?

That’s—” My cell phone played the siren sound, alerting me of a second call coming through. My guess was Liam was dialing in to give me a graceful way out. “Please excuse me,” I said, putting down the cup and reaching into my purse. I clicked the ACCEPT INCOMING button and said,
“Hello?”

“It’s Lisa. What do you need?”

“Hang on.” Covering the mouthpiece, I looked at the Hall family and apologized again. “This is my doctor, and”—I made sure to make eye contact with Dr. Hall—“I really don’t want to keep her on hold. Thank you for the tea, and thank you for seeing me.”

“But—”

Ignoring Meredith’s half-hearted protest, I practically ran to my car. By then, Liam was trying to beep his way through my call with Lisa. Sliding my key into the igni-tion, I fired up the engine and practically squealed my tires as I rounded the horseshoe-shaped driveway to make my escape.

“Finley!” Lisa said curtly. “I don’t have all day.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, blinking to clear the spots from my vision. Obviously, my performance for the Halls had caused my blood pressure to spike. “If I read you a list of medications, can you tell me what they’re for?”

“How long is the list?”

“Not very. Please?”

“Go.”

I managed to hold the page against the wheel, splitting my attention between the road and the overly long, unfa-miliar words. I read the first six, struggling as my vision seemed to be getting worse.