Mortal Remains (43 page)

Still, having to rush a case like this made her uneasy. She usually took days to plan her approach and pick her times. Even with Bessie, rushed as that was, she’d prepared carefully, substituting the contents of a multidose heparin bottle with just enough insulin that the nurse would draw up the shot, then throw the bottle away. The result – someone else gave the agent and disposed of the evidence. That’s how she liked doing things – cleverly, cleanly, and at a distance. Earl would be a hands-on operation.

At first the corridor was empty when she arrived, it being another twenty minutes before people would begin to show up for shift change. Then halfway down the hallway a nurse emerged from a patient’s room carrying a flashlight. She’d be conducting the last bed check before going off duty. “Body search,” the residents called it, since this was when the people who’d died in their sleep were usually discovered.

“Morning,” said Melanie. “Dr. Braden phoned me about Dr. Garnet. How is he now?”

“Out like a light,” said the woman.

“I’ll just peek in on him.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

The nurse shrugged and went on with her work.

Melanie paused outside Earl’s door, checked that no one else was near, and went in.

Charles Braden finished a second espresso and glanced at his watch. What was taking Chaz so long? He must be having trouble with his case, but they ought to be spending this time mapping out the best way to approach the dean.

Charles knew he’d have to coach his son through it, without appearing to do so. There couldn’t be any mistakes in explaining how they knew to suspect Melanie, such as the one he himself had made with Garnet – practically admitting he’d had access to Mark’s files. However, Chaz and he would now be able to claim that Roper and Garnet had showed them those reports during the investigation. There’d be no one to say otherwise, once Melanie took care of Garnet.

He glanced at his watch again. She must be in the hospital by now. How she’d get rid of him he had no idea. Any number of the tricks in the arsenal she’d built up over the years ought to do the trick. But he hadn’t heard a code blue over the PA system yet. Maybe she’d arranged for him not to be disturbed, and they wouldn’t find him for hours. Should he go back upstairs and recheck on Garnet himself, pretend he’d just dropped by, show concern after the man’s psychotic episode this morning-

The door to the coffee shop opened and in walked Chaz.

Good,
thought Charles, until he saw the look in his son’s eyes. Even from the other side of the room he could see the pupils were far too big, the whites far too wide, the circles far too large. The rage in them pushed aside the rest of his face. “Chaz, what’s the matter-”

Mark Roper stepped into the room wearing OR greens. Behind him were three uniformed policemen.

The five of them marched forward, but Charles saw only his son’s horrible gaze as he descended on him.
Oh, Jesus, he knows.

“Now, Chaz,” he said, getting up out of the chair. There had to be a way he could still bluff himself out of this, at least for long enough to make an escape. He didn’t know how Roper had survived, but there was nothing to implicate him, Charles Braden III, in what went on tonight. Ironically, all those wild accusations that he’d primed Mark to make might save him now, make the police hesitate. “Son, tell me, has something happened?”

Chaz’s hands shot out, his fingers splayed wide as if he were holding a basketball. “You! You took her from me. The one love I had.” He started to run. “I could have kept Kelly. You ruined that. Destroyed me. Let everyone think I did it.”

Charles stood his ground, certain he’d be obeyed. “Chaz, you stop this nonsense!”

“Oh, it’s not nonsense,” Mark said, his voice filling the room. “Sheriff Dan Evans has your men. The two that can talk are telling everything. Not just what they did on your behalf this last week. Seems they used their special skills at procuring information to ferret out all your past secrets, including the fact that you murdered Kelly and why, as insurance – in case they ever had to bargain their way out of a tight spot.”

“No!” said Charles. “They’re lying-”

Chaz leapt at his throat.

They crashed over backward as his son’s fingers closed around his neck. Charles tried to yell, but already the thumbs were crushing his windpipe. He attempted to claw them off.

“You never had faith in me,” Chaz screamed. “Never. You ruined everything I ever tried to do. But Kelly! How could you ruin Kelly?” He broke into a wail as raw and screeching as a wounded animal’s.

Charles struggled to draw breath and couldn’t. His hands pried and twisted at the fingers, but didn’t budge them. If anything they squeezed harder. A loud ringing filled his head, drowning out the shouts that rang through the room. His vision grew dark around the edges, and his son’s terrible, pained eyes, circles within circles, spiraled him toward two black pits.

Melanie found Earl lying flat on his back, the IV in his arm, a cardiac monitor attached to his chest. The latter surprised her. Had he already started to complain of palpitations? Deplete his potassium and give him a lethal arrhythmia – that had been her original plan. Too bad she couldn’t wait.

She walked over to the bedside and stood over him. His face hung slack, his mouth drooped open, and his respirations were shallow, the way she’d expect to see any patient who’d been brought down with a major tranquilizer. It gave her a sense of total control over him.

So look how we ended up, Earl. Couldn’t have guessed this when we were classmates, could you? Who’s the hotshot now? You’ll be remembered as Kelly’s killer, and I’ll be wringing my hands and saying, Who would have thought it?

She pulled out the syringe, uncapped the needle, and jabbed it into the side portal of the plastic tubing.

Still, you very nearly got me.

She pushed the plunger all the way down and opened the intravenous valve wide, flushing the solution into his vein.

Except it wouldn’t run through.

The normal stream of drops that should be dripping from the bag into the plastic tubing wasn’t there.

Was the line blocked?

She bent down to check where the tubing joined the angiocath that had been inserted into the vein. Usually the first sign of obstruction would be a backup of blood.

It looked clear.

Then the problem had to be the angiocath itself. It might have torn the vein, and the IV was simply seeping into the tissues of his arm, not through the bloodstream where she needed it.

Damn.

She’d have to change it. But most of the insulin would still be in the tubing. In a few minutes she could make the switch, run it in, and be out of there.

She quickly found an equipment tray on the counter, located a new angiocath, and broke it out of its package.

Then she stooped over Earl’s arm, removed the bandage anchoring the old one to the skin – and stared.

It had never been inserted in his vein. It lay taped to the surface of his skin, the needle capped.

“What the hell…”

She looked up, and saw Earl staring at her, eyes wide-open and alert.

The bathroom door opened, and out stepped a resident with red hair and the short-haired nurse who’d been taking care of Bessie.

Melanie felt warm, as if the room had gone on fire. “What are you doing here?” She mustered her most imperious tone, intended to make underlings out of anyone she used it on.

“They came to do the DONT on me, Melanie,” Earl said, before they could answer. “You remember.
N
is for narcan, as in reversing the effects of narcotics, such as morphine. Then, after they brought me around, they heard what I had to say about you.”

Earl’s quiet voice cut into her like a scalpel. It became hard to breathe. She cast around for some way to regain control. “What are you talking about, Earl? Now you let me restart your IV before I call a code forty-four.” She looked over at the others. “He had a psychotic episode this morning, and his infection is getting worse.” She’d adopted her confiding manner, the one used to bring friends and families over to her side and away from the patient’s. She also scanned their name tags. “So Tanya, and Dr. Roy, I know you two meant well, and if you will just get back to your business, we’ll say this little episode never happened-”

“You know, I talk to Bessie McDonald every day,” Tanya interrupted, speaking so softly it might have been a whisper.

Melanie’s fright escalated. “You what?”

“When I brush her hair and clean her nails – she used to be fastidious about that. Oh, don’t worry, she can’t speak back. Never will. I do it in case she can somehow hear or sense that I’m there, caring for her.”

“Well I’m sure that’s very commendable-”

“How could you have harmed her so?” Tanya continued. Her voice floated across the room. It made Melanie shiver.

Dr. Roy took a step toward her. “And I want to know if I’d given her sugar when we found her, would it have made a difference?” He had a harder edge to him. “That will haunt me until the end of my days.”

Testosterone defined an adversary so much better; it made him far easier to deal with. “You come an inch closer, Dr. Roy, and I’ll lay charges of intimidation and menacing behavior, not to mention libel-”

The sound of ripping tape cut her off. She turned to see Earl holding up the tubing that had been attached to his arm. He’d wound it into a loop. “You won’t be laying charges, calling any code forty-fours, or doing much of anything once we analyze what you injected in here.”

Her mouth went dry, and her insides felt trapped in ice. The coiled green plastic caught the light like an emerald ring. She fought the urge to make a grab for it. “I’m sorry, Earl. You leave me no choice but to get the orderlies.” She spun on her heel and walked out of the room.

She heard Tanya and Dr. Roy offer to stop her.

“Don’t bother,” Earl said. “She’s finished, and knows it.”

The day before Nixon left the White House and Kelly gave her the ultimatum leapt to her mind.

Go to the dean and confess what you’ve done within twenty-four hours, or I’ll do it for you.

At Kelly’s insistence they’d met around noon by the southeast entrance to Central Park – the place across from the Plaza where horse-drawn carriages waited for tourists. Melanie had felt as helpless to save herself then as she did now.

The fear had only worsened as the deadline expired and she waited for the police to knock on her door. Just as the fear would build and eat into her now. Except this time there would be no reprieve.

She walked briskly toward the nursing station, and right on by to the exit.

Thirty minutes later Melanie sat in her penthouse sipping coffee. It had turned out to be a pleasant day after all. The sunlight crept across the white birch floors on schedule, illuminating her trophies one by one. The designer kitchen, the living room ensemble, the four-poster bed.

She watched the edge of its shadow reach the glass-topped table in front of her and slowly pass by the items laid out on it. She adjusted her gaze to the southwest, looking out the windows toward the Statue of Liberty and to the sparkling water beyond. A cruise ship glided by the lady, bound for who knows where. She’d known the excitement of that moment, embarking on a Saturday morning, leaving New York and work behind, anticipating what adventures lay ahead.

Those trips didn’t hold a candle to where she’d be going now.

There would be plenty of time. At least an hour. Probably double that. No one would believe Earl at first.

“The drugs – they’ve made him hallucinate,” everyone would say.

Testing for insulin would also take a while.

He wouldn’t have the cops at her door anytime soon.

And she’d be long gone when they did arrive. But then he’d probably known that, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let her go.

Another sip, and she savored its bittersweet bite, tempered as it was by cream and sugar. Normally she used skim milk and sweetener, but what the hell. Today was special.

She downed the remnants and poured herself a second cup.

What would her patients think when they found out? Her colleagues? The residents? She couldn’t stand the thought of being ousted as a fraud, exposed as something less than the smart, quick, concerned physician she’d craved to be seen as. Now, instead, she’d be made legend, right up there with other doctors who killed, like Cream, Swango, Shipman. They’d have experts on Larry King, Connie Chung, and Barbara Walters dissecting her place in that particular constellation of the murder universe. But she wasn’t like those creeps. She hadn’t set out to kill anyone. She’d tried her hardest to save them.

One thing she felt in her bones. There were others out there making themselves shine as physicians the same way she had. It was too tempting a scam for there not to be.

She poured herself a third cup.

By now the departing ship was but a dot on the horizon.

She began to feel sleepy.

Good.

The first of the several vials that now lay empty on the table had started to kick in. She wanted to be out cold when the other ingredients took effect. Seizures, arrhythmias, and cardiovascular shock – the symptoms wouldn’t be pleasant once they began. And there would be no remedy. She’d chosen the makings of her drug cocktail too well for that. No one, not even a bright boy like Earl Garnet, would ever be able to resuscitate her.

Denouement

That same morning, Saturday, November 24, 9:05 A.M.

Earl Garnet’s Room, Fifteen East, New York City Hospital

M
ark looked up from the flowchart Earl had handed to him. “So Melanie intended to kill you and set you up as Kelly’s murderer, all to stop you from finding out what she’d done.”

Earl nodded, but said nothing.

From his grimace and the sheen of perspiration on his face, Mark knew he was in pain. “But Braden, starting with the M and M reports from Kelly’s file, had followed the same paper trail you were on, reached the same conclusion you did, and realized he had his own scapegoat. He spurred Melanie on to kill you even sooner, intending to set her up as Kelly’s murderer, all part of his master plan to wipe out anyone who could expose him.” Mark glanced up from the flowchart and regarded its author. “Is that it?”