Dead Girl Walking: Absolutely addictive mystery and suspense (Jessie Novak Book 1)

by Roberta Gately

  “Looks kinda dark, though. I don’t see any lights on, do you?”

  “No,” she answered, her hand on the door handle. A car trying to get by honked its horn.

  “Tell you what, I’ll just make a circle. If you’re outside in five minutes, I’ll pick you up and drop you off at that Cheers bar or somewhere warm to wait. Okay?”

  “Thank you,” Jessie said, her fear evaporating. “If no one’s here, or they’re late arriving, I’ll take you up on it.”

  The car beeped again. “Goddamn Boston drivers,” he said.

  A light went on in the first-floor window as she stepped from the car. “Thanks anyway. Looks like they’re here.” She waved as he drove off and then turned for the entrance, wishing she’d thought to dress a little more formally. Jeans and boots might not be the best attire for The Parkman House, even if she was here only for an announcement. She lifted the knocker and before she could let it drop, the door swung open, revealing a grand staircase and an empty hallway. Where was everyone?

  “Sam?” she called, suddenly nervous. An arm appeared and pulled her in before slamming the door behind her. She spun around, her eyes resting on Rob Hart, a beard hiding his features, a crooked smile plastered on his face.

  “Good to see you, Jessie. Did you like the flowers? I thought they were a nice touch. I bought flowers for Ann that last night, too.”

  Her heart pounding, she swallowed the hard lump of fear in her throat and took a step back toward the door.

  “Why so quiet?” he asked, turning the lock.

  “What do you want?” she asked softly.

  He smiled. “I thought that would be obvious. You were so good to me in the hospital. I thought maybe you’d help me out.”

  “Help you?” She wanted to tell him to piss off, but she knew she had to buy time. That policeman who’d been assigned to her would surely be calling Sam, and then the car service, to find out where she went. That thought soothed her, gave her a tiny bit of courage, and right then, that was enough.

  “Let’s talk,” he said. “Back there.” He pointed to the long hallway as he turned off the overhead light. “Don’t want anyone to notice the lights on and call the police, do we?”

  A shiver ran up her spine. “I can’t see,” she said.

  “Your eyes will adjust. We can turn on the lights back here in the office.”

  She hesitated and turned towards the door, wondering if she could get it unlocked and open before he grabbed her. But as though he could read her mind, he spoke up.

  “Jessie, just give me a minute,” he said, scowling. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She wondered if he’d said the same thing to Ann. She had no choice but to follow him along the hall. He turned into what appeared to be an office and switched on a small desk lamp, the light so dim, she could just make out a sturdy polished desk and several chairs in the room’s center.

  “Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair furthest from the door, cutting off any chance of escape.

  She sat on the edge of the chair, her back rigid, her feet tapping the floor. She wanted to be ready to run.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other when I was in the hospital. You must have noticed that I liked you.”

  She stayed perfectly still and perfectly quiet. For once in her life, she’d keep her damn mouth shut. She looked around, trying to get her bearings and gauge the layout. There were windows to her right, and to her left an open doorway that led back to the front of the house.

  “Well, since you’re not going to speak, I will,” Rob said. “Have you spoken to Nick about me?”

  “About you? Why?”

  “You must know by now that we were best friends a long time ago. I loved him like a brother, but he’s turned on me. I know that he’s lying to the police about me, about Ann, about the night she was shot. I know he’s trying to convince people that it was me who shot her. Am I right?”

  Jessie crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The only way out of this mess, she decided, was to lie. And she was pretty good at that.

  “I know that you’re seeing him, I know that he’s been questioned by the police, and I know that you’re working with the detectives.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have a lot of free time on my hands these days. This beard, a baseball cap, a pair of sunglasses, and I can go anywhere, and keep an eye on you and Nick. Most days though, I can sit right here and follow the investigation.” He pointed to the computer. “Amazing how much information a city employee has access to. Not to mention easy access to this grand old place.” He swept his arm around the room. “It’s a shame the city doesn’t use it much. I’ve been right here all the time. And no one ever noticed. Genius, huh?”

  The room seemed suddenly airless. Jessie tried to slow her breathing.

  Rob Hart sighed noisily. “I wish you’d say something.”

  Jessie shook her head. “I don’t know what you want with me. I’m a nurse, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Ahh, Jessie, you’re so much more. Tell,” he said, leaning towards her. “What did Nick say? Did he blame me for the shooting?”

  He placed a hand on her thigh and she pushed it away, her fear fading, her anger growing. “I saw you in the ER,” she said. “And the ICU. I was the one who first said that you were the shooter. Nick was covering for you. It sounds as though he always has. He’s no boy scout, but he’s no murderer either. What reason could he possibly have for shooting your wife? You, on the other hand, had plenty of reasons. Your wife was pregnant. She…” Jessie stopped herself when she saw the flash of anger in Hart’s eyes.

  “So, you know then that she betrayed me.”

  “So just get a divorce!” Jessie shouted, and immediately wished she could take it back. He was already angry enough. She couldn’t afford to antagonize him anymore.

  “You think it would have been that easy? She humiliated me. How could I just divorce her?” He seemed to sink into the chair, exhausted from remembering. “She had to pay. I mean, think about it. She told me that night she was leaving me to be with her baby daddy.” He shook his head. “How sordid is that? She cried when she told me, said I had made her miserable and she just wanted to start afresh.” He shook his head angrily. “Can you believe that? She was sleeping around, but I was the one who’d made her miserable. Un-fucking-believable.”

  Jessie was frozen, unable to speak, riveted to his words, and the callous way he spoke them.

  “I bought her flowers and slipped her some Ativan to soften the end. I’m not heartless. She was. I’m not.” He swiped his hand across his forehead. “I thought of the flowers at the last minute. I knew the cops wouldn’t suspect a man who’d just given his wife flowers.”

  “And she was still crying?” Jessie asked.

  “She was. She was relieved that she’d told me, and when I said I’d divorce her, she believed me. I never intended to just let her go. She was always a fool. But not me, which is why I shot myself. Although I was afraid I’d overdone that, that I might actually have a serious injury. Lucky for me, I didn’t and lucky for me, that surgeon said I reminded him of a soldier he’d lost in Afghanistan. Everyone was rooting for me, protecting me. It was all so perfect.” He paused and looked Jessie square in the eye. “Until it wasn’t.”

  The room felt cold as ice. Jessie pulled her jacket close. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement in the hallway. It was Sam. It had to be. She had to keep Rob’s attention diverted, get him talking again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. It must have been very hard for you.”

  His head bobbed up. “I knew you’d get it. I knew you’d understand…”

  A uniformed policeman, his gun unholstered and trained on Hart, moved into position at the doorway. Jessie tried to keep her eyes focused on Hart as he spoke. “Go on,” she encouraged him. “What about Bert?”

  Rob chuckled. “What about him?”

  “He’s
dead.”

  “I know. He’d been helping me with stories and he was happy to do it. At first. But I asked him to write one story too many. I wanted a piece about my run for Congress, and my plans to put Ann’s death and the shooting behind me, and he balked. Said I’d been using him. He wasn’t as stupid as he looked, and when he told me he’d found my connection to Nick, well, what could I do? He said he never saw an ounce of grief from me, that he had no real proof, but the stories I’d asked him to plant were evidence enough for the police to suspect me. He was about to spill his guts, tell the police and the world that I was involved. He said with that story, his future would be set. No need to work for a tabloid in London, since he’d be the most sought-after reporter in the U.S.” Rob smirked. “Can you believe it? Bert? The most sought-after reporter? I confronted him and he lied to my face. He actually swore that he’d keep his mouth shut, but I knew he wouldn’t. What could I do?” He shook his head in mock sadness. “It was him or me. Easy choice.”

  “So, why am I here?”

  “You’re going to tell the police that Nick shot Ann, not me. You can say that Nick was the father of her bastard baby. That’s believable.” He continued to speak, the sound of his voice muffling the footfalls of the police as they moved into place. Gathering her courage, Jessie stood and made for the doorway. Rob grabbed her arm, forcing her back.

  “You bitch,” he said. “Just like Ann. Just like Bert. Even like stupid Nick.”

  A ripple of fear ran through her veins and she struggled to pull herself free.

  “Let go of her,” Sam said, his voice firm.

  Rob’s head jerked back in surprise and he yanked Jessie in front of him, one arm tightly wrapped around her neck in a hold while the other darted out quickly and grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk. He held them tight against her neck, the sharp tip pricking her skin.

  “Drop the weapon and let her go. You won’t get out of here,” Sam said, nodding toward the group of uniformed officers that filled the hallway.

  Jessie could feel Rob’s arm tighten around her neck. A trickle of sweat—or was it blood? —oozed around her neck. She watched as Sam stiffened but never took his eyes off of Rob.

  “You have guns. I have her,” Rob said smugly. The wetness from her neck reached his hand and he loosened his grip for just a second. But that second was all Jessie needed to jam her elbow into his gut and pull away, darting to the safety of the doorway and Sam’s open arms. He wrapped himself around her, and she felt herself sink into the safety he offered. She listened as the officers swarmed around Hart, shouting for him to get down. She heaved a sigh when she heard the click of handcuffs and the shuffle of feet as they pulled Hart upright. Someone read him his rights and he began to whimper and then to shout that he wanted a lawyer.

  “You can’t use anything I said!” he shouted as the officers marched him to the front door and guided him into the backseat of the waiting patrol car.

  Sam loosened his grip and lifted her chin. “Are you okay?” he asked as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the blood from Jessie’s neck. “Let’s get you to the ER. We can get that wound looked at and have you checked over.” Beads of sweat pooled around his forehead.

  She caught his hand in hers and took hold of the handkerchief, swiping it across her neck and having a quick look. “I’m okay. From the looks of this,” she said, pointing to the drops of blood on his handkerchief, “this is a scratch. I don’t need the ER for a scratch.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes locked onto hers. “You’ve been through a lot these last few weeks, and tonight, well…”

  She couldn’t help herself, and she smiled and rested her palm softly against his face. “Thank you,” she whispered as she kissed his cheek. Everything else seemed far away—Nick, Rob Hart, Bert—all of it. It was just herself and Sam and this moment. He leaned towards her, his eyes shimmering, and Jessie knew she had to break this spell. The timing was wrong. All wrong. For both of them. “So, does this mean you didn’t send the flowers?” she asked with a sly smile.

  He laughed shakily. “Not really my style.” The silver in his eyes glittered in the glow of the hallway lights. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you really okay?” he asked softly.

  And Jessie could only nod, her relief suddenly palpable.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The next morning, Rob Hart was back as the main story on the news. Unfortunately, Jessie was too. The DA and Detective Sergeant Sam Dallas said that much of the credit for Hart’s arrest and capture was due to an ER nurse who believed from the start that Hart was responsible for his wife’s death. Hart, they said, was already trying to negotiate a plea deal to avoid a trial.

  At headquarters, Jessie was allowed to view Hart’s interrogation along with the detectives, and she marveled at his ability to deflect the blame onto his wife, Nick, and finally onto the hospital for not saving Ann Hart’s life. “This would only be an assault charge if those doctors were better.”

  Jessie stood up. “I can’t watch anymore,” she said angrily as she left the room. Sam followed her out.

  “Don’t take what he says personally.”

  “I won’t. I just can’t listen to his lies.”

  “I hear you, but before you go, there’s something else you should probably know,” he said. “It’s a missing person report.”

  She shrugged. This couldn’t possibly matter to her, but she kept her eyes fixed on his.

  “It’s your nurse manager. She’s been reported as missing.”

  Jessie struggled to remember—was it yesterday, or the day before that she’d last spoken to Donna? She shook her head. “I just spoke to her. She’s not missing.”

  “When did you speak with her?”

  “I think yesterday. Anyway, you can call the ER. Donna’s fine.”

  “That’s not the name we have,” he said, his eyes shifting to the paper in his hand. “It’s a Sheila Logan.”

  Jessie, who felt as though she’d heard too much today and seen too much these last weeks, felt a kind of numbness settle over her. She hadn’t much cared for poor Bert, but Sheila? Well, she’d actively disliked her. “We heard she wasn’t coming back. Who said she was missing?”

  “Her family in Ohio. She was supposed to be there for Thanksgiving. When she didn’t arrive, they assumed the ER was busy and she couldn’t get away.”

  “Thanksgiving was almost three weeks ago, a lifetime. Why did they wait to report her missing? Christmas is in ten days.”

  Sam shrugged. “They said she wasn’t a great communicator, so they weren’t worried. At first. But they’ve been trying to reach her, without luck. They finally called her landlord who went into the apartment and found everything in order, but no Sheila. Her car was still in the garage. They called the ER and learned she hadn’t been to work either. She lived in Natick, so they reported her missing there. The police there called us because she worked in Boston.”

  “Interesting, but why does that make her missing?”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. We were happy to learn she was gone. Sheila was a lousy manager, all show, no substance, and disliked by everyone. Including me.”

  “Did you realize you were just talking about her in the past tense?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? She was our manager. Past tense. Now you’re telling me she’s disappeared. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s gone from the ER.”

  “Can I give you some advice?” He gave her a wry smile.

  “You will, whether I want it or not, so go ahead.”

  “When you’re questioned, and you will be, use the present tense. Don’t raise any red flags.”

  “This is ridiculous. She was a pompous ass, and she’s likely off somewhere on some sun-splashed beach. I’m not holding my breath hoping she’ll show up. If she’s really missing, she probably staged it.”

  Sam put his head in his hands. “Please, don’t say any of that. You can say
you didn’t like her. That’s fine, but keep any statements you make short and to the point.”

  She smiled. “I thought you were going to say short and sweet.”

  Despite himself, he grinned. “Just a little advice. I hope you’ll take it.”

  By Monday, four weeks after the Hart shooting, detectives from Natick descended on the ER and questioned the staff to see if anyone knew where Sheila might be, or if there’d been any indication that she’d been under undue stress. “This ER,” one detective said when he took Jessie aside, “seems like a pretty stressful place to work. Did it seem especially hard on her?”

  Jessie couldn’t help herself. She raised a brow and smiled. “She didn’t actually work with us. She mostly stayed away from the ER, only showed up to give us grief about one thing or another.”

  The detective, who’d never offered his name, leaned forward. “So, is it fair to say you didn’t like her?”

  “It is fair to say that,” she answered, a smugness in her voice that she hadn’t intended, and when she saw the suspicious glint in his eyes, she cursed herself. Red flags, Sam had warned her, and once again, she’d failed to keep her damn mouth shut. But not liking someone was no crime. “Are we finished?” Jessie said, opening the door. “The ER’s busy and I do work here.” She wanted to throw in that she was about to start with the ME’s office and Homicide, but decided now was the time to stop.

  The detective stood, smoothing his pants as he did. “Well, okay. Let us know if she returns, or if any of you hear from her.”

  Jessie nodded and went back to the welcome chaos of the ER.

  She worked the day shift the following day, and that evening, for the first time since Nick and Bert, Hart’s arrest, and even the news of Sheila, she had hours to herself and she found she didn’t much like it. When she heard a knock on her door, she raced to answer it, pulling it open before asking who was there. Her mouth dropped open, a tentative smile on her lips.

  His eyes sparkling in the hall light, Sam raised a bottle of Scotch and a pack of Marlboro Lights in the air and smiled. “Thought you might need these after the month you’ve had.”