Sin and Bone

by Debra Webb

  “What about Richard Sutter?”

  Pierce lifted one shoulder in a negligible shrug. “Our parting was less than amiable. He filed several lawsuits but all were dismissed as frivolous.”

  “Less than amiable” was a vast understatement. “He suffered tremendous financial losses when the two of you severed your business relationship.”

  A single nod. “Our visions for the project turned out to be vastly different. Severing the relationship was his choice, not mine.”

  Bella held back the laugh that tickled her throat but she couldn’t completely hide the smile. “My assessment of those events is that you left him no other choice.”

  He stood. “There are always choices, Ms. Lytle. Perhaps limited, but choices nonetheless. I think I’ll have something stronger than the coffee. Would you like a drink?”

  “The coffee is fine.”

  She watched as he crossed the room, then opened a cabinet that revealed a bar lined with mirrors and glass shelves. He reached for a bottle of bourbon and poured a significant serving into a glass. His every move was measured, elegant, like the suit he wore.

  Bella had read many articles about Pierce before tragedy sent his life on a different path. She’d even watched a couple of television interviews. Dr. Devon Pierce had been a real Chicago hero at Rush University Medical Center. He’d smiled often in the interviews. He’d spoken like a man determined to help others...determined to do good. He and two partners were developing a new kind of ER model. He had been a man with a mission. A happy man.

  This was not the same man. He’d resigned from his position as head of surgery at Rush. He’d become completely obsessed with his mission to create a better ER. He’d withdrawn from society beyond the necessary appearances at fund-raisers. But he had completed his mission. His prototype, the Edge, was an unparalleled emergency department dedicated to his late wife.

  When he’d taken his seat once more, she asked, “Assuming his goal is to ruin you or perhaps worse, do you believe Mr. Sutter would go to these extremes to have his vengeance?”

  “Richard is an extremely intelligent man with vast resources. He certainly possesses the means to carry out such an elaborately planned plot, but I would prefer to think not. Yet here we are.” He sipped his drink.

  Bella watched him savor the taste that lingered on his lips. Her throat parched and she had to look away. “You knew the man—like a brother, you claimed in one of the interviews I watched. Would he want to simply damage your reputation? Or is he capable of far worse?”

  That blue gaze trapped hers once more. “Powerful men rarely have set boundaries, Ms. Lytle.”

  She didn’t have to ask if he fell into that same category. “Would he overstep the bounds of the law? Risk criminal charges and perhaps jail time?” As Pierce pointed out, setting up a woman who resembled his wife, complete with similar physical injuries, and delivering her in such a way as was done today was not a small thing. And certainly not one that was legal under any circumstances.

  “I believe that may be the case.”

  “Was a lack of resources why he didn’t come after you before? Five years is quite a while to wait for revenge.” Sutter and Pierce had broken their partnership five years ago. Sutter had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth until about eighteen months ago. Bella had tracked his return back that far. He stayed out of the public eye these days.

  “His resources took a hit when our association ended but he was far from devastated financially,” Pierce explained. “It was likely the failed legal steps and the cancer that kept him from making a move like this before. Rumor is he found a private hospital in some country not burdened by the FDA’s restraints to seek treatment. I have no idea how long he was out of the country.”

  A near-death experience like surviving cancer often changed a person’s priorities. It was possible that survival had sent Sutter on his own mission. “This might be the most important question I ask you tonight, Dr. Pierce,” she warned. “Does Sutter have a legitimate reason to want revenge?” She waited, watched his face, his eyes.

  One, two, three seconds elapsed. He downed another sip of bourbon. “Yes.”

  “All right.” Bella appreciated that it hadn’t been necessary to drag that answer out of him. More than that, she was grateful he answered honestly. “Does he have some sort of information or evidence that could hurt you?” After all, the message left in Pierce’s office had been pretty clear: I know what you did.

  “Professionally, no.”

  “What about personally?” Bella waited, suddenly unable to breathe.

  He finished off the bourbon before meeting her gaze. “He believes I killed my wife.”

  There was an answer she hadn’t expected. “Does he have tangible evidence or probable cause to believe you wanted your wife dead?”

  Bella was certain her heart didn’t beat while she waited for him to answer.

  “Have you ever loved something so much you would do anything to possess it and, once it was yours, to keep it?”

  His words were spoken so softly, she’d had to strain to hear. As for his question, if she was completely honest she would confess that she felt exactly that way about her work. Her career defined her. There was nothing else. Her sister and she rarely talked, never visited each other. Basically she had no family. No real love life. Her career—her professional reputation—was everything. She would do anything within the law to keep it.

  “I suppose so,” she said at last.

  “I loved my wife, Ms. Lytle.” His fingers tightened on the empty glass. “More than anything. I thought giving her everything her heart desired was enough, but it wasn’t. She wanted more and I didn’t see that until it was too late.”

  “She turned to someone else,” Bella supplied. It happened to career-focused—obsessed—people all the time.

  He placed his glass on the table next to the deserted coffee. “She did indeed.”

  “What did you do about that?” The urge to feel sympathy for him hit her harder than it should have.

  “Nothing. I ignored it. Hoped it would go away.”

  An odd answer for a man who prided himself on keeping his life in perfect order. “Was Sutter the other party involved?”

  He turned his palms up. “I have no idea. She took that secret with her to her grave.”

  The idea that Sutter remained Pierce’s partner for a while after her death seemed to negate that possibility. “You never hired a private investigator to look into her extracurricular activities?”

  “I did not.” He cleared his throat. “I had no desire to confirm my suspicions. I loved her. As I said, I hoped if the worst was true that it would pass.”

  As heartfelt as his answer sounded, Pierce was the sort of man who generally kept tabs on all aspects of his world. Why would he ignore some part he believed to be out of sync, or worse, out of his control completely?

  “How did you come to learn that Sutter suspected you killed your wife?” A good deal of time passed before the two ended their partnership. If Sutter truly believed such a thing, why wouldn’t he have brought it up sooner? Weeks or months after Cara Pierce died? Particularly if there was a possibility he had been in love with her.

  “Perhaps he thought if he stayed close to me that I would eventually confess to him or that he would find some sort of evidence.” He stared at the glass as if weighing the prospect of having a second drink. “I really have no idea what he was thinking. Or why he thought it.”

  “Did he know you were aware of your wife’s affair?”

  “I assume he did. He would likely see that as a motive for me wanting her dead. Frankly, there is nothing else his message could have meant.”

  “But your wife died in a hospital after a car crash. What’s his theory about how you murdered her under the circumstances?”

  Bella had read the reports. The accident
was caused by a horrendous snowstorm. As he said before, the nearest hospital was not adequately equipped. There was no one to do the surgery his wife needed. There was only Devon Pierce and he’d had a broken collarbone, a gash in his head requiring twenty stitches, a broken nose and a fractured jaw. He’d refused to allow them to see to his injuries until his wife was stabilized. When no one could help her, he’d tried. He’d just completed the repair to her ruptured spleen when the bleeding in her brain sent the situation spiraling out of control. According to their statements, the medical staff at the hospital had all agreed: there was nothing else Dr. Pierce or anyone on-site could have done.

  Nothing to indicate foul play.

  Pierce stood again. “I have no answer for that question. I can only presume Sutter has lost his mind. If you have no other questions, I have work to do.”

  His sixteen-to twenty-hour-a-day work schedule was something else she’d read about the man. “I’ll meet you at your office first thing in the morning,” she said as she pushed to her feet.

  “I’m usually there by seven.”

  “I’ll be there as well,” she fired back without hesitation.

  They didn’t speak as they walked side by side to the front door. Bella’s mind kept going back to the seemingly unfounded idea that anyone could think he murdered his wife. Nothing she had read suggested outbursts or trouble handling his temper. She’d investigated her share of domestic violence cases and he didn’t fit the profile. The wife, on the other hand, fit the profile of spoiled rich wife perfectly. Not that Bella had discovered anything overly negative about her, but she had a penchant for spending and self-indulgence.

  At the door, she couldn’t leave without asking again. “This makes no sense. The person coordinating this threat to you, whether Sutter or someone else, is smart.” She waited until he met her gaze. “He must have some reason to believe there was foul play on your part.” And some reason to think resurrecting Devon Pierce’s dead wife would somehow drive him to drastic measures.

  There had been an investigation into his conduct as a physician in the situation. Standard procedure. But the extenuating circumstances warranted the steps he had taken that night.

  The eyes that had scrutinized her so intently before abruptly looked away. “We made the trip to see her family once a year, so I had been there numerous times. I was aware of the meager health-care services available in the area.” He shrugged. “Perhaps he believes I chose a sedan at the rental car agency rather than an SUV equipped with four-wheel drive and then took that particular road in the storm for the very purpose of ensuring an accident. It was the most treacherous, curvy and hilly. But it was also the shortest route. It felt like the right decision at the time.”

  “Did you choose the sedan?”

  He stared at her now. “There were no SUVs available. They’d all been taken. It was either the car or wait for an SUV to be returned. Which, given the weather, could have been hours or days. I’m not a patient man, Ms. Lytle.”

  She sensed that he wanted to shake her with his seemingly blunt self-incrimination. “Were the two of you arguing when the accident occurred?”

  “Yes.” His face tightened. “She wanted me to turn around. I refused. We were almost there. Going back wasn’t an option. The road behind us was worse than what lay ahead of us.”

  Bella still couldn’t see it. “Causing an accident is too risky. You couldn’t have known her injuries would be any more life-threatening than your own.”

  “Unless I gave her head a couple of extra bashes against the window to ensure there was sufficient damage and then waited.” His gaze narrowed as if he were remembering. “I seem to recall at least two different accounts of what time our car was noticed. The police pressured me for a bit about the timing of my call for help.”

  Her heart beat faster with his every word. She wanted to argue that he was only trying to make her uncertain of her own conclusions, but there was something in his eyes as he looked at her now...something that dared her to ignore his words.

  He shrugged. “In retrospect, I suppose it was the perfect plan for getting away with murder. No murder weapon to prove I planned the act. No evidence at all to suggest anything but an accident. And the coup de grâce—half a dozen witnesses watched my frantic efforts to save my wife in that operating room.”

  Bella adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Pierce. Good night.”

  She walked out without looking back. He closed the door behind her without saying more.

  Whatever he was hiding, it wasn’t murder. She would bet her career on that assessment.

  Dr. Devon Pierce was a man of contradictions. Warm to his patients. Cold to the outside world. Pretentious and direct...and yet Bella saw an undercurrent of vulnerability and grief.

  It was the latter that pulled at her defenses.

  She needed to solve this case quickly...or risk falling under Devon Pierce’s enigmatic spell.

  If she hadn’t already.

  Chapter Three

  The Edge, Tuesday, June 5, 9:00 a.m.

  Ms. Lytle had been waiting at his office door when he arrived at seven that morning.

  Devon had warned her that he had work to do before they proceeded with the investigation. He refused to allow this diversion to distract him. The medical world was watching, scrutinizing every aspect of this facility’s performance. The slightest slip could create a major setback. The Edge and all it represented for the future of emergency medicine were far too important to allow anything to get in the way of forward progress.

  He had provided Ms. Lytle with the assistant administrator’s office. The position was as yet unfilled, so the office was vacant. He was here sixteen or more hours most days and never far away the rest of the time. Perhaps at a later time, he would view the need for an assistant differently. For now, Patricia represented the only assistant he required. In fact, he’d already discussed with her the possibility of upgrading her position from secretary to personal assistant. She had been with him for ten years, first as his secretary at Rush and then during the development stage of the Edge. Patricia had never once let him down.

  She had been most unhappy with Ms. Lytle’s request for an interview with her this morning. Now, forty-five minutes later, the private investigator had returned to her desk and so far hadn’t said a single word to Devon. He stared at the woman seated across from him now. “Patricia Ezell is above reproach. If you insulted her in some way, I would require that you apologize immediately.”

  A smile lifted Isabella Lytle’s inordinately lush lips. At their initial meeting last night, he’d at first thought she wore lipstick but he recognized now that she didn’t. Her lips were naturally a deep crimson, full and wide.

  “I asked the hard questions, yes, but if Ms. Ezell took offense at any of those questions, that’s unfortunate. They were all crucial. The people closest to you represent the greatest danger. Whether by design or accident, they make you vulnerable merely because they have your confidence.”

  His first instinct was to argue the point but he chose to let it go. She’d already interviewed Patricia. Not another living soul knew him so well. The entire staff at the Edge had been made aware that Ms. Lytle was to be treated with respect and given complete access. “Since there is no one else to interview, what is your agenda for the day?”

  He had not expected that she would stay so close. He didn’t know what he had expected. Having her study his every move was disconcerting.

  Today she wore all black. Black slacks, black jacket, black sweater that hugged her throat. All that was visible of her pale skin was her face and hands. Her dark hair, as dark as the clothes she wore, had been arranged in a French twist. She might have appeared stern or harsh if not for her expressive brown eyes and that voluptuous mouth. There was a kindness, a gentleness about her eyes. Yet she emanated a firm, steady strengt
h that warned she was far from soft.

  “Actually, I’d like to interview the woman the police identified as your wife.”

  A new thread of unease filtered through him. He’d stopped by the woman’s—a Jane Doe, for all intents and purposes—room this morning. She’d still been asleep. Security remained at her door 24/7. Until someone claimed her and took her away, he intended to keep her close and protected.

  “Very well.”

  As they exited his office, he noticed that Patricia did not so much as spare a glance toward Ms. Lytle. He would speak to her as soon as this interview was over.

  Ms. Lytle walked slightly in front of him. Her stride was confident, determined. His research showed that she was not married, had never been married. No children. Isabella Lytle lived alone on Armitage Avenue in the Lincoln Park area. No previous engagements. No long-term boyfriends or girlfriends.

  Before he could quash the thought, he wondered about the woman. Were her most intimate needs kept hidden? A dirty secret she wanted no one to know? His gaze moved down her shapely backside. Or perhaps she was like him—work was her only true companion. Anything else was an afterthought.

  They moved around the circular corridor until they reached the quarantine unit. The Edge did not keep patients more than twenty-four hours unless it was necessary to quarantine them until proper care could be arranged. There were overnight beds in the behavioral and senior units, but all other patients were either treated and released or transported to nearby hospitals. The Edge was not intended as anything other than an emergency care facility. Since the woman’s true identity had not been determined, there was no next of kin to take her home and no medical necessity to prompt a transfer.

  He would, however, need to turn the situation over to the police soon. No matter that she was an impostor and clearly connected to some criminal activity, he could not keep holding her as if she were a prisoner. As some point, the entire matter would need to be turned over to the police.