No Show (22 page)

“Too close. But what if I’m right?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The following morning, they hit the road early with a freshly stocked ice chest on the Monte Carlo’s backseat. Terry wasn’t consumed with the sense of adventure he’d felt setting out the day before. He insisted on driving, wanting the distraction.

The Chevy crossed the Nevada state line at midday and entered Carson City sometime after one. Terry gassed up the Monte, as he was coming to call it.

“Where do you want to go first?” Oscar asked, looking up directions in Terry’s phone. “We can check out the hospital Myda worked at when she blew the whistle on that doctor. It’s not far.” Terry left the pump feeding the Chevy’s greedy belly and scoured the car for his notes. Myda Perez hadn’t been married. She had lived with her mother, also named Myda. None of the news articles mentioned an address, but one featured a picture of her, with her mother, standing on the porch of their home. The house number 3325 was clearly visible in the shot.

“Let’s leave the hospital for the moment. Hand me the phone, I want to find Myda’s family,” Terry said.

Terry pulled up a phone directory for Carson City and looked up Myda Perez. They were two M. Perez’s listed, but only one lived at 3325 North Saratoga Way. He punched the address into his phone and Oscar took the wheel. Twenty minutes later, Oscar made a right onto North Saratoga Way. It was a quiet street filled with fifties tract homes, many with recent additions or complete makeovers. He slowed to a crawl and they scanned for house numbers.

“I see it,” Oscar announced and sped up.

Oscar stopped the Monte. Terry compared the house against the newspaper photo. It was a perfect match.

“Showtime,” Oscar said, opening his door.

Terry followed Oscar across the road with his notes under his arm.

Oscar rang the doorbell. Nothing happened. He glanced at Terry. Terry shrugged and Oscar tried the doorbell again.

This time, movement came from inside.

“Sounds hopeful,” Oscar remarked.

It was several minutes before the door was answered. The senior Myda Perez opened it as far as the security chain allowed.

“Myda Perez?” he asked. “Can I ask you a few questions about your daughter?”

That was enough to set the old woman off. She launched into a tirade of Spanish.

“
¿Puedo preguntarle acerca de su hija
?” Oscar asked in a polite and calming tone. “
¿Cómo fue que murió
?”

Oscar’s valiant attempt to ask how her daughter had died only inflamed the situation. Mrs. Perez slammed the door and the security chain came off. A moment later, the door flew open. She blasted them with explosive Spanish, shoving them back with her walker.

Both Terry and Oscar took two steps back. They tried to calm the woman with disarming gestures, but nothing was going to placate her.

“Mrs. Perez, we mean you no harm,” Terry pleaded.

They were so focused on Myda’s distraught mother, they didn’t see their attacker. A blur body-slammed Oscar. He collided with Terry and both men crashed into the garage’s stucco wall, sending Terry’s notes flying.

Their tackler was a powerfully built Hispanic man in his twenties. He towered over them. “Get the hell out of here. Leave this woman alone. Can’t you see she’s not well? Whatever you’re selling, she don’t want it.”

Terry managed the beginning of an apology and an explanation before the tackler turned his attentions to Myda Perez. He countered her rapid-fire Spanish with a barrage of his own, continually switching from Spanish to English and back.

“Abuelita Perez, it is okay. It’s cool.” The man gripped her walker and steered it toward the house. He cooed comforting words, telling her everything would be okay and he would take care of it.

He guided her back inside and closed the door. Terry and Oscar tottered to their feet. Seeing them still there, the man’s face blackened.

“You still here?” he demanded. “Didn’t I tell you scumbags that we’re not interested in what you’re selling?”

“We’re not selling anything,” Terry managed, backing away.

“Then what do you want?”

“We wanted to find out how her daughter died,” Terry said. “Do you know what happened to Myda?”

“Yes.”

“Can we speak to you? I promise not to take more than five minutes of your time.”

The man hesitated, weighing up the request, before saying, “C’mon.”

His name was Javier Rivera. He was a Ford dealership mechanic and the younger Myda’s godson. He walked them over to his front yard, five houses away on the opposite side of the street.

“Your five minutes start now.”

Terry explained everything he and Oscar had unearthed. He showed Javier Sarah’s list of names and the news articles he’d printed from the library. He handed him Myda’s article last. Tears welled in the young man’s eyes.

“You know that son of a bitch she turned in is still practicing medicine. She proved he’d screwed up, killing a man and turning those kids into vegetables. What a joke.”

“I thought the doctor lost his license,” Oscar said.

“He lost his Nevada license. He’s in the Midwest somewhere, probably killing more innocent people.”

Terry asked the vital question. “How did Myda die?”

“Dr. McKethen was finished. After the last hearing was over and the medical board ruled against him, we thought it was over. But things turned nasty.”

“How?” Oscar asked.

“Doctors are their own little club. Myda was dumped on at work. Every kind of crappy job, she got it. She was a charge nurse, man, and she had to slop out bedpans.”

“They decided she’d sold them out,” Terry suggested.

“She was a nurse, not a doctor. She wasn’t one of them. Unless you have a string of letters after your name, you’re nothing.”

“But they saw her as a squealer,” Oscar suggested.

“Yeah,” Javier agreed. “Even her friends.”

“How long did this go on for?” Oscar asked.

“A couple of months. She found herself on the graveyard shift all the time, so when she didn’t come home that night, we didn’t know anything was wrong.”

“When was she found?” Terry asked.

“A week later, a hundred feet from the highway. A traveling salesman stopped for a leak and found he was going on Myda’s half-buried body.” Javier wiped away a tear. “He pissed on her body, man.”

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Terry said.

“Her throat was slit and her tongue was cut out.” Javier sniffed and ran a hand across his nose. His eyes were red. “They never pinned it on anyone.”

“Is anybody working on Myda’s case?”

“No, they have other cases to work on,” he said sarcastically. “You think your wife will be next?”

“Yes.”

“I hope she isn’t, man.”

“So do I.”

“Thanks for your time, Javier.” Oscar offered a hand. “We appreciate it.”

Taking Oscar’s hand, he said, “I’m sorry about getting in your face earlier.”

Terry put out his hand. “I probably would have done the same. We weren’t being very considerate. Please give our apologies to Mrs. Perez.”

Javier vice-gripped Terry’s hand. Terry felt his bones of his hand shift. “You and me, man, are brothers—family. We fight the same evil. You find this son of a bitch; you call me, okay?
We’ll take care of this. There is plenty of desert out here. You call me.”

Terry gave Javier a pen and a pad. He scribbled his telephone number down.

“You call me,” Javier said again, seeing them to the Monte. It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

“Have no doubt,” Terry said.

Oscar gunned the engine and pulled away.

“That was serious,” he said. “Will you call him?”

“I will if I have to.” Terry turned to Oscar. Fear and shock flashed in his friend’s eyes.

Oscar had been quiet for ten minutes. Terry’s promise to Javier was the cause, but he’d meant what he said. He couldn’t help that. It was the way he felt. Terry broke the silence.

“What’s our next step?”

“Myda’s hospital is on the next street. Do you want to check it out?”

“We can, but I’m not sure it’ll help much. Javier gave us all that we needed to know.”

“Do you want to go home? We’ve got a good five-hour drive ahead.”

Terry thought it over. “Let’s see if we get lucky with the hospital. Then we’ll go home.”

Terry had been hoping to make it to Southern California to dig up what they could on Hope Maclean and Christy Richmond, but there was no way that happening this weekend. He was discovering yet again that America was a big place.

It didn’t take long to reach the hospital. As they turned into the visitors’ parking lot, Oscar said, “Another name change.”

When Myda had exposed Dr. McKethen’s malpractice, the hospital had been called Silver State General. Now the hospital was
called the Nevada State University Children’s Research Hospital. Whether Myda’s action had caused the change, Terry wasn’t sure.

Oscar switched off the Monte’s engine and opened the door to get out. Terry didn’t move.

“You coming?”

Terry had seen the hospital’s name only few days ago on a piece of paperwork he’d signed. The children’s hospital had been the sender of the urgent samples FedEx had delivered to Pamela Dawson.

“You okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Get back in the car, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

“What?”

“Just drive.”

Oscar gunned the engine and roared out of the parking stall. Hightailing it out of the parking lot, they passed in front of the hospital. As the Monte sped past the outpatient exit, Terry kept his gaze fixed on the man leaving the hospital. He hadn’t seen a ghost. It was much more disturbing than that. Frosty Frazer strode toward the parking lot with a refrigerated chest in his hand.

Six months earlier

Terry had left as late as he could. His London-bound flight would begin boarding soon. Sarah walked him to the security checkpoint.

“I suppose this is it,” Terry said. “The honeymoon is over.”

Sarah nodded.

“Don’t look so glum. It shouldn’t take long before immigration clears me to come back.”

“You’re not going to forget me, are you?” Sarah asked. She looked away and fiddled with the wedding ring, only days old, on her finger.

Her insecurity was ridiculous. Terry laughed and placed a hand under her chin to raise her face. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, our romance is hardly conventional.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Yes, because it’s a novelty, but what happens when we have to settle for normality? Will the novelty wear off?”

He’d slipped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her to him. “You have nothing to fear. There is no way I could get bored and forget you.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” Terry mumbled to himself in the confines of the bedroom. He couldn’t stop replaying that day in the airport. He rolled over in bed and looked at the time glowing red in the darkness: 2:20. He couldn’t believe he was still tossing and turning.

After he’d dropped Oscar off and driven home, he’d been ready for bed. It was after eleven by the time he closed the garage door and he was too dog-tired to do or think about anything. It took all his remaining strength to carry himself to bed. He thought sleep was seconds away, but the moment his head hit the pillow, insomnia struck.