Your Eight O'clock is Dead

by Kat Jorgensen

  Yowser. The bulbs had really lit the cat up. I couldn’t imagine what those little gems were going to do to our patients.

  Yes, I’d come up with a new form for patient charts. I was going to document that our patients were who they said they were, complete with picture identifications. It was the only way I could think to get a picture of Joe Rizzo without raising undue suspicion. And still be able to keep my job.

  In case I was somehow wrong and Joe was not the person Daisy saw, I checked the appointment book and the doctors’ personal schedules for clients who might have known either Robert O’Malley and/or Anna Blake and fit the general description of the killer.

  Male, mid-30s to 50s with dark hair.

  That could be a lot of people.

  Good thing I was equipped with lots of film and flashbulbs.

  After an uneventful morning of snapping shots, I readied myself for Joe’s afternoon appointment. Praying that Marcy’s appointment ran over, I checked and double-checked the camera to make sure it was ready to go when Joe walked through the door.

  Five minutes to two. Dr. Daley was at the hospital making rounds and still no sign of Marcy’s current session ending. So far, so good. Now all I needed was the patient.

  I didn’t have long to wait.

  Joe Rizzo entered the office at his customary arrival time of two minutes to two.

  “She in?” he asked and stood in front of my desk.

  “Sure is. Running a bit behind schedule. But I expect she’ll be through any moment.”

  Joe handed me his credit card for his copayment. But before I processed it, I asked him to sign the new form for his chart.

  Patients rarely questioned what they’re asked to sign. It’s a disturbing trend.

  “Now before you take a seat, this is the second part of our new form. I need a pictorial ID of you.”

  Joe reached back into his wallet and extracted his driver’s license before I could stop him.

  “Oh no, I can’t use that. We need a non-governmental, non-agency photo.” Whatever the heck that meant. I lifted the Polaroid camera. “Stand right there and I’ll get a quick picture for the file.” I snapped off a shot before he knew what was happening.

  “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. What the hell did you hit me with? I can’t see a fricking thing.” He rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly.

  I popped the used bulb out and threw in another. As soon as his face appeared reasonably like I was used to seeing it, I clicked off another shot.

  “Holy bat shit! Are you trying to burn the retinas right out of my head? Does that camera have lasers attached to it? What is it some souped-up shrink special?” He danced around the office and swatted at the lights he must be seeing.

  I remembered the feeling well from Christmases past when Granddad stood behind the camera and I opened my presents.

  Presents that always appeared to have thousands of bright lights surrounding them.

  “Careful, Joe. You don’t want to fall.” I got up from the desk to steady him. That’s all I needed, to have a patient fall and break a hip. How quickly would I be spelling unemployment then?

  “Is that equipment legal? Are you sure you’re doing it right? I don’t think it should blind the other person, do you?

  “Have a seat and let your eyes calm down. Try keeping them closed for a few minutes.”

  “It doesn’t help. I can still see stars even with my eyes closed. Only now they’re red. It’s like staring at the eclipse or Mars. You know, The Red Planet. But that time I was tripping. Yeah, it’s kind of like a bad drug trip without any of the benefits. Has anyone else complained?”

  Perhaps I’d hit him with the flashes too close together. I sure hope I hadn’t done any permanent damage to his eyes.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed up his face while keeping his eyes shut. “Shouldn’t I be getting better by now?”

  Hmm…yes, he should be. I reached over and examined the latest bar of bulbs I’d used. Granddad!

  I should have known. He always did go overboard on stuff.

  These bulbs were an off-brand I’d never heard of. I read the ad on the box. “The Space Bulb 2000. Light Your Way to Better Shots. Takes night pictures, too.” Oh great.

  Hurrying to the water cooler, I dabbed a couple of tissues under the tap and soaked them until they were a soggy mess. But they were all I had available. “Here, put these on your eyes. It’ll help take the sting out.”

  “Sting? Sting? We’re talking serious burning here.”

  I didn’t doubt it. I could choke Granddad and his Space Bulbs.

  How had I grabbed a pack of those suckers and why, oh why had I used them on Joe of all people? All of my other shots had gone perfectly. And the one person whose image I desperately needed to capture was a disaster.

  Marcy opened the door to her suite and maneuvered her patient out of the suite. Turning, she frowned, demanding in a low voice, “Becca, what’s going on? Why is my client soaking his head? Joe, please tell me you’re not stoned again.

  I slid the camera behind me and waited nervously for Joe to reply. Instead, he groaned. Marcy lifted an eyebrow in my direction. “Stoned?” she mouthed.

  I was going to hell, anyway, what was one more little lie? I nodded and rolled my eyes. “Who’d like coffee?” I offered brightly.

  Dr. Palmer helped an unsteady Joe Rizzo to his feet, while I poured them both a cup of coffee. Then I crept away in order to see how my pictures had turned out.

  Chapter 32

  Damn, damn, and damn again.

  I stared at the pictures I’d taken of Joe Rizzo. Granddad and those stupid Space Bulbs 2000. The pictures were horrible. I doubted that Joe’s mother would have recognized him from the photos I’d taken.

  His poor features were so screwed up from his blink reaction to the flash, that he was basically unrecognizable.

  I threw them down on my desk.

  How in the heck would I get the shot that I needed so that I could get a positive ID from Daisy, and bring Anna and Robert’s killer to justice?

  Joe’s session ended, and he and Marcy Palmer walked out of the office together. He still looked Space Bulbed 2000, poor guy. Fortunately, I think the flash also deleted some of his memory. Not that he could afford to lose more brain cells, but at least it kept him from tattling on me. I checked the schedule. Marcy had a gap in clients. Her next patient wasn’t due in for another hour. I didn't doubt that in the meantime, she’d make a mall trip.

  Joe hadn’t stopped to schedule another appointment. I flipped open his billing file, the one Marcy had tossed on top of my inbox. I scanned the next visit section of the notes.

  Nothing was written there. So Joe hadn’t just wanted to beat a hasty retreat from the session. Marcy didn’t need to see him again. Boy, would I love to see those therapy notes!

  I grabbed the Polaroid and the Polaroid only. The bar of Space Bulbs 2000 sat in my desk drawer where it couldn’t blind or lobotomize anyone.

  And then I ran down the hall after Joe. Exiting the building, I watched Marcy speed off in her sporty little car toward the new mall. And I saw Joe ambling in the opposite direction toward the far end of the parking lot. The part of the lot that bordered on the scary woods. Or at least they were dark and scary in my mind’s eye.

  Putting my own personal fear out of my mind, I raced after Joe. Not wanting to alert him that I was hot on his trail, I didn’t call out.

  Running in heels was not the smartest thing to do, but I was on a mission, a mission to get Joe’s image fixed on photo paper. A mission to catch a killer.

  And I was gaining on him and closing the gap. He seemed unsteady on his feet. If I could just put on the after-burners, I had a chance of catching him before he got into his car.

  My right heel caught in a crevice in the sidewalk. I twisted my ankle but caught myself before I fell to the ground. I grimaced inwardly. This was going to really hurt later.

  At the sound of my curses, Joe turned around. He seem
ed trapped in a quandary. Or it could just be the after-effects of my photo session still making his features appear confused.

  But then he surprised me.

  Instead of rushing to his car and hopping in, he came toward me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded and tried to hide the camera behind me.

  “It sounded like an elephant taking a spill.”

  Gee, just what every girl wants to hear. “It kind of took me by surprise.” I checked the heel on my shoe and saw that it was twisted and about to come off. And these were my best shoes.

  “Can you walk on those?” He pointed to my mangled heel.

  I tested it out and found that neither the heel nor my ankle was all that supportive.

  “Ouch!” I grabbed hold of him and in the process, the camera banged into his arm. Instinctively, he backed up a step.

  “Wait, Joe. Don’t go.” He kept backing up while keeping his gaze fixed on the Polaroid. “I just need one more shot.” Oops, that was the wrong thing to say. He practically broke into a sprint. There was no way I’d be able to catch him now. “JOE! Please. If I don’t get a picture of you, I’ll lose my JOB.”

  He stopped. Okay, it was an out and out lie. But it did the trick.

  I hobbled over to where he stood. “Just one more shot.” He glared at the camera dangling from my hand.

  “I don’t think so. It’s just getting so I’m not seeing so many stars and lights.”

  “Check it out.” I held the camera out so he could examine it more closely. “I don’t have the flash attached. I figured we could get a nice shot of you in natural light. The flash ruined the others. And I do have to have one for your file. You don’t want me to lose my job over this do you?” I tried to appear even more pitiful than I felt. It wasn’t hard to do.

  He shrugged. “If you don’t use the flash, I guess it’ll be okay.”

  He still sounded dubious.

  “I promise you. You won’t feel a thing.” I took a step or two back trying to maintain my balance and made sure the angle of the sun was okay. But seriously, I couldn’t be too fussy or take too long. Or I’d risk losing him.

  Clicking off a quick shot, I pulled the film from the camera. Joe started to move away from me. “Wait! What if it doesn’t turn out?”

  “You’ve got some nerve. I think I’ve been more than cooperative.” He got into his car without a backward glance.

  And you know, I really couldn’t argue with him. All I could do was hope that this time I had a picture that actually resembled the real Joe Rizzo before Granddad’s Space Bulbs had lit him up. Literally.

  Checking the parking lot before leaving, I was relieved to see Ryder’s black SUV parked in its usual spot.

  Since his comings and goings were so unpredictable, I had to get to his house, show the picture to Daisy, get her confirmation on the killer and then make my way to Police Headquarters or Edna’s attorney or somewhere. I’d figure out the next step as soon as I had the positive identification.

  Traffic was still moderate at this time of day. I’d left a hastily written note that I had an emergency errand to run and would be back soon.

  If all worked out the way I intended, I’d be back before Marcy bought another pair of shoes and before Dr. Dick made the rest of his hospital rounds.

  It took less than ten minutes to reach Daisy’s house. No sign of any cars. Most people in the neighborhood either worked or parked their vehicles in their attached garages.

  I didn’t hear movement inside in response to my knocking on the door. I tried the bell. Melodic tones rang out, and I pressed myself against one of the porch posts. The sound seemed way too loud in the quiet afternoon air.

  Still nothing.

  I went around to the back.

  A white vinyl privacy fence surrounded Ryder’s yard. Just like him to want to keep others out. I tried the latch on the gate. Locked from the inside. No surprise there.

  The fence was over six feet tall. At 5’8” if I jumped, I might be able to catch a glance of the back yard over the fence.

  But then there was the issue of my wonky heel still hanging on by a thread and my rapidly expanding ankle. I should have taken the time to slap an elastic bandage on it. But I wanted to get this done.

  I jumped and landed hard on my feet. The wonky heel snapped off, and I almost went down. The only thing that saved me was the fence.

  “Damn!” I picked up the broken heel and jammed it in my purse.

  Hobbling around the perimeter of the back yard, I saw no way in. I had circled back to the front of the house when I saw a curtain drop back into place. This wasn’t wishful thinking or my imagination. I’d seen it. So she was home.

  I crept close to the front door. “Daisy, please let me in. I have something important to show you,” I called, then waited.

  Still no response.

  “Please, Daisy. I’ll take full responsibility for everything. But I have to see you. Just for a minute. I don’t even have to come in. Just open the door.”

  I held my breath and prayed that Daisy would take pity on me. I was almost at the point of giving up when the door opened a crack.

  “Thank goodness.”

  Daisy shook her head no and kept the security chain on the door.

  “I’ve taken some pictures that I want you to see. But I can’t do it through the door. Please let me in or come out here.”

  Daisy shook her head no vigorously.

  I guess that meant she wasn’t coming outside. “Your brother is at work. I made sure of that before I came here. Please let me in. This will only take a minute.”

  No head shake this time.

  No movement either.

  As impatient as I was, I waited and tried to chill out while silently pleading for her to open the door.

  And finally, she did.

  I tried not to rush in.

  Her door opening was so tentative that I didn’t want to scare her into shutting it before I got properly inside.

  “Hey, how’re you doing?” As I limped into the hallway, I tried to sound light and non-threatening. Anything not to spook her.

  She pointed to my swollen ankle and the broken shoe.

  “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I lost a battle with a sidewalk.” I smiled.

  Daisy continued to point and made a gesture with her hands to signify that she understood how swollen the ankle was. “Hurt?” she asked.

  If only she knew how much it hurt. But I put on my brave Becca face. “Not too bad. It could have been a lot worse.”

  She took me by the elbow as if to steady me and led me into the living room as though tending a wounded bird.

  Her touch was that gentle. And strangely her hand on my arm calmed me down and took some of the frenetic energy out of me.

  The plant remained in the middle of the room. I guess Ryder had lost a battle with Daisy on that one. Or he’d decided to leave it there until he could have the stain removed and the carpet cleaned.

  I took a seat in the chair Daisy indicated, and she drew the rocker up close to me. She stared at me with such hope in her eyes that my heart did a tiny flippy thing.

  Fishing in my purse, I came up with six pictures of patients. I knew enough from cop shows on television that you did not show a person just one picture. You showed them a photo array. And that’s what I had here. An array of our male patients who loosely fit Joe Rizzo’s description. And then one actually of Joe Rizzo.

  I laid the photos out on the coffee table in front of us after moving several magazines on beads and beaded jewelry. Immediately, Daisy straightened the magazines and stacked them in a neat pile off to the side.

  “Now take your time. Point to the man you saw kill Robert O’Malley.”

  Daisy seemed to consider each picture, her gaze lingering on one photo before moving on to the next.

  I had placed Joe’s photo as number 4 in the line-up. Not too near the beginning to influence her unduly and not at the end where she might be tempt
ed to pick someone just so she wouldn’t disappoint me.

  But she had me worried.

  She reached the end of the photo array, and I couldn’t tell from her expression if she had picked Joe out of the line-up or not. Me and my insensitivity. I was causing her to relive the murder all over again by showing her the picture of the killer.

  Reaching out to her, I placed my hand on her arm. That got her attention. “It’s okay. I know this is difficult for you. And if I could have thought of an easier way, I would have.”

  Daisy’s nonplussed reaction had me puzzled. “Do you recognize anyone here?”

  Daisy didn’t answer me, but then I was used to that. I tried again. “Anyone?”

  She hovered her right hand over the photos, and I sucked in a breath. This was it. Any second she’d pick Joe out of the line-up. Edna would go free, while a murderer would end up behind bars. And I didn’t have to be creeped out sitting at my desk in a place where someone had been killed. The firm would hail me as a hero. My job would be safe, and everyone would live happily ever after. Well, everyone except for Joe Rizzo, who would go to jail and maybe even get the death penalty. But then considering he’d killed two people, it was what he deserved.

  Daisy’s hand still hovered.

  The suspense was killing me. I so wanted to take her wrist and slap her hand down on Joe’s picture, but then that would defeat what I’d set up. I had to be patient. Too bad that wasn’t one of my virtues.

  “Daisy?” I prompted.

  She shook her head no.

  NO! No, it couldn’t be.

  I stared at Joe’s picture.

  It was a damn good likeness of him if I did say so myself. In fact, out of all of the patient pictures I’d taken, Joe’s third shot was probably the best of the lot.

  She shook her head again.

  “Is it that you don’t recognize anyone or just aren’t sure.”

  She shrugged.

  I forced myself to be kind and gentle.“Daisy, this is so important. Please take another look.”

  She studied the photos again and shook her head.