Lucy was expressionless.
“How did she get the heparin, Julie?” Lucy asked.
Bob Anderson glanced at his notes and said, “According to Amber’s statement, the patient’s blood pressure dropped minutes after you flushed the line.”
“We believe that was the moment of injection,” Gilbride added.
“Given the levels of heparin in Shirley’s blood and the timing of her pressure drop, I would have to concur,” Lucy said.
Julie glanced around the table, looking for a sympathetic face, and found none. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you suggesting I killed Shirley Mitchell on purpose?”
Gilbride reached for the folder of Julie’s papers. “I’m suggesting you have motive, Julie. You’ve been feeding it to the public for years now.”
“I—I—I just don’t know what to say.”
“You and Amber were the last to treat Shirley,” Roman said.
“That’s true,” Julie answered.
“Then until we get more facts, both you and Amber are being suspended from White with pay until a thorough investigation can be conducted. You will not have access to these facilities or any hospital systems during this suspension period. Val is here to work through your exit paperwork.”
Amber burst into a sob, shaking her head in disbelief. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear it.”
Janowski eyed her with disgust. “If our findings show malice, being fired will be the least of your concerns. I fully intend to report this matter to the authorities, and you should expect an investigation and possible charges.”
“Charges?” Julie asked. “What sort of charges are we talking about?”
Bob Anderson got up from his seat and buttoned his suit. “The biggest charge would be murder.”
CHAPTER 43
Julie refused to sign any of the paperwork required by HR; not without her lawyer present, she said. She advised Amber to do the same, but the poor girl was utterly shell-shocked, too young and inexperienced to defy authority.
Amber sorrowfully followed Val to her office down the hall, while Julie was stripped of her badge and unceremoniously escorted out of the building by security. Nobody gawked because nobody knew what had gone down, but soon word would spread via social media and Julie’s troubles would become White’s version of a viral video. Julie felt weightless and strange in her own skin, as if this experience was happening to someone else and she somehow had become a detached observer.
From her car, Julie phoned Lucy.
“Please come to the parking garage. I’m on level B2 near the elevator. Let’s talk,” Julie said.
Ten minutes later, Lucy, cocooned inside her warm jacket, opened the passenger-side door of Julie’s Prius with the bent front fender and dent in the hood. As she climbed in, Lucy looked straight ahead in an effort to avoid Julie’s penetrating stare.
“Hey, hey, Lucy, it’s me, it’s Julie, your friend, and I need you now more than ever.” Tears came to Julie’s eyes and blurred her vision. Lucy gave in to the tugging on her arm and turned to meet Julie’s gaze.
“Did you do it?” Lucy asked in a harsh whisper.
Julie could not contain her look of disgust. “How could you even ask me such a thing?”
“Because I know what you believe,” Lucy said. “The articles in that folder weren’t exactly a surprise to me.”
Julie’s mouth fell agape. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
“If you did it, you have to own it,” Lucy said.
Julie knew Lucy could be distant, but her icy treatment caught her off guard and hurt deeply.
“If I did it,” Julie said, “I’d have been a hell of a lot smarter than to use heparin. I could have used bupivacaine, for goodness’ sake. I’m not stupid, Lucy, and I’m certainly not a killer.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. She knew about the anesthetic drug. “Bupivacaine wouldn’t have been too smart, either,” she said. “I would have noticed the QT prolongation on the EKG and run a tox test for it. I’d still have caught you.”
A slip of a smile came to Lucy’s face and Julie broke into a laugh that sounded like she had stifled a sob. Even under duress, Lucy’s brain worked in overdrive. She simply could not help being the brilliant pathologist she was. It was a moment between them, one that gave Julie hope Lucy was not completely lost to her, hope she could still be an ally in this fight.
They fell into a heavy silence, broken when Lucy asked, “What do you want me to do, Julie?”
The desperation in Lucy’s voice implied they had arrived at some sort of impasse.
“Just be open-minded right now,” Julie said. “I just need you to hear me.”
“I’m listening.”
“While I was waiting for you, I had time to think a little more clearly about things. Isn’t it a bit coincidental that Jordan and I got fired on the same day?”
Lucy’s face turned taut. “Are you suggesting someone killed Shirley Mitchell to get you out of White?”
“I’m saying we can’t stop looking for Sam’s true killer. Whatever it is that caused his heart to stop, it’s killing others at White, maybe elsewhere, and somebody doesn’t want us to find out what’s really going on.”
“Julie, stop. Just stop it.”
“No. I can’t and I won’t.”
“I don’t know what’s happened to you, hell, even me, for getting so involved in this whole affair, but it’s gone too far. I should have turned Jordan in when I found out what he was doing with the patient records. I should never have brought the two of you together.”
“I didn’t kill Shirley.”
“Honestly, I don’t know if that’s true. You’re asking me to swallow an awful lot here. What’s not debatable is that someone injected Shirley with heparin, and by all accounts it appears to have been intentional. You had the means, motive, and opportunity. You don’t have to be a mystery novel enthusiast to know those are three criteria for proving a murder. I might be able to buy some weird drug allergy causing fatal heart attacks. Maybe something we didn’t know about, something we potentially could have uncovered in this investigation of ours. It’s possible, I grant you that. But now you’re saying someone was murdered to throw us off the trail? Think about it for a moment and try to see it through my eyes. Shirley Mitchell was a very sick woman, the kind of woman whose right to die you would have fully supported.”
“Supported only if it was the law.”
“What do you want from me, Julie?”
“I need you to find samples and run some tests. Jordan and I no longer have access to the computer systems, and I don’t believe that’s an unintentional consequence. Someone didn’t want us to find other victims.”
“Do you even hear yourself?”
“Yes, other victims,” Julie repeated with more emphasis. “I hear myself perfectly well, thank you. We need you monitoring the EMR system for patients with hives who later die of a heart attack. The hives will be deleted from the patient’s record postmortem. I promise you this is true. Test the tissue from the corpse for various allergy-causing antigens and foreign substances. Whatever is killing these patients, we’ll find it in that test.”
“Who, Julie? Who is doing this and why?”
Julie shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know. But somehow William Colchester and Gerald Coffey are involved, I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m sure of this: if I do anything to help you, I’ll lose my job, and I sincerely doubt I’ll get another.”
“Please, Lucy. You’re my only hope.”
“My opinion? You need to focus on yourself and your family. Romey is coming after you for Shirley’s death and that’s a fact, not an opinion. Somebody has to take the fall for the heparin and it’s going to be you, not Amber. So please, don’t ask me for any favors right now.”
“Why, Lucy?” Julie’s voice cracked. “Why won’t you help us?”
“Because this job is all I have,”
Lucy said. “I don’t have a partner, kids, a pet, anything. I run. I read. I play chess. But what I really love, my life’s purpose, my passion, is pathology. You’re asking me to risk everything for something I don’t fully believe. To put myself on the line to support you when I have doubts about your innocence here. Put yourself in my shoes and see if you would do the same.”
Lucy opened the car door and got out. She had nothing more to say.
CHAPTER 44
It was Wednesday morning, the day before Thanksgiving. The kitchen should have been the most active room in the home, but the stove burners were off and the refrigerator mostly empty. Paul sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee Julie had brewed for him. Trevor was in his bedroom, packing his bags and preparing for a lengthy stay with his father. With all that had happened, Julie could not deal with meal preparation, hosting, or even being with others. The turkey would stay put in the freezer until she got around to thawing and cooking it.
Everyone who had been invited to Julie’s home for the Thanksgiving meal made other arrangements, including Julie’s mother, who made no secret of her worry and concern.
“I’m fine, honest, Mom,” Julie said to her mother, one of the few people who still called the landline. “Everything will get cleared up. Just give it time. Okay?”
Julie must have had this conversation with her mother half a dozen times since her ouster from White only a day ago. She might have sounded convincing, but it was not exactly how she felt. Worry lingered about how the investigation into Shirley Mitchell’s death would ripple through all facets of Julie’s life and how it would impact her son.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, Trevor lumbered out of the bedroom with his overnight bag slung across one shoulder. “I’m all set,” he announced.
Julie did not believe in keeping secrets, and had told Trevor what had happened to her at White and how the incident was under investigation.
Trevor took the news in stride. “I’ve seen you at work, Mom,” he’d said. “I know you wouldn’t do anything to harm that woman on purpose.”
I didn’t harm her at all, Julie thought.
No point being defensive. Julie thanked Trevor for his support. What she needed now was a way to prove him right. She did not question that heparin had entered Shirley Mitchell’s blood, but how did the drug get there?
Julie was not the only one suffering. Jordan felt despondent over his predicament and Julie’s. They had spoken by phone, but had not met in person. During their conversation, they agreed—without Lucy’s support, their investigation was at a complete standstill.
Trevor had forgotten something in his room, and went back to retrieve it.
“You sure you don’t want to join us tomorrow night?” Paul asked.
“I feel terrible saying it, but I’d rather be alone. Just not feeling up to any company.”
The apartment buzzer sounded and Julie’s heart jumped. She went to the intercom.
“Who is it?”
A gruff voice responded, “Detective Richard Spence and Detective Howard Capshaw of the Boston PD. We’d like to have a word with you, if we may.”
Paul rushed over. “Not without a lawyer,” he whispered in Julie’s ear.
Julie returned an annoyed look to tell him she could handle this. “Yes, please come up.”
Paul glared at Julie. “Are you crazy?” he said.
“No, I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing wrong and I have nothing to hide. I don’t need a lawyer when I have the truth.”
“For a brilliant doctor, you’re acting pretty naïve. These guys don’t care about the truth. They care about closing cases, and they’ll do whatever they can to trap you.”
“Thank you for your concern, Paul,” Julie said. “I promise to be careful.”
A moment later came a knock on the door. Julie checked the peephole and saw both men flash official-looking badges. Introductions took place after Julie opened the door for them. Spence was thin with graying hair and a hard-bitten face. Capshaw had a bit more heft, less gray in his thinning hair, but like Spence had a hard-bitten face with a ruddier complexion. Both wore suits and neither had smiles.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” Spence said.
“Thanks for the surprise visit,” Paul said with sarcasm.
“Paul, why don’t you help Trevor get his things together? I’ll see the detectives to the living room, and then I’ll see you both out. Detectives, if you’ll come with me.”
Paul huffed his displeasure, while Julie escorted the two detectives into the living room. She offered them coffee or water, which they declined. She left them there and went to say her good-byes to Trevor.
“Be good to your dad,” she said. “I’ll take care of Winston, and I’ll see you soon.”
Trevor was anxious. “What are the cops doing here, Mom?” he said in a low voice.
“It’s nothing, honey,” Julie assured him. “They just have to ask some questions, that’s all.” She ruffled Trevor’s long hair, and crouched to look him in the eyes. “I love you, sweetheart. Everything is going to be just fine. Trust me.”
A tickle of doubt made Julie wonder if she had just told him a lie. Trevor had a hard time looking his mother in the eyes, probably because she would see how anxious he was feeling. Trevor left with an extra-long hug that brought a lump to Julie’s throat.
Julie returned to the living room to find Detective Spence there, milling about, checking things over, looking in places she had not invited him to look. Detective Capshaw was not in the room, but entered from the hall. It was likely he’d been examining the rest of the apartment. Julie mulled this over and regretted not taking Paul’s concerns more seriously.
Capshaw and Spence took seats on the sofa while Julie pulled up a chair. Spence took out a notebook.
“It’s not often the same person is connected to two different murder investigations,” he began.
No friendly smile there, no glint in the eye: this detective had elevated the stone-faced look to an art form.
“Regarding Sherri, I don’t really know what to say other than what I told the detectives I spoke with. I believed, and still do, that William Colchester had something to do with Sherri’s murder.”
Capshaw said, “Yeah? I read that in the report. So did Colchester inject Shirley Mitchell with whatever it was that killed her?”
Unlike Spence, Capshaw sported a crooked smile. Julie thought of a cat toying with a cornered mouse. In that moment, Julie hated everything about these detectives. Their air of superiority and smugness, evocative of Dr. Coffey, made it clear that these two were hardly on her side. Julie launched into an explanation of events the way she understood them. The detectives took careful notes.
“Let’s go through this one more time,” Spence said, a friendlier look on his face, as though trying to clear hostility from the air. “You injected the deceased, Shirley Mitchell, with a syringe filled with—” Spence glanced at his notebook. “—herapin, and that’s what caused her to bleed to death.”
“It’s called heparin, and no,” Julie answered emphatically. “I cleared Shirley’s central line using a saline flush, and somehow a high quantity of heparin got in her bloodstream.”
“So you had nothing to do with that,” Capshaw said.
“I did not.”
Spence leaned forward and looked Julie in the eyes. “She was going to die, wasn’t she?”
Julie shrugged. “We’re all going to die,” she said.
Spence nodded in agreement. “You know what I mean,” he said, kind of on the sly. “This lady was spitting the last bit of air from her lungs, wasn’t she? So you just pushed her along.”
“We’ve read some of your, well, call them provocative essays on the subject, so we know how you think about these things,” Capshaw said.
“And we don’t disagree with you,” Spence added. “Hell, it’s how I’d want to go.”
Julie pursed her lips and tried to get her pulse to settle. “Detectives, I know what
you’re trying to do here and I’m not going to bite, because nothing you said is true. I didn’t intentionally inject Shirley Mitchell with heparin, and it’s a horrible way to die. As someone who has written extensively about death with dignity, I can tell you that suffering a massive bleed through pretty much every orifice, including the rectum, is hardly a dignified way to go.”
Capshaw cleared his throat and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Well, what’s your theory on how she got the drug in her system?”
“I don’t have one, Detective Capshaw,” Julie said. “If I did, I would certainly share it with you.”
Spence gave his partner a nod, and Capshaw took it as his cue to stand. He handed Julie his card.
“Please be kind to Amber,” Julie said. “She’s as innocent as I am.”
“Thanks for the opinion. If you can think of anything, give us a call,” Capshaw said.
“Am I still a suspect?” Julie asked.
“I’ll answer your question this way,” Spence said. “If you’re planning on going out of town in the next couple of days, let us know.”
* * *
FROM THE front seat of his white cargo van, Lincoln Cole waited for the call like a fisherman anticipating a tug on a slack line. He had chartered boats in the Caribbean before, glided across pristine blue waters in search of bonefish, wahoo, tuna, but this was a different sort of exhilaration. His employer was undeniably crafty. Lincoln had a good sense of people from his years on the force and it was obvious he was working for a highly intelligent individual, someone who understood human behavior as well as, if not better than, most detectives.
Lincoln had never worked with Spence or Capshaw during his years on the force, but they seemed fairly competent. They had asked Julie the right questions, had pushed her just hard enough. If Lincoln had been in the room he might have told Julie how Amber had flipped, just to gauge the doc’s reaction, but the criticism was a quibble. Those two had nothing and they knew it. At most, Julie would be fired from White, but Lincoln doubted she would be arrested for murder.
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