Deadly Impulse

by Carolyn Arnold

  “I had hoped.”

  “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay. My, oh my…” A man in a white hospital gown was skipping down the hall, a few orderlies chasing after him.

  “It seems they found their missing psych patient.” Apparently, Terry had understood the code, as well.

  Madison rolled her eyes at his obvious statement. “Nothing escapes your grasp, does it?” She headed toward the elevator, hiding her smirk.

  -

  Chapter 3

  “HOW DOES A WHEELCHAIR JUST go missing?” Madison asked Terry as they shared an elevator up two floors to the abortion clinic.

  “I can only imagine the traffic going through this place in a day. It might not be as hard as you think.”

  “A hospital employee wouldn’t stand out pushing one.”

  “Like I said, Maddy, I don’t think anyone would. You saw how crowded that waiting room was and the number of people who were being helped by the other nurse at the desk.”

  Her phone vibrated, notifying her of a text message. It was from Cynthia. Richards booked the autopsy for first thing the next morning. Madison shared this information with Terry, and although he nodded, his eyes seemed distant—a common occurrence these days.

  Doctors had told Terry and Annabelle that their baby could be born with spina bifida, but they strived to stay positive.

  “Are you thinking about the baby?” Madison asked.

  “I’m thinking of him, yes.” He gave her a slick smile. Despite ultrasounds not revealing the baby’s sex, Terry was convinced it was a boy.

  “How is Annabelle these days?”

  “She’s excited, nervous. She wants him out.” He laughed, but the expression quickly deflated.

  “Good. And I bet.” Madison was thirty-five and didn’t have a mothering bone in her body. If she thought pregnancy through to birth—all the bodily fluids and the blood—it made her squeamish and just sealed the fact she would likely never have a family.

  “So if you get to ask about my life…” he teased.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. My relationship with Matthews is off the table.”

  “Matthews? Sounds rather formal and cold.”

  Troy Matthews was head of SWAT for Stiles PD. She’d known him for years, but it wasn’t until a recent case that their friendship had turned into something more. Despite her initial resistance, some things cannot be stopped. The draw she had to him was one such thing. He was an alpha male and, as such, attracted women in droves. He was into working out and ripped. But he was serious-minded and interested solely in her—or so he kept trying to convince her.

  Madison took a deep breath thinking back to last night—their bodies entangled, moving together… She had to wish the images from her mind. At least for right now. They were on a case.

  “I can tell by the flush of your cheeks, things are heating up.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She punched him in the shoulder and then smirked. Her relationship with Terry would never change. He was like the younger brother she’d never had.

  “By the way, you’re looking good these days,” he added.

  She narrowed her eyes, tempted to punch him again.

  “What?” He lifted his shoulders, hands palms out toward her. “I just noticed. I thought women liked this type of acknowledgment.”

  But she wasn’t “most women.” She wasn’t worried about what men thought of her. After being betrayed by her fiancé in her early twenties, she’d been somewhat bitter for the better part of a decade now. It didn’t help that he—Toby Sovereign—was also a detective and currently working with Stiles PD. The greatest tragedy was how she held what he had done to her against all men who had entered her life—up until now. She still dated, of course, but she never allowed anyone to get too close. No, her heart was hers and hers alone. With that state of mind, though, the loneliness was also hers alone. She had both Cynthia and Terry to thank for helping her to see that life was too short to sit around and mope. Even Troy deserved some of the credit.

  “You must be working out,” Terry said, breaking her train of thought. “Does Troy have you on a program?” Terry snickered, evidently amused with his innuendo.

  “Would you just—”

  The elevator dinged, interrupting as it announced their arrival on the second floor.

  She stepped out first. Not that she’d admit it to Terry, master of the treadmill, who ran ten miles every morning, but she was exercising. And eating healthier. Before her shifts, she’d walk Hershey, her chocolate lab, at a brisk pace for an hour. Thanks to the obedience classes she was able to fit in every other Saturday, he was a pleasure to walk. She had started with one block and kept building herself up.

  She hated to concede that the new lifestyle had anything to do with Matthews—Troy. She still slipped sometimes, but it was beginning to get easier to refer to him by first name. She was doomed. Whenever she sensed the trepidation setting in, the hesitancy over accepting their relationship, she’d blurt out Matthews to establish focus again.

  But life had taken her through a lot in recent months. She had almost died at the hands of the Russian Mafia and came close to being raped by one of them, too. Faced with the muzzle of a revolver to her head, she had promised herself that she would forgive past hurts and try to love again with a full heart. The latter was really tough. It equated to vulnerability, the very thing she always did her best to avoid.

  The elevator started to close, and Terry was still in it. She stuck her hand out to hold back the doors. “Are you coming?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  There was a small waiting area in the clinic with three patients waiting for their turn. One woman was by herself. The other two had someone with them—one a man, the other seemingly a female friend.

  Madison and Terry approached the front counter. The blond receptionist’s smile faded when Madison held up her badge.

  Then she brought up a photograph of the dead woman on her phone and extended it to the nurse. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  She leaned forward and squinted as if she needed glasses but refused to wear them. “I do.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “No. Sorry.” She sat back in her chair and Madison noted her name tag: MARY ELLEN.

  Mary Ellen had just looked at the picture of a dead woman she recognized, and there was no evidence that the news shook her.

  “She was found outside the hospital perimeter.”

  “Someone killed her? That’s why you’re here?” Tears beaded in her eyes as if everything was just sinking in.

  “You knew her, but you don’t know her name?” Madison was struck by the conflicting responses and emotion. First, no reaction, and now she seemed distraught. But Madison could relate to how the woman was feeling. Not that she ever cried at a crime scene. It was bad enough that she hated the sight of blood and had vomited in front of Troy Matthews once because of it. But there had been exceptional circumstances.

  “I pass the protesters on the way home in the evening,” Mary Ellen replied, “and I have seen her out there before.”

  “Was she normally in a wheelchair?”

  Mary Ellen shook her head. “Even though I work in here and she stands against abortion, she was inspiring. Here was this delicate, gray-haired woman, standing tall for what she believed in.”

  “She was out there on a daily basis?” Terry asked.

  “Come to think of it, she hasn’t been out there in some time.”

  Madison glanced at Terry. It was likely that whoever left the woman outside the hospital knew that she protested abortion.

  “‘Some time’?” Madison prompted for a precise answer.

  “A couple months, I think.”

  “Was she ill? Did she have an operation?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

  “Did you happen to
notice the sign she held?” Madison asked.

  “Yeah, it said, ‘Put an end to abortion.’ Simple and direct.”

  “A wood sign, painted lettering?” Terry inquired.

  “Yes.” Mary Ellen’s eyes squeezed shut and then opened again. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “She was found with that sign strapped to the back of a wheelchair,” Madison said. She thanked Mary Ellen for her insights, and after they spoke to some other nurses, Madison and Terry headed back for the elevator. It was apparent they were missing key aspects to this case already. No ID on the woman. No apparent motive. Was she disposed of because the family couldn’t afford burial? Had her death been an argument taken too far? It likely wasn’t elder abuse, as Richards had said the bruising happened around the time of death. She factored in, as well, that it was possible the person who left her there was the one who found her. Remorse could have set in afterward.

  “We need to see what Marsh has to say,” she said. Part of her expected Terry to defend the man’s innocence, how he probably just happened upon the older woman. “You have nothing to say?”

  “Nope. I agree with you.”

  “You what?” Terry was rarely in quick agreement, and while it was an obvious next step to what was before them, he’d been overly accommodating since her recent situation with the Russians. In some ways, she’d rather he go back to his regular, snappy nature that had her defending herself at most intervals along an investigation.

  -

  Chapter 4

  OFFICER RANSON, WHO OPERATED THE front desk for Stiles PD, smiled at Madison. Her hair was dyed a dark maroon, and was, in Madison’s opinion, a win compared to the deep purple from last week.

  “I’m looking for Erik Marsh,” she said. “He was brought in regarding my case—”

  “She means our case,” Terry corrected.

  Ranson’s gaze went from Terry to Madison, a smile on her face. “He’s in interrogation room three.”

  “Detective Knight.” It was her boss, Sergeant Winston. “What’s the latest on the new case?”

  Madison wondered if he babysat his other detectives the way he did her. Every time she turned around, he was requesting an update. He was about talk; she was about action.

  “We’re just about to question Erik Marsh,” Madison said.

  “Let’s go to my office.” Winston stepped away, motioning for her and Terry to follow him.

  She felt like she was being summoned to the principal’s office. “Sarge, can we do this another time?”

  “Another time that is convenient for you?”

  “Preferably, yes.”

  Winston shook his head. “You’ll never change.”

  She wanted to say likewise but managed to hold the word back. Things were better between them since Chief McAlexandar stepped down, but it seemed like the puppet strings still stretched from the man’s retirement.

  The new police chief, Andrea Fletcher, wasn’t hands-on. Beyond her appointment to office, Madison wouldn’t even know of her existence. But there was a reason Fletcher didn’t get involved the way McAlexandar had. He had been pocketing money from the Russians and had used his position as chief to keep the police out of their business. As soon as Madison had the irrefutable proof of this, McAlexandar would be facing prosecution.

  While Madison had a part in locking away the head of the Mafia, Dimitre Petrov, his reach extended from behind bars. Dimitre’s defense attorney, Bryan Lexan, was killed shortly after Dimitre was sentenced to life. Madison had no doubt the former police chief hid discriminatory evidence in the case, and it went cold. All of that had been the better part of five years ago, but a few months ago, Madison had found some restitution. Her hardheaded determination to finally close the investigation resulted in her being captured by the Russians and a subsequent string of murders. The sad part was even though she knew the identity of the assassin—Constantine Romanov—justice hadn’t yet been served. Constantine had managed to escape custody and was probably back in Russia.

  As for at least a couple victims, Madison felt their blood was on McAlexandar’s hands. He may not have been the one to pull the trigger, but he had provided the necessary information to lead Dimitre’s man to the right place at the right time. In prior cases, he had made evidence disappear for the Russians, and to top it off, he was in direct contact with Dimitre. The latter was corroborated by live testimony from the former warden at Dimitre’s prison, who was too afraid to go on record. But one thing was sure: there was no reason for McAlexandar to be communicating with Dimitre unless they had evil intentions.

  So Madison managed what was within her control. She had Dimitre transferred from “Club Med” to a real prison, one where he’d have to start his relationships from scratch. Everyone was bought where he was before. But her control, her reach, only seemed to be getting her so far. Surely McAlexandar, a cog in the wheel, would be easier to bring down than a Russian assassin would. She’d have to give the matter some thought.

  “On the count of three, pull the trigger.”

  The quick flashback made goose bumps raise the hairs on her arms. As she pulled herself back to the present, she aligned eyes with Terry.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said, and she and Terry entered the sergeant’s office.

  Winston sat behind his desk. As usual, it was heaped with paperwork. Next to one pile was a mug with ring stains and some coffee inside. The lack of steam told Madison the beverage was cold by this point. She shuddered to think how bitter it would be now. Fresh brew from the bull pen was strong enough to disintegrate a spoon.

  The sergeant clasped his hands together on the desk. “Tell me where you are with the case.”

  “We were about to speak with the man who found her, Erik Marsh,” Madison said. She somehow resisted rolling her eyes. Her boss was preoccupied with every tiny step in a case.

  “What are you thinking so far?” The sarge’s gaze went to Terry.

  Terry glanced at Madison and then answered. “It’s still early. Whether she died by intentional or accidental means still needs to be determined by Richards.”

  “I understand that she had bruising on her arms. That shows she was defending herself.”

  “Yes,” Madison chimed in. “On her wrists. But the bruises didn’t kill her.” Madison rose. “We’ve got to speak to Marsh. Now.”

  Her hurry held no impact on the sergeant. Neither did her cold response. His eyes skimmed over her and went back to Terry, who was still seated.

  Terry continued. “It seems possible that a loved one got into an altercation with her, but the wheelchair she was in was definitely stolen from the hospital.”

  “Maybe a family member dropped her off to save funeral expenses?” Winston theorized.

  “It’s possible but doesn’t explain the bruising,” Madison began. “Sarge, we need to speak to Marsh. We don’t even know who this woman is yet.”

  Winston brushed them off with his hand. They were almost out the door when he called out. “Keep me informed, Knight.”

  -

  Chapter 5

  “WHAT IS UP WITH THAT MAN? You’d think he’d be less controlling with McAlexandar gone,” she said as they walked down the hall. Her strides were long, her earlobes heated from anger.

  “He’s got a new boss now. Something tells me he might not be adjusting to it as well as we are,” Terry said.

  “Isn’t that too bad.” Madison smirked. She loved having a woman at the top. It might still be a man’s world, but a revolution had begun. She stopped outside interrogation room three. “Let me do the talking.”

  “Of course. You’re so good at it.”

  “Hardy har.”

  “That’s my line.”

  Her smile disappeared as she reviewed the background report an officer had pulled on Erik Marsh. “Just great. He doesn’t have a m
ark on his record.” She sighed and stepped into the room. Strong-smelling perspiration slapped her in the face. Erik Marsh must’ve put in quite a workout before finding the deceased.

  “Can I go now?” he asked right away.

  Madison slid into a chair across from him. “I’m Detective Knight, and this”—she indicated Terry with a slight bob of her head—“is my partner, Detective Grant. We have some questions for you first.”

  Confusion showed in Marsh’s eyes. “I told everything I know to an officer already.”

  “We have reason to believe that the woman might have died of natural causes.” If he believed that’s what they thought, it might draw him out more.

  “If she died from natural causes, why are detectives investigating her death?”

  He was smart, she’d give him that. “A body found under these circumstances needs to be investigated, regardless of the cause of death.” She let that sit there for a few seconds. “Did you ever see that woman before today?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I swear.”

  Terry walked behind him, jingling the change in his pocket. It was a method he used to throw suspects off and distract them in the hopes of making them slip up.

  Marsh looked over a shoulder at Terry. He stopped the jingling for a second.

  “Like I told that cop, I just found her like that. I was on my midday jog. People usually pay attention to me. I don’t know, I have good energy, I guess. But she didn’t look at me and her head was at an odd angle. I could tell something wasn’t right.”

  “After you saw her, what did you do?” Madison asked.

  An exasperated exhale. “I went over to her. She was dead. I called nine-one-one.”

  “And you waited for officers to arrive?”

  He nodded.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Like I said, I’ve been through all this. I need a shower, lady—detective.” He corrected himself under her watchful eye. “I never saw her before in my life. I wish I could still say that.”