As she turned the corner of the house, though, she realized that getting in her car and leaving wasn’t going to be so simple. When she’d arrived earlier, the drive had been empty, but now a dozen or so police vehicles packed the area in neat order, one beside the other. At least two of them blocked her company sedan.
She took a few more steps forward, wondering how long it would take to get them moved. It was two-thirty in the morning. Even if she called a cab, it would take at least a half hour for one to show up. All she wanted was to go home. Maybe with a lot of luck, she could get a few hours of sleep. Maybe even for a span of hours forget about the nightmare that had suddenly become her life.
Hearing the front door open, she turned. Jack stepped out onto the porch. Maybe he’d been watching from the window and, recognizing the parking problem, was coming to rectify it.
He walked down the steps and headed across the damp grass toward her. Tightening her arms across herself again and locking her knees, she bounced in place on the balls of her feet as she waited on him. He moved easily, his stride loose. She’d noticed that about him even before they’d actually met. Her awareness of him had gone beyond that, though. But then, if you asked any woman in Deep Water to describe the chief of police, the word hunk was bound to come up.
Hearing rushing footsteps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, catching only the glimpse of a woman’s white face and dark hair before she felt the blow to her left cheek that landed openhanded and with stinging force.
“Evil bitch!”
As spittle splattered Lexie’s face, she fell back a step, confused. She wiped the spit off. “What do you…who the hell are you…?”
Instead of answering, the woman picked up a fist-size rock from the ground and rushed Lexie, who was still backing away. “You’re going to pay!”
At the last moment, seeing the rock driving downward toward her head, Lexie ducked and immediately lashed out with a fist. Pain exploded in her hand as it connected with the woman’s shoulder. What seemed like a thousand kilowatts of electricity shot upward into her elbow.
Jack grabbed the woman and dragged her backward. Lexie doubled over her injured hand and turned her back as several other officers arrived.
“Don’t you understand? That bitch killed him!”
She heard Jack handing off the woman, who continued to rail as she was led away.
Then he approached Lexie. “You okay?”
She tried to form words, but couldn’t seem to push them past her lips. Where she’d been freezing seconds earlier, now sweat clung to her, and her chest felt painfully tight. But it wasn’t until her vision tunneled toward black and her knees started to buckle that she realized what was happening to her.
“Lexie? Are you all right?”
What the heck was wrong with the man? She was anything but okay. Still cradling the hand close to her body, she sank to her knees.
Jack squatted down in front of her. “Do you think it’s broken?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath and tried to let it out slowly. Another knifelike pain climbed her arm. “That’s the problem with being a girl,” she managed to mutter between gritted teeth. “No one teaches you how to throw a punch. How to protect yourself. Because they figure there’s going to be a man around to do it. Well, I got news for them—”
“Come on, Sugar Ray. You’re going to the hospital.” Jack helped her to her feet. She wobbled slightly and he steadied her. When she looked up into his face this time, she thought she saw concern. In the next instant, though, it was gone. Or perhaps it had never existed.
“Did you want to press charges?” Jack asked.
“No. I think I have enough problems, don’t you?”
She took a deep breath. With even the least bit of jarring, it felt as if someone was stabbing her wrist with a very dull knife. All she wanted was enough medication to deaden the pain. Since hands and wrists were his specialty, she thought about calling Ken Lattimer. If only she’d accepted his invitation—if she’d said yes instead of no to dessert—tonight would have turned out so differently. For her, at least.
She was so intent on keeping the hand and wrist steady, she didn’t see the newcomer.
“Lexie?”
At the sound of Fleming Whittemore’s voice, she turned. He stood five feet away, dressed more casually than she was used to seeing him, his expression grim. He wasn’t alone. One of the officers, the kid who’d been guarding the front door, was with him.
When Fleming tried to approach, the officer stopped him. “What’s going on, Lexie?”
“Dan’s dead.”
“Dead?” Fleming shook free of the officer’s restraint but didn’t make any move to reach her. “What happened?”
“Suicide, they think.” She shook her head. “Maybe murder.”
“Are you okay?” Fleming asked, his glance traveling from her face to the face of the man beside her.
She nodded as Jack’s fingers closed around her upper arm. Lexie glanced up at the man who held her. Why was he suddenly holding her? To keep her from Fleming? “This is Fleming Whittemore, Dan’s partner. I called him earlier. He…he should be the one to phone Dan’s parents.” She looked at Fleming again. “I need to go to the hospital. Do you think you could drive me?”
Jack’s fingers tightened their hold. “One of my men will take you.”
“But I’d rather—”
“Andy,” Jack interrupted. He motioned to the woman who had assaulted Lexie. “Put her in the back of a car for now. I’m sure Fitz and Shepherd will want to talk to her and to Mr. Whittemore.” He looked at Fleming. “I assume you have no objections to answering a few questions?”
Fleming shook his head.
It was only as her attacker was being led away that Lexie recognized the woman as one of Dan’s nurses. What was she doing here at this time of night?
Taking off his coat, Jack draped it around Lexie’s shoulders. “Come on.”
The gesture surprised her. But as the weight of the coat settled around her, she realized it shouldn’t have. Wasn’t that one of the first things she’d noticed about Jack the night they’d met—his ability to make a woman feel very alive, but also safe?
IT WAS NOW NEARLY 4:00 a.m. Jack had stepped outside, hoping the cold air would stave off the exhaustion that seemed to be gaining on him. He’d already been up for more than twenty-three hours and figured he had another couple to go before he could catch a few hours of sleep.
News crews were setting up out on the street. The dispatcher at the police station had relayed the message that calls were coming in requesting interviews with Jack. Word had gotten out about the prominent doctor’s death. One persistent reporter had already called the mayor at home, waking him from sleep with the news and asking for a reaction. Luckily, or perhaps more accurately, unluckily, the mayor had refused to comment until morning. At which time he promised to hold a joint press conference with Jack.
That was just what Jack wanted to do first thing in the morning. Share a microphone with a man who had publicly criticized him on more than one occasion. The friction between Jack and the mayor, and even with several members of the city council, was no secret, and the press was likely to play on that angle if they got the chance.
Jack’s cell phone rang. It was Fitz. “I’ve invited Whittemore into the kitchen for questioning. I thought you might want to join us.”
“I’ll be right there.”
The doctor was already sitting in the breakfast nook, Fitz’s bulk squeezed in on the opposite side of the table.
Jack grabbed a cup of coffee and took a seat at the island counter where Fitz had been earlier, content to just watch and listen. If it had been anyone but Lexie, he would have done the same earlier, been a spectator during her questioning.
Dr. Fleming Whittemore, one of the city’s preeminent obstetricians, looked as tired as the rest of them. He’d shed the heavy leather jacket and was now dressed in jeans, a brown flannel shirt and work boots. Both the bo
ots and jeans had mud on them. But not the hands, Jack realized as Whittemore reached for the foam cup of coffee. Skin pink, nails clean, as if they’d been scrubbed aggressively.
“Looks as if you’re a bit of an outdoorsman?” Fitz commented. Building rapport by establishing common ground with the interviewee always came first.
Jack had intentionally skipped that step with Lexie. They’d previously established common ground—one he hadn’t been anxious to have revealed to his men. Though Jack wouldn’t be surprised if their previous relationship came out at some point.
Fleming looked down at the chunks of mud he’d left on the floor. “I have a cabin in the Ocala Forest. I was out there checking on it earlier.”
“Do you hunt, then?”
Whittemore slumped. “No. I just keep it as a retreat.”
“Does your wife go with you?”
“I’m not married.” Whittemore glanced over at Jack.
Jack sensed that instead of relaxing, the casual questions that were unrelated to what had taken place here tonight put the doctor on edge. Jack wondered why, and suspected Fitz did, as well.
“How long had you and Dr. Dawson been partners?” Fitz asked.
“Just over three years.”
“How did the two of you meet?”
“My practice had grown to a point where I couldn’t handle it any longer alone. I took out an ad in a medical journal. Dan had finished up his residency in obstetrics down in Miami and, because of his relationship with Lexie, wanted to relocate to Deep Water.”
Jack wasn’t surprised when Fitz avoided showing too much interest in Lexie. The detective had obviously sensed that it was still too early. That if Fleming guessed they were focusing on Lexie as a suspect, his responses might become more guarded.
After all, the fact that she’d called Whittemore suggested that the relationship between them was a strong one. Just friends? Or something more? Jack didn’t try to deny that his interest in the answer to that question wasn’t strictly professional.
“Would you say he was a good doctor?” Fitz asked.
“Yes. A very good one. He tended to take plenty of time with his patients, and most of them seemed to like him. Of course, there’s always one or two who don’t.”
“No impending lawsuits?”
Whittemore shook his head. “No.”
“How was he around the office and with the staff? Was he easygoing or uptight?”
“You could tell when things weren’t going well.”
“So he had a bit of a temper?”
Whittemore glanced away briefly. “I never saw him really lose control in the office,” he said when he looked back.
“What about outside the office?”
Again, Whittemore looked away.
Fitz changed tack with the next question. “What about his divorce? Did he ever discuss it?”
“No. But then I would be the last person he would talk to about it.”
Jack could think of several reasons why a man might not discuss a divorce with a business partner, the most obvious being a love triangle. Was it possible that that was what was going on here?
“Why would you be the last person?” Fitz asked.
“Because I was the one Lexie came to the night she lost the baby.”
Lost a baby? Fitz glanced over at Jack, speculation evident in the detective’s face.
Had they finally hit on something? Whittemore hadn’t said “miscarried.” He’d said “lost.” How many ways were there to lose a baby? Problems in the delivery room? No. There was more to it than that. Whatever had happened had created tension between the two doctors.
Fitz straightened. “Okay. Maybe you should tell me about that night.”
Whittemore didn’t answer right away, the pause once again suggesting he was choosing his words carefully. Why? Who was he protecting? Himself? Dan Dawson? Or Lexie?
“It was about eleven months ago,” he said. “A Sunday night. Late. I’d just returned from vacation and was at the office catching up on some files.”
Whittemore took another sip of coffee, the last. Normally Fitz would probably have refilled it, but didn’t this time. Possibly because he was afraid that given too much time to think, Whittemore might stop talking altogether.
“You were at the office?”
He nodded again. “If it hadn’t been the private line, I wouldn’t have even answered the phone.” He looked as if he wished he hadn’t. “It was Lexie. She was hysterical. Dan had pushed her down some steps.” He glanced over at Jack. “It wasn’t the first time.”
Jack felt his gut tighten. Domestic violence, crimes against women and children, topped every cop’s list of most hated call-outs. But the anger he felt now was more personal than that, he realized. Lexie wasn’t a stranger.
Up until that moment, Jack had been telling himself that, despite the fact that he knew her, he’d be able to maintain a professional distance. He now realized just how difficult it was going to be—almost as difficult as it would have been to keep his hands off Dan Dawson if he was still alive.
“How far along in the pregnancy was she?” Fitz asked.
“Over eight months.”
“Nearly full-term then. Any problems with the pregnancy before that night?”
“No.”
“So you met Lexie at the hospital and—”
“I tried to get her to go to the hospital, but she insisted that the office was closer. I figured I’d stabilize her there and then get her transferred. Of course, I didn’t know how bad it was.”
“How bad was it?”
“When she arrived, she was already in hard labor. I don’t know how she even managed to drive, but I knew immediately that stabilizing and transferring wasn’t an option.”
“So you attempted to deliver the baby in the office?”
“Yeah. Things seemed to be going fine until halfway through the birth. The baby’s heartbeat suddenly bottomed out completely. I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.”
“Did you dial 9-1-1?”
Whittemore rubbed his face, his color having gone from washed-out to a shade resembling that of a dead man’s. “No. There was no reason to.”
“Was an autopsy done on the fetus?” Fitz asked.
“Yeah. Dan insisted. I think he desperately wanted the baby’s death to be caused by something other than the fall.”
“What were the medical examiner’s findings?”
“That if Lexie hadn’t fallen, the baby would have been born in perfect health.”
Jack stood. It wasn’t looking good for Lexie. Whittemore’s statement had given them an even stronger motive for her to have killed her ex-husband.
“Did Lexie make a report?”
“No. She’s a strong woman. So I could never understand why she put up with Dan’s treatment of her.” The doctor frowned. “That night wasn’t the first time I suggested she do something about the situation, but I think she felt that she shared in the blame.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He lowered his head again as if in exhaustion. “All I know is that she didn’t deserve the way Dan treated her. She’s a good lady. Caring. Maybe too much so for her own good.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because as crazy as it sounds, I think she was worried about what would happen to the medical practice if it came out that Dan had some personal problems.”
“Did Dan ever indicate that he was afraid of his ex-wife?”
“Yeah. He called me the night before the memorial service for the baby and told me he wasn’t going to be able to attend. That Lexie had told him if he did, she’d kill him.”
“Is that something you would have expected her to do?”
“No. And I’m not even certain it’s true. I think he may have been trying to cast her as being on the edge of a mental breakdown. I think he was worried what she might say, and that if she talked, he’d have to leave Deep Water in order to continue practicing medicine.”
“So why would he give her a hard time on the property settlement? I would think that he’d be willing to hand over just about anything she wanted.”
“He did the first go-round. But when he got the opportunity to take her back to court… I think he felt a little braver by then. Probably figured if she talked at that point, everyone would believe that it was just the typical mudslinging of a vindictive ex-wife. Especially in light of his new relationship.”
“Any chance that Lexie Dawson was jealous?”
He frowned. “I suppose it’s possible.”
Jack stood. Whittemore had just handed them possible motive number three.
THE CAB SHE’D TAKEN from the hospital let her off in front of Riverhouse. She’d opted not to collect her car from the house in town, partially because she’d been afraid the police would still be there.
A slow drizzle had started again. With one arm in a cast, her briefcase and house keys in the other, handling an umbrella was out of the question.
The rain started to come down a bit harder as Lexie propped the briefcase against the door.
“Of all the times for the front light to burn out, it had to be tonight.” Lexie tried to stab the key into the lock, but using her left hand made it extremely awkward.
As she lost her hold on the key ring for the third time and heard it hit the deck, Lexie prayed the set of keys wouldn’t slip between the boards.
Locating them, she straightened and tried the lock again. This time she managed not only to get the key in, but to open the front door. Bumping it closed with a hip, she turned on the foyer light with her left hand and was greeted with… Sameness?
It wasn’t as if she’d expected the house to look any different. Maybe, as crazy as it sounded, she’d expected to see it through different eyes.
She sagged against the door. What was she going to do? Beyond calling an attorney in the morning? Just wait to see what happened next?
Was she supposed to just get up in the morning, run her Saturday errands, pick up groceries for the week, clean the house, do laundry? Pretend that nothing had happened?
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