“No. It’s an issue only if she goes back to Devereux. Keep your eyes and ears open, though.”
“Dr. Julie is not going to stop.”
“How do you know?”
“Gut feeling, I guess. She’s like a dog, that one. Latches on and won’t let go. The conversation with Sherri didn’t help matters any.”
“Does Devereux know Sherri’s lying?”
“Sherri isn’t too good at the conceal game, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“What do you suggest?”
“If you want to give me a bump in pay, I can give Dr. Julie a good hard shove. A friend of mine doesn’t appreciate her efforts to free his son’s killer, if you get my meaning.”
Another beat of silence.
“A bump it is. I’ll leave the rest to your discretion.”
“And if Sherri Platt suddenly sprouts a conscience?”
“There’s plenty of money to take care of Miss Platt if it comes to that.”
Yeah, Lincoln thought as he pictured the sun-drenched beach and the oiled-up women lying next to him. And it’ll cost a lot more than fifteen grand, too.
* * *
The day after her odd meeting with Sherri Platt, Julie saw Trevor off to school and then drove her Prius down the Jacob’s Ladder Scenic Byway all the way to the town of Russell.
She had the day off, and knew exactly what she was going to do with it seconds after the schedule got posted. When the Westfield River came into view, Julie parked her car in the same scenic pullout where she and Sam had stopped on the day of his accident. It was Thursday, November the tenth, and Julie carried with her a bouquet of flowers. She wanted something to toss into the river to honor Sam’s birthday.
She had spoken by phone with Sam’s parents earlier. It was a pleasant enough conversation, but Julie knew that with time, communication between them would happen less frequently, until it stopped altogether. Death had pulled her out of Sam’s orbit, and the lives connected to him were no longer tethered to her.
On the drive west, Julie could not help noticing all the drivers distracted by their damn cell phones. Some drivers were gabbing with one hand on the wheel and the other on the phone. A few she saw texting, and she swore one was watching a video and laughing. What could be so important? Her mind flashed back to the Civic veering erratically from one side of the road to the other. All it took was a fraction of a second to shatter so many lives.
Julie knew very little about the driver who took away Sam’s mobility and perhaps hastened his death. He was a twentysomething who had escaped grievous injury, but whose bright future would forever be clouded by a shadow of guilt. At least, she hoped he felt guilt.
A harsh wind blew in from the east and sent strands of Julie’s hair whipping against her face. Streaks of sunlight struggled to penetrate a thin layer of clouds stretched across a slate-gray sky. She had on one of Sam’s leather jackets, a pair of jeans, and a warm sweater, but could still feel a chill against her skin. Julie brushed the hair off her face as she climbed over the guardrail separating the pullout from the drop down to the river. It was a bit harrowing descending the steep pitch, but Julie made it to the riverbank without tumbling.
Movement overhead drew Julie’s gaze skyward. She looked just in time to see a flock of birds—sparrows, she thought—circling. The tiny black dots moved as one and they appeared to be engaged in a dance of sorts, swooping and twirling, the shape always changing, but never seeming disorganized. The changes in direction happened startlingly fast and Julie was amazed the birds could hold their formation at such speed. As quick as they appeared, those birds were gone. Julie felt relieved. They were magical to watch, but seemed strangely ominous to her, like a black cloud swirling above her head.
Silly to think of them as omens, Julie thought. Then again, she had been unsettled ever since her odd encounter with Sherri Platt. Julie purged that memory from her mind. Right now this was about Sam. She tossed the bouquet of flowers into the fast-moving water and watched the current carry the bright colors downstream.
Julie made a solemn vow to Sam to find out the truth. Was Dr. Coffey covering up two fatal cases of takotsubo? If so, why? And what about Sherri Platt? Why had she lied to Julie about Brandon Stahl? What could she be hiding? And if Brandon Stahl was innocent, how did that explain the morphine recovered from his apartment? Maybe it was a heart attack that had killed Sam and Brandon, or was something else in play? Julie imagined that swarm of sparrows had taken the shape of a Pegasus.
Julie heaved and puffed as she climbed up the hill back to the scenic pullout where she had parked her car. She chided herself for lack of fitness and made a second vow to devote more time to the gym. Maybe she’d follow Lucy’s example and take up running again. Certainly she would need to find something to fill the void now that Sam was gone.
Julie arrived back at her car a bit breathless and out of sorts. She turned around to face the river when she heard footsteps come up behind her. She whirled in the direction of the noise and froze. A jolt of fear spread up her spine.
Standing there was a man wearing a navy peacoat and a black baseball hat. His sudden presence would have been terrifying enough, but what truly frightened Julie was the mask he wore. It was made of hard plastic and was flesh colored so from a distance it looked like a human face, but up close it was smooth as porcelain. Holes were cut out for eyes, but he wore dark glasses underneath so to Julie it looked like two black moons were staring back at her.
“Turn around and look at the water again.” The man spoke in a raspy voice.
Another ripple of fear swept through her. She was alone out here in this weed-strewn pullout littered with bottles and bits of trash. She noticed a motorcycle parked directly behind her car, but the make, model, and plate were all hidden from her view. Julie did as she was instructed and turned around.
“What do you want?” Her voice trembled.
“I represent someone who doesn’t appreciate your efforts.”
Right away Julie suspected this was about Brandon Stahl. Her visit to the prison must have attracted someone’s attention. Julie contemplated hurdling the guardrail to slide down the hill to the river, but decided against it. What if he has a gun? Her heart pounded hard enough to make her feel light-headed and dizzy.
Behind her, Julie heard the sound of cars zooming along the scenic byway. If anyone driving even noticed, they’d see only a couple watching the rolling river.
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“And you need to keep it that way,” the man said, still speaking in a low rasp.
Julie turned her head around enough to see the expressionless plastic face. The man grabbed her wrist and gave it a twist that sent a sharp stab of pain rocketing up Julie’s arm.
“Did I say turn around? Look at the river. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Julie snapped her head back and did her best to keep it together. The alternative could result in her body floating downstream. If he wanted, he could choke her to death inside her car or behind the little shed off to her left.
Don’t run … don’t panic … just listen to what he has to say … maybe he’ll leave me alone.
The man placed a cold hand against the nape of Julie’s neck. She recoiled from his touch, but he latched on. His hands were rough with calluses and fear caused her skin to prickle. Her legs buckled as she sucked down a shallow breath. Her heart beat wildly.
“Your efforts to free a killer are not appreciated.”
Julie stammered. “How do you know about that?”
“I have my sources.”
“Well, I’ve done nothing wrong or illegal.”
“You’re opening old wounds.”
“Brandon deserves justice.” The sudden strength in Julie’s voice surprised her.
“And he got it. Keep out of this business. What’s done is done. My employer doesn’t take kindly to crusaders.”
“Okay—okay. I’ll do what you ask. Just leave me alone.”
/>
“Now we’re getting somewhere. I do trust you’ll keep your word and won’t talk to Stahl anymore. But to inspire your cooperation, I slipped a little something into your coat pocket. You can look at it when I’m gone. And don’t try to follow me. I want you to count to one hundred with your back to the road, looking at the river. One hundred. Don’t test me. Start counting now.”
Julie’s body quaked, but she cleared her mind enough to begin the countdown. “One hundred … ninety-nine … ninety-eight…”
Julie felt the man’s presence retreat, then heard a motorcycle engine rumble to life.
“You ever ride one of these things, Julie?” the man shouted over the engine’s din. “You should give it a try sometime. You might like it.”
The man laughed and revved the engine hard before he zoomed away. Julie did not dare turn around. She kept her eyes closed and continued the count, trying to ease the tight band of fear that had wrapped around her chest.
Eighty-five … eighty-four … eighty-three …
Julie stopped the count at fifty. She listened. She heard no sound at all. No cars. No birds. Nothing. In that stretch of quiet, Julie found the courage to turn around. There were no motorcycles in sight, and she felt confident the man was gone. No trick; he just wanted enough time to get away.
Still shaking, Julie climbed back in her car and sat while she tried to catch her breath. When she felt settled enough, Julie reached into her coat pocket for the keys. Her fingers brushed against an envelope that had not been there before. She remembered the man had put something there to “inspire her cooperation.”
She almost tore the contents as she ripped the envelope open. She could not quiet the tremor of her hands. Julie’s breath caught when she removed a photograph. She recognized the image right away. It was a picture of Julie and Trevor taken at Wingaersheek Beach in Gloucester sometime last summer. Trevor had posted it on his Facebook page. Hopefully the police would view it the same way that Julie did: as a threat.
CHAPTER 28
Lucy Abruzzo’s office was nothing special, just a concrete room with a couple of windows, a desk, and a small conference table set off to one corner. An oval-shaped area rug warmed the space somewhat, but it lacked a personal touch. Lucy’s diplomas used to take up floor space, but a custodian broke the glass on one, and by way of an apology, hung them all on her office wall. Her bookcase was filled with medical texts, though she had a shelf devoted to her favorite nonfiction books as well, which she lent out like a library.
Lucy was seated at her desk when Jordan Cobb knocked on her office door. He was dressed in his workday uniform, blue scrubs and canvas sneakers.
“Hi, Dr. Abruzzo,” Jordan said.
Lucy peered out from behind her computer monitor. “Ah, Jordan. Good. Come in.”
Lucy pushed the file she had been reading to the edge of her desk and absentmindedly left it splayed open. She got up from her chair and came around her desk to greet Jordan. He looked a little apprehensive; it was not every day the big boss asked to see him.
“Have a seat,” Lucy said, motioning to one of the chairs around the conference table.
Jordan did as he was told, his large frame barely fitting on the smallish seat. Lucy took a seat as well.
“Tell me something, Jordan. What is it you want to do with your life?”
Small talk was never Lucy’s strong suit. Jordan knew this, but even he was taken aback by her abruptness. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Excuse me?”
“The question isn’t all that vague, I think. What do you want to do with your life?”
“I’m doing it,” Jordan said, sounding more appreciative than defensive.
“You want to move dead people around, that’s the extent of your ambition?”
Jordan shrugged. “It’s honest work. And given my criminal record, my options are a little bit limited.”
“Oh, let’s forget about your criminal record for a moment, shall we? I knew all about it when I hired you. My question is, what else can you do?”
“What else?”
“Yeah, your other skills.”
“Um—I tutor in math.”
Lucy showed her surprise. “Really? I didn’t know you were mathematically inclined.”
“I understand it all right. Enough to tutor, you know? Taught it in prison.”
“I see. Well, the reason I’m asking all this is that we’re looking for a new lab assistant.”
Jordan’s face lit up. “Really? Like I could work with samples?”
“Oh, yes. The job involves processing specimens, preparation of tissue, bacterial cultures, staining for various smears, and of course preparation of human specimens for postmortem examinations.”
With the notable exception of Sam Talbot, to Lucy the dead were specimens and nothing more.
A big smile came to Jordan’s face, showing off teeth that would have benefited from braces if only he could have afforded them. “That would be … that would be incredible.”
Quick as that smile came, Jordan’s bright expression dimmed.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy said.
“All I have is a GED,” Jordan said. “You have to go through an accredited program to be certified as a lab assistant.”
Lucy gave a nod. “You’ve researched that, have you?”
“I just—I just know how things work, that’s all.”
“I see.”
Before Jordan could say anything more, Lucy glanced at her watch and appeared suddenly flustered.
“Oh, shoot. Jordan, look, can you wait here a moment? I have to go speak to a doc about a lab result, but I want to continue our conversation. I’ll be right back.”
The question was rhetorical. Of course Jordan would wait, but he nodded his agreement anyway. Lucy got up and left the room.
Jordan sat a while, but his eyes soon went to the folder splayed open on Lucy’s desk. Even from a distance he could tell it was a pathologist report. As Jordan moved closer, he could see it was from somebody suffering from chronic inflammatory bowel disease. IBD—a notoriously uncomfortable condition.
The report of the endoscopic biopsy specimen was written clearly and succinctly, to deliver information to a busy clinician. Even a diener could make sense of some of it. The second line of the pathologist report was almost always reserved for the presence or absence of dysplasia, a term used to refer to an abnormality or a growth anomaly. What patients wanted on that second line was “negative for dysplasia.” Second best would be “indefinite for dysplasia.” The third and final choice was “positive for dysplasia.” The dysplasia would be graded, high or low, and the lower the better. The more marked the cell change, the easier it was to make a diagnosis.
Jordan took a glance at the report and saw that this patient was negative for dysplasia. Good. Below that, though, was an image taken from the H&E stain, which was shorthand for a tissue section stained with hematoxylin and eosin. Jordan had worked pathology long enough for the nomenclature to become a fluent second language.
Jordan studied the image a moment, and felt his pulse tick up when he heard footsteps headed toward the office. He retook his seat just before Lucy reappeared. She looked a little frazzled as she hurriedly collected the patient file from her desk.
“Silly me,” Lucy said. “I went to give the doctor the pathology report, and what did I forget? The pathology report, of course. Can you wait another minute, Jordan? I just have to give the patient the good news.”
Lucy headed to the door, but Jordan looked at her uneasily. Lucy paused.
“Well, can you wait?”
“Um—um—”
“Yes or no? Not a hard question.”
“Um—”
“Jordan, is there something you want to say to me? The doctor is waiting. His patient will want to know that he’s cancer free.”
“Yeah—um—Dr. Abruzzo.”
Lucy set the folder down on her desk and crossed her arms. She gave Jordan a disapproving
stare.
“Jordan, I’m in a hurry here. What is it?”
“Yeah, um—well—I was walking around the office, you know, waiting for you to come back and all, and well, I saw the file open on your desk.”
Lucy’s frown seemed to deepen. “Jordan, did you read a patient’s confidential file?” Her tone was serious.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it. Just caught my eye, is all.”
“Well, it’s my fault for leaving it out in plain sight, I suppose.”
Jordan shifted his weight from foot to foot, eyes to the floor. “Yeah, well, I just noticed that you wrote he was negative for dysplasia.”
Lucy glowered. “That’s none of your business. And do you even know what that means?”
Jordan shifted again. “Well, you know, you work here long enough, you pick up the lingo. But I was just wondering if maybe you were in a hurry or something and you wrote the wrong word.”
“Now why would you say that?”
Jordan gave this some thought. “Forget it.”
Lucy glared at him hard. “No. No, Jordan. I won’t just forget it. Why would you question me on this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay. Well, that was an odd little exchange we just had there. Wait right here. Let me deliver the good news and I’ll be right back.”
Lucy gathered up the folder. She made it to the door when Jordan called out her name. Her face almost a scowl, Lucy turned and shot Jordan an impatient glance.
“That patient is high-grade positive for dysplasia,” Jordan said in a breathless voice. “You tell him he’s clean and he’s gonna die.”
Lucy returned a quizzical look. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the picture of the stain shows an awful lot of cancer.”
“Are you suggesting that I’ve diagnosed this patient incorrectly?”
Lucy’s tone bordered on wrathful, as she got right up into Jordan’s face. It did not matter that Jordan towered over her and outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds; he still shrank back. His eyes blinked rapidly.
“The cells look messed up.”
“Messed up? Can you be a little bit more specific? I mean, you seem to absorb the language just fine.”
Mercy Page 18