'That's right.'
'And you are?'
I fished my driver's license out of my wallet and handed it to him. Fortunately, I was able to renew it while in jail. He gave it a cursory look and handed it back to me.
'My name's Joe Denton,' I said. 'I'm a retired police officer from Vermont and I'm investigating Ms Boyd for a hospital that she is currently employed at. To be honest, I'm surprised to be talking to you. I expected to be meeting with her past supervisor.'
'Yes, normally that would be the case.' He seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment. As he looked at me, the thin smile he was showing weakened. 'Is your investigation for a general background check or did, uh, a specific incident occur?'
'A specific incident occurred.'
'Which was?'
A patient died who shouldn't have.'
All his cheeriness left him. He looked down at his desk for a few seconds before meeting my eyes. 'Did this, uh, patient die of respiratory failure?' he asked.
I wanted to kick myself for not researching this better, but I took a gamble and nodded. He separated his hands and started slowly massaging his temples.
'Are you okay, Doctor?' I asked.
He nodded and dropped his hands to his desk. 'I've been afraid of this,' he said.
'So you had some unexplained deaths here also?'
He both sighed and nodded at the same time. 'Mr. Denton, could you please tell me what your hospital's medical staff suspects?'
It looked like not only did I hit a long shot, but one that was going to pay off big. 'Morphine overdose,' I said as calmly and evenly as I could.
'Dear Lord,' he murmured.
And you think the same thing happened here?'
'We had four patients who died of respiratory failure which I found suspicious,' he said. 'Let me explain. Overdosing a patient with morphine will cause respiratory failure. During the post-mortem the only change is diffused cerebral edema, and the problem is that it is very nonspecific to link to a morphine overdose.'
'But you suspected Ms Boyd?'
'Yes.' He sighed. 'Their deaths did not seem consistent with their medical conditions. They were all her patients. And her demeanor afterwards seemed, uh, unnatural to me. But there was no evidence, at least none that could be used in court, to support my suspicions. The morphine levels in the IV bags were where they were supposed to be and I don't believe the instrumentation was tampered with. But after the first three deaths, I personally marked all the morphine IV tubing. I found with the last patient that it had been changed.’
‘What does that mean?'
"That she could have used a syringe to inject morphine into the IV tubing and replaced the tubing afterwards. Later, there would be no evidence of what she had done.'
'Why would she bother replacing the tubing?'
'In case we looked for a needle hole.'
I leaned back in my chair and thought about it, and tried to muster as indignant a look as I could. 'So you confronted her and forced her to leave your hospital?'
He nodded. He was beginning to look a little green around the gills.
'You did more than that, didn't you,' I said. 'You forced her to leave Montreal.'
'I wish there was something else I could have done,' he said. 'We had no concrete evidence that she poisoned her patients. I felt fortunate simply to have her leave the province.'
'So as long as she moved to another country and murdered her patients there, that was okay with you?'
He shook his head. 'No, of course not. But what else could I have done?'
He seemed like a decent enough guy and I didn't get any. enjoyment out of putting him through the wringer, but I needed to make my performance look authentic. The last thing I wanted to do was make him suspicious and have him check up on me.
I gave it some time to make it look like I was mulling things over. 'Well, Doctor,' I said after a while, I guess I can appreciate how difficult the situation must've been for you. I guess if I were in your shoes, I don't know what I would've done.' I paused, because there was something else nagging at the back of my brain. 'Were the four patients all terminal?' I asked.
He shook his head. 'No, in fact only one of them was.'
I must've, at least at some level, been suspecting that, but it still came as a surprise. I guess when the idea first came to me, I had assumed Charlotte had been acting out some sort of angel of mercy thing. But it wasn't that. She had other reasons for doing what she did. And this image of her sneaking through the hospital with her morphine syringe started to creep me out.
I had another question that was nagging at me. I asked him whether Charlotte had any close friends at the hospital that she might've confided in. He told me he had asked around at the time and couldn't find anyone who considered themselves more than an acquaintance of hers. And not many considered themselves that.
I stood up and thanked him for his time.
He seemed taken aback by my abruptness, but took my outstretched hand and mumbled out an apology for what happened. I then left him deep in his own thoughts.
At a subconscious level, I must've suspected something like that of Charlotte all along. I had to have. That had to have been why I came up with the plan that I did, because otherwise it would've been completely nuts. Maybe it was the way she avoided talking about Montreal, or maybe it was some look or expression of hers that I'd caught a glimpse of, or maybe it was simply the whole package, but something about her had caused that seed to be planted in my mind.
I could understand now why she had jumped to the conclusion that she did. When I had made my offhand remark about overdosing Manny, she must have panicked and thought that I had already dug around her past in Montreal and suspected what she had done. I thought about her and the repressed life that she lived. It must've been worse when she was in Montreal. I could just imagine how all that repression would weigh on her. How it would press on her chest. How tough it would be to breathe against. And how she'd find relief by unloading a morphine syringe into a patient's IV tubing.
Well, anyway, she was going to use a morphine syringe one more time.
It was only a quarter to twelve. I drove around until I found a diner, and then went inside and ordered lunch. My waitress was a cute little thing; blonde, perky, big dimples, and friendly as all hell. She had one of those smiles that made you feel good just looking at it. I kidded around with her after she brought me my food and had a feeling that if I asked her to come back to the States with me, she would've jumped in my car. In any case, the check was six bucks and I left her a ten-dollar tip.
After lunch I thought about driving around the city and seeing the sights. I thought about it, but decided to head back to Vermont. I still had plenty of things that needed to be done. When I reached the US border and the customs officer asked how my trip went, I couldn't help myself – I just showed him a big smile and told him it was the best damn trip I ever had. I was feeling too good to have said anything else. Hell, I was just about beaming. I hadn't realized before how much stress had bottled up in my neck and back and joints, but it was all gone now. I was feeling loose. Maybe a little anxious, but not much. All in all I felt good.
As I drove, at times my mind would just drift along, not aware of anything but the road and the scenery. At other times I found myself thinking about what was going to happen. Charlotte was going to shoot enough morphine into Manny's IV tubing to kill him and that would be the end of it.
When the idea had first come to me, I was concerned whether a morphine overdose could be detected by an autopsy. Now, though, thanks to the good Dr Bouchaire, I knew that it couldn't be. I knew that there was nothing to worry about. Soon Manny would be checking out and that would be that. Dan Pleasant would be off my back, Phil Coakley would be left empty handed, and Junior, well, that was still a problem. Something was going to have to be done about him. There'd have to be payback for his taking a couple of shots at me. But I knew I'd come up with something, and when it was all over, I'd
move somewhere and start fresh. And then I'd start doing what I needed to for my girls.
During my ride back an idea popped into my head on how I could take care of Junior. Over the next half-hour or so, the idea gelled nicely, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. It would be a fitting epitaph to my life in Bradley. After a while my mind started drifting along with the scenery again. And then I just settled back into my seat and enjoyed the ride.
Chapter 14
I was on Route Six as I entered Chesterville, and as I passed the Green Valley Motor Lodge, I saw half a dozen police cars and three sheriffs vehicles in the parking lot, all with their lights flashing. I almost stopped to see what had happened, but I knew my presence wouldn't be appreciated. Still, my palms felt itchy as I drove by.
Two miles down the road, I spotted a bar and pulled over. From the outside, the place looked like a typical small-town dive. It was four thirty and the bar was busier than it had any right to be. Inside, it looked just as divey. At that hour it should've had only a few hardcore and unrepentant drinkers scattered about. Instead it was nearly wall to wall people and there was a buzz running through the room.
I squeezed my way to the bar, got the bartender's attention, and ordered a Guinness. Next to me on my right was a stubby guy with a thick beard, wearing a Red Sox cap and a plaid hunting jacket. He was holding a pint as he talked to one of his buddies, a look of both amusement and disbelief mixed on his face. I leaned closer to eavesdrop on their conversation. They didn't seem to notice or care.
I was able to get that the stubby guy's name was Carl. I didn't catch his buddy's name.
Carl: I can't believe he didn't kill him.' Buddy: 'Shit, all he did was shoot him in the arm.' Carl: 'And that was from only five feet away. My two-year-old can shoot better than that.'
Buddy: 'He killed the girl, though.'
Carl: 'Yeah, he killed her alright. I heard they took her out in a bag. Is that what you heard too, Sam?'
An old guy with a sour face who stood next to them turned and nodded. Carl and his buddy stopped to finish their beers. They waved the bartender over for another round. I was still waiting for my Guinness.
Buddy: I wonder where he shot her?'
Carl: 'Don't know.'
Buddy: 'Did you ever see her dance?'
Carl: 'Yeah, if you could call what she did dancing. What a rotten shame. She was one of the nicer girls there. And you didn't have to tip her much to get her panties off.'
Buddy: 'I always thought Paul was nuts.'
Carl: 'Yeah, I don't know. He did catch them in bed.'
Buddy: 'So what? She was a stripper. What did he expect?'
Carl: 'Yeah, I guess. Jesus, I don't know.' He broke out laughing. 'That DA's going have a tough time showing his face around town after this.' And he kept laughing at his own joke.
I could feel my heart pounding. I tapped him on the shoulder. He stopped laughing and turned slowly to face me, bleary eyed from what must've already been several pints of beer.
'What happened here?' I asked.
He peered at me for a moment before answering. 'We had a double shooting at the motel up the street,' he said. A guy caught his stripper girlfriend in bed with the DA, Phil Coakley – you know, the guy whose face is all fucked up? He killed his girlfriend but only shot Coakley in the arm. What I hear, Coakley tackled him and knocked him out. Police have the guy now.'
"The dead girl's a stripper named Susie?'
'Yeah, Susie Baker. The guy who killed her is Paul Frechotte. You know them?'
'Sort of. Not really. Any idea how Frechotte knew they were in the motel room?'
He shook his head slowly. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me.
'You look familiar,' he said. 'Do I know you?'
While we were talking, his buddy stood behind him grinning like an idiot. At some point, I guess he recognized me. His grin disappeared and he seemed to sober up. He nudged Carl and leaned over so he could say something in his ear. I could see recognition flash in Carl's eyes. Without saying a word, the two of them moved away from me. As I looked around the bar I could see others had recognized me. They weren't staring at me outright, but I could see them sneaking glances at me. I could see other people being nudged and whispered to.
The bartender had just brought me my beer. I dropped five bucks on the bar and got out of there.
When I got to my car my hands were shaking. I had to sit for a few minutes before I could pull out of the parking lot. I kept thinking of Susie, of how sweet and innocent she had seemed, and how much, even with her clothes off, she had looked like a high school cheerleader. I imagined how the scene at the motel went down. I could imagine Frechotte breaking in on them, gun already drawn, shooting Susie first, and then shooting wildly as Phil rushed him. It probably didn't take much for Phil to knock him out. I knew, at least at some level, that I was responsible for what happened. I knew how Frechotte found out about that motel room.
I drove straight to the county jail in Bradley. A roaring in my head drowned out the road noise. I could barely hear anything above it. And I could barely see where I was driving. It was as if I had blinders on. As if I had no peripheral vision. The little
I could see was clouded by a red haze. Somehow, though, I got there without cracking up. When I got out of my car, I stood and waited while the roaring in my head subsided and the haze faded. Then I went inside and searched for Morris.
I found him in his office. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on his desk and his eyes closed. When he heard me, his eyelids lifted so he could peer at me.
'You know where Dan is?' I asked.
'Probably at the crime scene. Things didn't work out the way you planned, did they, Joe?'
'Morris, I had nothing to do with this. I swear.'
His eyelids dropped a bit, but otherwise his expression of complete indifference remained unchanged.
'Susan Baker was only twenty-two,' he croaked out in a tired voice. 'Are you happy with yourself?'
'Morris, I swear, I didn't know any of this was going to happen-'
'Of course you did, Joe. Phil has something on you and Dan, doesn't he?'
I shook my head.
'That's why you arranged to meet Dan here yesterday,' he said. 1 didn't arrange that-'
He held up a hand to stop me. It looked like it took all the strength he had.
'No, please,' he said. 'Don't embarrass yourself like this, Joe. Somehow you found out about that girl and Phil. You arranged to meet Dan here. Then the two of you planned what happened today. Except all you accomplished was causing an innocent girl to be killed. Because Phil survived with only a flesh wound.'
'Morris, I had no idea about any of this.'
'Joe, please.' He showed me a sad smile. I actually thought of us as friends. I actually thought that there was something of substance inside you, that you could reform yourself and live a decent life. But I was wrong. We're through, Joe. We're not friends anymore.'
He let his eyelids close. As far as he was concerned I wasn't there.
I stood frozen, wanting to explain to him how wrong he was, but I realized there was nothing to explain. I turned and left.
I didn't know what else to do so I drove back to my motel room, dialed Dan's beeper, and left a message. The waiting was murder. I was feeling so jumpy and sick inside. All the damage I was causing was adding up. I had already put two boys in the hospital and now this. Because of me a young girl lay dead in the morgue. And of course there was more than that. There was Phil. And I guess in some way, Clara. Even my own parents…
I tried watching TV to get my mind off it all, but I couldn't lie still. I had too much nervous energy. Every few minutes I'd have to get off the bed and do pushups or pace the room. I needed to get a hold of Dan and have him explain what happened. Of course I knew what happened, but I needed him to explain it.
Around a quarter to six there was a soft knock on my door. I opened it and saw Dan standing there. He stepped into
the room quickly, closing the door behind him. I watched as he walked over to a chair and sat down. He tilted the chair back so it leaned against the wall, and loosely clasped his hands behind his head. As he looked up at me, he smiled pleasantly, but his coloring was pasty and he looked worn out around the eyes and mouth. He remarked about what a fleabag I had picked.
'You think with the money I gave you you could've picked a better place, Joe. Jesus, I've been in gas station rest rooms that I'd rather sleep in,' he said.
I could feel myself trembling as I stared at him. I had an urge to kick his chair legs out from under him and send him crashing to the floor. I started to say something, but forced my mouth shut. I didn't trust myself yet to talk.
'You probably heard about what happened today,' he said. 'What a mess. I've been up to my ears in it all day. I got here as soon as I could.'
I asked him how Frechotte ended up at that motel.
He made a face. 'Come on, Joe, after what you told me? You should know the answer to that.'
'I'd like to hear it anyway.'
'You would, huh? Okay, Joe, I'll tell you what you already know. I had one of my boys follow Susie this morning. When she went to the motel, and later when Coakley showed his ugly face, I called Frechotte and told him about it. Anonymously, of course, and from a payphone. If he wasn't such a fucking jerk-off our problems would be over now.'
'You sonofabitch.'
'And why's that?'
'You had no goddam right.'
'What are you talking about? Joe, I did only what you wanted me to do.'
'I never wanted you to do that.’
‘Really?'
I didn't answer him. He was still smiling pleasantly, and as he looked at me, a glint of genuine amusement shone in his eyes.
'Joe,' he said, 'who are you trying to kid? Why'd you tell me about Coakley banging that broad?'
'I already told you why the other day.'
'Yeah, right. You expect me to believe that cock-and-bull story you gave me? That you only wanted me to follow Coakley around so I could catch him in the act and file a morals charge against him? You think I'm an imbecile?'
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