Diagnosis: Death (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 2)

by A. P. Eisen

“You know me, huh?” Cliff didn’t want to spend the night talking about his father. He wanted to lose himself in Paul and not think about tomorrow. “Prove it. What am I thinking right now?”

  Paul’s lips twitched, and he stood, taking Cliff’s hand and pulling him to his chest. “I’d rather show you. Dinner can wait.”

  It waited until around midnight.

  * * *

  The next morning they showered together, then had their coffee, and Cliff enjoyed the easy camaraderie.

  “What’s on tap for the day ahead? More interrogations?” He smirked at Paul.

  “Wiseass. One day I’ll show you what a real interrogation looks like.” He set his cup down and teased a finger down Cliff’s jaw. “Maybe I’ll have to lock you up and show you.”

  “Why, Detective, are you threatening me?” Cliff fluttered his lashes at Paul, who swooped in for a hot, quick kiss.

  “You’ll have to wait and see. What’s your schedule look like for today?”

  “Hmm, it’s not too bad. I have a staff meeting at ten and a phone conference with corporate after that. Why?”

  “Rob and I will be coming by to check your records. Apparently, Ulrich was meeting up with another trainer from Flex.”

  “I was thinking of joining.”

  Paul, who’d been about to check the front page of the Thornwood Park Press, set the paper down carefully on the island. “You were?”

  “Yeah. One of the guys tried to sell me on personal training.”

  “Did he now?” Paul growled, his dark brows drawn together. “What did he say?”

  “Oh, he flirted quite a bit and gave me a pamphlet with their rates.” Cliff found the shopping bag with the clothing he bought and dug out the flyer. “Here.”

  “I see. Mind if I keep it?”

  “Go ahead. I can always get another one if I decide to join.”

  “You’re serious about doing it?”

  “Maybe. We haven’t been able to make our morning runs, and I’d like to do some weights again. I used to lift a little in college.”

  “Hmm, okay. Be careful.”

  “I’m thinking of joining a gym, not the police academy. What could happen?” With both coffee cups in hand, Cliff rinsed them out and put them in the dish drain to dry. “Are you concerned because Jerry used to train there?”

  “I’m not concerned at all. Just don’t want to lose my running partner to some fancy treadmill.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I think you know where you stand in that race.”

  “I’d better get going. Full day ahead,” Paul said, slipping on his suit jacket. They’d started leaving clothes at each other’s homes after they’d both grown tired of waking up early to run back home and change into work clothes. He fished his car keys out of his pocket. “So I’ll see you around lunchtime?”

  Cliff nodded. “I never had the chance to give you the present I bought you yesterday.”

  Paul kissed him with a quick brush of soft lips. “Save it for tonight.” And he was gone.

  Cliff busied himself around the kitchen, then sat down with a second cup of coffee. The night had been perfect, and he liked that Paul felt comfortable enough to assume they’d see each other every evening instead of waiting for the formality of asking. With Roland, Cliff used to wait and wait to see if he’d be squeezed into the man’s busy schedule, while with Lincoln, he’d get a text at night, asking him if he could come by, like a booty call. It was Paul, the man who’d never had a relationship, who fit the definition of how a boyfriend should behave.

  The drive to work was quick, and Cliff pulled into his spot in the Starrywood Hotel parking garage a few minutes before nine. More than three months had passed since the gruesome murder of Jerry Gregoria there, but every morning, Cliff couldn’t help glancing over at the spot where it happened. He cut the engine and sat for a moment. The capture and arrest of Amy Parsons had been terrifying, resulting in Cliff suffering nightmares where Paul didn’t make it in time to save him. He’d wake up shaking, covered in sweat, and Paul, a light sleeper, would hold him tight and whisper he had nothing to fear. That he’d always be there to hold on to.

  A chill ran through him. “Someone walking over your grave,” he remembered his mother saying when he was younger. A gruesome thought. Cliff exited the car, slammed the door, and left the garage without a backward glance.

  After his morning meetings wrapped up, Cliff sat at his desk, going through his mile-long to-do list, when the phone rang.

  “Detectives Monroe and Gormley are here to see you.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Send them in, Marvin. They know the way.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood, smoothed his hair, and opened the door, hearing Rob’s good-natured voice asking a question, which Paul answered in his quiet, deep rumble. The two men turned the corner, and he motioned for them to enter.

  “Come on in.”

  Paul squeezed his shoulder, leaving his hand for a second longer than a casual touch. Cliff shook Rob’s hand. “How’s everything?”

  “Interesting. I don’t know if Paul’s told you.” He glanced over at Paul, who shook his head. “Oh, okay. Annabel is pregnant.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Rob gave him a quick smile. “We’re a little more stressed this time. Because of her age, it hasn’t been as easy a pregnancy as the other ones, and the doctor wants her to take it slower. Being the workaholic she is, that’s been tough on her. So we’ve had some disagreements.” The tension showed in the dark circles under his eyes.

  “We have some women in corporate who worked from home during their pregnancy. Can she do that?”

  “She can, but so much of her work at the advertising agency is meeting and schmoozing with clients.” Rob ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s frustrating because I’m worried for her.”

  “Hopefully it will settle down in the next few weeks.” Cliff had no idea what to say but wanted to offer some reassurance. “Maybe it’s just the beginning phase? I’ve heard from the women working here that’s the worst time.”

  “Yeah. She stayed home today, so that’s a start. Anyway, enough about me.” He sat in one of the chairs in front of Cliff’s desk. “Paul’s going to fill you in on what we need.”

  “As I mentioned, Ulrich and his boy were meeting here, much like he did with Jerry. We’d like to see the records of his stay—I’m assuming Ulrich paid for the room—and talk to the housekeeping staff to see if anyone heard anything.”

  “Sure, no problem. Let me pull up the reservations for the last three months.” A few clicks on the computer and Ulrich’s reservation history popped up.

  “He reserved a room every week, starting three weeks after Jerry was murdered. It increased to twice a week after a month…hmm.”

  “What?” Paul and Rob spoke in unison.

  “It looks like he increased to three times a week for the past month. Wait a sec. There are some notes on the last reservation.”

  “Notes?” Paul paused in his own note-taking.

  “Yeah. If the guest makes special requests or if there are any incidents we need to keep track of, we make notes. It says a noise complaint was issued. A fight between the two room occupants was noted, and security was called.” Cliff put his hand on the desk phone. “You want me to call Duffy?” Brian Duffy was his chief of security and would have made the report.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” Cliff placed the call, and within five minutes Duffy appeared.

  “Detectives, good to see you again. Not really, under the circumstances, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Paul shook the hand of the former college baseball star turned security chief. “So Cliff told us that Ulrich had an incident in his room one night. What do you remember?”

  A big man, Brian Duffy fit himself into one of the office chairs and stretched out his legs. “He and his companion got into a screaming match so loud, the guests on each s
ide of his room complained.”

  “Do you know what was said?”

  “No, all we know is there was lots of yelling. By the time we got there, Ulrich and his friend had calmed down and apologized. He tried to smooth it out by offering me a hundred dollars not to make a report. Obviously, I refused.”

  “I’d love to know what it was about.”

  “Wish I could help you. My evening-shift guy did tell me that when they left, all seemed to be cozy between them.”

  “Thanks, we appreciate the help.”

  “No problem. Anytime.”

  After he left, Cliff handed Paul a sheaf of papers. “These are Ulrich’s reservations for the past three months. I figured you and Rob would want them in hard copy as well as email.”

  “Good thinking,” Paul said with a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Do you guys have time for lunch?”

  “Unfortunately not,” Paul said as Rob shook his head. “We have to go talk to Ulrich’s lawyers. But we’ll take a rain check, please.”

  “Anytime.”

  They left and Cliff returned to his never-ending emails. He worked steadily throughout the afternoon, trying not to dwell on the upcoming visit with his parents, but time moved quickly, and too soon Cliff found himself walking through the hospital corridor to his mother’s room.

  He paused outside.

  He could do this.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “What do you make of that?” Rob steered the car out of the hotel parking lot toward downtown.

  “Looking at the date of the report…” Paul shook out the papers Cliff had given him with Ulrich’s reservations. “It looks like it happened two days before Ulrich got the money order.”

  “So they meet, have sex, then our boy Shane makes the demand and Ulrich balks, and they have a fight.”

  “Yeah, which shut down quickly once Duffy showed up. Ulrich wouldn’t have wanted anyone finding out. They might’ve looked all cozy to security, but that could’ve been for show.”

  To Paul, it looked like Ulrich’s whole life was for show, and that made him incredibly sad. Older than Paul by more than a decade, Ulrich had obviously lived a closeted, unhappy life. He must’ve married because it was expected of him, and Paul would bet his pension that Ulrich had been having sex with men since he was young. Twenty-five years ago in small-town Thornwood Park, Ulrich wouldn’t have been able to build the prosperous life he’d lived—a gay man wouldn’t have been named Chair of Orthopedics at the hospital or been appointed to the boards of the foundations he supported.

  Better than most, Paul understood the choices Ulrich had made, and he felt nothing but pity for the man who couldn’t bear to come to terms with who he was. He thought back to the day he came out to Rob at his family barbecue and the nonchalance with which Rob accepted the news. Ulrich had sacrificed that part of himself, choosing to live a hidden life. Had it killed him?

  Paul was damn sure going to find out.

  Rob pulled into the parking lot of the high-rise where Hamilton & Stone, one of the premier law firms in the state, had their suite of offices. The elevator whisked him and Rob up to the thirty-fifth floor, where, with ID stickers on the lapels of their suit jackets, they were ushered into a conference room.

  “Nice view.” Hands pushed into pockets, Rob stood by the window. The highway stretched out before them, but in the distance Paul could see the faint, smudgy outlines of the trees thickly blanketing the mountains.

  “You could have it if you go to law school.”

  “Could we drop that, please? I’m sorry I ever told you.”

  Surprised by the unaccustomed burst of anger from Rob, Paul noticed the shadows darkening his partner’s eyes and the tight lines furrowing his brow. “Hey. I’m sorry. I’ll lay off.”

  The lines softened. “Nah, I’m sorry I snapped at you. Annabel’s still not feeling well, and she’s not sleeping, which means neither am I.”

  “That’s tough. Is she going to see a doctor?”

  “Her checkup is in two days, so we’ll see then.”

  The door opened, and two men in their late fifties or early sixties walked in. One, a stoop-shouldered man in a gray suit, peered at them grim-faced over wire-framed glasses. His lips were thin and a bloodless white. The other, dressed in a navy suit that would probably cost Paul a month’s salary, pasted on a fake-ass white toothpaste smile.

  “Detectives, welcome. I’m Steven Stone, and this is my partner, Frank Hamilton. Please sit down. Can we get you some coffee or anything stronger?”

  Paul raised a brow. “I don’t think so.” He and Rob took seats at the long, shining conference table.

  Perhaps realizing his faux pas, the attorney stumbled. “No, of course not. Just trying to inject a little humor.”

  Paul had to wonder why a murder investigation would need a stand-up routine but said nothing. They waited to begin until the two men sat across from them.

  “I’m Detective Paul Monroe, and this is my partner, Detective Rob Gormley. We’re investigating the murder of Dr. Dean Ulrich.”

  “So it was murder, not an accident?” This from the grim-faced Hamilton, who didn’t sound surprised.

  “We’re treating it as a homicide, yes,” Paul addressed him. “We know he was involved in a malpractice lawsuit, and we’re hoping you can talk to us about it.”

  Hamilton’s thin lips stretched in a semblance of a smile, and Paul swore he could hear the unused muscles creaking. “Oh, that won’t be possible. Attorney-client privilege forbids us from discussing the case. Even after death. So this was a wasted trip for you.”

  And aren’t you happy about that, Paul thought savagely.

  Rob took over. “We aren’t asking you to divulge the communications between you and your client. But a lawsuit has been filed—we know Dr. Ulrich is being sued for malpractice by the Radcliffe family for the injury to Billie’s arm.”

  “A claim we are denying,” Stone said smoothly. “Dr. Ulrich followed proper protocol.”

  “Did you know about the threat made against him by Billie Radcliffe’s father?” Paul figured he’d throw that out there. They had a meeting set up with Jefferson after this one, and it couldn’t hurt to see what the lawyers would say first.

  Stone dropped the pretend buddy-buddy act, his shrewd gaze meeting Paul’s. It wasn’t hard to imagine him in a courtroom, persuading a jury or questioning witnesses.

  “Yes, Detectives, we most certainly did, and we immediately filed a restraining order against Mr. Radcliffe. He was not allowed near Dr. Ulrich’s residence or hospital office, nor within thirty feet of his person.”

  Stone added, “If you ask me, he should be your number-one suspect. You should be talking to him instead of attempting to ferret out information you don’t have any right to.”

  Damn smug bastard. Even if he was right, Paul hated that Stone thought he had the better of the police. The interview over, Paul flipped his memo pad closed, pushed back his chair, and leaned forward, an unholy thrill shooting through him at the slight fear he watched flare in both attorneys’ eyes.

  “We’re attempting to catch a murderer. Someone bashed in Dr. Ulrich’s head, causing his death. We’d like to presume that as an officer of the court, you’d do everything in your power to assist us. After all, we are on the same side. Now, if you can point to anything my partner or I said that was improper, please feel free to go to our lieutenant and make a complaint. Otherwise, thank you for your time.”

  Without another word, he and Rob exited the conference room. When they had walked outside to the parking lot, Rob pulled his car keys out with a grin.

  “Well, there goes my chance for ever getting a job with them, thanks to you.”

  * * *

  On their way to the hospital, they stopped at a fast-food place. Paul opened his burger, looking at it with distaste. “I can’t believe you like these things.”

  “Guilty pleasure, my man,” Rob said, then stuffed a few more fries into his mouth. “Annabel’s been
trying to get us to eat healthy, so the only time I get to enjoy these is with you. Don’t rat me out.”

  “For your own health, I should.” Paul took a bite and put it back in the wrapper. “Pleasure is in the eye or stomach of the beholder. I should’ve taken Cliff up on his offer for a sandwich. After eating his dinners, it’s hard to swallow this.”

  “Poor baby. Must be hard having a Paris-trained boyfriend cook for you. Bet you get some amazing meals.” Cliff had cooked for Rob and Annabel several times and had shared his recipes with Rob’s wife.

  “I do all right.”

  “You sure do. I gotta say, you’re like a different guy since you met Cliff.”

  They drove for a few minutes before Paul responded. “Was I that bad? I thought I had it under control.”

  Rob entered the stream of traffic on the highway toward Thornwood Park Memorial Hospital. “You seem…I dunno…lighter.”

  “Yeah.” Being his real self would do that.

  Rob parked the car in the hospital’s visitors parking lot, and they flashed their badges to the information clerk, who sent them to the floor where Jefferson was working. He must’ve been watching out for them, because when they exited the elevator, he was front and center at the nurses’ station, and his face lit up when he made eye contact.

  “Detectives?”

  “Yes, I’m Paul Monroe, and this is Detective Rob Gormley.”

  “Hi.” He flashed them an uncertain smile. “My mother told me to expect your call, but I still couldn’t believe you wanted to talk to me.”

  A somewhat nervous laugh escaped him, and Paul appealed to Rob, who was better at calming people down. Hell, he knew his weaknesses.

  “Don’t worry, Jefferson, it’s just a few questions. Do you have someplace quiet we can go for a few minutes?”

  The other people at the desk pretended not to stare, but Paul saw the flickering glances shot their way.

  “You can call me Jeff. I saved my break time for when you showed up. We can go this way.”

  They followed his slim figure, clad in bright-blue scrubs, down a hallway. Paul hated the beeping sounds of the various machines lining the hallways. And the smells, especially that indefinable sharply sweet smell that took hours to get out of his nose. Passing by the rooms, he couldn’t help but see the patients lying there, some with visitors, some sleeping. A chill ran through him, remembering the last time he was in the hospital, when his mother got sick. He couldn’t wait to leave. But then he remembered that somewhere in one of these rooms was Cliff’s mother, and he felt ashamed, knowing the incredibly difficult task Cliff was facing.