by Harry Kraus
“Mom!” Claire pinched her own thigh. “I watch what I eat. I just didn’t feel like eating much supper, that’s all.”
John laughed. “You talked to the social worker about the nursing home?”
Della nodded. “They may have an opening as early as next week.” She looked at Claire. “Can you get him a chest X ray? It’s a requirement for admission.”
“Sure. John and I can take him up to my clinic tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“I work there, remember? He can get an X ray on the weekend.”
“You can’t strap Wally in a regular car.”
“Hmm. We can get G and W ambulance service to do it. Blake Henderson owes me a favor anyway.”
Della rested her head on her left hand and stared at the table. “The administrator thinks it would be best if Wally had a feeding tube.”
“We’ve been over this, Mom. Dad has made it clear. He won’t have it.”
“I know. I told her that. I told her I could come by once a day and help feed him.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mom.”
“He’s still my husband,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m even considering putting him in a home.”
John reached over and squeezed Della’s arm. “I can’t believe you’ve kept him at home this long.”
Claire watched as a tear escaped onto her mother’s cheek. “It’s really okay, Mother. You can still visit him. Every day if you want. Your relationship with Daddy will be better if you don’t have to take care of him every minute.”
“My relationship with Wally is fine.”
John shook his head. “You’re amazing, Della. How do you love a man like Wally?”
Claire was incensed at the question. “John!”
“I’m not saying he’s not lovable, Claire. I just want to know how she does it.”
“You don’t look at him like I do,” Della said, wiping a tear with the palm of her hand. “When I see Wally, I try to see the man that HD has left behind. I don’t focus on his illness.” She picked up another cookie. “I’ve had a lot of good times with him, too.”
John pushed back his chair, nodding his head. The highest pressure produces diamonds. And the pressure in Della’s life was no different. Her attitude was a gem mined from the life of adversity. “I’m going to sleep on that thought.” He leaned over and kissed Della on the forehead. “Thanks.”
He walked toward the door.
“Hey,” Claire called out to his back. “Where’s mine?”
John turned and blew her a kiss, before singing a phrase in Italian, “O, Claire, mi sono innamorato di te. Mi sposerai?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Saturday night came with overcast skies that obscured the light of the moon and a damp wind that prophesied rain. It was pitch black by nine P.M., which was okay by Stephanie Blackwell, who was spending her first night out of the hospital alone. She hadn’t slept well in the hospital the night before, so she hoped to turn in early tonight to make up for lost sleep. She chased her fiancé, Mark, out of the house by eight, promising to call him if she had any trouble. He had wanted to stay, but he tended to be a Nervous Nelly, and his constant questioning about her every little need was getting on her last nerve.
By nine-thirty, her incision in her left lower abdomen was beginning to ache, so she took two Percocet tablets and a glass of wine and opened a romance. By ten, even the heartache of love lost and the hint of future love ignited couldn’t keep her eyelids from drooping. She set down the novel after swirling the remaining red liquid. She drained the glass and grabbed each arm of the chair for assistance in standing. Her head was swiming delightfully. The dull ache in her side was still there, but at a tolerable level, and with her head buzzing, who cared?
She flipped off the porchlight and plodded into her bedroom, not bothering to brush her teeth. She was too tired. She slipped off her robe, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, she wore only undies and an old T-shirt. She lowered herself onto the bed and gently curled up on her right side. In less than a minute, she slept.
Thump. Thump-thump, thump, thump. Vague perceptions of pounding aroused her after midnight. Her first thought was of thunder. She rolled over only to be reminded of her recent surgery. She looked toward the sheer curtains and the window beyond, listening to the pounding and wondering why the thunder wasn’t accompanied by lightning flashes. It must be too far away.
The pounding continued, now more crisp and rhythmic. Through a painkiller haze, she slowly recognized the sound as someone knocking on her front door. Knock, knock-knock, knock, knock—knock knock!
Her house was two hundred feet back from Route 2, nestled in a little grove of trees. It was halfway between Stoney Creek and Fisher’s Retreat, a perfect acre to start a family out of the reach of nosey neighbors. She dragged herself from the bed, standing on her feet a moment to allow her head to quit spinning. She should have known Mark would be worried about her. He’d probably called and when she didn’t answer the phone, came to investigate.
Knock, knock-knock, knock, knock—knock knock.
She smacked her lips and frowned at the sour aftertaste of Percocet and Bordeaux.
“I’m coming. Give me a second.”
She paused at the front entrance, steadying her hand against the door, her head swimming again. The knocking resumed, this time sharp and stronger, palpable with her hand against the oak door.
She recognized the pattern of the schoolyard rhythm. Knock, knock-knock, knock, knock.
Mark, you are so goofy. She smiled and answered with two knocks of her own. Knock! Knock!
She flipped the deadbeat. “I told you I’d be okay. I—”
The door flew inward with explosive force, striking her hand as it blew by, barely missing her right hip. She stumbled backward, squinting at the doorway. “Mark?”
She saw someone spring like a cat from just outside the door, a man with a clinical mask like the ones she’d seen in the hospital. Sheer terror arrived before the impact of the man who drove her backwards to the carpeted floor. And sheer terror would awaken her when he was gone.
Summer Sunday mornings meant casual dress and the “relaxed” starting time of 10:00 at Community Chapel. It had been weeks since Claire attended with John, since Wally-duty and John’s job travels interfered. Claire was up early helping Della with feeding and dressing her father. Then, after a leisurely second cup of coffee sipped over her open Bible, she dressed, and read about office orthopedics until she heard the low growl of John’s Mustang.
She met him at the door where John lifted her off her feet in a passionate embrace. “Whoa, cowboy,” she gasped.
“Morning, beautiful.”
She pushed him away. When he frowned, she pecked his cheek with a quick kiss before she picked up her purse and a slim leather Bible. “Let’s go.”
“The air is cooler this morning. Want to walk up Cedar Knob?”
“It’s been too long since we’ve been together at church.”
“Let’s have our own service. I’ll pick up some subs. We’ll have a picnic.”
“I want to hear Pastor Phil. Besides, I’m not dressed for the mountains.”
John shrugged and brushed past her.
“Come on.”
“I just want to say ‘hi’ to the Wall.” He disappeared into the hall, just as Della appeared giggling and saying something about an Italian stallion. She was holding Claire’s cell phone at arm’s length. “Here,” she said. “Answer this crazy thing.”
Claire sighed as the electronic song ended with a push of her index finger on a green button. “Hello, Dr. McCall.”
“Good morning, Doctor. It’s Lucy.” Her voice was quick, all business.
Claire knew with one sentence that this phone call wasn’t to chat about Monday’s office schedule. Her office nurse wouldn’t interrupt a Sunday morning for anything less than an emergency.
Claire’s voice tightened, anticipating a
wrench in her plans to attend church. “What’s up?”
“Deputy Jensen just called. I’m on for SANE duty. There’s been another rape. I thought you should attend.”
Claire winced. Lucy had been doing sexual assault exams for years without her. Claire did need to learn the techniques, but this Sunday morning was meant for church. “I was just walking out the door. I—”
“I think the victim would do better with you present.”
“Lucy, I—”
“She’s our patient.”
Claire set down her Bible and plugged her free ear. John and Wally were laughing loudly in the bedroom. “Our patient?”
“Stephanie Blackwell.”
Claire shook her head. “She’s in the hospital.”
“She was released yesterday.” Lucy paused. “I’ll be at the office in ten minutes.”
Claire sighed. “I’ll meet you there.”
John reentered, smiling. “Okay, church-lady. Let’s go.” He halted in the middle of the room. “What’s wrong?”
She was frozen with the phone at her ear. She slowly lowered her hand. “Stephanie Blackwell was raped.”
John lifted his hand to his forehead. “No. When?”
“Sometime last night. This is too weird. A second rape within a few weeks, and they were both my patients.” She looked at John. “I need to go to my office.”
“Should I come along? Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” She kissed his cheek good-bye. “I’ll see you after church?”
“Sure.”
Claire bounded down the sidewalk toward her car, her thoughts ahead on the exam she would perform. As she drove, she pondered an odd similarity in the rape cases she’d encountered. Both were young single girls living alone, vulnerable because of recent surgery. Her mind fixated on the man she’d suspected of attacking Brittany Lewis: Billy Ray. He’d been around her office the day before Brittany’s attack, and two days ago, he was in the hospital in Brighton to see Lena . . . right down the hall from Stephanie Blackwell.
When she pulled into the office parking lot, she saw Lucy’s Subaru wagon next to a county sheriff patrol car. Inside, she found Stephanie Blackwell sitting in the waiting room wrapped in a brown wool blanket pulled up under her chin. A young man sat next to her, staring at the floor. Officer Jensen stood when Claire entered.
Claire extended her hand. “Hello.”
He nodded, then pointed his head toward Stephanie. “She’ll be glad to see you.”
Claire went to her patient, who sat unspeaking with her eyes straight ahead. “Stephanie,” she said gently. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
The patient looked up. An irregular laceration extended from her left eyebrow across the bridge of her nose.
The man next to Stephanie stood and held his hand out to Claire. “I’m Mark, Stephanie’s fiancé.”
Claire shook his hand and nodded.
“We’ll need to do an examination, Stephanie. It’s important to get as much evidence about the attack as we can while it’s still fresh. Then I’ll look more closely at your forehead.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Stephanie muttered.
“Fair enough.” She put her arm around Stephanie’s shoulder and guided her down the hall, leaving Deputy Jensen and Mark alone.
Lucy guided Claire through the evidence collection, sealing, initialing, and placing each item in the PERK box. After they finished, Lucy drew Stephanie’s blood while Claire examined the cut on the patient’s forehead. “I can sew you up here, or I can send you up to Carlisle to see a plastic surgeon if you’d rather. I know a Dr. Reid up there. He does nice work.”
“You do it. I want to go home.”
Claire didn’t want to push, but she knew if Stephanie ended up with an ugly scar, she’d think about the rape every time she looked in the mirror. “The laceration will leave a scar. The plastic surgeon may be able to do a neater job. I—”
“Please, Dr. McCall. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”
Claire consented. She set up a sterile laceration tray and spent the next forty-five minutes placing a fine row of 6–0 nylon sutures in Stephanie’s face.
When the wound was dressed, Stephanie limped from the office holding tightly to her boyfriend’s arm. Claire turned from the door to see that Deputy Jensen waited for her, holding a small plastic bag up for her inspection. “Ever seen anything like this?”
She turned the bag over, inspecting what appeared to be a white strip of paper about a quarter inch wide and six inches in length.
“Don’t open it,” he coached. “I picked it up from the floor at Stephanie’s house.”
She shrugged. “What is it?”
“I think it’s the string from one of those surgical masks.”
“What? Did she say her attacker wore a mask?”
He nodded. “Just like Brittany Lewis.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “It’s Billy Ray Chisholm. I saw him the night before last at Brighton University Hospital. He went to find his wife. She was on the same floor as Stephanie. He could have seen her, known she was an easy target.”
Randy Jensen raised his hand to slow Claire’s pressured speech. “Easy, Dr. McCall. Let us do the detective work.” He lowered his arm to support a notebook in his other hand and lifted his eyebrows while scribbling something on the yellow paper. “May I see a mask from your office supplies?”
Claire held her tongue. If Officer Jensen needed to feel in control, it wouldn’t do any good to press him to look at the obvious. She shook her head while she walked back down the hall to an exam room. Some men are so insecure they can’t stand an intelligent woman one-upping them. Ego! She retrieved a mask from a cabinet. She handed it to Randy, who held it up against the strand in the bag. It appeared to be a perfect match.
“These girls were both from your practice. They were unable to fight back because of recent surgery.” He tapped a pen against his thigh. “I need to have a list of all your employees, everyone who could have seen a patient record. I need to know everyone on staff, their spouses, and their children.”
Claire looked up to see Lucy standing at the door to the exam room. “Help me out, Lucy. You know everyone’s family.”
Lucy listed everyone. She was amazing.
“Who has keys to the office?”
Claire numbered three employees, holding up a finger for each as she named them. “Me, Lucy, and Lisa. That’s all.”
“Anyone making deliveries, medical supplies, that sort of thing?”
“Not unless we’re here.”
Randy flipped a few pages on his little notepad. “What about a guy named Cerelli? John Cerelli?”
“John?” Claire couldn’t hide her surprise.
She watched as Jensen lifted his eyebrows again. “Does your office use his software? Would he have access to your patient records?”
“We are too small a practice to use E-Patient.” She halted. “Why are you asking about John Cerelli?”
“You know him, I take it?”
“I know him,” she responded, nodding her head. She straightened her shoulders, and squinted her eyes at the deputy. “But why are you—”
“I’ll be asking the questions, Doctor. Does this man have access to your office?”
Claire felt her stomach churn. She had given John a key a few weeks back so he could bring in some supplies. She shrugged. “He’s got a key, but—” Her voice trailed off. What’s this all about?
“You seem to have left him off your list of people with keys.”
“Well, I was thinking of employees. He’s not on staff here or anything like that.”
“Just what is your relationship with him?”
“You don’t think he’s involved with these rapes? That’s ridiculous. He’s practically a saint. He’s—”
“What is he doing with a key to the office? This would give him access to patient records, who is getting surgery, stuff like that, wouldn’t it?”
“Wel
l, sure, but—”
“Why don’t you tell me who he is?” He paused, hands folded across his broad chest. “Or perhaps you don’t know him as well as you think.”
Her hand went to her mouth until she thought about how people with things to hide often speak through their hand. She forced her hand back to her side and tried to keep her voice steady. This is crazy! She cleared her throat. “John is my boyfriend.”
That afternoon, under a cloudless sky, but sheltered by a thick canopy of evergreen, Claire and John hiked the two and a half miles up to Cedar Knob. The climb was steady, not overly taxing, but just enough to keep the chatting to a minimum. As they walked, Claire watched the back of the man she loved, the man she thought she knew. The deputy had divulged one piece of information about his interest in John Cerelli, that he had seen a package of surgical masks in John’s car. Claire had defended John, stating the obvious: that they were only a pack that had fallen from a larger box of medical supplies that John had picked up for her office. Claire thought back to snatches of other conversations where Billy Ray seemed to be implying that John was involved with Lena. When she questioned John in the hospital the night they’d gone to visit Lena, John seemed annoyed . . . or was he just a little bit afraid of a man as crazy as Billy Ray?
When they reached the top, the duo edged forward and sat on a rocky outcropping with their legs dangling over a view of the Apple Valley. After catching her breath and downing most of a bottle of water, Claire decided to air out her concerns. “Why would Deputy Jensen ask me about you?”
John didn’t look at her, but she watched a barely perceptible jerk of his head. He kept his eyes on the magnificent view in front of them. “He asked about me?”
“John, if you count Lena Chisholm, three women have been raped. They were all my patients. The deputy wanted to know who had access to my records, who had keys to my office. I told him, but I forgot I’d given a key to you.”