by CJ Lyons
Luka didn’t mind attending postmortems—he often came up with questions he didn’t even know he had during the examination of the victim’s body. The only thing he hated was how damned long they took—especially if assistant medical examiner Ford Tierney was on duty. The guy was brilliant but he had a tendency to make everything take twice as long while he checked and double-checked his findings. But that was also why the DA loved him in court. No defense attorney had ever been able to rattle Ford on cross-examination. “I’ve got it from here. Go on back to the office. Call me if you find anything.”
“Will do. Later, boss.”
Luka turned to the monitoring window. The counseling room reminded him of his dentist’s waiting room—soft, rounded chairs, a cushioned loveseat. Walt Orly sat in one chair, the only sign of agitation the constant drumming of his left foot. His hands were palms up in his lap, his shoulders slumped, jaw slack.
Leah sat in the chair beside Walt while Chaudhari sat across from them. Leah began by asking basic questions, making sure Walt was oriented and agreed to be interviewed. Luka was impressed by how she was able to document everything they needed legally while also putting Walt at ease. Then she said, “Walt. Thank you again for meeting with us. Do you know why we wanted to talk with you?”
Walt hunched his body, his gaze centered on Chaudhari’s shoes. He began rocking slowly. “Something happened. I saw—”
Leah waited much longer than Luka would have done before gently pressing the issue. “What did you see, Walt?”
Walt shook his head, still focused on the floor. Hard, small shakes of denial. “No! Trudy! No!” Despite his agitation, his voice was low, mournful, coming from somewhere deep down in his gut.
Chaudhari reached across the space to lay a hand on Walt’s knee. “Are you all right? Do we need to stop, Walt?”
Luka aimed the psychiatrist a glare even though he knew the man couldn’t see it through the two-way mirror. Chaudhari was only doing his job, trying to protect his patient, but Luka needed to hear what Walt had to say.
Walt kept rocking, but said nothing.
Leah waited until his movements slowed and some of the tenseness left his body. Then she asked, “Walt, do you remember Trudy coming back from the store this morning?”
“Meds, I spilled my meds. I should’ve never—she thought I couldn’t open the door…” He held up his trembling hands, drew them into fists. “But I went outside, and, and, and, and—” His jaw clamped tight.
“It’s okay, Walt. Hey, can you take a deep breath for me?” Leah asked. “Like this?” She moved her hands up and down in time with a long inhalation and even longer exhalation. After a few breaths, Walt relaxed a bit. “Good, good. Now, you went outside, was Trudy there?”
Walt shook his head vigorously.
“Did you see anyone?” Leah tried again.
The room grew silent except for Walt, heaving one breath in after another, as if gathering the strength to answer. Leah and Chaudhari sat perfectly still, while behind the glass Luka found himself holding his breath.
Then Walt launched himself out of the chair in an explosion of fury. He flew across the space, a primal shriek emerging as he flung himself headlong into the mirror. He pummeled the image of himself with both fists—to Luka on the other side, it felt as if the blows were aimed at him. Tears streaked his face as he screamed, “She’s dead! Trudy’s dead!”
Chaudhari came up from behind but stopped short of coming within range of Walt’s fists. “Walt, listen to me—”
“No! She’s dead, she’s dead…” Walt’s body deflated and he fell to the ground, sobbing, both arms circling his knees, head bowed, rocking his body into a tight ball. “Dead, and it’s my fault…”
Sixteen
After Walt Orly’s disastrous interview, Leah invited Luka to lunch in the physician dining room. It was the least she could do, given how badly her first interview for the police had gone. It wasn’t her fault; she had warned them that given Walt’s dementia, there might be little he could tell them, but it was frustrating that it had gone downhill so fast.
“So this is the doctors’ dining room,” Luka said as they sat down at a table near the rain-streaked windows. He glanced around, eyebrow arched. “Feels like a teacher’s lounge.”
“It’s not meant to be fancy,” Leah said defensively. She liked it—it was small, sparsely furnished since most physicians grabbed and ran, but most importantly, it was almost always empty, making it so much quieter than the bustling main cafeteria next door. “The idea is to be able to get something without waiting in line.” She nodded past him to the three open doors on the other side. “The conference rooms are nicer. Good places to have classes and meetings without missing lunch.”
“Because a hospital runs on its stomach.” He scooped up a forkful of pasta Bolognese. “Tastes good. I feel like I’m carb-loading for a marathon.”
“Exactly.” She took a bite of her sesame chicken and green beans.
“Could you send me a summary of Walt’s medical records? And anything you know about the medications he’s taking. I want to make sure we cover all our bases.”
“Of course.” After another bite she asked the question that was bothering her. “You’re not going to use what Walt said as a confession, are you?”
“That wasn’t a legitimate confession,” he answered, to her relief. “That was a portrait of a guy in pain, barely hanging on, much less understanding what happened…”
She glanced up, not liking the way he left the statement hanging as if it was a question. “A portrait? You think maybe he was faking?”
Luka shrugged. “We’ll see what the autopsy shows, but right now I’m exactly where I started. Unable to rule Walt Orly out as a suspect and with no one else to look at.”
“I just don’t see how a man with his state of cognitive decline could—”
“Cognitive decline,” he echoed back at her. “As measured by what? His and his wife’s self-reporting? That’s why I want you to double-check what Chaudhari has documented in the medical records. Because who’s to say Walt didn’t decide to kill Trudy when she began looking to move him out of the house? Maybe he’s faking getting worse, setting up an affirmative defense.”
“What’s that?” Leah asked.
“The defendant admits their guilt but also that they were mentally incapacitated, unable to judge right from wrong.”
“Not guilty by reason of insanity.” She thought about it. “I still don’t see it. Walt seemed genuinely distraught.”
“Yeah, so did Nate.” He set his fork down and met her gaze. “Why weren’t you there to back me up with Driscoll this morning?”
“Nate? What are you talking about? Did something happen at school?” She slid her phone out: no missed calls.
“Yeah. They accused Nate of bullying some other kids. Emily stuck up for him, but they didn’t believe her. That Ms. Driscoll is a piece of work. Acts like she can see into the souls of kids—and she definitely doesn’t like what she sees when it comes to Nate.”
“You went to the school? Why didn’t they call me?”
He wiped his plate with a piece of garlic bread. “Ruby was there. I sent the kids home with her since it was either that or in-school suspension for the rest of the day. Figured it was Friday, so why not.” He broke off. “Ruby didn’t tell you? I assumed you were busy and you sent her in your place—”
“Too busy to take care of my daughter?” she snapped as she dialed Ruby. She turned away to shield Luka from her anger and frustration. “Why am I just now hearing that Emily was sent home from school?” she demanded as soon as Ruby picked up.
“Excuse me for taking care of things so you wouldn’t be interrupted at your very important work,” Ruby answered. “You’re so very welcome. For that and for having two kids stuck inside running around while I fix them lunch.”
“What happened? Why did they call you?” Last thing Leah wanted was for Emily to feel as if she didn’t have time for her—or to
learn to rely on Ruby. Because someday, one day, Ruby would let Emily down, would not be there for her—just like she had Leah when Leah was a little girl. More times than she could count.
“Said you’d called to remove Ian as primary and gave them my name instead.”
“Not instead of Ian. Just to add you to the list so you could pick her up. They were meant to move my name to primary contact.”
She could practically hear Ruby’s shrug. “Guess they messed up. Worked out, though—would you have left the hospital to drop everything and go listen to that stuck-up principal get all high and mighty about their zero tolerance rules? Believe me, you were better off without it. Total waste of time.”
“Is Emily all right? What happened? Did someone bully her?”
“As if,” Luka sputtered, earning a glare from Leah.
“She’s fine. I’ll tell you everything when you get home from work.” Ruby was loving this, a chance to prove her superiority as a parent. She hung up on Leah.
Leah turned back to Luka, not certain if she was more embarrassed that he’d seen her blow up at Ruby or that she hadn’t been there when Emily needed her. “I hate her passive-aggressive power plays.”
“Power plays? Tell me about it. I went from living alone, no one to answer to, to moving in with an eighty-three-year-old man who wants to act like he’s still nineteen and an eight-year-old kid who I barely know but am now responsible for. And, oh yeah, don’t forget Janine—old enough to be my mother, raised four kids on her own, so not afraid to tell me exactly how I’m doing everything wrong.”
His tone of mock aggrievement coaxed a smile from her and she added, “Maybe Ruby’s not so bad after all.”
“It takes time,” he assured her. “You guys are practically strangers—all she sees is the girl she left behind and all you remember is who she was back then. But you’re both adults now, both changed.”
“At least I’ve grown up,” she scoffed. “Not so sure about Ruby. But she loves Emily. That much I do know.” She glanced up at him. “What really happened this morning? At the school?”
“Seriously, it was nothing. A few boys tried to gang up on Nate, then claimed he bullied them. But Em saw what was happening and she stepped in.”
“Wait. Are you saying she hit someone?” What would Ian think? It went against everything they’d ever taught Emily. “That’s not Emily; she knows better than to resort to violence.”
“Not sure I’d call it actual violence. It sounded more like she tugged a kid’s arm who was trying to get to Nate. They definitely aren’t telling us everything though. Yet. But I’ll get it out of Nate, I promise.”
She fussed at her now-cold chicken.
“Don’t worry. Emily’s fine,” he reassured her.
“I should’ve been there. Not Ruby.” She hated the bitterness that colored her tone, but now wasn’t the time to get into all the reasons why she couldn’t bring herself to fully trust Ruby. She knew Ruby would never intentionally do anything to hurt Emily. In fact, Ruby had risked her own life to save Emily last month. But a few weeks of living with her mother wasn’t enough to erase over twenty years of mistrust and resentment. Not to mention a deep-seated fear of abandonment that Leah was trying hard not to let Emily see.
“Believe me, that Ms. Driscoll would agree. The way Ruby stormed in—” He chuckled. “Reminded me of my gran. Seriously, though, she did okay, Leah.”
Leah nodded, forced herself to take another bite of her food. “How’s Nate?”
“Nate’s Nate. Shut down. Kid’s like a turtle—any sign of the slightest disturbance in his environment and he withdraws into his shell. I have no idea what to say or do to help him. And those Homan kids today weren’t any help.”
“It was the Homans?” Her jaws clicked shut, biting off what she was about to say about the sprawling clan. “I’ve treated a few in the ER.”
“Back when I was in uniform I once got called out to their place for a D&D—drunk and disorderly,” he translated, “that involved skeet shooting, only instead of throwing skeet targets into the air, they’d rigged a slingshot and were shooting at live chickens—any small living thing they could get their hands on.”
“Hope you called the SPCA on them.”
“Luckily none of the animals were hurt—they were so drunk they couldn’t figure out the concept of trajectory. Have they bothered you since you’ve moved into Nellie’s?”
“No. Guess with the bad weather, they’ve been staying home. But I hate that they’re our neighbors.” The Homan farm was over the hill, between Nellie’s place and Jericho Fields.
“Let me know if they do anything. And we should make sure the kids stay away. Believe me, Billy and Jimmy are the least dangerous of the bunch.” He took a drink of his milk, ready to change the subject. “How’d it go with Risa Saliba?”
“I’ve emailed you a copy of the interview. She backs up Harper and Krichek’s accounts of what happened with Walt.”
“Good. Should get the brass off my back. Did she say anything helpful?”
“Not about Trudy—well, maybe.” She explained about Risa’s stalker, his letters and vanishing videos and texts. “He’s obsessed with Risa. And I tell you, his letters freaked me out. I don’t understand why the police wouldn’t take her seriously.”
“She came to us?”
“Said she did.”
He slid his phone free. “When?”
“Sorry, I’m not sure. But the letters began last April.”
He dialed. “Krichek, pull any complaints filed by Risa Saliba. Forward them to me. They should all be from the last year. Thanks.”
“What if he was there, at the Falconer?” Leah asked. “Maybe he’s a suspect.”
“You think this stalker could have killed Trudy?” His tone was skeptical. “This has been going on a year, but despite being a reporter with a ton of media connections, she suddenly decides to confide in you, an absolute stranger? Why would she do that if she really believes this guy is a serial killer?”
“Because she thought it might be tied to Trudy’s death,” Leah argued.
“But you don’t know her, Leah. How do you even know the letters are legit? That she’s not sending them to herself? She’s used to being in the spotlight. Maybe with this illness, she’s using this stalker to plan a big, dramatic comeback? Would be a damn sight more likely than a serial killer deciding to share all his innermost secrets with a reporter. Hell, maybe she’s not even sick, is faking everything?”
His vehemence surprised her—not at all like the Luka she’d come to know over the past month. That Luka loved brainstorming every possible angle of an argument. Although, in a way, that was what he was doing, playing devil’s advocate. He didn’t have to be so damn good at it, though.
“She’s not faking her stalker.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because she hired Ian to try to trace him.”
They both went silent at that. Finally, Luka glanced up. “I’m sorry. If Risa Saliba made an official report, I’ll follow up, open an investigation, get our cyber squad on it.” He made it sound as if Risa’s willingness to involve the police was a test of her veracity. “Could you get me Ian’s records of what he did? They’d be helpful.”
“I guess they’re at the house.” The house—as in, her and Ian’s home. The one Leah hadn’t stepped foot inside since that night. She swallowed. “I can look for them.”
“And I’ll have another chat with Ms. Saliba.”
Registering his tone, she glanced up. “You think she made up meeting Ian, don’t you? You think she heard my name, and is using Ian’s murder to suck me in.”
“You’re a sympathetic audience, a respected physician, you’ve been in the news lately. If you believe her, that gives her story credence.”
“You didn’t read his letters. I believe her, Luka. She hides it well, but she’s genuinely terrified.”
“All the more reason to make this official, open a real investigation.”
“So you’ll read the files she shared with me—I promised her you would at least take a look.”
“Send them my way. I’ll try to skim them during the autopsy. It’s Tierney, so—”
“You’ll have plenty of downtime.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” He paused, his gaze focusing on the rainy window beyond her. “About this morning.”
Leah knew what Luka was going to say. “I had it handled—”
“No. Leah. I know this is all new to you, but you can’t be rushing in like that. Every scene poses potential danger. And all this talk about serial killers—”
“I’m not saying Risa’s stalker is an actual serial killer. Just that we should look into him as possibly killing Trudy. Maybe start with Cliff, the building manager.” She’d already forgotten Cliff’s last name; he really was the invisible man. “He was hanging around Risa’s apartment, asking about her. I definitely got a stalkerish vibe from him.”
“He’s on my list. But that’s not the point and you know it. You can’t treat everyone as if they’re a patient under your protection.”
As usual, he’d nailed her dilemma. She fussed with stacking her dirty dishes on her tray, avoiding eye contact. “I know, I know. Honestly, I feel like such a fraud, taking this job. If I’d known Toussaint only hired me because the grant funding required a physician as medical director—the money they’re paying me would be better used to help hire more psychiatric social workers. They’d be able to save a lot more lives out on the street than I ever could, preventing more deaths and injuries by intervening right away.”
“If the pilot program is successful, we can get more money and do that.”
“They’re already doing it out in Oregon. It has saved the city millions of dollars. Not to mention civilian lives—”
“And the police officers saved as well,” he added. “I know, I’ve read about it. But first—”
“We need to make this program work.” She crumpled up her napkin and threw it onto her tray. “Which, I guess means that I take orders from you.” The words tasted bitter. One of the great things about being in the ER was that while she listened to the opinions of everyone on her team, in the end, she was in charge.