[Gina Mazzio RN 01.0 - 03.0] Bone Set

by JJ Lamb

  Same time, same game.

  “You know, detective,” Gina said, “I’m not a happy camper. You were flippant with me on Friday, and I had to come in here to get you to respond to my phone messages.”

  Yee gave her a so-who-the-hell-cares kind of look.

  “I really wanted to get a hold of Detective Mulzini, who helped me about a year ago, and was very kind.”

  “You and Mulzini have a thing for each other?”

  “Hardly,” Gina said.

  Yee opened her notebook to a fresh page. “So what was that all about?”

  He looked into some death threats that came my way because of a union situation. He also handled an extortion and murder situation involving the hospital’s bone marrow cancer treatment patients. It was pretty wild. Anyway, I always felt he had me in his sites. He was great.”

  Yee’s face relaxed. “Yeah, he’s one of the good guys, but don’t ever quote me. I’d deny it to the end.” She tapped a pencil from end to end, briefly studied a picture on her desk that Gina couldn’t see. “So what’s happening to bring you here tonight? Not the same problem, I hope.”

  Gina slipped out of her raincoat, mostly to stall while she thought about what she was going to say. She would have to be logical, not run off at the mouth as she had with her manager.

  “You remember the call Friday when this … this creep told me a woman had been sliced up?”

  Yee nodded.

  “Well, late last night, the same weirdo called me at home. Told me another woman had been cut into pieces, a nurse that I work with, Shelly Wilton.”

  “Called at your apartment, not the hospital?”

  Gina nodded. “It was scary … scary to know he could find me so easily, that anyone could find me so easily.” Gina bowed her head, covered her eyes to hide the tears that welled up without warning

  “It’s okay. I understand. Go on.”

  “I didn’t want to believe him, but when I went to work today and Shelly didn’t come in, I was frantic. Tina, another coworker, said it wasn’t unusual — Shelly is supposedly known for taking time off unexpectedly.”

  “You work with her and never noticed?”

  Gina reached for a tissue from the detective’s desk and dabbed at her eyes. “When I thought about it, I realized it was true. But it’s not my thing to get into other people’s business. As long as we’re fully staffed,” Gina shrugged, “life goes on.”

  Yee looked around the squad room. “Sort of the same thing here.”

  “I tried to call Shelly on and off all night, then again today. No one answers. Something’s happened. I just know it.”

  Yee continued to write as Gina spoke. “First of all, I’m going to have to do a fly-by and see if this Shelly Wilton is there, or if someone knows where she might be. Maybe she is sick.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you’ll stay away. I’ll let you know what’s up.”

  “God, it would be such a relief if she was there,” Gina said.

  “Is your address in the phone book?”

  “No! In fact, not even my telephone number is in the book. It’s been that way since I moved to San Francisco.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “No. My fiancé lives with me, but he’s not always in town.”

  “Name?”

  “Lucke. Harry Lucke.”

  “Occupation?”

  “Travel Nurse. Goes all over the country on assignment.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Gina thought for a moment. “He’s in town, but we’re, uh, taking a time-out … for the time being.”

  The detective closed her notebook, leaned back in her chair and leveled her gaze at Gina: “Does he know Shelly Wilton?”

  “No! And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  Chapter 14

  It was almost 4:30 when Tina told Gina there was a personal call waiting for her on Line #3.

  Harry!

  The thought gave her a momentary high that crashed with the reality of their situation. Besides, she wasn’t ready to talk to him, and she had the disturbing thought that this time they might not find their way back together. Still, where was he? It wasn’t like him to stay out of touch this long.

  She became transfixed by the blinking light.

  Maybe it was Yee, finally getting back to her. If so, the cop had taken her own sweet time about it. She was antsy to find out what Yee had discovered during her so-called fly-by of Shelly’s apartment – if the detective even went there.

  Mostly, Gina didn’t want it to be that voice again. She held her breath and took the call.

  “I stopped by Shelly Wilton’s apartment about an hour ago,” Detective Yee said without preliminaries.

  Gina’s throat constricted, she squeezed both hands into tight fists until her knuckles turned white. She waited, expecting Yee to lower her voice, then tell her that Shelly was not only dead, but cut up and scattered all around the apartment.

  “What did you find?” Gina whispered rapidly. “Is she all right?”

  “Everything appeared to be in order. No sign of anything unusual. But no sign of Ms Wilton, either. Or any clue as to where she might be.”

  “Did you speak to the super?”

  “Ms. Mazzio, I did what needed to be done.”

  “Then what do you think?”

  “It’s too soon to think anything.”

  “But we can’t just ignore the nut who called me at work, and then at home. And we can’t ignore the fact Shelly hasn’t come into to work for the past two days.”

  “We’ll let it play out a little longer. She may turn up.”

  Gina hated the way Yee retreated into a condescending mode. A voice riddled with a there-there-you’re-a-nut-case cadence.

  “Easy for you to say,” Gina snapped. “No one’s stalking you … you with your big gun and badge.” Then in almost the same breath, “Why did I ever think you’d do anything helpful or significant?”

  She punched the disconnect button. The line lit up almost immediately. She refused to pick it up; she would just have to find out for herself what was going on with Shelly.

  Gina turned and stared at Chelsea, who’d been called in to take Shelly’s place. But seeing the on-call nurse only accentuated her fears about the missing nurse.

  And as for Yee? Screw her!

  “Stop looking at me that way,” Chelsea said. “I’m only here because Shelly didn’t show up for work. Would you rather be understaffed?”

  Gina held up a hand. “Sorry, Chels. I’m just worried about Shelly. Believe me, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Don’t pay attention to her,” Tina said. “She’s a born complainer. Kvetch, kvetch! Never satisfied about anything. Aiyiyi!”

  “Bite yourself,” Gina blurted.

  “There goes the drama queen. Always a sage word for us lesser people.”

  Gina wanted to punch her out, but instead of taking the Bronx approach to settling things, she headed for the door. “It’s five and I’m out of here.” Her eyes bored into Tina’s. “And I wish you’d stop taking those nasty pills. They’re much too efficacious.”

  As she walked out the door, she heard Chelsea say, “What nasty pills?”

  * * *

  The Fiat coughed, spat out billowing exhaust smoke and fumes, then shuddered into silence. Gina pounded on the dashboard, tried again.

  “What’s with you? Why can’t you do smooth? Why can’t you do easy? Why can’t you do what the hell you’re supposed to do?”

  The starter whirred away, paused as though the car was actually considering her litany of questions, then the ignition caught and fired. The engine roughness smoothed out quicker than usual; the tach needle trembled only slightly, then settled in to indicate a steady rpm.

  She let loose a huge sigh. “I knew you could do it, baby.”

  She entered into the flow of traffic, a vision of spaghetti doing a number in her head. But instead of pulling a hard right to take her
home, she headed straight out toward the Sunset district.

  Twenty minutes later, after a ferocious search for a parking place, she climbed a long flight of concrete stairs and stood at the doorway to Shelly Wilton’s apartment building. The structure dated back a few decades, but it had been recently renovated and the smell of fresh paint permeated in the air. She peered at the metal mailbox and studied the names of the occupants.

  She pressed Shelly Wilton’s apartment buzzer, tapped her foot as she waited for a response. Giving up, she rang for the super and within a minute a man wearing a grimy, almost threadbare, gray sweatshirt popped his head out the door.

  Gina wanted to smile at the work of the amateur embroiderer who had stitched “Maxxy” around the neck of his shirt in ugly shocking pink. Instead she concentrated on how the garish color highlighted his sallow completion.

  “We’re all outta apartments, honey,” he yelled.

  Gina stared at the big scruffy man, eyed the stenciled Shit Happens on the front of his well-worn sweatshirt, then pointed at his chest:

  “Ain’t it the truth,” she yelled back And then, even louder, “Don’t call me honey.”

  He gave her a blank stare, then started to close his door.

  “Wait!”

  “Did’nya hear me, lady? Ain’t got a single empty pad right now.”

  She motioned for him to open the outer door. He gave her a perfunctory nod, the door lock buzzed, and she stepped into the foyer.

  “Listen, Maxxy,” I need you to hear me out, okay?’ I’m not looking for a place to bed down. I’m looking for Shelly Wilton in 3C.”

  “Yeah, you, the police, and my grandmudder. So what?” He held his door half open. “Far as I’m concerned, her rent is cool for another month. She pays the dough, she gets her privacy. If you ain’t got a warrant, go ‘way!”

  Before he could slam the door in her face, Gina blurted, “So where you from Maxxy? You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Maybe back East?”

  “Yeah, so what’s it to ya?”

  “Nothin,’ nothin.’ Just that I get lonely for my home turf. Hearing you talk is music to my ears.”

  He took a closer look at her. “Yeah? So where you from?” The door opened an inch or two more.

  “The Bronx … Grand Concourse.”

  “Gidouttahere! You, too?”

  “Moved here a couple of years ago.” Gina smiled. “Beats shoveling snow.”

  The super opened the door all the way and gave her a you-ain’t-shitting-me-sneer while he pulled a ring of keys from the loop on his jeans, motioned for her to follow him. She started up the steps, tried to avoid smelling his trail of stale sweat.

  “So what’s up with Shelly? Seems like a good enough kid to me.”

  “Yeah, I like her, too. But I’m worried. She hasn’t shown up for work for two days. I’ve called her. Not a peep.”

  “Thinkin’ about her myself since the police came by.”

  Gina ran her hand along the freshly painted banister as they climbed two flights of newly carpeted stairs. The rug was already spotted from foot traffic carrying the dregs of bad weather.

  Shelly’s name was typed on a card above her bell. He knocked, waited a moment, then turned a key in the lock.

  The first thing that hit Gina was the feeling that no one lived here any more. It felt empty, sterile. She shrugged off a chill of fear that told her Shelly was dead and started looking around the one-bedroom apartment.

  The place was surprisingly tidy. Gina always thought of Shelly as a kind of sloppy character, judging from her desk at work. But the person who lived here was more artistic than messy.

  Several of the paintings scattered around on the walls were signed by Shelly in bold letters. That was a total surprise. Gina couldn’t remember Shelly ever talking about being an artist. They were interesting paintings, mostly nudes. The fleshy subjects had tentative stares that gazed into space. Something had them puzzled.

  Probably a statement about life; I’m sure as hell puzzled by it most of the time.

  All seemed in order. If Shelly was murdered, it didn’t happen here, even a clueless amateur could see that.

  Maxxy’s restless jingle of keys told her that he’d had enough. Before he could say anything to move her out of the apartment, she hurried into a bright, spacious bedroom.

  The first thing she saw was a jumble of paint tubes and a dozen well used brushes in a jar. They were on a color-splattered drafting table next to a wooden easel that held a large, partially completed painting. Again, a nude.

  A double bed at the other end of the room was a scramble of burgundy sheets, with an orange comforter half-on, half-off. A small teak dresser held a few novels and one framed picture of Shelly posed between an older couple. Probably her parents. Perched on the end of the dresser was a telephone and message machine. There were no blinking lights.

  “Whadaya say, Bronxie? Had enough?”

  Gina wanted to stay, wanted to learn more about the woman who had worked with her for the past year, someone she knew so little about.

  Are we all destined to be strangers? Walk around smiling, nodding, thinking we know so much about each other when we know nothing about what really goes on in each other’s heads or in each other’s hearts?

  She looked at the super, noticed the gold band around his left ring finger. His eyes held dark circles, the kind of hollowness earned from pacing the floor with a sick child night after night.

  “You have children, Maxxy?”

  His chest seemed to expand; he laughed. “Oh, yeah! My little six-year-old boy did this.” He pointed to his name on the neck of the sweatshirt. ”Not too much of a guy yet, but he’ll catch up later.”

  “Sure he will.”

  “And I have a beauty of a deuce. She’s already breakin’ hearts.”

  He shut the door behind them and they went down the two flights. Gina realized there was nothing here to explain Shelly’s disappearance. Just as Yee had said. She’d hoped for at least some kind of clue, but there wasn’t even a telephone message on her answering machine. All she really knew was that Shelly had disappeared without a clue.

  “Thanks for helping me out, Maxxy.”

  “Anything for a Bronx pal.”

  At the front door she shook his hand.

  “You’re a lucky man to have that family.”

  “Bet your sweet ass, kid.”

  Chapter 15

  The cafeteria was quiet, about an hour too early for the surge of noon-hour traffic. There were a few clusters of people here and there, but still plenty of empty places to sit. Gina, who’d opted for the early lunch slot, grabbed a bowl of minestrone and an espresso, then claimed a window seat. She stared out at Ridgewood’s native California-style garden – usually vibrant, it looked sodden and miserable from the constant dousing of the past few days.

  She held up a spoonful of the thick vegetable soup, but couldn’t bring herself to eat it. The utensil sank back into the bowl while she filtered events of the past few days.

  “Hi, Gina!”

  She turned – Eddie St. George.

  “You look lonely,” he said. “Mind if I join you? I could use some company.” He stood next to the table, looking down at her, then quickly glanced around the room before returning his attention to her.

  Gina was surprised he wanted to sit with her after she was so rude the other day

  She nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

  He lowered his tray, which was filled with some kind of Chinese concoction – plenty of crispy noodles spread across over-cooked vegetables. Then he eased his long, lanky body into the molded plastic chair. When he was comfortable, he looked at her with soft green eyes that again made her think of Harry. As he started to eat, she studied him more closely. There was sadness in the droop of his shoulders, and he continually released a barely audible sigh before he took each bite of food.

  Troubled man.

  The moment forced her to stop thinking about her own problems, made her
realize how much she missed direct patient contact, the opportunity for insight into human suffering. The world needed more compassion, not the misdirection of indifference and compulsive anger.

  Her thoughts eased the tension of the Gordian knot in her skull. Suddenly she was hungry, the first time in several days. She picked up her spoon and dipped into the minestrone.

  She noticed the CHEMwest rep was staring at her, a forkful of food poised in front of his face. Megan Ann was right: he was very attractive.

  “What would it take to convince you to have a drink with me after work?” St George said.

  Her first thought was: was she or wasn’t she still engaged to Harry? Second thought: would going out with him be fair to Megan Ann, who was seriously into to this guy? Without really sorting it all out, she decided it might be good to kick back with someone for an hour or so.

  “We could do that,” she said.

  * * *

  The rest of the shift was dismal. She and Tina barely spoke to each other. Chelsea, caught in the middle, tried to mediate, but soon gave up and spoke only when spoken to, or when taking a patient call.

  Alexandros popped into Advice around 2:00. Gina took call after call and barely nodded to her. At one point the manager indicated she wanted to speak to her and Gina reluctantly put the next call on hold.

  “How are you doing?” the manager asked

  Gina forced a smile, one she didn’t remotely feel like giving, and in a neutral voice said, “It’s a busy day.”

  Alexandros sat down next to her. “Not what I meant.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean: Am I still thinking about the big, bad boogieman? Worrying about imaginary scary things that go bump in the night? Or, have I crossed the line and gone totally nuts?”

  Alexandros flipped a strand of hair away from her eye, said nothing.

  “I’m fine,” Gina said, “just doing my job.”

  “If you need me, I’m in my office.” Without another word Alexandros walked out of Advice.