Nerves of Steel (32 page)

He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair.  "I know you feel responsible for what happened to Richard--"

"It was my cup, damn it.  Of course I'm responsible!"

"No, you're not!"  His voice echoed off the cement block walls of the tiny office space.  "You didn't put the fucking poison there!  Just like you didn't shoot Weaver.  And I'm damned certain you didn't kill Trautman."

"I'm the one who got Fran involved in all this.  If I'd just minded my own business--"

"A lot of innocent kids might have been killed by FX overdoses."

Now who was playing God?  "You don't know anything about it!"

"I know you take responsibility for everything that happens around you because you need to be in control!"

They were squared off, only inches separating them, forcing Cassie to tilt her head up to meet his glare.  

"Guess what," he went on, in a low, relentless tone, " you're not in control--too fucking bad, welcome to the human race.  What makes you think that you're better than the rest of us, anyway?"

"At least I don't get drunk and go whoring around!"  Cassie clamped a hand over her mouth.  Watched as he sucked in his breath, his entire body shrinking away from her as if she had slapped him.

The door opened and both of them jumped.  Kwon stood there, a twisted smile curling her lips.

"Am I interrupting?"

CHAPTER 54

Drake froze.  His face, his body, he swore even his heart stopped beating for a few moments until he recovered.  He backed away from Hart, regaining breathing room and his composure, and joined Kwon in the hall. 

"We need to secure the scene," he said to Kwon.  "Richard King was poisoned by Double Cross placed in Hart's coffee cup."

Kwon clicked her tongue at that, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Hart.  "Why am I not surprised to hear that?"  She jerked her head at Hart.  "Let's take this elsewhere, Doctor, shall we?"

Hart followed Kwon, her eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched as she walked past Drake.  As if she was afraid he'd touch her, hurt her as much as her words had wounded him.  Maybe six months wasn't long enough, after all. 

Kwon gave him a look of supreme disappointment as she opened the door to the break room and ushered Hart inside.

After Drake summoned one of the uniforms from upstairs to secure Hart's office, he joined them.  Hart sat at the narrow table, palms flat against it, leaning forward, her face flushed in anger.  Kwon lounged in her chair, sipping from a cup of coffee as if it was cream and she was a particularly satisfied cat.

She flicked her gaze over to Drake.  He took a position in the corner of the room, out of direct eyeshot of either woman. 

"Dr. Hart was just explaining how she came to be at," she ticked off her fingers as if counting, "five crime scenes in less than two days."  She swiveled to face Hart once more.  "No, excuse me.  It's six crime scenes--if you count your original encounter with Jane Doe." 

Kwon set her cup down and licked her upper lip.  "Finding all that FX--knowing it could possibly lead back to you, that's what started it, isn't it, Hart?  I understand.  You were scared, felt trapped.  You had to take action, to protect yourself."

Hart's face tightened into a scowl as the crimson that flushed her face crept down her neck.  Her hands curled into fists.  She pushed her chair back.  Kwon remained seated, gazed placidly up at her.

"Sit down, Hart."  Her voice cut through the silence like a gunshot.

Drake stepped forward, ready to intervene.  But he didn't have to.  Hart shook herself, gave Kwon a quick nod of acknowledgment as if she was keeping score and settled herself back into the chair.

"Let's start from the beginning," Kwon said, her voice smooth, unruffled.  "Tell me about Weaver and the shooter.  What did you see and hear?"

He watched grief crash down over Hart's features.  She took a breath, kept her eyes fixed on Kwon's.  "It was raining very hard, and it was dark.  I pulled a security guard outside with me.  There was a shot.  I saw a person running away.  I think it was a man, wearing dark clothes, a hood or hat over his head.  I didn't see his face."

"Could it have been Trautman?"

"No.  He was much thinner, shorter.  Trautman is what, six four or so?"

"
Was
," Kwon reminded her.  "The guard told us the man he saw was tall and stocky like Trautman."

Hart looked up in surprise.  "He's wrong.  The killer was lean, not stocky at all.  And definitely under six feet."

"Conveniently rules out your husband as well."  Kwon nodded as if she expected no less.  "Want to tell me why you went out to the West End Bridge last night?"

"We had another overdose patient come in, and one of his friends recognized my Jane Doe.  Said she'd seen her with some homeless kids near the West End Bridge."

"So you went down there to identify your patient?"  Kwon's voice had a trace of skepticism.  "Not because Trautman asked you to meet him there?"

Hart's expression was one of confusion.  "Of course not."

"You and Trautman, you'd had dealings in the past?"

"He worked orthopedics, so he was in and out of the ER.  You know, taking patients up to the OR, helping the ortho guys with fracture reductions and casts."

Kwon nodded her understanding.  "That was your only interaction with Trautman prior to last night?"

"Yes." 

Drake released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  She was telling the truth--her face was open, eyes clear of deception.  Trautman had lied about her involvement.  But Hart's word alone wasn't good enough, especially not with Trautman dead.  Not to mention the circumstances of his death.

"What about your husband?  I believe he's an orthopedic surgeon."

"Ex-husband," Hart replied.  "You'd have to ask him." Her lips clamped shut as she remembered why that was impossible.  Kwon merely raised an eyebrow at Hart's lapse.

"When he's better," she added, lamely.

"You mean out of his coma?" Kwon said with a bland inflection.

"Yes."

"I understand Dr. King recently returned from drug rehabilitation.  Could Trautman have been dealing him drugs?"

"It's possible.  I had my suspicions Richard was using again, his behavior has been erratic since his return.  But he told me all his drug tests have been negative, and the hospital certainly wouldn't let him near patients if there were any suspicion that he might be impaired."

"You two must still be close for you to be defending him."

Hart bristled.  "We're not close.  I'm not defending him, I'm just telling you what little I know."  She shifted in her chair, her gaze darting to the closed door, one hand pressed against her chest as if she needed air. 

"Of course," Kwon agreed placidly.  "Tell me about Trautman. He had a gun, didn't he?  Why didn't he just shoot you?"

Drake was glad it had been six-four, two hundred-fifty pound Trautman out on that bridge with Hart instead of the slender Kwon.  Kwon was entirely too rational, too logical about the most effective way to orchestrate Hart's demise.

"He put it in his pocket when he slapped me," Hart said, her fists clenching against the tabletop.  "I kneed him in the groin and tried to run away, but he grabbed me and picked me up-" She broke off, looked down at her hands as she opened and closed them. 

Drake remembered the terror that had gripped him when he'd seen Trautman throw her over the railing and his gut roiled.  He cleared his throat, a verbal nudge for Kwon to move on.  She raised her index finger in acknowledgment.

"Why did you go see Trautman today?  I'm sure after the events of last night you weren't a welcome visitor."

Hart hesitated.  "I needed, I wanted to know if he knew who killed Fran."

That earned her a raised eyebrow.  "You expected the man who you may have blinded for life, a man that you say tried to kill you and was a ruthless drug dealer, to confess to being an accessory to murder?  Surely, you're not that naive?"

Hart was silent, her blush creeping up her neck once more.  Kwon continued, "You called your husband, asked him to meet you.  Why?"

"He wanted to reconcile, and I needed to make it clear to him that was impossible," Hart said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Kwon's, shoulders hunched once more as if trying to block Drake out.  He caught a glimpse of her foot tapping below the table.  Another lie.  Was she protecting King?  Or herself?

"Why?  He's rich, handsome, a good doctor, seems like a catch to me."  Kwon leaned forward, just girls here, shooting the breeze.

Color suffused Hart's face now.  She touched one finger to her lips before answering.  "I told you, I had suspicions that Richard was using drugs again."

"Oh yeah, right."  Kwon made a quick note.  "It never occurred to you that your ex might be working with Trautman, might be involved with Weaver's death?  Maybe Trautman's as well?"

Hart shifted, dragging the chair a few inches back across the floor, away from both Drake and Kwon.  "Well, yes.  That too."

"So there you are, in a small office, no one around but you and your drug-using-ex, who just might have helped kill your best friend, and you gave him coffee?"  Kwon arched her eyebrow in disbelief.

"I didn't give him coffee," Hart snapped.  "He took my cup and drank from it."

"So you were about to ask your husband if he helped to kill your best friend, but couldn't because someone else happened to slip poison into the cup he was drinking from?  Is that how it happened?"

"No, of course not.  I don't know how that Double Cross got into my cup.  I was just trying to--" she stopped short. 

Drake found himself leaning forward, anxious to catch every word.

"Trying to what?"  Kwon asked.  Hart remained silent.  Kwon took a different tack.  "How did you know it was Double Cross in the coffee?  We're not even sure yet."

"His symptoms were the same as a patient I had the other night."

"How did that patient do?"

"He's brain dead."

"Guess your husband is lucky he's only in a coma, huh?  Too bad Trautman and Weaver weren't as lucky after you tried to help them."

"You don't understand.  You weren't there that night, watching Fran die, helpless to do anything, knowing that it was all because of you--" she stopped herself.  Drake watched her choke back her frustration and grief.  After a deep breath she went on.  "I had to try."

Kwon seemed skeptical, but let it pass.  "Why do you think anyone would want to kill either you or your husband?"

"I don't know."   The words emerged in a heavy tone as if Kwon had dragged them from Hart by force.  They sank into a lengthening silence.  Sweat gathered on Hart's upper lip.   Her gaze kept darting to the door as if she were considering making a break for freedom.

She never once looked to Drake for help.  Not that he could offer much if she did.  He shoved his fists into his pockets, kept his face impassive. 

Kwon spoke again.  "Awfully convenient, don't you think?  That the one person other than Trautman who might be able to tell us anything is poisoned after drinking from your cup." 

Hart started to open her mouth to protest, but the detective was already on a different track.  "How did it feel watching your best friend die?  I'm told you were holding her wound shut with your hands, tried to stop the bleeding."

Hart gagged and looked away.  "There was nothing I could do.  It was a mortal wound," she said, teeth clenched.  Drake watched her dig her feet into the floor, ready to propel herself from the chair, from the room, and knew she was close to breaking.

He shuffled forward a half step, ready, wanting to stop this.  But a jerk of Kwon's head stopped him and he held his ground.  Reminded himself that finding the truth was the best way to help Hart.  If only Hart would tell them the truth.

"Right." Kwon said, as if she'd forgotten this point.  "I only ask because I understand you cut open your husband's neck.  At about the same spot where Weaver was shot.  Seems like a suitable revenge if he did kill your friend over drugs: first poison him, then slice him open."  The detective flung these statements at her so nonchalantly that Hart blinked in surprise.

"I'm a doctor," she told Kwon in a voice choked with fury.  "I save lives, I don't take them." 

Kwon gave Hart a syrupy smile.  "Surely you can do better than that." 

Drake winced.  Did Hart have any idea how guilty she looked?   She was acting just like any other perp. 

Hart's glare had no effect on Kwon, other than to widen her smile.  Moving in for the kill.  "You see, you might have just made your first mistake by poisoning your husband.  Trautman already gave us his statement--last night, in fact.  Told us about how he caught you stealing FX and he blackmailed you into letting him in on the deal.  If I were you, I'd start looking for a good lawyer.  Oh, but I forgot," Kwon sat up straight, a look of sympathy pasted on her face, "your brother-in-law, the great and powerful Alan King, probably won't be in a mood to save the woman who just put his brother in a coma, will he?"

Hart's mouth opened then snapped shut again.  After returning Kwon's stare for a long moment, she gathered her dignity like a moth-eaten shawl and scraped her chair back as she stood.  "I've told you all I can, Detective.  Please call me if you have more questions."

"I think you can count on that, Doctor."  Kwon flashed a triumphant smile over her shoulder at Drake. 

Hart caught their exchange and for the first time she made eye contact with Drake.  Her wounded expression made him feel ashamed, forced him to take a half-step back until he was against the wall.

She stalked across the room, toward the door he stood beside.  Her face flushed with anger once more, giving her pale complexion a radiant glow.  He remembered the colors that had enchanted him last night as they flowed over her skin, the light in her eyes after they made love.  Those large, dark eyes looked up at him, just as they had last night, but now they were filled with pain and regret.

"I hope you found the show entertaining."  She stood toe to toe with him, didn't give an inch.

Drake was silent, not trusting his voice.  Sweat pooled at the small of his back, and he felt the ghost of her fingers dancing over that same sensitive area of flesh.