by CJ Lyons
Together they shuffled into the living room where Risa collapsed into an overstuffed chair that sat in the corner formed by the long wall of windows and the fireplace. There was a rolling computer stand beside it with a laptop and a stack of papers waiting. An assortment of medicine bottles was arrayed on the coffee table along with a cup of tea that appeared abandoned.
“Sorry,” Risa said. “I didn’t get a chance to take my morning meds on time, what with Walt and all.” She was only in her mid-thirties, but right now seemed decades older as she huddled in the chair, pulling a well-worn quilt around her shoulders.
Leah’s concern overcame her sense of politeness. All those medications—clearly whatever they were meant to treat, it had to be quite serious. “Can I ask, what’s your diagnosis?”
“They don’t know what I have,” Risa scoffed. “Two years and the doctors have pretty much given up on me. I think they think I’m faking, that it’s all in my head. Functional disorder, they call it.”
Functional disorder? Leah hadn’t been expecting that. She’d thought Risa would tell her she had end stage cancer or a neurodegenerative disease. Functional disorder was often the diagnosis of last resort, when physicians threw up their hands in frustration but had to give a patient a label, if only for insurance purposes. She’d always hated that about modern-day medicine. It forced doctors to never admit that sometimes they just didn’t know all the answers. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Risa turned tear-filled eyes toward Leah. “Days like this, I worry they might be right. That my own mind is doing this to me.” She glanced away, raising a shaky hand to wipe her eyes. “Sorry.”
“Let me reheat your tea.” Leah took the mug, allowing Risa to compose herself. The layout was a mirror image of the Orlys’ apartment. An assortment of herbal teas was arranged on the kitchen counter, some in tea bags, some loose in colorful glass jars. Leah took a mug from the shelf above and selected a peppermint tea for herself and put both mugs in the microwave. As she waited for the tea to heat, she looked around. A pharmacy’s worth of medication and supplements were lined up on a shelf above the sink. She couldn’t help but glance at a few—medications usually used to treat chronic pain, Crohn’s, inflammation, arthritis, anxiety, seizures, migraines, asthma, and even Parkinson’s. If Risa had half the symptoms these drugs were meant to treat, then she was one very sick woman.
The microwave dinged. Leah returned to the living room, this time taking in the decor. A tufted couch faced the chair that Risa obviously called home along with a second, matching chair beside it. A thick, handwoven Persian rug filled the space between them with bright colors. But what really caught her eye was a wall of photos. Africa, the Middle East, Asia, Alaska, and locales Leah wasn’t certain of. But it wasn’t the exotic locations that were so striking. It was the people in them. Normal people. Young, old, very old. Happy, sad, terrified, angry. The spectrum of human experience captured in a wall’s worth of photos.
“These are amazing.” Leah handed Risa her tea.
Risa sipped it gratefully. Her color was better, her breathing back to normal. “Thank you. And thank you for coming. I wanted to talk with you.”
“Right.” Leah sat down on the chair beside Risa and dug out one of her new business cards to hand to Risa. This was where she had to be careful. Make sure that the people she spoke to understood she wasn’t acting as their physician. “I’m a doctor at Good Samaritan’s ER. But I’m here this morning helping the police.”
“I’m glad. They might have shot Walt. And you were so good with him. Have you done that before? Talked someone away from a violent confrontation with the police?” Risa leaned forward, eyes fixed on Leah as if her new job was the most fascinating thing in the world. Again, Leah had that strange sense of familiarity even though she was certain she’d never met Risa before.
“It’s a new program. Good Sam’s Crisis Intervention Center is working with Cambria City police when they have—” She searched for the right word to use with a civilian. Emotionally disturbed sounded far too clinical. “Fragile witnesses.”
Risa considered that as she took another sip of tea, her trembling easing. “I’ve never seen Walt like that. He frightened me. It was very brave of you to go in to talk with him.”
“Was it? You went in as well.”
“But that was before he got so violent.”
“I didn’t feel brave. I just knew what he needed and concentrated on that. I mean, I’ve been more afraid in the ER. Usually right before a trauma arrives, when I’m imagining the worst. But then, during a trauma? It’s like standing in the eye of a hurricane, everything moving around me at lightning speed, but I’m calm and focused.” Leah felt like she was rambling; maybe she was more nervous than she’d thought.
“In the zone. That’s what I used to call it when I was in the field. I’d focus on my subject, on getting the story, bombs would be going off—I mean literally going off around me, and I barely noticed. Like being in my own world, just me and the story I needed to tell.” She sighed, her gaze passing Leah to look out the rain-streaked window. “Out there, everything seemed so clear…”
“Story—” Leah glanced over at the wall of photos, took in the small items she hadn’t noticed before aligned on the mantle: a large bullet encased in a Lucite box sitting on a charred scrap of bright blue fabric. An ornamental knife displayed on a stand beside the desiccated cervical vertebrae of what had to be a giraffe, it was so elongated. “Risa Saliba. I knew I’d heard your name. My husband is a huge fan. We’ve watched you on Nat Geo and PBS and the BBC and—you’ve been everywhere.” Leah realized she was gushing. Ian would love— The thought brought her up short and she blinked, refocused, before tears could ambush her.
Risa glanced toward her walker. “My traveling days are over.” She sat up straighter. “Temporarily.”
“What are you doing here in Cambria City?” Leah grew up here, which was why she’d returned when her great-aunt got sick, but she’d also fought like hell to escape when she was young. What did a downtrodden rustbelt city have to offer a sophisticated journalist like Risa Saliba?
It was the first time Risa had smiled since Leah met her. “My boyfriend. We tried the long-distance thing, but after I got sick, he insisted I move in with him so he could take care of me.” Her smile widened at the memory. “I refused. Refused to move in, refused to get engaged, refused to get married immediately.”
“Because you were sick?”
“Because I refuse to be a burden to anyone I love. I admit, I sometimes pushed the line, was more reckless than I needed to be when I was chasing a story. But it was only myself I was hurting. I live my life on my terms…” Her gaze settled on a small framed photo beside her computer: Risa and a handsome man, arms around each other on a beach, the sunset silhouetting them as if they shared one body. “But then Jack came along and—”
“Suddenly there’s a huge complicated emotional calculus to solve.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Leah chuckled. “Wait until you have kids. That equation turns into quantum physics, a search for a unified field theory.”
“I just want to get healthy enough to be with Jack. He’s been so patient through all this.” She gestured down the length of her body. “Since I can’t work in the field and he’s based here, last year I moved here to be closer to him.”
Leah glanced at the wide variety of photos and mementos. “What are you doing? Writing a book? I mean, since you aren’t traveling anymore…”
Risa’s expression fell as Leah’s words trailed off. Way to say the wrong thing, Leah thought. “I am trying to write a book, but it’s hard going between doctor visits and my bad days. And it doesn’t pay the bills, so I actually work as a fact checker for several media outlets.”
“Fact checker?”
“For features and opinion pieces, to make sure no one’s twisting the facts. Obituaries, as well.”
“Obituaries? I thought families wrote those.”
“For most people. Anyone considered a celebrity or historical figure, famous, the news outlets keep their obituaries on file, pre-written, but they have to be updated frequently. Those are pretty easy. The tough ones are the victims of newsworthy crimes or events. When things are breaking fast and there’s little time. Then, you need to be sensitive but at the same time, you can’t get anything wrong and you don’t have the safety net of the pre-written obituary to work from. Usually the reporter on the ground gathers the facts, sends it to the main desk who will assign a writer, then it comes to me to read and proof.”
“I never knew.”
“Sounds more interesting than it is. I mean, compared to boots-on-the-ground reporting.” Her gaze settled on her computer and she frowned. “But there is one story I’ve stumbled on. I think it’s a story. All the meds the doctors have me on, some days I think I’m just imagining.”
“What is it?”
A knock at the front door sounded. “Want me to get that?” Leah asked.
“Yes, please.”
Leah set her tea down and walked to the door, peering through the eyehole. It was Luka. Great. She hadn’t even begun to ask Risa about Walt. She opened the door and ushered him into the living room.
“Hello again, Ms. Saliba. Luka Jericho—”
“I remember, Detective Sergeant.” Risa sighed as if resigned to more disruption in her day. But Leah noticed the painful wince and the way she held her belly. She could tell the other woman was trying hard not to be sick again.
“Luka, maybe we could do this later?” Leah suggested.
“I need to hear what Ms. Saliba saw—”
Before Luka could finish, the door behind them banged open and a tall, athletic man wearing a suit and tie rushed inside.
“Risa!” He ignored Leah and Luka to cross to Risa’s side, dropping down to his knees, taking both her hands in his. “I saw the police and the ambulance and they wouldn’t let me in until now. You weren’t answering your phone and I thought—” He stopped, out of breath, and simply stared at her, as if reassuring himself that she was actually there.
“I’m fine, Jack. It’s just been a rough morning.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” He buried his head in her hands for a moment, kissing both her palms, then looked up again. “I was so scared—I’ve never been that terrified in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you. What happened?”
Eight
Luka couldn’t believe his poor timing. If he’d arrived here just two minutes earlier, he could have gotten Risa’s statement. Now he had an overwrought significant other to slow things down. He stepped forward, extending his card to Risa, but the man stood, turned to face Luka and took it himself.
“Detective? What happened? Did someone break in or something?” The man’s concern morphed into a defensive posture as he squared off as if Luka was the enemy.
“No,” Risa said. “It was Walt and Trudy. Jack, it was horrible.”
“Walt and Trudy?” The man’s expression softened, no longer on alert. “Are they okay? What happened?”
“Mrs. Orly died this morning,” Luka told him. “I need to ask Ms. Saliba a few questions about what she saw.” He tried to edge around the boyfriend, but instead the man thrust his hand out.
“Jack. Jack O’Brien.” He shook Luka’s hand with an assertive grip. Then turned to Leah. “And you are?”
“Dr. Leah Wright. I’m assisting the police.”
He took her hand as well. “A doctor? Interesting. I’m one as well. PhD in environmental chemistry.”
“Jack’s the environmental compliance officer for Keystone Shale,” Risa put in, her tone filled with pride. She reached for Jack’s hand and guided him to the chair beside her, nodding to Luka and Leah to also take a seat. Up close, Luka realized her color was off and despite appearing a few years younger than him, her skin was stretched thin, cheeks hollow and gaunt like a much older woman.
“Environmental compliance officer. What’s that?” Given the exuberant energy the man exuded, Luka was surprised Jack wasn’t a used car salesman.
“Jack travels to all their sites,” Risa answered. “Makes sure there’s no chemicals polluting the groundwater, things like that.”
“Things like that?” Jack said in a gentle, chiding tone. As if this was an ongoing private joke between them. “Things like that are what keep everyone safe.” The two were holding hands and couldn’t stop looking at each other. Luka smothered a wince—he remembered all too well feeling like that. The way Cherise had beamed when he proposed, despite his being barely able to get any words out.
“We met when I was doing a piece on the environmental impact of fracking.” Risa’s words interrupted Luka’s memories. “Jack helped me understand the reports the companies released and how they were hiding contamination.”
“Not Keystone,” Jack piped up. “We run a clean ship—I make sure of it. No sense having all the energy you need if your kids and grandkids won’t be able to drink the water or have a clean environment to play in, right?”
“Do you live here, Mr. O’Brien?” Luka asked, desperate to steer things back on track.
“I wish.” Jack glanced meaningfully at Risa, who blushed. “I’m out in the field most of the time, but I have a place a few blocks away. I stop by here every morning when I’m in town. To check on Risa—sometimes she has a rough night.”
“Not always,” she said, her posture defensive. “Besides, I’m pretty much a night owl anyway. Get most of my work done then.”
“Were you still awake this morning when Mrs. Orly left?” Luka continued. “Did you see or hear her leave?”
“No, I must have finally fallen asleep.” Risa frowned. “I was up all night—”
“Why didn’t you call me if you were having a bad night?” Jack asked.
“I’m fine now.” Risa’s tone made it clear she didn’t like being taken care of, but it was obvious that Jack thrived on being a protector. “Trudy and Walt lost their home health aide. I try to help out when I can, and I told Trudy to call me anytime if she needed me to keep an eye on Walt.” She stretched a hand to the computer desk and grabbed her phone. Her expression fell. “I missed her call. Seven thirty-four. I should have been awake—usually I would have been. I should have had the phone closer so it woke me. Then maybe—”
“Even if you had taken her call, she still would have gone to the store,” Leah said. “There was nothing you could do.”
“May I see that?” Luka gestured to the phone. Risa handed it to him. He took a picture of the missed call on her screen. “Trudy left you a voicemail. Okay to play it?”
“Of course.”
He pressed the icon and a woman’s voice sounded. “Risa, are you there? Oh, you’re probably in the shower. Walt spilled his medicine last night but Mr. McMahon at the pharmacy keeps extra ready. I’m going to pick it up now, shouldn’t be long, maybe a half hour. Walt’s sound asleep—was up most of the night, so probably will sleep all morning, but just in case, could you keep an eye on him? Thanks! And if they have those tea cookies you like, I’ll grab you some. You deserve a treat!”
They sat in silence for a moment. Luka had the sudden urge to call home to check on Pops, even though he knew his grandfather was being well cared for by Janine, the live-in aide who’d joined their household after his nephew’s unexpected arrival. But all Trudy had to help her was the kindness of her neighbors. Silent tears streamed down Risa’s cheeks.
“It’s not your fault.” Jack moved to sit on the arm of Risa’s chair, pulling her close to him. “There’s nothing you could have done.” He glanced up at Luka, searching for affirmation. “Right, Detective?
Luka ignored the question. “Did you hear Trudy return?”
Risa shook her head and swiped a hand at her eyes. “No. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I heard Walt shouting.”
"What time was that?”
“I’m not sure. Cliff would know—it was when he called 911. I came out of the apart
ment and saw Walt looking over the railing. Then I saw—I saw Trudy. At the bottom.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Trudy fell? From up here?” He wrapped his arms around Risa’s shoulders, burying her face in his chest. “What a terrible accident.”
“We’re not certain what happened,” Luka replied.
Jack said, “Surely you don’t suspect—I mean, Walt’s sick. His mind, he gets angry, confused. But he’d never hurt Trudy. Never.” Despite his words, he seemed uncertain. He turned to Risa. “I think you should come home with me. I’ll call off work—”
Risa was shaking her head. “I’m fine. Really. They took Walt to the hospital.” Her tone turned sorrowful. “I’m not even sure he understands that Trudy’s gone. He won’t be able to take care of himself. I don’t know what will happen to him.” She glanced at Leah.
“They’ll find a place for him,” she said in a soothing tone. “Most patients at his stage of his illness need long-term care facilities.”
“What if their insurance doesn’t cover that? They won’t just put him out on the street, will they?” Risa yanked on Jack’s sleeve. “We need to help him. It’s the least we can do.” The color had drained from her face and she put one hand to her mouth.
“Did you take your medicine this morning?” Jack asked.
Risa nodded. She swallowed, took a breath.
“I think you need another dose. Let me get you into bed and I’ll get it.” Jack helped Risa to her feet, her weight sagging against him. “That’s enough for today.”
“Just a few more questions,” Luka tried. Even if Risa hadn’t seen Trudy’s fall, he still needed to know what happened in the Orlys’ apartment before his team arrived.
“They’ll have to wait. Come back later, Detective.” Jack’s tone was firm as he pivoted Risa away from Luka toward the bedroom.
Luka glanced to Leah, a silent plea for help. Strongarm tactics would only antagonize the overprotective boyfriend. Maybe Leah could get Risa alone, away from Jack, so they could take her statement.