The 3rd Victim (10 page)

22

M
adonna Carrera was in the middle of a very interesting magazine article. It was about this nail polish company and the people they employed to come up with fantabulous names for their fantabulous colours. The article listed some of the more established names – like ‘Coney Island Cotton Candy’, and some of its latest bestsellers including ‘I'm Not Really A Waitress’ and the searing red ‘Friar, Friar, Pants on Fire!’ – that were totally flying out the door. The article even had a break-out section where you could vote on the names you liked the best (Madonna fancied ‘My Auntie Drinks Chianti’ because her Aunt Contessa actually did drink Chianti) and win a gift pack of their products, which Madonna was just about to get to, when the unscheduled patient walked sullenly through the door.

‘May I help you?’ asked Madonna, putting down the magazine and taking in the young pregnant girl, her big pink parka and the worn faux sheepskin boots.

‘I want to see Dr Davenport,’ said the girl, a command rather than a request.

‘I am sorry,’ said Madonna, looking at her watch to see it was almost 6 pm. ‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asked, knowing full well this patient, who wasn't at all in the calibre of Dr Davenport's usual clients, had no such thing.

‘I had one at the clinic, in Dorchester,’ she said, referring to the working-class South Boston clinic at which the kind Dr Davenport occasionally volunteered. ‘They did an ultrasound but told me I had to come here straight away for the doctor to assess the images.’ She held up her oversized envelope.

Madonna understood the girl was probably anxious about the clinic's urgent request that she have her images analysed, but her attitude was still more impatience than concern.

‘Well, perhaps if you filled out this patient registration form …’ Madonna retrieved one of the neatly typed white forms and placed it on a clipboard before handing it, and an accompanying pen, to the girl, ‘… I will ask Dr Davenport if he –’

‘Sophia,’ said Dick Davenport. The doctor had opened the door to his office and begun shepherding out a well-dressed couple who looked suitably grateful for Dr Davenport's services. ‘Sophia, why don't you take a seat and I will be with you in a moment,’ he smiled –
that
smile.

Madonna felt her heart flutter.

‘Mr and Mrs Freeman,’ he said turning to the good-looking pair. ‘Please feel free to call me if you have any further questions. But as I said, I don't see there being any problem.’

‘Thank you so much, Doctor,’ said the wife, a pretty strawberry blonde who looked like the main girl from
Grey's Anatomy
. ‘You have no idea what this means to us.’

‘It's my pleasure, Virginia,’ said Dr Davenport, patting the woman's hand. ‘I am more than happy to help.’

Dr Davenport turned to Madonna. ‘Madonna, would you mind getting the Freemans a taxi. Mr Freeman has a conference call at his offices in the city in half an hour so the cab will have to be quick.’

The man named Oliver Freeman shook Dr Davenport's hand.

‘That won't be a problem, Dr Davenport,’ smiled Madonna, knowing Mr Freeman was some bigwig corporate genius and that her boss would be upset if such a man were kept waiting. ‘I'll get right on it.’

And then Dr Davenport signalled for the girl named Sophia to follow him into his rooms – and as Mrs Freeman fussed with excitement as she and her silver-haired husband took a seat, Madonna could not help but notice that Dr Davenport did not hold the door open for Sophia as he did for his other clients, which just went to confirm Madonna's suspicions that this woman had no place in a surgery that housed the likes of Doctor Richard Davenport and his attentive assistant Madonna.

23

The following morning

D
r Richard Davenport's Beacon Hill surgery reception area looked more like the lobby of one of those ultra-expensive day spas than a gynaecologist's office. Joe had been to one once – a day spa, not a gynaecologist's surgery – and not by choice. Late last year he and Frank had been called to a ritzy financial district spa called The Sanctuary, which catered for successful female executives big on salary but short on time. A woman had suffered a rare allergic reaction to a plant-based facial scrub and had gone into respiratory failure and subsequently cardiac arrest. But what Joe and Frank found amazing was not the occurrence of the rare allergy, but the fact that the spa management demanded the woman's body be wrapped not in the standard crime scene tarpaulin but in The Sanctuary's plush, white, logoed towels, their motivation being that the corpse had to be wheeled past a popular pilates class, and they didn't want their wealthy, well-toned patrons to be put off by the plastic.

‘I'm sorry,’ said Joe. He was addressing the only thing that didn't scream class in Davenport's five-star reception area – the secretary with the long chestnut hair and the too-short skirt.

‘Yes,’ said the girl, her long fingernails continuing to tap away at her glossy white keyboard. It was like watching a child trying to use chopsticks to stab at peas, thought Joe – all show and no go.

‘The thing is, Miss …?’

‘Carrera,’ said the girl, the clicking of her talons temporarily suspended.

‘Miss Carrera,’ repeated Joe. ‘But we did make an appointment with Dr Davenport for eight. In fact, he was the one who suggested we come in early.’

‘I understand,’ said Carrera, straightening her back and sticking out her substantial chest with an attitude of indignation. ‘But I am afraid Dr Davenport had an unexpected emergency – a young woman who came in yesterday and needed further appraisal. As you can appreciate, Deputy Superintendent, this is a doctor's surgery
not
an insurance office.’

‘You always this protective of your boss, Miss Career?’

‘It's Carrera, and the doctor does not need protecting. His old assistant may have allowed interruptions but I dare say that is one of the reasons why Dr Davenport has been so pleased with my efforts. So if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you could show some respect for the important work Dr Davenport does here,’ the girl went on. ‘It is the least you can do considering you are no doubt interrupting his already –’

But then Davenport's door finally opened and the perfectly groomed doc emerged, his palm firmly planted at the base of the back of a pregnant young woman whom he proceeded to guide through the door. If Joe didn't know better, he might have thought the doc was keen to shove this one out the door, maybe because she had held up the detectives who had been sitting in his waiting room for over half an hour, or maybe because this girl looked even more out of place in these surroundings than the secretary with the nails and the attitude.

‘I am sorry to have kept you,’ said Davenport, not approaching Joe and Frank but beckoning for them to follow him.

‘Looks like we're not going to rate a complimentary cocktail,’ whispered Frank.

‘And I was set on that double shot martini,’ returned Joe quickly, before they moved into Davenport's office and shut the door behind them.

*

‘All right, Deputy Superintendent, Detective. Let's cut to the chase here, shall we?’

Davenport had barely planted his too-tight ass in his fancy leather chair before placing his glasses on his desk and ‘laying down the law’ Dick Davenport style. The man was ridiculously attractive in a central casting sort of way – all cocktails and Cadillacs with Brylcreem in his hair.

‘Sienna Walker is my patient – was before her daughter was born and still is to this day and, as such, any information I have regarding her medical condition, or of the conversations we shared and the subsequent treatment I recommended, fall under the sanctity of doctor/patient privilege, which means I am afraid that your visit here is really a waste of –’

‘This your way of apologising for keeping us waiting for half an hour?’ Joe wanted this asshole on the back foot from the get-go.

‘Certainly not. I was going to say this was a waste of
my
time, Deputy Superintendent.’

Joe paused. ‘I get it, Doc,’ he said eventually. ‘You're a busy man.’

‘Yes.’

‘With lives to save.’

‘In some cases, yes.’

‘So your priority is protecting your patients.’

‘If they need protecting – of course.’

‘And you are protecting Sienna Walker?’

‘If that is some trick you use on other more gullible interviewees to try and get them to divulge confidential information, I warn you it will not work on me, Deputy Superintendent.’

‘No trick, Doctor. I am just trying to establish the identity of your patient.’

‘What do you mean the identity of my patient?’ asked a now indignant-looking Davenport, a single facial line materialising in the form of a lone horizontal crevasse across his brow.

‘If it was the mother or the baby,’ said Joe.

A short pause. ‘I am an OB/GYN, Deputy Superintendent, not a paediatrician, but if you are asking me if Eliza was a patient of mine as far as an extension of her mother's care is concerned, then the answer would most definitely be yes.’

‘But according to the birthing hospital records you did not deliver her,’ said Joe.

And at this the seemingly calm and collected doctor physically shivered, a shudder he disguised by pretending to cough. Joe sensed the doc was not too pleased with Sienna Walker's decision to go elsewhere for the actual delivery. Like he had turned up at all the rehearsals only to have Walker cast someone else for the main show.

‘The engagement of the midwife was Sienna's choice. Many mothers prefer to have a woman deliver their baby.’

‘Kind of unfair, isn't it?’ asked Joe. ‘You know – how you put in all the prep work and someone else gets to …’

‘Ms Brown was an experienced midwife,’ Davenport interrupted, referring to the midwife whose name was listed as Mary Brown on the birth certificate.

‘Did you recommend her?’

Another shiver. ‘No.’

‘So you don't know where we can contact her?’ Joe was not desperate to speak to the woman whose role in this drama was perfunctory bar the fact that she had rubbed the good doctor up the wrong way. But he figured his asking might ruffle the doc's feathers, so he threw the question in.

‘I believe she returned to her native Ireland soon after Eliza's birth.’

‘Which meant Eliza returned to your care?’ Joe added some salt.

‘The woman was a midwife, not a trained physician, and as I have already explained, I attended to the child as an extension of the mother.’

‘So Eliza didn't have her own paediatrician?’

‘No. That was not necessary. Eliza was in perfect health and Sienna was grateful for my care of her. Sienna had not been in the US long – and she had a small circle of friends who she trusted.’

‘Including you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And Daniel Hunt.’

‘Yes.’

There was silence, as Joe allowed the last statement to hang in the air a second longer than necessary.

‘So allow me to confirm, Doc,’ said Joe, needing to stress the point, ‘Eliza Walker was your patient.’

An obviously exasperated Davenport sighed. ‘I already
said
as much, Deputy Superintendent.’

‘But Eliza is dead.’

‘Sadly so.’

‘So
her
records no longer fall under doctor/patient privilege.’

Davenport's mouth, which had been open at the ready for another slick reply, snapped shut in fury.

‘Listen to me, Deputy Superintendent, Sienna Walker is more than just a patient, she is a friend – I was good friends with her husband and since his death I have done everything in my power to make sure she is supported. Single parenthood is not easy, and so I took it upon myself to look out for her as a matter of priority – to oversee the care of both mother and child and do everything in my power to make Sienna's life as stress-free as possible.’

‘I have four kids, Doctor – there is no such thing as “stress-free” in the first few months of a kid's life.’

‘Perhaps your wife saw the wrong physician.’

‘And perhaps you're some sort of medical obsessive who likes to control every aspect of his patients' lives.’

Davenport shook his head, placing his hands on either side of his ergonomic throne as if about to get to his feet.

‘Sit down,’ said Joe, now pushing forward in his seat.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You can either do this the easy or the hard way, Doc,’ continued Joe. ‘You either help us with what we need, or we get a warrant to turn this spotless sanctuary of yours upside down.’

‘I told you, Sienna's records are privileged.’

‘But the kid's aren't.’

‘But you know that her file exists as an extension of her mother's.’

‘Then maybe you need to come up with a better filing system.’

Davenport was struck silent once again, his arms relaxing as he sat back in his seat.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Time out, Deputy Superintendent. I believe I may be coming across as unreasonably antagonistic.’

Joe could think of a million responses to this particular observation, but at this stage decided to pass.

‘But as I mentioned previously, Sienna Walker is a friend and what is happening to her is, well … beyond preposterous.’

‘She didn't resent having the kid?’ It was a shot from left field, but Joe figured he had nothing to lose.

‘Absolutely not. Why on earth would you say that? She and Jim fought hard to conceive that little girl.’

Joe glanced at Frank. ‘What do you mean “fought hard”?’ asked Joe.

‘Eliza was conceived using IVF.’

‘Did Mrs Walker have a fertility problem?’

‘Yes, as did Jim. They were in effect a fertility nightmare. But Jim was particularly desperate for a child and got over the initial shock of his situation quickly. As for Sienna, she may not have been as desperate as Jim for things to happen so quickly, but she loved her husband and, as such, approached the whole in-vitro thing with enthusiasm.’

Joe paused, wondering for the first time if Dick Davenport's comments should be taken at face value.

‘Was the kid his?’ asked Joe, knowing in some cases couples opted for donor sperm if the problems with the real dad were substantial.

‘Of course, Jim's sperm and Sienna's eggs were harvested for fertilisation outside the womb. They used a form of IVF known as intracytoplasmic sperm injection or ICSI, where a single sperm is injected into the ova. The technology is reasonably new but remarkably effective.’

‘Did Mrs Walker have a change of heart about the pregnancy when her husband passed away?’

A pause. ‘Certainly not. If anything, the child meant even more to her.’

‘But you said he was the one desperate for the child.’

‘He was, but what I meant by that was, Sienna's career was in its infancy, she was highly sought after by galleries here and overseas and …’ Davenport hesitated once again, as if he had said too much. ‘But as I stressed previously, she loved her husband very much.’

There was definitely something there, thought Joe as Davenport met his eye, but he could not tell if the doctor was feeding it to him on purpose or simply gauging Joe's reaction to his comment.

‘Did Daniel Hunt's firm encourage their staff to have families?’ Another question left of centre, one he did not expect Davenport to answer. But Joe was wrong.

‘Of course,’ replied Davenport, his deep blue eyes set directly on Joe. ‘Daniel Hunt is a good friend of mine, Deputy Superintendent, as you already know. Daniel knows his employees give a lot to his firm and he encourages them to balance such dedication with a happy home life.’

‘Pay packets and picket fences.’

‘If you like.’

‘But what if the wife isn't ready to start a family?’

‘Then that is her choice – just like it was Sienna's to forgo certain career opportunities to have a child with her husband.’

Another look from Davenport, and yet again Joe was unclear on its intent.

‘So the baby was healthy?’ asked Joe, coming full circle on purpose.

‘Perfectly.’

‘And Sienna Walker?’

Davenport forced a smile. ‘There you go again, Deputy Superintendent. I understand what you are getting at – you want to know if Sienna was being treated for PPD.’

Now that was surprisingly straight down the line, thought Joe. ‘Was she?’ he asked.

‘I am not at liberty to say.’

‘Then we'll stop wasting your time and take Eliza Walker's file – the one that exists as part of her mother's.’

Davenport hesitated as if trying to decide which way to go, but then those arms were up on the side of his chair once again. ‘I am afraid you are going to have to get that warrant, Deputy Superintendent,’ he said, getting to his feet.

Joe sighed. ‘Have it your way, Doc.’ He and Frank stood to follow Davenport to his door.

‘You still hold it against me, don't you,’ asked Davenport as he turned to face them, ‘my sedating Sienna on the night of the murder?’

‘That, and the fact that you told her to change her clothes.’

Frank shot him a glance – it was a risk, but Joe figured they had nothing to lose.

‘I did no such thing,’ said Davenport, turning away from him as he spoke.

But Joe caught it, the slightest of trembles in his voice. ‘The thing is, Doc, the woman is charged with killing her kid, so it could be said that assisting her in any fashion is tantamount to aiding and abetting.’

‘And why would I aid and abet a killer?’

‘I'm not sure – but a logical guess would be that you were trying to prevent her from saying something to incriminate herself.’

‘Then that would make me a very good friend.’

‘Which you are at pains to describe yourself as being.’

Davenport stopped short then, his clenched jaw finally relaxing into one of those conceited-as-all-hell smiles. ‘You know, Deputy Superintendent,’ he said at last as he reached for the doorknob to let them out into reception, ‘I shall try to ignore your ignorant jibes on the grounds that just being here must be difficult for you. After all, you deal in death and I – well … there is a reason why doctors have God complexes, you know, because we
save
– and in my case
create
– lives.’