Veronica smiled automatically in return. “Hi, Steve. How’ve you been?”
“Fair. I miss you.” He saw no point in denying it now. “Would you like to come in?”
Veronica thought a moment, “No. Let’s sit out here for a while. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” he said cheerfully. He stepped out onto the porch, and sat on the top step at the edge of the bricks.
Veronica sat on the opposite side, one step down, and leaned back against the iron rail. She pulled at the points of an old oak leaf, and seemed at a loss for words.
He could feel the strain in the air. She didn’t seem to want to be there. “Do you need something?” He asked, no longer sure she was there for him. He gazed straight at her, taking in her beautiful, sky blue eyes that seemed to glow against her olive skin.
“No.” She dismissed the question as though she hadn’t really heard it. Her mind was on something else. “I guess you heard about what happened to my patient?”
Steve snapped to attention, and his body reflexively withdrew. “Yes.”
She continued in a meditative tone. “There was a detective at my house today, investigating me.”
“Middle-aged guy with a bad attitude?” Steve wondered if she knew that he had sent Chapman to her home without warning.
“Yes, exactly.” Nic looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since she’d arrived. “How did you know?”
“Detective Chapman? He’s been by here.” Steve did not elaborate. He knew he should have warned her about Chapman.
“What did he see you for?”
“He wanted to know what I knew about the, uh, jewelry theft.” Steve didn’t mention Sarah.
“What did you tell him?” Veronica frowned now.
“That I don’t know anything about it.” He reached to push back a wisp of dark brown hair that had blown across her face, but then withdrew his hand.
Veronica glanced at his eyes and brushed away the hair herself, turning her head slightly away. “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be investigating Summers’ death. The night of the murder I saw Fiona Crawford, the insurance adjustor, leaving the hospital. I went to talk to her yesterday and she’s gone. I can’t find out anything about her.”
“Is that so?” Steve closed his hand into a fist and held it in his lap, afraid it would move unbidden again.
“Your friend Reynauld said she went to Europe.”
Steve frowned slightly, looking confused, but then his face cleared and he said only, “His name is Reid.”
“Do you know Fiona Crawford?” Veronica looked back at him.
“She’s Reid’s girlfriend.” A breath of wind tickled his neck and he imagined Veronica’s touch instead. He shook his head. The past six months lay between them bigger than the grand canyon. He didn’t know how to bridge that gap. How to tell her the truth about Sarah?
Veronica continued on, ignoring the pained look on his face that seemed to be a permanent fixture these days. “His girlfriend? I knew there was something going on between them.”
“She’s a real smart girl. I think that she’s attracted to him partly because of his power.”
“What power?” Veronica gave him a puzzled glance.
“He’s rising in the conglomerate. He’s got the ear of the top dogs.”
“What does he have to offer those guys?”
“He’s a helluva financier,” Steve replied.
“He is?” Veronica looked only mildly skeptical. “I thought he was just a supervisor at Kinder, and I didn’t even know that until the other day.”
“Oh, well, technically he still is, but he’s making huge amounts of money over there.”
“Reid is? And he’s the one who told you that?” Veronica’s voice was incredulous, maybe not quite scoffing.
“Yeah, he did. Haven’t you seen his new place?” Steve shifted on the step to see her face better.
“Nooo.”
Steve sighed deeply. “No. I guess it’s only been a few months since we…” He was suddenly very tired. This wasn’t about making up.
“So where is he getting all this money?”
“By working for the big boys. He gets a percentage of what he brings in from his investments, and those guys have plenty to play around with. Recently he’s been studying the laws on how to protect it from the IRS as well. That makes him very popular over there.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand? It takes money to make money.” Steve wanted to withdraw. Go back inside and end this interview.
“What about Fiona?”
“She’s got no money of her own. She comes from a pretty shady background.” He gathered his feet and stood up.
“What do you mean?” Veronica tilted her head up to look at him.
“Both of her parents and her brother have been in jail at one time or another for stealing and public disturbance. Not really major, pre-meditated crimes, just sort of, you know, as a way of life. She was lucky to make it out of that.” He leaned on the rail.
“I see. So does she have any respect for the law?”
“Of course. Reid wouldn’t have hired her if she didn’t.”
“So all of his IRS protection activities are legal?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” he replied.
“So why are they dating now?”
“I guess that she just caught him on the way up.” Steve sighed. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He didn’t want to talk anymore or try to sort out what went wrong with whom, and when.
“He’s up?”
Steve sighed again. “Nic, he’s my friend.” He reached for the doorknob.
“Reid gives me the creeps. He’s always leering at me like he can see through my shirt.”
“I don’t see it.” Steve drummed his fingers on the knob.
“Maybe he doesn’t look through your shirt.”
“How long has it been since you have?” Steve countered abruptly.
Veronica flushed and stood up. Somewhere up above them a squirrel chattered at its playmate. “Steve, I’ve got to go.”
Steve hesitated, ready with another sharp retort, but then swallowed, and put out his hand to hers. Veronica shook it and quickly dropped it. A bitter lump formed in his throat as he watched her walk back to her car.
***
Detective Chapman returned to the hospital. He checked in with the blue-haired woman at the desk, who offered to walk with him to 3A.
“No, I can go myself,” he said.
She sat back down, looking a bit dejected. Chapman took the service elevator to the third floor and followed a long, narrow hallway that could barely accommodate two stretchers side by side. On 3A, he spoke to the secretary. “Could I see the nurse who took care of Summers on the day of her death?”
“I’m sorry, but she’s off duty. Can I take your name and leave a message?” The secretary tried to be helpful.
“I’m Detective Chapman.” He flashed his badge. “What is her name?”
The secretary said, “Lilla Sherman.” Chapman wrote it down in his notebook. “Perhaps someone else can assist you, Detective?”
“Can I see the room?”
“Of course.” The secretary motioned to a nurse to come over. “This gentleman is here about Miss Summers. You remember her? Could you show him the room?’
“Yes,” said the nurse. “Why are you here?”
“I’m Detective Chapman.” He held up his badge. “I’m investigating her death.”
“Okay, follow me. That room has been closed since the autopsy.”
Chapman followed her down another more brightly painted corridor and around a corner. At the end of that hallway, he saw a stairwell.
“Is that door locked?” he asked the nurse.
“No, it’s a fire escape. There’s one at the end of each hall.”
“Which door is hers?”
The nurse pointed to a door only two rooms away from the stairwell. He pe
eked into it and saw that it had been cleaned and sanitized.
“That’s great.” He fumed.
“What?”
“They cleaned the damn room.”
“Of course. There’s been another patient in there.”
Chapman looked around for something he could hit. Finding nothing, he stuffed his fists in his pockets. “My evidence is destroyed.”
“There was no hold put on the bed when she died. Rooms are cleaned as soon as the patient leaves. There was another patient in there the next day.” She looked at him warily. “The call from the police didn’t come until after the autopsy, which was over a day later. After that we closed it right away.”
Chapman reflected that he had known that. The finding of poisoning had only come at autopsy. The crime scene designation was really more reflex than anything. But, that didn’t lessen his urge to hit something. He changed the subject. “Did Ms. Summers have any visitors on the day of her death?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t working that shift, but all visitors have to sign into the visitors log at the information desk. They should still have the one from that night.”
Chapman abruptly turned and walked away toward the stairwell without another word. The nurse sniffed in indignation and walked back to the nurse’s station.
She complained to the secretary, “He just walked away in the middle of a conversation. He didn’t even go into the room.”
The secretary shrugged. “Guess he thinks he’s too important for manners. Lord knows the doctors around here do.”
The nurse laughed.
When he emerged from the stairway two floors down, Chapman found himself in the first floor hallway next to the cafeteria. He stopped to get a bag of chips, and then found his way back to the information booth. The volunteers were delighted to see him again. They produced the log immediately, and he flipped back to the day of the death. Visitors to Summers room included only F. Crawford, who had also listed one other room to visit that day. Two floors up, Crawford had visited an Edna Rogers.
“Can I get the demographics on Ms. Rogers?” asked Chapman.
“I’m sorry,” said a volunteer whom he had not met before. “We don’t have that here. You’ll have to get a release form signed, and take it to medical records.”
Chapman arched his eyebrow. “A release?”
“Release of records from the patient.”
“I can’t get a release from her if I don’t know where to find her.”
The volunteer shrugged. “I wish I could help you. HIPPA, you know”
The woman with blue curls said, “You can always get a court order.”
“I know that,” Chapman growled. He walked back out to the emergency lane where he had left his car, shaking his head. People used to go out of their way to help solve crime. Now they were either indifferent or obstructive.
At the station, he sat by Dex’s desk and propped his feet on the metal trashcan. He was still in a foul mood and he glared at Dex.
Dex stroked his black, curly mustache as he replied to Chapman’s information. “The Rogers thing at the hospital sounds like a dead-end, anyway, Jack. What’s a sick old woman going to remember about her visitor that is gonna help us? It wouldn’t be a family member visiting both women. We know Summers had no family.”
“Someone has to know the visitor’s first name. Surely Mrs. Rogers could recall that, or at least a gender. Something to give us a direction.” said Chapman.
“I’ll check around.”
“Whaddya think about the Lanes?” asked Chapman, propping his chin on his fist.
Byers shrugged. “I’d keep an eye on them. That doc’s the closest person to the victim. She’s gotta know something.”
The phone on Chapman’s desk rang. He scooted his chair across to it. “Hello?”
“Detective Chapman. This is Veronica Lane.”
Chapman’s eyes widened momentarily from their perpetual heavy-lidded look, and he motioned for Byers to pick up the extension. “Yes, Ms. Lane. What can I do for you?”
“Mister Chapman,” she responded. “I wanted to talk with you about an insurance agent whom I think is involved in this, uh, murder,” said Veronica.
“Go on.” Chapman scowled.
“Ness Corporation and its cohort, Kinder Health Care, are involved in this. I think that they had Sarah Summers killed.”
“Why are you coming up with theories, and calling me?”
“Because my patient was killed,” she said.
“And that makes you eager to contribute to this case? It wouldn’t be because you’re in the spotlight? Trying to deflect attention from yourself?”
“No, I just want the real killer caught. For Sarah’s sake.”
“I see. And who might have been the murderer? Surely not the entire company?” The sarcasm in his tone was undisguised. He scribbled notes on a legal pad on his desk, thinking that he needed to bring her in for questioning.
“I think that it was Fiona Crawford and her boss Reid White,” Veronica said.
Chapman sat up straighter. “Crawford you say?” He scratched again on the pad in front of him.
“Yes.”
“And she is employed by Ness?” Chapman glanced over at Byers and mouthed, “Are you getting this?” Byers nodded.
“She works for Kinder Health Care. She’s an insurance agent.”
“Is that all?”
“Are you going to check on them?” Chapman didn’t sound as interested as Veronica would have expected.
“Probably so,” Chapman evaded.
“That woman is all over this case.” Chapman directed the last comment at Byers as they hung up simultaneously.
“I wonder what she’s up to.” Byers stroked his mustache.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m sure as hell going to check out this Crawford woman. You ready for lunch?”
“Yeah, I could use a salad before we go,” said Byers.
“Salad? I don’t eat salad. I need real meat,” groused Chapman.
Byers snickered. “You’re right. Green leafys could be a shock your system would never get over.”
Chapman scowled again.
The Kinder Health Care building was a long, low, brown lump of brick. Chapman glanced around as they approached the building, “I guess they don’t expect as many visitors out here as they do at the Ness factory.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Byers.
“That other place looks like the Taj Mahal compared with this dump.”
The day had heated up, and the parking lot was on the opposite side of the four-lane road. They jogged across amid heavy traffic. Chapman was blowing hard when he reached the sidewalk.
Byers said, “Old man, you are really getting out of shape. I’m telling you. You’ve got to eat more salad. And maybe start jogging.”
“You know, you’re worse than a wife. I got to take you to work with me every day.” Chapman rubbed his scalp testily.
“Just looking out for you, partner.” Byers grinned.
They opened the door to Kinder Health Care and were met with a blast of cold air.
“That’s more like it,” said Chapman. He stepped to the receptionist sitting behind the high, chipped desk. “I’m here to see Fiona Crawford.”
“May I say who’s here?”
“Detective Jack Chapman.”
She punched a button, and said into an intercom. “There’s a detective here for Miss Crawford.”
The voice said. “She’s still out of town.”
“Should I send him up to Mr. White’s office?”
“Yes.”
The receptionist stood up and smiled. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
They walked up a spiraling flight of stairs, then they turned down a dim, fluorescent lit hall to a wooden door flanked by a narrow, wavy glass window. When they stepped inside, the contrasting size and sumptuousness of the office was unexpected.
Reid White stood up, and said expansively, “Welcome to Kinde
r Health Care. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the overstuffed leather chairs and came around the desk to join them. “Please make yourselves comfortable. Is there anything that I can get for you? Coffee, tea?” He said as he walked over to the corner of the room behind them, where a coffee pot sat on its warmer. He watched them as he poured.
“No, thanks,” said Chapman. “We’re here to find out about the Sarah Summers case.” He frowned at the metrosexual hairstyle that Reid wore combed straight back from his receded hairline.
“Oh. Well, I don’t handle cases directly. I’m afraid that I don’t recognize the name,” evaded White as he returned to his desk.
“We believe Fiona Crawford handled the case.”
“She isn’t here at the present time. Perhaps you could come back when she returns.” He sat back in the tall, black, tooled leather chair behind his desk.
“Will she be in later today?” Byers asked, studying the pile of law books by White’s seat.
“I’m afraid not. She is in Europe at a seminar. Cigar?” he gestured at a wooden box his desk. “They’re Dominican. Better than Cubans.”
“No, thank you. Can you shed some light on this case?” Byers asked.
Reid clipped the end of a stogie in a deliberate, thoughtful manner and lit it. After a puff, he flourished it in Byers’ direction and asked. “What do you need to know?”
“What Miss Crawford was doing on the night of the death,” Byers responded.
“When was that?”
“Two days ago.”
“That was just before she left.” He blew a smoke ring.
“The woman was a patient of Dr. Lane’s.” Byers coughed and waved his hand, even though he should be used to the smell. Almost everyone smoked during station meetings.
“Oh, yes.” White tapped his forehead. “The multiple sclerosis patient. Fiona was taking care of her claim. I was under the impression that she died of the chemotherapy.”
“No sir. She was poisoned, and the only visitor that night was Miss Crawford.”
Reid raised his eyebrows as he jerked his head back. “Poisoned?”
Treating Murder: Book One of the Veronica Lane, M.D. series (medical thriller) Page 11