by Melissa Yi
So it wasn't just Alex. The tiger in me was sick of being caged in white coats and the Dean's Honour List. It wanted blood. It wanted sweat. It wanted sex. It wanted life.
So Alex seemed like a good start.
We walked to the metro in silence. How could I explain all this to Tori? She seemed grounded, which was good, and not a gossip, which was also good, but she was very, very controlled. She looked before she leaped. She was quiet. Reflective. Self-contained. Plus, I just met her. How do you say, "You know, I really want to fuck that guy. You should admire my self-restraint" to the ultimate good girl?
Maybe it had something to do with her background. She was my first friend who'd been born in Japan. Their culture is all about honor and respect.
I'm not sure what you'd say about Chinese culture nowadays. Respect is a big part of it, but so is food. To distract myself, I asked, "How come your name's Tori, anyway? Is it like Tori Amos?"
She said, "Tori is a Japanese name. It means 'bird.'"
I wondered if Tori Amos knew that. Probably not.
By the time we were riding the escalator down to the bowels of the metro, I couldn't stand it any more. I'd lasted about five minutes. "So. You knew Alex and Mireille when they were going out?"
"Yes." Her eyes fixed on the brick wall, like she was reading the ads. As if.
"Were they really serious?"
"They were discreet at the hospital."
I chewed my lower lip. "What does that mean?"
She sighed. Her eyes were almost black in the flickering fluorescent light. "He's not over her."
It stung twice as hard because I'd gotten the same feeling. I concentrated on stepping off the grooved escalator step on to the metal mat at the bottom. "How do you know?"
She just looked at me.
I sighed. "Okay, dumb question." Not as dumb as me, though. I'd been broadcasting my interest, and Tori could read me like a billboard. I dug through my change purse for my metro ticket, avoiding her eyes. The metal gate beeped, and I pushed the turnstile extra hard. She ran her metro pass through and followed me without a word.
While she pressed the button for a transfer, I said to her back, "Okay, you warned me."
She turned around and handed me the transfer, a flimsy strip of newsprint stamped with the station name. "In case you get lost and need to take the bus."
I shook my head in irritation. "I'm not that much of an idiot."
"Please," she said quietly. "Just in case."
I took it with bad grace. She obviously thought I was a doughhead.
"We all get lost sometimes," she said evenly. "It's understandable." Then she turned toward the Côte-Vertu orange line.
I ran up to her. "You mean, you and Alex—"
She broke up laughing. "No. Absolutely not."
Of course, no one seemed willing to admit to past bed partners. She read my expression. "I'm not a liar, Hope."
My gut believed her. Montreal felt kind of like the riddle where there are three daughters. One only tells the truth, one always lies, and the third only lies about family matters. I'd finally found the one who told the truth.
The only problem was, she didn't speak a whole lot. But I could live with that. Better an occasional prophet than a non-stop fibber. Especially if she was going to dog on me about Alex.
She laid a finger just below my elbow for a second. I could already tell Tori didn't touch people much, so this was a big deal. "I'm worried about you. You don't know people here."
"I'm a big girl. I'll be okay."
She nodded once. Her face was unconvinced.
Time to change the subject. I headed down the stairs, throwing over my shoulder, "Interesting about Kurt, huh? He must have liked weird women."
Silence from Tori. I peeked and got her expressionless face. I was starting to translate it as her version of disapproval.
I added, "Sorry, but you know what I mean. Mireille was a student, and—" Should I tell her that Mireille had come to my house to semi-threaten me? No. Maybe they were friends. "—changed her career for him." That was means and motive right there. All we needed was opportunity. I'd look into that later. I took a deep breath and moved on to the next suspect. "You guys were saying that Vicki—"
"Shh!" She glanced around the station uneasily, even though there was only a handful of people on either side of the tracks. The giant ads on the walls outnumbered the humans.
I lowered my voice anyway. "I know Vicki's your friend, but Alex said she had a questionable rep. Unstable, right?"
She kept her face turned away, even craned her neck like she was watching for the train's lights in the depths of the tunnel's shadow.
I kept talking. Even if it was only for myself, it helped to work out my thoughts. "That's two for two. Plus he got engaged to Vicki within months. That was pretty sudden."
At last, her lips barely moving, she said, "He dated Vicki before Mireille."
"No shit." I don't swear that much, but I was surprised. McGill's medical soap opera was like a complicated bridge game. Every time I thought I'd figured out the hand I'd been dealt, someone turned over a new card. "Were they serious?"
Tori gave a slight nod.
"Interesting." Now I had a lot more combinations to play with. Vicki had Kurt, didn't have Kurt, won him back, and now he's dead. Mireille, the student, maybe stealing him away, only to lose him again. Alex, the jealous, spurned lover.
Who had lost the most?
Kurt, obviously. But for second place, I'd pick Mireille. Or Alex.
I really had to figure out what she'd been up to that Friday night.
I licked my lips. I didn't relish confronting her again. She was bigger, stronger, and angrier than me. This was her city, not mine.
Maybe I should drop all of this. The police had to be involved, now that they'd found succ in his blood. I should concentrate on getting into the third-year emerg program and leave Kurt's death to the pros.
But something kept pulling me back. For one, I'd found his body. For another, it wasn't like we could all comfort each other and say it was his time, or it was a blessing, or at least his suffering was over. No. He hadn't been sick. He'd been in the prime of his life, trying to revitalize St. Joe's and marry his woman of choice. His death wasn't right. I wanted to fix it.
Just as important, I am incurably nosy. Give me a mystery and I'll try and unravel it.
If Mireille was the killer, I didn't want to work with her. I wanted her safely behind bars.
And then there was Alex. But I refused to think of him any more. It was too confusing.
I said, "I guess you and Mireille are pretty close."
Tori lifted her shoulders slightly. "I've known her for four years."
Answering without answering. The train rumbled in the distance. I leaned forward to see its headlights spiking the dark tunnel. As the tracks rattled, I leaned closer and raised my volume. "Do you know where she was on Friday night?"
Tori pressed her lips together. The blue and white train screeched to a halt, saving her from having to answer.
I stepped on to the metro and sank in a two-person bench, but instead of sitting beside me, Tori chose the one-person chair next to the door and diagonally across from me. Hmm. Tread carefully.
I studied the crescents of dirt under my nails while the subway dinged its warning and shoved off. Maybe I should give up the detective beat. I was too forthright. I'd alienated Tori by treating her as a witness instead of a new friend. I sent her an apologetic smile.
Tori leaned toward me and whispered, "If you're asking me, do I think she would have killed Kurt, the answer is no. I don't believe she would risk her medical career to kill him. None of us would. If there was any crime, it's the police's job to figure it out." Her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she arranged her knees to face forward and looked straight ahead.
Yep. I was in the dog house. "Sorry," I said, but she pretended not to hear me.
She had a point. It probably didn't matter what Alex o
r I did. The police were on it. It was their job. I didn't ask them to handle anaphylaxis or child immunizations. They didn't ask me to butt in on their investigations. Well, except the cop had given me his card. But it was more like if I heard anything, pass it along to them.
Still, I'd ask someone else what Mireille had been up to on Friday night.
In the meantime, I had to rethink my hypothesis. I'd been concentrating on doctors, but anyone could have killed Kurt. Anyone with medical knowledge and access to a paralytic agent. That would include nurses, respiratory technicians, and even a patient with light fingers.
I knew that the narcotics in the emergency room were locked up—the nurses were forever asking each other for the keys—but I wasn't sure if they bothered locking up the paralytics. Even if they did, the killer could make a duplicate of the keys, pick the lock, or happen upon an unlocked cabinet. The OR was also a good source. They were always intubating and anaesthetizing people. On obstetrics, the patients were usually awake for C-sections, but if they needed to move to general anaesthetic, the anaesthetist would have the succ on hand. Vicki was still a possibility.
I sighed. No wonder we needed the cops. The net was just too huge.
Still, it wouldn't hurt for me to ask around. I had a brief fantasy: YOUNG DOCTOR SOLVES MD MURDER CASE. My picture in the papers, broadcast on TV, lighting up the Net. Alex would have to kiss more than my feet.
No. This had nothing to do with Alex. Really.
Tori said abruptly, "I worry about you."
I turned to her. "Why?"
"You're too innocent."
I laughed. I haven't felt innocent since I was, oh, a preteen. "I'm fine."
She shook her head and went back to staring across the aisle. "Really," I insisted. "I know the facts of life."
She shook her head again without meeting my gaze.
The train pulled up to a stop and a crew of guys spilled on, talking in French and punching each other on the shoulder, followed by a silent couple that brushed by us. They looked like they were in their 20's, but the guy was wearing khakis with a knife-like crease down the front.
He jerked his chin downward at me in greeting.
I blinked. Did I know him?
His blue, pop-eyes met mine and clued me in. It was the tie guy. Robin Huxley. You know how some people, you feel like saying their whole name instead of just their first name, like Charlie Brown?
That was Robin Huxley.
I don't know why he bothered me so much—I'd met other geeks and keeners before; medicine was littered with their bodies clutching journal articles and flashing the latest studies on their iPhones—but he did.
The pale woman now sitting beside him glanced at me, a quick, startled glance before her gaze returned to the subway floor.
I checked out her way her shoulders seemed to huddle against him. She was wearing a non-descript, black shirt and white, knee-length shorts that made her look hippy. He glanced down at her, a swift frown before he put his arm around her. He glanced at Tori, who'd plugged earphones in her ears and closed her eyes, and pulled out his iPhone and started clicking with his thumb.
I nudged Tori with my foot. "It's like a McGill reunion in here."
She glanced up at me and turned down her music. "Sorry?"
"Check it out. Robin Huxley."
She turned to look at them. She waved at him and nodded at the woman.
"I didn't know he had a girlfriend." I'd never really pondered Robin, but I would have pegged him as asexual, or maybe gay. I realized I was always dissing the guy, and tried to think nice-girl thoughts instead. He was pale. That meant he avoided the sun. That was a wise thing to do. In general, he was probably two hundred times as smart as me. He could probably power cities with his cerebellum alone.
"It's his wife," said Tori.
I blinked. "Really? He doesn't wear a ring." I glanced at them, double-checking his naked left hand to be sure. Then I remembered Mireille mentioning he was married. I guess I'd forgotten because it didn't fit my "Ee er I am robot" stereotype of him.
Tori shrugged. I noticed the wife—I didn't even know her name—was wearing a teeny diamond. That reminded me of my mother, who always complained that she and my dad got married too young and all she got was a microscopic diamond. Of course he worked his ass off and bought her a full carat later, but ohhhhh, we always hear about the sacrifices she made.
The train speaker blathered the next stop name almost incomprehensibly. Robin stood up, allowing his wife to go first. Normally, I liked the courtliness of the gesture, but he held himself so rigidly, like it was his duty and he had to carry it out despite the stick rammed up his bum.
I shook myself. Give the guy a break.
He put his hand on her shoulder and nodded coolly at Tori.
She waved and murmured, "See you tomorrow." They must rotate at the Children's together.
His blue bug eyes rested on me next. I tried to smile at him, but it felt fake, so I looked at his wife. She ducked her head and nodded back, but had to grab the pole to balance as the subway screeched a halt. Then the door opened and she kind of had to bob and weave as the people on the platform tried to get on without letting the train people off first.
For the second time, I remembered Toronto's subway, where the people on the platform wait for the train people to disembark.
But, like Alex said, I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Or London, for that matter.
Alex.
The doors whooshed closed behind the odd couple and I thought, Maybe I'm just jealous. Of Mireille. Even of Robin because, antisocial nerd that he is, he found someone to love him, or at least love his future income.
Tori pulled the earphones out of her ears and wound the cord neatly around her MP3 player, so I tried to chat, but not about alibis. "How do you like the Children's?"
"It's good. I'm doing the outpatient clinics, the PCC. Stan calls it the Pediatric Constipation Clinic." She smiled.
I didn't. I don't like poo. "Is it the constipation clinic?"
"Kind of. But the kids are cute. Like I said, the only downside is that you have to do a lot of emerg call where you work all weekend. Next weekend, I do all day Saturday, all day Sunday, and then back again for Monday to Friday."
"What a drag." If you work seven days in a row, and then work another five days in a row, plus evening call, the days turn into a blur.
"Yeah. But I like kids." Her face lit up just thinking about them.
I'm not crazy about peds. The kids are sometimes cute, but often they're screaming or have snot smeared over their faces. And I like the kids better than the parents, who are all like, "Little Aidan has a cough, and I'm sooooo worried about him!" and won't believe you when you tell them he has a cold. Still, after the geriatric clinic at St. Joseph's, I missed the kids more than I thought I would.
At Snowdon, we jumped on to the platform. The train pulled away, stirring our hair and echoing throughout the station. Tori waited until the noise died down before she spoke. "This is my stop. Do you feel safe walking home from your stop?"
"Yeah." I frowned. "Shouldn't I?" I didn't want another lecture about how unsafe my neighbourhood was. I made it the last time.
Tori nodded. "I feel safe walking almost anywhere in Montreal. But there's always a taxi at the metro, if you're worried."
I shook my head. She accompanied me partway to the St-Michel platform. "Thanks for coming out with me."
She looked at me, unsmiling. "Yeah." Then she turned away. No farewell Montreal kiss.
I sighed. I felt like I was doing everything wrong here. Mireille seemed ready to squish me. Alex couldn't make up his mind if he wanted to seduce me or set me up as his fellow detective. And Tori said very little but seemed to see everything.
There's a joke in medicine, something like, "Internists know everything but do nothing. Surgeons know nothing but do everything. Pathologists know everything and do something, but it's always too late." Tori was an internist. Alex, sad to say, was probably a surge
on. I was...NYD.
But who cared. A blue train lurked at the station. I dashed into the end car. It was practically empty, except for a rotund black woman who leaned her head against the glass.
Now that Tori had left, withdrawing her not-so-silent disapproval, I hugged the memory of Alex to myself, starting with his surprisingly gentle touch. The way he washed and dried my hair. How well we fit together when we danced. The way he looked at me, like I was the only woman in the universe. His smell. His lean chest. The light in his eyes when he let me look at him shirtless.
The memories made me clench my teeth. I wanted him bad.
Now my brain kicked in. Rebound guys are bad news. Hell, even without Mireille, Alex was bad news. Caution. Do not enter. I didn't need Tori or my mother to tell me that.
But Alex and Mireille broke up in December. Half a year ago! He had to be mostly over her. I could be the final step, the shot in the arm.
I pressed my knee against the cool, corrugated metal side of the train wall like I was trying to tattoo its irregular pattern on to my skin. But really, I was trying to forget about Alex.
I couldn't.
Chapter 13
In the emerg the next day, I was too busy to brood about the boy. Anu showed up in her white coat. She rolled her eyes and fanned her three geriatrics consults at me. "That's the problem with geri at St. Joe's. There are too many patients!"
"Yeah, sorry," I said, since two of them were ones I'd referred to her. But Dr. Wiedermeyer had pointed out, "If they can't walk, they can't go home. Any elderly patient with no pressing medical issues, or with multidisciplinary problems, goes to geri."
I tugged at the sleeve of my white coat that I didn't normally wear. I whispered to Anu, "This is so I'll get more respect from patients."
She laughed and held out her hands toward me in a grand gesture that showed off her own white coat. Mine had a worn iron-on transfer for St. Joe's above the front pocket, but hers had McGill embroidered in black and red thread. Hers looked more expensive. Anu said, "I think it helps. But they still ask me how old I am!"