She fled to her side of the duplex and shut the door. A few minutes later, her head appeared in a window, straining to see what he was doing.
Chapman snorted. He couldn’t help but smile. That reminded him of his favorite aunt. She always poked her nose into everything. It gave him a grudging respect for the woman. His aunt had been stalwart and immovable, but this old woman’s intent was the same—and it was that same need to know everything that was going on which had originally led him to join the force twenty-six years ago. Before he had lost faith in people. He walked back to his car and called for assistance on the radio. He would need a team of uniformed officers to come dust the house and collect evidence. He needed some concrete evidence, and this was the best remaining source.
Chapman continued his search through the house without touching anything. In the kitchen, there were two glasses and a teapot on the counter with dried brown stains in the bottom of each. Five officers arrived and began to dust the room for prints. Chapman called one man into the kitchen to bag the teapot and cups. He walked into the cramped bedroom where there was an old, blond wood dresser covered in prescription pill bottles, over-the-counter pain medicines, and tubes of various ointments. Another uniformed officer carefully loaded each of these into separate baggies. Chapman looked in the closet and found clothing piled on the floor or hanging crookedly on the hangers. Her shoes were jumbled in the pile. Chapman didn’t touch this, but called some men to sift through it. Then he surveyed the living room and decided that there was nothing left to collect. He would be extremely lucky if this scene had not also been destroyed by that meddling woman.
The house had been sealed off with yellow tape the same day that he had been notified of the death, but the old woman apparently hadn’t been discouraged. He watched for a while as the men continued to dust for prints, and eventually he left for the station.
“Benny, let me know what comes back on the prints and the meds from the Summers house as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” said Benny.
Chapman sat down to his piles of paperwork, and tackled another pile awaiting signatures. He glanced at his watch and gave himself fifteen minutes to work before going to court.
***
I awoke Friday morning with a splitting headache. It pounded in my temples until the rhythm made me retch. I hadn’t had a headache like this since I was a child and used to have reactions to sausage on my pizza.
Today, I tried taking what pain medicine I had in the house, but they made me want to vomit all over again. The light from the windows blasted my eyes. I couldn’t remember anything that I had eaten lately that could have triggered such an attack. After an hour of trying to comb my hair when every piece felt alive and tender to the ends, I admitted defeat and called Vickie to reschedule my appointments once again. With one thing and another, perhaps I was going to have to take a leave of absence after all. I’d been out of work all week, Vickie had to be tearing her hair out.
I closed the window blinds in agony and crawled back under the comforter. The thought of making the trek to the kitchen for something to drink was too much to handle, and I buried my head under the pillow. I fell back asleep dreaming of sweet peas. They triggered something in my memory, but it hurt my head just to think. Headaches always resolve with sleep, I promised myself.
It was hours before I woke again. My mouth tasted sour, and my stomach was bilious. I had the drugged sensation of too much sleep, but my headache was gone. If I’d had more energy, I would have been pleased by that. I walked into the bathroom and ran a hot bath. Perhaps that would ease the last of the ill humors out of my body.
As I soaked, I mulled over the events of the past few days. Something still didn’t quite seem to fit, and it nagged at my gut. What was I going to do to trace the source of the arsenic? Dr. Krauss seemed to feel that it was simply a problem of pollution; of course she wasn’t here in town and was unaware of the rumors and tensions surrounding the death. She had only the cold, hard medical facts.
My stomach growled and I realized I needed to eat—and finally could. Cold, hard medical facts, I repeated to myself as I scrounged around for something to eat. I needed to be objective, to see the case as Dr. Krauss did. What were the facts? How did the insurance company figure in?
Chapter 12
Chapman went down the front steps of the station and out onto the main street. He stopped by the curb and smiled. He was good at his job, like a bloodhound hot on the trail. He checked his watch, one o’clock. Just enough time to make it to the courthouse, and then to his two o’clock appointment. It would be a much different visit than he had originally planned, but facts were facts. And justice must be served. Over the years he had seen all types, from back-alley drug addicts to white collar professionals, all scratching their way through life, and scratching out anyone who stood in their way. It was just human nature, and it was his job to uphold the law even against human nature. After all, this doctor was human too.
He walked the block to the courthouse. It was easier than trying to move his car in all of this traffic and find a new place to park over there. He walked into the old marble building where hundreds of people had trudged to their day in court over the years. Upstairs was Judge Wilburn’s office where he planned to have his arrest warrant sworn out. Judge Wilburn was in his dark, underlit, oak-paneled chambers.
“Hey soldier,” the old judge greeted him. “How are things out there on the front lines?” Wilburn had fought in Vietnam after enlisting at the age of seventeen. He referred to all things in military manner, although these days most of his references flew over the heads of not only the budding young criminals he saw, but also of their lawyers.
“Busy as usual, sir,” said Chapman. “I’ve got an arrest warrant for murder today.”
“Anything I’ve heard about?”
“No, the victim just died the other day. There’s been no publicity, although I’m sure there will be reporters once news gets out.”
“Carrion-eaters, the lot of them,” said Wilburn.
“Yes, sir.” Chapman was used to the war lingo, he'd even picked up some of the phrases. Wilburn’s internal clock had stopped forty years ago.
“Well, what are the facts of the case?”
Chapman recited these, and Wilburn signed the paper saying, “Take these to the secretary quick before she takes her lunch break.”
“Thank-you sir,” Chapman backed out of the room. The secretary was easy to find at her desk down the hall. She had the remains of lunch at her desk and was busily typing. The name plate on her desk read Carmen Taveras.
“Hello, Detective. We’ve missed you around here. No cases?” She said in a lilting, Spanish-accented voice.
“Nothing but this one.”
“Ooh, what is it?” her dark, Latin eyes lit up.
“I’ll tell you later Carmen,” said Chapman. “Everyone will hear about it before long.” He could almost see the headlines ‘Killer doc feeds patient arsenic.’ From the tabloids, to the big journals, reporters would be all around once word leaked out. That would make his job that much harder.
He quick-stepped back to the station, stopping only once to rub the sweat off his scalp and catch his breath
. The thrill of the chase was at hand, and he felt like a lion about to pounce on a wayward zebra. He headed for Dr. Lane’s office in time for his appointment. They’d talk first, before he made his arrest. The front door of the building was locked, and the lot was nearly empty. He pounded on the door for several minutes until a pregnant woman opened the door and said, “I’m sorry, we’re closed today.”
Chapman tried to look pleasant. “But I have an appointment.”
“We’ve canceled all appointments for today. The doctor can’t come in.”
“But I spoke with someone about it the day before yesterday.”
The woman answered, “Sir, there was no one here then.”
“I spoke with someone. She agreed to work me in at two. It’s nearly two.”
The woman shook her head, “No additional work-ins are put in without the doctor’s approval.”
“Then I must have spoken with the doctor.” He couldn’t believe that he had spoken with her without realizing it. He wondered if she had recognized his name later when he went by her house, if so she gave no sign of it.
“Step inside, and tell me your name. I’ll try to straighten this all out.”
“Jack Chapman.”
“Mr. Chapman, are you a patient here?”
“No.”
***
A text came in as I arrived downtown looking for someplace that appealed for lunch. It was the office. I called back to see what it was about rather than try to read while I drove. “Hey, Vickie.” I watched the bumper of the car ahead of me as I spoke.
“Dr. Lane, there’s a man here who says that he has an appointment right now. We didn’t cancel him because he wasn’t on the list, but he says he talked to someone the day before yesterday. He won’t leave.”
“What is his name?”
“Jack Chapman.”
“Oh yes, I did speak with him the other day. I forgot to put it into the computer. Find out what the problem is. If he needs to be seen today, Dr. Zacker is covering my patients, maybe he can do it. Otherwise, reschedule.” My head had eased after my nap and more Excedrin, but I still felt weak and worn. All I wanted was food for my acid stomach.
Vickie relayed the message and returned, “Dr. Lane, he won’t go. He says that he needs to speak with you. He says he’s a detective.”
“Let me speak with him for a minute,” I said more sharply.
After a moment, I heard, “Detective Chapman here. We’ve spoken before.”
“Yes. Why didn’t you identify yourself clearly? We could have avoided this mix-up,” I said.
“I gave you my name.”
“I’m afraid that without the aid of your title, I didn’t make the connection.” This I managed without a trace of irony in my voice. Jerk.
“We need to talk. Today,” Chapman demanded.
“I’m going to get a salad from Giuseppe’s on the square. It isn’t far from the attorney’s office, perhaps after that we can meet at his office.”
“Fine, where is he?” Chapman growled.
“I don’t know the official address. It’s Keats, Keats, and Scherer.”
***
Chapman hit end, and shoved the phone back into Vickie's hand. Then he drove back by the station to pick up Byers. “I need you to come with me on this arrest.”
“You picking up the doc?” asked Byers.
“Yeah.”
“Who signed out the warrant?” Byers asked as they walked out to the car, and drove it just over to the square.
“Wilburn.”
“Yeah, he’s cool. He’ll sign anything you need.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“So the report came back from the pathologist,” said Byers.
Chapman answered, “Yeah?”
Byers said, “I talked to him this morning, and he said that the blood studies showed arsenic in her system at the time of death.”
“What about the hair and nails?” asked Chapman.
“They won’t be back for a few more days, but we won’t need them to make this arrest. The pathologist said they’ll only be used to give us more exact information on length of exposure.”
Chapman directed them across the historic downtown. Past the courthouse, the pizza joint was just across the square by the park. The park was really only a small grassy area, with some statues in the middle. He thought it was a waste of money.
Inside of the pizza parlor at a table by herself, was seated a poised appearing, slender, dark-haired woman with dark smudges beneath her eyes. Chapman dropped into the seat across from her.
“Dr. Lane?”
Veronica stood up startled. She had been lost in her own thoughts, expecting no one but the waiter.
Chapman leaned forward gesturing toward his partner. “This is Officer Byers. I need to talk to you about the case.”
Veronica hesitated, wondering why they were here, then said, “Fine.” She hadn’t gotten in to Keats’ office yet, and realistically they were unlikely to squeeze her in today. She sat back down. She had been reviewing the recent events in her mind, and she was in the mood to talk.
“There are some important things that I need to tell you. I’ve already ordered my salad, but go ahead and order,” she said.
Chapman shook his head and gestured for her to proceed. Byers slid an ice cream parlour style chair across to her table and seated himself by Chapman.
“I have made some inquiries into this arsenic poisoning,” Veronica continued. “I don’t believe that it was suicide. The company that she worked for is affiliated with her HMO. She was costing them thousands of dollars, and they couldn’t get rid of her because of the Americans with Disabilities Act. She was no longer able to perform her job, but as long as she did not resign, she was still covered by her health care plan, and they couldn’t remove her. The problem with HMO’s is that they are based on a certain amount of available money. Everything that they don’t spend on patient care is profit. Someone like her, with chronic huge medical bills, eats that right up. I think that they wanted to get rid of that drain.”
“Very interesting, Ms. Lane.”
“Dr. Lane, please,” she said in an annoyed voice. In spite of all of her hints, he still could not call her by her title.
“Dr. Lane, how would a big company like this poison someone for six months?” asked Byers.
“I think that her insurance adjustor was involved. I’ve been fighting her on this case for two years. She was at the hospital on the day of the patient’s demise.”
“You called me with this cockamamie story the other day. Can you prove any of this?” Chapman’s bulk threatened to collapse the small wooden chair on which he sat.
“I have numerous letters from her,” Veronica said. “And, she signed the visitor’s log at the hospital on that day. She called the patient’s family to notify them of the death, even before the hospital could do it. I believe that she was trying to provoke them into a malpractice suit.”
“Why would she do that?” asked Byers.
“To cover their tracks by destroying my credibility. If I was wrong to order the transplant, then they were right to resist it. If she died because of that, then they look like the patient advocates. They receive no scrutiny in the death.”
“Have you spoken to the adjustor about this? Have you gotten any confirmation?” asked Chapman.
“No. She’s left the country.” Veronica said.
Detective Byers raised his eyebrows, “Left the country?”
Veronica nodded.
Byers said, “We’ll have to try to contact her and get her back here.”
Chapman interjected before Veronica could respond, “What about the arsenic?”
“Reid would have known that I had the arsenic through my ex, and that it would point to me if anything should go wrong. I don’t think that they counted on the arsenic being found, though. I don’t believe that they were expecting an autopsy.”
“I don’t think that anyone counted on finding that arsenic,” said Chapman. “And now there is no one taking responsibility. You have no guilty party, and no evidence to support your case. Where would this adjustor have gotten the arsenic?” Chapman shifted on his tiny, wooden seat.
“I don’t know. I’m just the doctor. You’re the detective. I’m just trying to help.”
“You’re past helping. You’re searching for a scapegoat,” Chapman jabbed.
Byers sucked in another deep breath. This was why he usually stayed at the office.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You stock arsenic,” said Chapman flatly.
“I don’t hand it out at the office!” Veronica exclaimed. She put her fingers to her temples, and massaged. Her migraine was returning in spades.
“You might out of j
ealousy,” said Chapman.
“Jealous of a crippled, lonely, dying girl?”
“Jealous of a girl who led your husband away,” asserted Chapman.
“Do you think that she was having an affair with my husband?” she asked. Thinking, Steve and Sarah? Sarah had never given any clue.
“Yes, and you couldn’t handle it,” Chapman continued.
“I never knew that.”
“I have a witness who will testify that Summers’ boyfriend was your husband Steve.”
Veronica's face blanched. “I never knew that.” She gripped both sides of the table so hard her knuckles turned white.
Byers cocked his brow at the mute evidence of her fury.
“Tell that to the judge,” said Chapman.
“Excuse me?” Veronica whispered hoarsely.
“You are under arrest for the murder of Sarah Summers. You have the right to remain silent. If you choose to waive this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?” He spoke in a low tone so that no one in the surrounding tables heard what he said.
Veronica nodded slowly.
“If you’d like we can walk outside, before I cuff you. I’d hate to make a big scene, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded again and stood up. Chapman ushered her toward the door.
Detective Byers watched without saying a word. She guessed he was supposed to be the ‘good cop’. She shook her head and then with an unsteady hand, pulled out the card that Jacqueline had given her with the name of the attorney on it. “This is the name of my attorney.”
Chapman whistled. “That’s a slick defense lawyer you’ve picked out. You must think you need a lot of help.”
Her mind boggled as he handcuffed her. She should never have let him talk to her outside of the attorney’s office, she thought. How could she have been so naive? Of course, he had the arrest warrant in his hand. He could have arrested her there whether or not they spoke first. Probably would have if she hadn’t barged ahead with her theories. He had come with the intent of arresting her, but he should have read her rights when he arrived. And now he was probably going to twist everything around in some garbled manner so that she truly did look guilty. Veronica looked sideways at him as he ducked her into the car. She had never been so scared in her life, and the man with him didn’t say a thing.
Treating Murder: Book One of the Veronica Lane, M.D. series (medical thriller) Page 13