Treating Murder: Book One of the Veronica Lane, M.D. series (medical thriller)

by Gabrielle Black

  “Ben, you know that I didn’t do this to harm her, but I couldn’t let this go on. I couldn’t be a part of it. I would have if I could. Believe me.” I felt my lower lip begin to quiver. “I love her as much as you do.”

  “Bullcrap. No one accuses someone they love of murder. I never would. There’s such a thing as loyalty.” He slammed the door.

  I walked down to the truck. “I’m not leaving until the police get here to see this.”

  “Nic, how did you know about this?” Jamie’s eyebrows knitted together over his arched nose.

  “In your office I remembered that Jackie came to see Ben on the day that Crawford died. I just came to see what she might have said to him. The rest of this," I gestured toward the barn. "was a complete surprise.”

  Ben stomped back out. “Don’t you touch anything.”

  I held up my hands to show him that I was doing nothing. “We’re just waiting.”

  After what seemed like hours, we heard an engine at the end of the driveway. Jamie and I looked eagerly for the police, but it was Jacqueline’s car that roared up the driveway.

  "What’s going on here? Why did Ben call me?” Jacqueline came straight at me and slapped me hard enough to make my eyes water. “You were supposed to protect our secret. You were safe. Everything was taken care of,” she shouted.

  Jamie moved quickly, stepping between us. “Don’t touch her! You’ve killed two women already. I won’t let you hurt Nic.” I stood stock still with my hand covering the stinging handprint on my cheek. I couldn’t stop watching as Jacqueline’s tightly contained personality exploded in our faces.

  Jacqueline’s face contorted with rage. She started to speak, but Ben interrupted her. Ben’s face was white as he faced her. “Is this all true?”

  Jacqueline whirled on him, “You wouldn’t understand. You were too young to understand with father. ”

  The light dawned in my eyes. Jacqueline’s resistance to relationships, her compulsive traits, her choice of career; all of them had been her response to her father’s betrayal. Her perfect persona had been overlaid over a major flaw, and it was finally collapsing in on itself. She needed a doctor, and not in my specialty.

  Jamie spoke next, “Jacqueline, you’ve got to calm down. Let’s be rational about this.”

  Jacqueline screamed and lunged at him. He stepped deftly aside as she hurtled forward. Ben grabbed her and held her.

  “Jackie, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” He murmured trying to rock with her like he would a small child. Jacqueline relaxed in his arms for a moment with her eyes shut, then she twisted viciously; wrenching free of his arms, and running into the house.

  My phone beeped. 4A. Bad timing. I ignored it, and ran to follow Jacqueline toward the house. I was scared for the first time all evening. Jacqueline’s conversion from fight to flight didn’t make sense. Something was different. She was changing tactics.

  Jamie muttered to himself as much as to Ben, “Where are the police? What’s taking so long?”

  Ben simply glared at him.

  The two men could see Jacqueline walking past the windows into the back bedroom. Her silhouette was visible sitting on the side of the bed.

  A patrol car pulled up with its lights flashing, and a young patrolman stepped out.

  “I’m Officer Blakemore. What is the situation?”

  Jamie told him, and then explained that I had followed Jacqueline into the house to calm her. The officer looked alarmed.

  “Are there any guns in the house?”

  Ben answered, watching Jacqueline move behind the curtains in her old bedroom. “Yes. There’s an old Smith and Wesson .357 revolver, but it’s been in the back of the closet ever since mother died.”

  “How did your mother die?” asked Blakemore.

  Jamie looked from one man to the other, and then sprinted toward the house.

  Ben turned at Jamie’s departure, then looked back up at the window where he’d just seen Jacqueline’s silhouette. It was gone. He answered slowly, “Suicide.” His face changed as the horror of his mother’s suicide replayed itself on the screen in his head. “Oh my God!” he managed and took off to the house as well.

  Ben flew toward the house and the officer followed with his right arm extended pointing his gun at the ground. As he ran, Officer Blakemore called over the radio on his collar, “Officer needs assistance. Murder suspect, possible suicide. Send a crisis team.”

  I felt my way down the dark, unfamiliar halls of the farmhouse. “Jackie where are you? Jackie we need to talk. I’m sorry. I understand that you were protecting me. We’ll work everything out. Jackie!”

  I crossed the threshold of the back bedroom just as Jacqueline stepped out of the closet. I flung myself through the doorway screaming, “Jackie, no!”

  Jacqueline was holding a huge revolver, and closed the cylinder as she crossed the room toward me. Her voice was low, feral. “You betrayed me.” She pointed the gun.

  “Jackie! No! Please don’t do that. Wait, talk to me.” I lunged forward as I talked frantically.

  The crack of the gun exploded through the house and I could hear nothing else. Time seemed to stop. Then I heard a roaring in my ears, which gradually resolved itself into male voices shouting. Three men tumbled into the room together and I looked up at them slowly.

  Jamie made it to the bedroom first to find me leaning over Jacqueline, who was slumped in a chair. I was holding the hand that still held the gun, and there were glass shards glittering on my back and across the floor. Ben and Officer Blakemore were right behind him.

  “We’re okay.” I whispered. I had tackled Jacqueline as the gun went off, pulling her arm up and away so that the bullet missed her head altogether and hit the overhead light.

  The men looked at us in silence for a moment, and then Officer Blakemore stepped forward to release the gun from our hands. I stood up, shaking my hair free of bits of chandelier. Jamie grabbed me and hugged me. Jacqueline remained seated, with tears on both cheeks, as Officer Blakemore handcuffed her. He pulled her to her feet as we heard the first sirens approach.

  Ben hugged Jacqueline when she neared the door, and whispered. “I’m so sorry.” His cheeks were damp when he let her go.

  Jacqueline held her head aloof, “You’re no different from the rest.”

  Outside, Officer Blakemore ducked her into the cruiser as I watched, leaning on the door post with my arms wrapped tightly around myself.

  Arriving officers buzzed around Blakemore until he shooed them away toward me. Detective Chapman arrived and steered his way through the crowd toward me. He greeted me with a noncommittal grunt and took me with him into an unoccupied side room that had been converted from a porch years before.

  “What happened here?” he demanded.

  My voice broke, “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Start with how you all arrived here today.” He sat in a chair face to face with me and leaned forward to catch every word.

  I slumped back into an old porch swing, “Jacqueline admitted today that she murdered Sarah Sarah, but she wouldn’t say what had happened to Fiona Crawford. She knew that admitting to Crawford’s murder would pin her to both deaths.”

  “What made you come here?” Chapman wrinkled his heavy, gray brows.

  “I came here because Jackie visited her brother on the day of Crawford’s death. I wanted to see if he knew what she had done next. Then we found out about the truck, and Jamie called you.”

  “And how did she end up here?”

  “Ben panicked and called her. She was hysterical from the moment she arrived. I’ve never seen her like this.” My eyes stung. “I believe that Fiona Crawford was a witness to Jackie’s visit to Sarah’s room in the hospital. Probably the only witness. She was coming back to testify in my case when she was killed in the accident. Ben's truck has collision marks on it that are the same color as Fiona’s car.”

  “I see,” he nodded. “I’ll go with this for now, but be prepared, we�
�ll probably need another statement from you later.” His voice was not quite sympathetic, but neither was there the trace of disgust it had held before.

  I straightened in my seat. “One more thing. Please get her some help. She needs a psychiatrist.”

  “She’ll get it.” He stood up and looked over his shoulder, anxious to be back outside with his men. I watched him lumber towards the door and felt my throat constrict. Chapman paused and looked back over his shoulder, “You know Doctor Lane, it’s a shame about all of this.” I was startled by the half-apology but only nodded to him, and started to rock on the old swing. Chapman walked back outside, and at that signal, the officers swarmed en masse over the truck, the barn, and the back bedroom, tagging and cataloging everything they found there.

  Jamie appeared in the side room and sat down with me on the swing, wrapping his arms around me. He held me like that for a long time and I clung to him, drinking in his warmth and feeling like my world was tearing apart. I murmured into his chest. “I just sent my best friend to jail. I sent her to jail for trying to protect me from the fate that had befallen her mother. I know how irrational, and delusional, and crazy it was, but it was meant for my benefit.” I looked up at his face. “She’s right. I betrayed her.” My throat caught and I began to sob uncontrollably.

  Jamie only held me closer, rocking and stroking my hair until I my tears expended themselves and I began to sniffle and hiccup in an undignified way. He handed me a tissue and I dried my eyes and blew my nose. At last, I drew a full steady breath and let it out. “Thanks.”

  “Nic, it’s all right now. I’ve got you now. It’s okay,” he said, low and soothing. I rested my head on his chest and stared out the window at the police officers trekking back and forth across the yard. Jamie continued to stroke my hair slowly, with his chin propped on top of my head.

  A uniformed head popped in the doorway, saw us and retreated discretely.

  “Jamie, I can’t do this now.” My voice was ragged and wrong. It was not my own voice but that of an unhappy stranger. “I have to go.”

  He frowned and stared up into my eyes for a long moment. “I see.” Then in a resigned voice he asked. “Well, do you still want a ride back to town?”

  “Yes.” I looked at him and my eyes misted. My voice was still much too low, as I tried to thank him.

  We walked out to the Ferrari and he took my hand to guide me into the passenger seat. As I sat down, a thought hit me and I jumped. “Oh, I almost forgot, they called me. I picked up the car phone and dialed by rote. “This is Dr. Lane. You called me?” I spoke as the voice answered. I leaned back on the headrest, and closed my eyes. So very tired.

  “Yes, Dr. Lane, this is Linda. I wanted to tell you that the acetaminophen levels came back fine on Mr. Lane, but his blood alcohol came back at over 300.”

  “Is he still asleep?” I asked, glancing at Jamie’s face as we rolled down the drive. Jamie didn’t seem to be paying any attention as I discussed my former husband with the nurse.

  “Yes ma’am. He doesn’t respond to much.”

  “Thanks, I’m on my way back.” I hit the end button and dropped my hand by my side.

  We passed the first incoming press vehicles just as we turned out onto the main road.

  Jamie said nothing all the way back to town. I grabbed the door handle when he pulled up beside my car, but I couldn’t make myself move. I leaned over to his ear and whispered, “Thanks.” He stared straight ahead at the dashboard, and nodded almost imperceptibly. I climbed up out of the low carriage and looked back to see him still staring at the corner of the building. I leaned back in and gave him a little peck on the cheek, "I don't know where I would be without you."

  He looked up at that and gave me a cheeky grin. "I'll just keep pushing."

  I drove as fast as my little four cylinder car would go, straight to the hospital. Up on the fourth floor, I found the nurse who had paged me. She greeted me with a smile and said, “He’s waking up now. He just looks a little hung-over.”

  My own smile ached across the cheek which had been struck. “He’s going to be just fine. I’ll send him home soon.”

  The nurse nodded, and then said, as I turned toward the room to see my ex-husband, “What happened to your face? There’s a big bruise on your cheek.”

  I was in no mood to rehash the events of the night. For once I was glad to be to be in the sights of the reporters. I called back as I hurried down the hall, “You’ll have to read about it in the morning paper.”

  I entered the tiny room, which smelled of rotten eggs from the sulphur based drug we were using to bind the acetaminophen in Steve’s system, and pushed past the olive curtains.

  Steve looked up drowsily as I sat down on the side of the bed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you here.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Phew. What’s that smell?”

  I chuckled. “It’s you. It’s saving your life.” I looked down at him, and shook my head at his rumpled profile.

  “What?” He shook his head, still sleepy-drunk, confused.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll explain it all to you when we get you home.”

  “What about the, the...” He couldn’t finish.

  “It’s okay. They found the murderer. You’ll be publicly redeemed.” I’ll make sure of that, I said to myself.

  Steve shut his eyes. He was too sleepy to take everything in.

  I stood up. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  His eyes opened fully, need shining in them. “Nic, will everything be okay? With us, I mean?”

  I shook my head. “Steve... I just don’t think it can be. I…no.” No, my future lay along another path, not with this man I scarcely recognized. Steve closed his eyes again as though the weight of his lids was suddenly too much.

  I backed out of the room. In the hall, Reid passed me, coming in to check on his friend. He nodded solemnly as he walked past. No leers. How he had heard about Steve so soon, I had no idea, but it was surprising to see the depth of concern written clearly across his face. Seeing that, and his response to Fiona, I reluctantly upgraded my opinion of him. And of course, I knew now that at the very least, he was not the murderer, maybe something else, something to do with his lies about Haiti, but not the murderer.

  I crept back into my house well after dark, fearful that it would once again be empty. The first floor was all dark, and a dirty plate sat on the dining room table next to a half empty glass of Coke.

  “Please let her be here,” I whispered to a God who, I realized suddenly, had been watching all along. I tiptoed up the stairs to find a tiny, sleeping body curled up in the guest room. Relieved, I slipped back downstairs to lock the doors and set the alarm. At least Missy would be there for the night, or I would know about it. I eased into my seat at the kitchen table and stared at the familiar braided rug, wondering what to do next. I was safe. That was something, but my world had changed and I was going to need time to adjust.

  First thing in the morning, I dialed Donald Woodhouse at home. In response to his sleepy hello, I said, “Donald, this is Veronica Lane. We’ve never met, but we need to talk. I need your help rescuing a girl from the streets. I understand that you are the member of the prosecutor’s office who deals with abuse cases?”

  “Yes ma’am. Your name sounds familiar.” His voice was somewhat guarded and held a hint of question in it.

  “Yes. I was just on trial.” I was matter-of-fact. My case was in the past. “Did you see a newspaper article a few days ago about a street waif?”

  “Yes! I did,” he said, his interest piqued.

  “That girl has left the streets. There is a man who has beaten her several times, and she still has the bruises from the last episode. He is threatening to kill her child, and I want him put away.”

  “Of course you do,” he paused. “Go ahead and file a report with the police this morning and then bring her by this afternoon if you can. I’d like a chance to speak with her.”

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nbsp; “Okay.” I hung up and looked up at the stairwell to see Missy coming down, tousled and without makeup. Her face was soft and childlike. “I’ve started the process of keeping Max away from you, and trust me, they will believe you when you testify against him. I’ll testify for you as well. Right after breakfast, we need to file a police report and put your child into protective custody, or at least away from his current situation. It would be a good idea to have him here with us, so that we can keep watch.” I didn’t trust a grandmother who would allow her own daughter to be roaming the streets at that age.

  Missy yawned and stretched. She looked sullen. “You didn’t ask me.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t, but we haven’t done anything official yet.” I soothed her. “It’s all up to you.”

  Missy smiled and sat down, that was all she needed to hear.

  Sneak Peek at Book 2 of the Veronica Lane M.D. series

  copyright 2013

  DEAD WRONG

  Prologue

  In 1803, Dessalines, the Haitian slave general massacred all of the whites in his newly won country in order to ensure that the whites could never again subjugate his people. No whites or free, light-skinned, plantation-owners’ descendants (the Gens de Colour) survived. It is said however, that a few Polish conscripts, abandoned by the French army, chose to fight with the slaves. The surviving Poles, perhaps 20 in all, were spared by Dessalines. These men, abandoned on Hispaniola, never to see Europe again, settled in Casale and intermarried with the Haitian freed slaves. Their descendants are the legendary “white” Haitians.

  In 1937, on the other side of Hispaniola, after reading Hitler’s Mein Kampf, Trujillo decided to whiten his population. He massacred 30,000 Haitians living inside of Dominican borders because their purer African skin was darker than that of his mixed race Dominicans. Then, in 1938, he issued 100,000 visas to import young, single, German Jewish refugees to the town of Sosúa on the northwest edge of his country near Haiti, in order to breed in more “white” genes. His attempt at forced integration failed, but the German town of Sosúa is still inhabited by descendants of the holocaust refugees.