Fragmented

by Colleen Connally

  Sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs caused Quinn to back away from Darren, but the tension was unmistakable. Cameron’s eyes caught Darren’s. He didn’t budge. She frowned.

  “Zach has a question for you, if you don’t mind. Again…unless he’s okay with this...”

  “I understand, Cameron,” Darren responded. This was taking too long, much longer than he wanted. He just needed to grab the computer and leave.

  Cameron pulled her father into the living room. Darren surveyed the kid in front of him. Zach, still in his pajama pants, looked as if he had just slipped a sweat shirt on. His hair was disheveled. Puffy eyes. His sister woke him up out of a sound sleep.

  “Boy, wasn’t expecting this this morning.”

  “No, I expect not,” Darren said. “Did you want to clarify the terms of your sister’s agreement?”

  Zach shrugged. “Guess so. Said you could get me reinstated in school. Football, too? I want to play football again. I didn’t do this. The marijuana, if it sticks, will keep me off.”

  “I will take care of the situation, on the condition everything you have told us is on the up-and-up. As long as you are telling the truth.”

  “I am. I have been. It’s just one thing…about my computer?” he stuttered. “Cam said that the FBI can tell almost everything from a person’s computer. There may be things I wouldn’t want my sister to see. Will that get me into trouble?”

  “Anything illegal?”

  He winced. “I don’t think so.”

  Suddenly, the realization of what was bothering the kid swept over Darren. Amused, he asked bluntly, “Porn…naked girls?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe.”

  A laugh escaped Darren. That was the least of his problems. “As long as that’s all it is.”

  The kid’s face dropped. His defenses came up. “Of course.”

  Darren climbed the stairs. Pictures hung everywhere: school pictures, family functions up to a certain age. He imagined that the pictures stopped the day Cameron’s mother died.

  “Cameron?” he called.

  “I’m in here.”

  Her voice carried. He stepped into the room, obviously her former bedroom. A light green color wall, a multicolored bedspread, posters abounded, young girl teen idols, and childhood trophies. Her room looked as if it hadn’t been touched since she moved out. He reached out to read a medal hanging on the wall. First place, softball. MVP plaque, Boston Herald All-Scholastic.

  “I didn’t know you were an athlete,” he said, impressed.

  She stood with her back to him and nodded. She wiped her face. He walked over to her. Grasping her shoulders, he turned her around to face him.

  “Are you okay?”

  She wiped the other eye. “I’m fine. Is everything set?”

  He nodded. Looking into her eyes, she was hard to read, and that fact got under his skin. One minute defiant, headstrong, stubborn; the next, vulnerable. She didn’t think. She reacted. Walking into a trap. What the hell was she thinking? Brophy was right, though; she had called him before she entered. She trusted him.

  She straightened her sweat shirt and walked toward a door in the back of her room. She opened the door, which led to the walk-up attic. She flicked on a light.

  He shook his head in amazement as he watched her climb the stairs. Cardboard boxes, plastic containers, and an old rocking horse littered the small area. She walked across two-by-fours on part of the attic that had no flooring.

  Balancing herself, she picked up a box of Christmas decorations that was situated above two beams and moved it to the side. She carefully picked up a row of pink insulation underneath the box. She bent down, opened it, and picked up a laptop. She glanced back at Darren.

  He had to hand it to her. Not a bad spot. They would never have found it. For the first time since the Bruin’s game, he saw her smile. It lit up her face, a mischievous, playful smile. She moved to come back but holding the computer, she lost her balance.

  Reaching out, he caught her in his arms. She laughed as one hand had hold of the laptop, the other around him. They fell backwards on the flooring. For a moment, he stared into her eyes, forgetting the case…the murders. It was just her…her beautiful eyes. Remembering the way she felt in his arms, her body against him, her mouth on his…but the moment passed when abruptly she let go. Then he pushed himself off the floor and offered her a hand to help her up.

  “I’m sorry. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” She gave him a faint smile.

  He returned her smile while he watched her go back down the stairs. God, he wished…he caught himself, and pushed the thought from his mind. An impossibility. He had a job to do.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brophy and Waters walked into the front end of the West Campus of Beth Israel, only to be directed out across the street to another building. Brophy didn’t like hospitals; they made him nervous.

  “It’s easier than crossing over the walkway,” the elderly volunteer at the information desk offered. “Take a left at the entrance and the elevators are at the far end. You can check in at the front desk with security. I’m sure they can help you.”

  “They need a fucking map to figure out where to go in this hospital. East Campus. West Campus. Then across the street,” he muttered, walking back outside.

  The two trekked across the snow-covered street. The sidewalks were shoveled and salt had been scattered over the walkway. Brophy entered once more through another set of glass doors, to a bright inviting entrance way. At least it was easy access to the security desk.

  “Looking for a Margaret Sullivan, nursing supervisor in the transplant unit,” Waters stated at the desk.

  “I’ll have to call upstairs,” the security guard answered in a thick African accent. “Let me check with my supervisor. Is Mrs. Sullivan expecting you?”

  “Look, son,” Brophy said, pulling out his badge. “We don’t need permission or an escort. Just point us in the direction.”

  “No problem. No problem, sir. Just give me a minute,” the security guard replied. Determined to call his supervisor, he picked up the phone in his hand.

  Waters reached over the counter and cut the call short. “We’ll explain this one more time.” He paused, looking at his name tag. “Nevy, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nevy, point us to the way to Mrs. Sullivan’s office. I don’t give a damn who you call after we leave,” Waters said sharply.

  “Take the elevator to the sixth floor. I’ll call to tell them you are on your way,” Nevy said. “So you won’t have to wait.”

  “You do that,” Waters shot back.

  Neither men waited for a response. The two detectives walked to the elevator.

  Minutes later, Brophy sat in the nursing supervisor’s office…waiting for the woman. The young ward clerk had led them in and left them. Waters checked his watch. They had a lot of ground to cover. They didn’t have time to waste.

  Brophy looked up when the door opened. A big-boned woman came hustling in with files in her hand. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I didn’t realize you were coming. I was in a meeting.”

  “Of course,” Brophy responded. “We just have a few questions.”

  “It’s not often I deal with the police. Would you like some coffee, water, anything?” she asked. She walked around her desk and laid the files on a top of a stack of other files.

  “No, we’re fine. We only want a moment,” Brophy said, taking out his notepad.

  Situating herself in her chair, she looked up at the men. “Then can I ask what this pertains to? There were detectives already here asking questions. I believe they talked with human resources and a couple of employees. I need to have a clear understanding of the situation, because if I’m not mistaken, you identified yourselves as homicide detectives. The FBI has called, also inquiring about one of my employees. You can understand my concern.”

  Brophy smiled to himself. He could guess what her meeting was about. “Frankly, ma’am, we’re the
ones with the questions. If you don’t want to answer our questions, we can take everyone downtown. We’re not playing around here. The sooner we get our questions answered, the sooner we leave. It’s your call.”

  She frowned and sat back in her chair. “What do you want to know?”

  “What kind of employee is Miss Cameron Quinn?” Waters asked bluntly.

  “Quite competent,” she answered simply.

  “Look, Mrs. Sullivan, that’s not an answer. You know, maybe we should bring this downtown.”

  “Okay, okay.” She sighed. “Extremely competent. Caring with her patients. Their families love her. She’s a hard worker. Personally, I like Cameron. Always have. She always seems to have a smile on her face. She never complains to me. Willing to work overtime on a moment’s notice. She doesn’t call in to work—that is, until today, which I assume has something to do with why you’re here.”

  Brophy shrugged. “How is her relationship with her peers?”

  “For the most part, relatively good. A few of her peers complain because Cameron has what one might call tunnel vision. She has high standards, which at times she imposes on all around her, but nothing that’s an issue. I wish they all had her standards.”

  “Does she have any enemies?” Waters asked.

  Mrs. Sullivan shook her head slowly. “Not that I’m aware, but the nurses who work with her might know better. I know one—” She stopped.

  “You know what?” Brophy encouraged.

  “Liada might know better than I do. I believe she mentioned something the other day. I’ll call for her,” Mrs. Sullivan offered. She picked up the phone and made a quick call. “She’s on today. She’ll be here in a moment. Can you tell me if Cameron will be back?”

  “That I can’t answer.”

  “What is this all about? Do you think she’s in danger? Does this have something to do with her brother?”

  “Mrs. Sullivan, I’m afraid we don’t have any answers for you.”

  In a way, he couldn’t blame her. She had more to worry about than Cameron: her other employees, patients, visitors. A slight knock came on the door; a petite young woman stepped in, a pretty little thing with a bounce in her step.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

  “These are two detectives from the Boston Police Department. They have some questions for you about Cameron Quinn. I told them you were friends,” Mrs. Sullivan stated simply.

  “Thank you,” Brophy interrupted. “Appreciate the use of your office.”

  Mrs. Sullivan looked uncomfortable. She had been dismissed from her own office. She managed a smile as she left. “Take your time, gentlemen.”

  Brophy nodded. His attention turned to Liada as the door was closed. “We understand you’re a friend of Cameron’s?”

  “Here at work, yes. Not often outside work. I’m married and live out of town. Is she in trouble?”

  “Do you think she should be?” Brophy asked.

  “Of course not.” Liada’s expression changed, defensive of her friend. “She just has been…I guess you would say, preoccupied lately.”

  “How well do you know her? Does she have any enemies?” Waters asked, looking up from his notepad.

  She thought for a moment. “I don’t know if this is anything but a little while ago, she was arguing with her ex-fiancé in the stairwell.”

  His interest piqued. Brophy pushed. “Back up. Her ex-fiancé?”

  “I only know hospital gossip. Cameron doesn’t talk about it. She transferred from surgical ICU around six months ago. I heard it was to get away from Dr. Halliday.”

  “Why would she do that?” Waters questioned.

  Liada hesitated. “I heard he moved out of their apartment shortly before they were to get married. It was a while ago. Since he accepted a surgical residency here, she’s been upset. He keeps popping in the unit.”

  “So he’s flirting with her again. What’s the harm?” Brophy encouraged her to continue talking.

  “I believe he’s married now—not that it matters to some, but Cameron isn’t interested,” Liada insisted.

  “You know that how? From the argument?” Brophy pressed.

  She nodded. “In the stairwell, Cameron was stopped as I walked down. I didn’t go out the door. I kinda listened.”

  “So what did you hear?”

  “He was begging her to come back to him. Said he still loved her. Said something about fake pictures, but Cameron was having none of it. She told him to leave her alone.” She paused, as if remembering. “Oh, Cameron told him to stop Nevy from spying on her.”

  Brophy eyed her carefully. “Nevy?”

  “I believe he’s one of our security guards.”

  Brophy nodded and exchanged looks with Waters. Their day was just beginning.

  * * * *

  Brophy and Waters didn’t waste time. Sitting behind the security desk, the guard greeted the two with a wide smile. Waters returned the smile.

  “Nevy, my friend,” Waters began, enjoying the moment a bit too much. “Just the man we were looking for.”

  * * * *

  “Nevy.” Waters sat back in his chair. They had wasted no time in interviewing the security guard. This was Waters’s interview. Brophy watched from the observation room, along with Centrello. The man seemed anxious. “No need to get nervous. We’re looking for answers. That’s all.”

  “Nevy hasn’t done anything wrong.” The guard responded in third person. “Nevy has done a good job. No problems. Nevy works hard.”

  Waters nodded. “No one’s saying you haven’t. You want anything to eat…drink?”

  “I am fine, sir. I do not understand,” Nevy said. He looked apprehensively around the small room. The tiny space seemed to collapse around him. He squirmed in obvious discomfort. “I would like to get back to my work.”

  “Not a problem. You said you knew Cameron Quinn,” Waters began. He pulled the chair back. “What do you know about her?”

  Nevy tugged at his uniform and straightened his collar. “She is a nurse on the sixth floor. Very nice.”

  “Yes, I understand that, but, Nevy, have you noticed anything strange? Anyone bothering her? Maybe she’s been real nice to you,” Waters asked. He popped a soda and took a sip.

  “Oh, no sir. You are not saying she is interested in Nevy. Oh, no, sir. Dr. Halliday, he asked me to watch over her to make sure she’s okay. She works a lot of hours. Does not think about her own safety,” Nevy stated firmly.

  “Where are you from, Nevy? Somewhere in Africa?” Waters put his can down.

  “Uganda, a small village west of Kampala. I have been in America seven years. I am going to become a citizen,” he said, pride filling his voice.

  Waters smiled. “That’s quite an accomplishment. Impressive. So, Dr. Halliday wants you to watch over Miss Quinn for her own safety. And he gives you a little something to do this. It would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

  Nevy nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s expensive here in Boston. I send money home. It helps.”

  “Of course it does. And you’re not doing anything wrong,” Waters agreed with him. “Obviously Dr. Halliday is concerned about her. He has you tell him when she comes in and out?”

  “Not all the time, only if I feel anyone is bothering her,” Nevy offered.

  “When did he start this arrangement with you?” Waters took another sip. His eyes never left the guard’s.

  “Before he came to work at Beth Israel—maybe six, seven months. He’s a nice gentleman. He has to be careful because no one is supposed to know he’s looking after her. He’s married,” Nevy offered. Feeling more comfortable, he eased back against his chair.

  “I know. You don’t find it strange a married man is looking after a young, attractive, single woman in this manner?” Waters leaned over the table.

  “He explained it all. He wanted to marry her. Then someone played a dirty trick. He has to be careful this time to protect her because someone will do anything to keep them apart,” he re
sponded. He started tapping his foot.

  “So they are seeing each other?” Waters wanted clarification.

  Nevy shook his head. “Dr. Halliday wants to, but I believe the young woman said no.” He leaned closer to Waters. “I think she’s seeing someone else.”

  “Who?” Waters asked; his interest rose.

  “I do not know. No one from the hospital. I told Dr. Halliday this man dropped her off at work one morning. They kissed in the car, and she laughed when she got out. And again last week, she took a long way around so not to run into anyone. I helped her. He waited for her. He took her home.”

  “What did he look like? Car?” Waters continued.

  “I never saw his face. A black Lexus,” Nevy said assuredly.

  “What did Dr. Halliday say, do?” Waters sat back upright.

  Nevy screwed his face up tightly. He hesitated. He began breathing rapidly. “I want to go back to work now.”

  “Nevy, the only way to get everything cleared up is to tell the truth. What did Dr. Halliday do? Or did he have you do something?” Waters pushed. Nevy winced. He wouldn’t look at Waters. Waters banged his hand down hard on the table. Nevy shook. “You have one chance here, my friend. You better use it wisely.”

  “I…I…” he stuttered. Waters glared at him. “He had me go over to her apartment to check on her occasionally.”

  “Excuse me? You watched her from the street? Stalked her?” Waters pushed back from the table, using all of his six-foot-three frame to fill the room.

  Nevy drew back. “Not exactly, sir. He gave me a key. He wanted me to check out her apartment that she was okay. He doesn’t like her roommates. You have to understand.”

  Waters broke in. “Dr. Halliday has a key to her apartment?”

  Nevy nodded slowly. Brophy knocked on the mirror from the observation room. It was all they needed.

  * * * *

  Darren rubbed the back of his neck. His day had been long and it was about to get longer. Brophy and Waters had been busy. He was set to meet up with the two, as soon as Mr. Neslund came down to pick up Cameron. The laptop had been delivered to the FBI Homeland Security Division, in their Boston office. Thankfully, the laptop’s battery was dead. It couldn’t be turned on. They had a shot at looking at the hard drive before that damn virus corrupted the files, like it had every other computer it touched…even Cameron’s new laptop. Couldn’t get any information off it.