Sam shook his head. “No, Hart said that shot was fired as he was falling. The shooter probably thought he’d hit him. It wasn’t fired into the air. The third shot was the one that hit the wife.”
“Okay. I see that, but you saw the wife’s valuables. Why didn’t he take those? He left too much behind for it to be a robbery.”
“We’re looking at everything, and we’re waiting on Verizon to hand over Hart’s cell phone records—see if the shooter is using the phone. You, on the other hand, are only looking at Hart. You don’t like him much, do you?” He stood to remove his suit jacket, placing it on a nearby stool.
“It’s not that. I don’t even know him. I just don’t trust him. Yesterday in the ICU he was flirting with an intern and he smiled at me! His wife was right down the hall—dying. He saw her, but from just outside her room. He didn’t even go in. I mean, come on.”
Their pizza arrived, momentarily interrupting their conversation, which was probably a good thing. Jessie could feel a flush rising to her cheek. She was starting to sound obsessed with this and she really wasn’t. She just thought there was something more to the story.
“Darn, I should have asked earlier. Do you have a signed release from him so that you can see his records?”
“We do.” Sam bit into his slice, grabbing a napkin to catch the drip of tomato sauce that hovered over his perfectly pressed white shirt. “Why?”
“HIPAA. I probably shouldn’t even be discussing this.”
“It’s okay. It’s between you and me. I’m not going to the Globe. Who was that reporter anyway?”
Jessie nibbled at her pizza, picking the cheese away and dropping it into her mouth. “He was a creep who wanted to date me, but my God, he’s old.”
Sam’s head bobbed back as though he’d been struck. “Whoa. Hold on here. How old is too old?”
“I don’t know. Fifty?”
Sam swiped his hand dramatically across his brow. “Jeez, ya had me worried there for a minute. I’m thirty-six. Never felt old until just now.”
Jessie smiled. “You’re not old and you’re not a creep. This guy is. But at first, it didn’t matter. He definitely wasn’t my type, but he seemed interesting when I first met him in the ER. He said he was a war correspondent and Pulitzer Prize winner. At least, that’s what he said, but it turned out not all of it was true. When I told him—again and again—that I wasn’t interested in dating him, he called me, texted, showed up at work. He was relentless, but finally, almost a year ago now, it stopped. All of it. It just stopped. And that was the end of it, or so I thought, until he started texting and calling again last week. I answered his call last night without meaning to. He said he’d only called to say goodbye, that he was moving to London for a job, and his novel had found a publisher. I told him I was happy for him. Until today, when I saw the headlines.” She took a sip of beer and picked at her pizza.
“And because of him, you’re in trouble at work?”
“HIPAA, the privacy act. My manager says I violated it, but the headlines are a lie. Hart never said that, and by the way, he apparently has no complaint with that headline. It kind of puts him in a good light, don’t you think?”
“I’m not so sure he cares about the headlines, though it sounds as though your boss does, huh?”
She nodded, swiping a piece of crust around the box to pick up any stray bits of cheese. “Bert never asked about the Harts. Not one question. He made that story up, probably for a byline and a paycheck.”
“I can look into this guy for you.”
“Thanks, but he’s on his way to London, he said, so I think I’m all set.” She popped the sliver of crust into her mouth, a satisfied smile on her face.
“So, let me get this right. You don’t trust Hart, by all accounts a stand-up guy, but you trust this slimy little Bert.”
She laughed. “Well, when you put it that way, I do sound as though I trust the wrong people, but really, just think about it. I know I’m beating a dead horse, but you saw him in the ER—he was worried about himself. He never even asked how Ann was, which I guess is why he’s happy about that crappy headline. As of yesterday, he’d only glimpsed her through a doorway in the ICU. They’re only a few rooms apart. It’s just too weird. The shooter shoots him in the side and the wife in the head. Wouldn’t it be more likely to be the other way around? The wife is not a threat to the robber but he might be. And the bullet that missed him. Not to mention that the surveillance cameras were out. Come on. No one’s that lucky.” She took a deep breath. She had to learn not to prattle on. Talk about ruining the mood.
Sam nodded. “This guy seems to have been that lucky. I tend to believe him, though we always hold onto a little bit of skepticism until we have an arrest. This investigation is active—everyone’s a suspect right now, including Hart. Nothing is off the table, but I understand your suspicions. It’s the nature of our business.” He angled his chin towards her. “Will it help if I tell you we are looking into both Harts, checking to see if there’s anyone who might have wanted to hurt them? I’ll tell you though, so far I think that’s a dead end.” He took a swig of his beer. “You and I, we really don’t really trust anyone. Am I right?”
He was probably right, and by her third beer, she tended to agree with him. Working in the ER had made her suspicious of the wrong people. But there was one more thing she’d forgotten to mention, and it seemed everyone else had, too. “Ann Hart is pregnant. I understand why it’s not in the news, but I wonder if Hart has mentioned it to you guys.”
Sam shook his head. “No, he hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe she didn’t know yet. Which I guess makes this that much sadder.”
Jessie felt her shoulders tense. “Nonsense,” she said, shaking her head. “By the numbers, she’s about ten weeks pregnant. She definitely knew, and he’s the first one she’d tell. He has to know. Will you ask him?”
“I will, but it’s not going to help solve the shooting. As far as I can tell, it had nothing to do with the robbery. Just a sad footnote to the story.”
“Footnote? What if it does have something to do with the shooting?”
A wrinkle appeared in Sam’s brow. “We’ll look at that, but tell me why you think it has something to do with the shooting.”
“I don’t know. Probably nothing. Forget I said it.”
“Would it help you to know that we have a couple of suspects?”
“You do?” She picked at the label on her bottled beer.
“Yeah, similar crimes. Similar MO, just not well-connected victims, so it never made it to the news. No one really noticed. We were still following up on those when the Hart shootings happened. We have a couple of guys in our sights.”
“Why not say that at the press conference?”
“It’s better to keep some things quiet, at least for now.” He tipped his bottle against hers. “What do you say? One more?”
“Don’t you have to go back to work?”
“Not today. I’ll be back at it tomorrow, but today, I’m free.”
They had another beer and then another. The afternoon flew by. It was almost six when Sam looked at his watch. “Whoa, look at the time. Sorry to break this up, but…”
“No worries. I should get going, too. I’m on days tomorrow and I’m not used to getting up early. Thanks for the beer and the conversation.” She stood to go.
“Hey, hold on.” Sam threw some money on the table. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to.” She slipped her arms into her slicker. “I’m so close.”
“All the more reason. To tell you the truth, I’d like to get your number, too. I hope we can do this again. Minus the crime updates.”
She laughed and tucked her arm into his. “I’d like that, too.”
The rain had stopped; the early dark sky of Fall was sprinkled with distant stars, the perfect backdrop to what had turned out to be a pretty good day.
After a chaste kiss goodnight, Jessie pulled away a
nd climbed the stairs to her apartment. She smiled as she unlocked her door. She probably hadn’t locked it earlier, she thought, and as for her missing schedule, she’d likely crumpled it up and thrown it away. She had to remember not to overthink things. She shrugged out of her slicker and went to close her blinds before flicking on her lights, and it was there, while standing in her window, that she saw a shadowy figure below, looking up and right at her. On this moonless night, it was too dark to make out who it was. There was a streetlamp right there, but the light was out. She hadn’t even noticed that before. She backed away quickly from the window and took a deep breath. She was imagining things. That’s all this was. Maybe it was Sam. She shook her head as if weighing the possibility. No, she’d seen him walk away. It wasn’t Sam.
She peered from the window once again, and there was no mistaking it.
Someone was watching her.
Chapter Nine
She slid back away from the window, keeping the lights out. With visions of the movie Psycho in her thoughts, she forfeited her shower and slid into bed where she slept fitfully, tossing and turning, darkness filling every corner of her apartment so that no one could see her through the filtered light of cheap plastic blinds and flimsy curtains. She fell asleep just before her alarm sounded. Six a.m. She groaned as she reached out to shut it off.
Six a.m. was barbaric.
She crawled to the shower, dressed for work, stopped for coffee and a muffin, and slid into a parking spot a block from the hospital, saving the twenty dollars the garage would set her back. Already, the fear she felt last night seemed stupid and unfounded. She lived on a busy street. Why wouldn’t people be standing around and even looking up? Christ, all she needed now was a cat and she’d be one of those skittish single women who jumped at everything.
She took the elevator to five, and when she stepped out, her phone pinged with a text. Medical ICU today. The text was from Sheila. Jessie groaned and headed there, stopping first for a look out the long windows that lined the hallway. There were no windows in the ER, and even if there were, she’d only see concrete sidewalks and blacktopped streets. From here, though, she could see clear to downtown: cobblestone streets flanked by grand old brownstones and glittering skyscrapers. Nearby rooftops, some with grilles and deck chairs, were strung with twinkling lights, still glowing in the dim early-morning light. All of it fit together perfectly in this charming old city. Further on, the lights of the Prudential Building flashed a signal for the weather; today a steady blue meaning a clear day. She smiled. It was a pleasant reminder that life existed outside of these walls.
She reported to the nurse in charge, who greeted her with a smile and her assignment—just one patient. He was, she learned as she read his chart, critically ill. He’d suffered a heart attack complicated by a bleed into his brain. He lay perfectly still, a thin sheet covering him while a ventilator forced air into his lungs, a bevy of pumps injected medicine into his veins, and a host of machines which checked his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels and cardiac output monitored it all. She sighed and introduced herself to her patient. She was never sure if these patients could really hear her, but it made her feel better. And if he could hear, the sound of her voice was surely more welcome than the whoosh, buzz, whir and beeping of all of his machines.
Her day flew. At three, the evening nurse appeared. “You’ve been stuck in here all day?”
Jessie nodded.
“So, you haven’t heard the news?”
Jessie stopped. Those were the words that sent a chill through the heart of every ER nurse. “Heard what?” she asked, willing herself to be calm.
“Ann Hart died. A few hours ago. There’s a big commotion in the hallway. You might just want to take the stairs.”
“Why is there a commotion?”
“Her family’s blaming the husband. Saying it’s his fault. Well, shouting, really. Merrick is out there trying to calm them. Strange scene, I’ll tell you that.”
Jessie gave a quick report, grabbed her sweater and her keys and walked into the hallway to see for herself just what was going on. The small space by the elevators was packed. Tim Merrick stood in the center of the crowd.
“We tried to save her, but her wound was just too serious. I… well, all of us really, tried to save her, but the damage was irreversible. I am so sorry for your loss.”
An older man, his eyes red, tears still running along his cheeks, stepped forward. “Why would someone, anyone, shoot our Ann in the head and only shoot Rob in the side? Can you tell me that? It doesn’t make any sense.” He broke down then, his face crumpling as sobs wracked his shoulders.
Though looking uncomfortable, Merrick placed an arm over the man’s shoulder. “I don’t know. I just want you to know that we tried.”
A younger woman, who bore a faint resemblance to Ann, a sister maybe, spoke up. “Rob Hart is barely injured and our Ann is dead! Why wouldn’t he protect her? We never liked him, never trusted him, not for a minute, but we never thought…” She turned away, silent tears spilling from her eyes. “It’s his fault that she’s gone. I’m sure of it.”
Jessie watched as the group huddled together getting ready to leave. Merrick stood quietly and caught Jessie’s eye, nodding before he turned back to the Surgical ICU. The doors closed with a thud, leaving only the family and Jessie in the hallway.
“Miss,” one of them called to her. “Did you take care of her? Of Ann?”
She froze. Would she be in trouble if she told them she had? An older woman took her hand. “Did you?” she asked, gripping Jessie’s hand tightly.
She nodded. “In the ER,” she said softly. “I took care of her when she came in.”
“Oh, Arthur. Come here and listen,” the woman said.
Suddenly, Jessie was surrounded. “Please tell us. Was she awake? Was she afraid? Did she speak to you?”
Jessie couldn’t tell who was asking the questions, but it didn’t matter. If she were in trouble again for soothing this family, then so be it. “I was with her until she went to CT scan. She wasn’t awake.”
“Was she in pain?”
No one could answer that question with any certainty, but she wanted to comfort this grieving family; that was all anyone could offer now. “I don’t think so. It was as though she was sleeping.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did she hear you?” The woman locked her gaze onto Jessie. “Did she?”
“I think so. I always speak to my patients, no matter how grave the injury or prognosis.” She bit back the tears that pricked at her eyes. “I think she heard me. She knew someone was with her.”
The older woman wrapped her arms around Jessie. “Thank you for that, my dear. Thank you for watching over our Ann.” At that, the woman’s shoulders heaved with her sobs. The group gathered in around the old woman and Jessie backed away, their pain almost too raw to witness. She made her way to the stairwell and ran down the five flights and out to the street, leaning against the building’s brick wall and breathing in great gulps of cold air. She walked the block to her car, releasing her sadness for Ann Hart and her family with every step she took. By the time she slipped into her car, she was ready for a sandwich and a glass of wine.
At home, she settled in front of the television, balancing a glass of wine and a tuna sandwich on her legs. She turned on the early news, and just as expected, Ann Hart was the lead story. The poor woman was finally getting noticed.
“This is just a tragedy,” the reporter announced. “A young woman, a teacher beloved by all, senselessly killed in a robbery gone wrong. Police tell us they do have a suspect but they remain tight-lipped on details.” The camera panned to an aerial view of a neighborhood that was the center of the Hispanic community. “Community leaders complain they are being unfairly targeted, that the police need to share their evidence with the community. The Boston Police Department declined to comment.”
Jessie tuned to a love story on Hallm
ark, and before the expected happy ending, she clicked off her television, took a quick shower, set her alarm yet again for the ungodly hour of six a.m., and crawled into bed, where sleep overtook her in minutes.
She never heard the tapping on her door or heard the creak as it swung open.
Chapter Ten
Jessie slept through the night, and woke refreshed and smiling until, ready for work and hitching her backpack over her shoulder, she pulled open her door to head out—and froze. The door was unlocked. She wouldn’t do that. Not again. She was sure of it. She remembered locking the door. Or did she? She’d been dog tired and hungry, her mind on food and wine. Maybe she did forget. Or, maybe the damn tumbler was still loose. That was probably it. The door was old, the lock probably flimsy. She’d had trouble with it before, but then it was usually stuck, the mechanism too tight to open with a simple rotation of the key. She sighed. Time to ask the super to get her a new lockset, or adjust this one. With that thought in mind, she walked briskly to the corner store for her usual black coffee and muffin.
“Morning, Patrick,” she greeted the owner as she stepped inside. There was no need to order. He nodded, poured her coffee, tucked a muffin into a bag, and turned. “That you?” he asked, pointing to the newspaper on the counter.
Jessie’s eyes fell to the bold headlines. Ann Hart’s Family Grateful to Angel Nurse. She lifted the paper and read. The family, the story continued, never got the name of the kind nurse in scrubs they met just outside of the ICU. “‘In our grief, she gave us comfort,’ Mrs. Hart’s mother said. ‘We want her to know she is an angel to us.’”
“I figured it was you,” Patrick said, interrupting her thoughts.
She smiled. “You can see it right here. They said she was an angel, so you know it’s not me.”
“Ahh, go on. Here ya go.” He passed her the coffee and muffin. She reached into her pocket, and Patrick shook his head. “Not today, Jessie. Angels don’t pay here. It’s my pleasure to serve you.” His brogue seemed somehow deeper today.
Dead Girl Walking: Absolutely addictive mystery and suspense (Jessie Novak Book 1) Page 6