The interview went on in that vein for a while, until Grimes said, “What would you say if we told you we had evidence that you and the deceased, Cara Mendiola, were involved in procuring and selling controlled substances. That she threatened to go to the authorities with her knowledge, and that you killed her to shut her up.” He delivered this with the attitude of a magician producing, if not a rabbit from a hat, at least a card that an audience member had chosen.
“I’d say—” This time Sandra’s grip on his arm was almost painful. Matt stopped.
Sandra’s stare was like an icicle launched at Grimes. “Detective, if you have such evidence, trot it out. If not, I believe this interview is over.”
Up to this point, Ames had done a credible imitation of a sphinx. She spoke for the first time. “Counselor, I believe you should advise your client—”
“I’ll take care of the advice, Detective.” Sandra managed to make the title an invective.
Grimes’s expression never changed. “You’ll see our evidence soon enough. In the meantime, Doctor, please stay where we can reach you at short notice.”
“If you want me,” Matt said, “you’ll probably find me in the emergency room, trying to save lives. Not ruin them, as you seem to enjoy doing.”
Sandra picked at her chef’s salad and decided she wasn’t hungry. She noticed Matt hadn’t eaten much either. “I guess that meeting with Grimes killed your appetite too,” she said.
“I suppose that’s it.” Matt crumpled his napkin and dropped it on his plate, covering the remains of his tuna sandwich.
For a moment the silence between them was interrupted only by the sounds of traffic and an occasional burst from a jackhammer as crews worked on the street outside. Sandra had picked this small downtown sandwich shop because it was near police headquarters. She hadn’t counted on the noise, but right now it seemed like it wasn’t going to hinder their conversation. Matt sat silent as a statue, staring through the plate glass window but obviously taking no note of what was beyond it.
“Anything you’d like to share?” Sandra asked.
“Where do I start?” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “I’m still a suspect in a murder case. The police say they have evidence that I’ve been involved in a narcotics ring. Someone kidnapped me with murder in mind, although I haven’t the foggiest notion why, and it appears they’re not going to rest until they succeed. My girlfriend . . . make that ex-girlfriend, blew me off when I needed her.” He started to touch his thumb to emphasize the fifth point, then dropped his hands to his lap. “I guess that’s enough.”
Sandra filed away the “ex-girlfriend” remark. She’d get back to that later. “You’re not a suspect, you’re a person of interest,” Sandra said. “And Grimes was yanking your chain with that evidence thing. If they had something, we’d know about it.”
“Great. So I don’t have to worry about the police coming for me in the middle of the night. All I have to worry about is that someone will eventually succeed in knocking me off.” He dug a potato chip out of the mess on his plate and bit into it fiercely, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m still not sure I did the right thing, giving up that pistol. If I didn’t have—never mind.”
“If you didn’t have what?” Sandra asked. “Do you have any other illegal weapons I don’t know about? If so, you need to let me have them. Now!”
“Nothing illegal,” Matt said. “Let’s just leave it at that for now.”
They exchanged glances that communicated as effectively as though she’d asked if he was finished and he’d answered in the affirmative. Both pushed back their chairs and made their way out into the downtown heat and noise.
Sandra started to ask Matt again if he had another weapon of some sort, but decided a busy sidewalk wasn’t the place for that conversation. Change the subject. Bring it up later. “I’ll drive you back to my office to get your car,” she said.
They stopped at the curb as the pedestrian signal across from them changed from Walk to Don’t Walk.
“Sorry I snapped at you,” Matt said.
“I’ve had worse. Don’t hold back. Snap if it helps.”
When the signal once again showed Walk, Matt moved out ahead of her, apparently in his own world, oblivious of what was going on. To their left, an engine roared. Sandra turned that way and saw a car speeding through the intersection toward Matt. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound was drowned out by a loud thump.
Reflexes carried her backward into the arms of a stranger. “Are you all right?” the man asked.
“I’m fine, but the man I was with—” The words died in Sandra’s throat when she saw Matt lying in the gutter at her feet and heard a car speed off with a screech of rubber on the pavement.
FIFTEEN
The police had come and gone, promising to search for the hit-and-run driver. They as much as said the odds of finding him were slim, and Matt couldn’t disagree with their assessment. As it was, he felt lucky to be alive and relatively uninjured. Now if he could just convince the EMTs of it.
The Mobile Intensive Care Unit, or MICU, idled at the curb while the two emergency medical technicians alternately argued with and tried to cajole Matt, who perched on the edge of a stretcher in the back of the vehicle. “Doctor, just lie down so we can strap you in. We need to take you to the hospital and get you checked.”
“I’m okay,” Matt said. “I was stunned but didn’t hit my head. I got knocked down and my hip is sore. That’s it.” He shrugged. “I’ve had worse bumps than that playing flag football.”
Matt knew the words were a lie when they left his mouth, but he was pretty sure all he had were some bad bruises, and he wasn’t about to spend the next two or three hours in an ER. He’d been on the other side of that scenario too many times.
“But, Doc—” the lead EMT began.
“No, you look,” Matt cut in. “I’m a doctor. I think I’d know if I was hurt badly enough to go to the ER.” He looked at his watch. “Matter of fact, I need to head for an emergency room right now to see patients myself. In my own car.”
“Doc, you know that when we’re called to the scene of a traffic accident, we’re supposed to take the victim to the nearest ER.” The paramedic looked at his partner for confirmation and received a vigorous head nod in return.
“Actually,” Matt said, feeling firmer footing beneath his argument, “you’re required to do that unless, in your professional opinion, the person is not seriously injured—”
“We aren’t sure of that without some X-rays. Not after you—”
“Let me finish. A competent person—that’s me—can refuse to be transported. And I refuse.” Matt eased off the stretcher and stepped down from the back of the MICU. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to decide if I’m mentally competent and let me exercise that right. Then I’m going to ask my attorney over here to drive me back to my car so I can get on with my day.”
Sandra touched Matt’s arm. “Don’t be so stubborn. If you’re not concerned with your own health, at least do this for me.”
“So you can sue someone for injuring me?” Matt knew the words stung, and regretted them immediately.
Sandra didn’t take the bait. “If the driver of that car was actually trying to hit you, we’ll need proof of your injuries.”
Matt took a deep breath, grateful that there was no pain to indicate cracked ribs this time. He still had occasional twinges from his last episode. “Tell you what.” He turned to Sandra. “How about if I ride with you to the ER? And let’s go to Metropolitan. It’s as close as any other hospital, and as soon as the doctor on duty clears me, I can go right to work.”
The lead EMT nodded assent. “Just let me get a couple of signatures from you, Doc.” He looked at Sandra. “Thanks, ma’am.”
In Sandra’s car, Matt said, “Wait! This isn’t going to work. My car is at your office. How am I going to get home when my shift ends?”
“I’ve already thought of that. Call me a half hour before you’
re due to leave, and I’ll pick you up.”
“That will be almost midnight. I can’t—”
“Yes, you can, and you will. No arguments.”
“Shall I call your cell?” Matt asked.
Sandra reached into her purse, pulled out her cell, and appeared to scan the display. “Yes. And the battery’s charged, so I’ll get the call.”
It wasn’t a long drive, and when they were near the hospital, Matt said, “Follow the Emergency Room signs. You can double park long enough to let me out. And when you come for me tonight, that’s where you’ll wait.”
“Fine, but don’t think I’m going to drop you off and drive away. I’m going in with you. I want to make sure you register just like a patient, and when you fill out the HIPAA forms, I want to be listed as able to receive medical information about you.”
Matt wondered if she’d been reading his mind. He’d intended to check in with the doctor he was relieving, ask him for a once-over-lightly exam, then start his shift. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
“No, and don’t forget it.” She parked in a slot for emergency patients and opened her door. “And stop trying not to limp when you walk. I’ve already noticed it, and I intend to ask the doctor who examines you to get some X-rays.”
Matt threw up his hands. “You know, ER doctors hate pushy family members. And pushy lawyers are even lower on the scale.”
A smile flitted across Sandra’s lips. “You may think I’m pushy now, but before this is all over, you’re going to love me.”
Matt let her precede him through the automatic doors. I wonder what she meant by that.
Why did I say that? It just popped out, but what did I mean? Sandra hoped that by the time they were through the automatic glass doors she’d think of a way to salvage the situation. The best she could muster sounded lame to her, though. “You’re going to love me when I make the threats of prosecution go away. Together we might even be able to find who’s trying to kill you, and get the police to put them away instead of you.”
Halfway down the hall, Matt stopped and turned to Sandra. “I appreciate what you’ve done, and I know you’ll do more. But right now I need to go relieve the doctor on duty, who happens to be my boss. This job is about all I have to hang on to right now, and I’d hate to lose it in the first week.”
Matt turned down a hallway marked “Staff Only.” Sandra was on his heels as he charged into the ER. “You have to register,” she said, as loudly as she dared. “You promised me—”
Matt headed straight for a man dressed in gray-green scrubs covered by a wrinkled white lab coat. His sandy hair was tousled, and behind wire-rimmed glasses his gray eyes looked tired. He swung those eyes up from the chart in his hands and said, “I was beginning to think I’d have to call the jail to see if the police had you in custody.” He grinned, but it looked to Sandra as though he was half-serious.
“Rick, I’m sorry,” Matt said. “The police had me in for an interview. While I was downtown, a car hit me as I crossed the street.”
“Are you okay?” The worry in Rick’s voice and on his face seemed genuine.
“A few bumps and bruises, mainly the left hip and thigh where the fender clipped me. But my attorney here—” Matt nodded toward Sandra. “She insists I get checked before I can go to work.”
Sandra stuck out her hand. “Sandra Murray. I’m sorry to barge in here—”
“Rick Pearson.” His handshake was firm but gentle. “No problem.” He clapped Matt on the shoulder. “You walked in here, so I’m guessing you don’t have a fractured hip or broken leg.” He motioned to a room. “Let me have a look at you. Then we can get some X-rays.”
“I’ll be in the waiting room,” Sandra said. “Shall I get him checked in at reception?”
Rick thought about that. “I’m not sure Matt’s insurance coverage as an employee has kicked in yet. Let’s make this an unofficial visit for now. If there’s anything serious, we can start a chart.”
“But I need something to document his injuries,” Sandra said. “I intend to follow up with the police and make sure they do everything possible to track down that hit-and-run driver.”
Rick offered to dictate a note summarizing his findings, and Sandra accepted that. When Matt turned away to follow Rick into the exam room, she touched his sleeve. “Let me know. I’ll be in the waiting room.”
“No need to wait around,” Matt said. “I can call your cell.”
“No, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you’re okay. Better yet, I want Dr. Pearson to tell me.”
She found a seat in the waiting room, as far as possible from the TV set suspended overhead, and started to pick up a People magazine from goodness-knows how long ago. She stopped with her fingers inches from the cover. How many hundreds of hands had held that same magazine, hands belonging to people waiting for word that their loved one’s illness or injury was serious or minor, praying while they waited, powerless for a life or death verdict? She didn’t know how Matt and Rick did it.
When an attorney heard a verdict, the client either went free or was escorted from the courtroom in handcuffs, while the lawyer stuffed papers into a briefcase and left. She wondered if a doctor who delivered bad news to a patient or a family was able to turn off their emotions and move on to the next case with no thought of the consequences. Or did they have feelings for the people involved—feelings like the ones she was developing for her client?
“I’m sorry, Counselor. That’s all the information I have right now.”
Sandra murmured her thanks and returned her cell phone to her purse. She’d slipped out of the waiting room to move her car, thinking she might be here at the hospital for a while. While she was there, she’d taken advantage of the privacy of her auto to call the police for an update on Matt’s accident. Unfortunately, by the time the police arrived on the scene, many of the witnesses had left the area. She couldn’t really blame them.
She’d given her story to the patrolman who responded to the call, but got the impression that her answers were pretty much like everyone else’s. License plate? Just got a glance at it. Texas plate, I think. Make and model of the car? No idea. Sedan, not an SUV, but most of them look alike to me. Dark color—black, dark blue, maybe dark green. It happened so fast. What did the driver look like? Not sure. Only got a glimpse through the tinted side windows. Did he slow down, try to stop? Absolutely not. The usual bulletin would go out to body shops in the city: report any dark sedans with damage to the right front fender or bumper. Likelihood of catching up with the offender? Close to zero.
“There you are.” Dr. Pearson waved at Sandra as she walked in the door. “You said you wanted me to give you my report. Matt told me it was okay, so I’m not going to get in trouble for violating the HIPAA regulations.” He looked around. “Let’s find someplace a bit more private.”
In a few moments, they were seated on a sofa upholstered with cracked brown Naugahyde. “This is our break room,” Rick said. “Not fancy, but it serves the purpose.”
“What about Matt?” Sandra asked.
“No serious injuries. A bruise about the size of a dinner plate along his hip and thigh, probably where the car fender brushed him. A couple of abrasions on his knees and palms from the pavement. No fractures.”
“So where is he?”
“He insisted on going right to work. I offered to do a double shift so he could go home and rest, but he was having none of it.”
That sounded a lot like the Matt she was coming to know. “Will he be okay?”
Rick rubbed his chin. “You know, doctors hate to hear that question. We can make an educated guess, but there are no guarantees.”
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean, and yes, I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine. Just in case, I’ll ask the charge nurse to keep an eye on him and call me if there’s any problem.”
Sandra shook Rick’s hand. “Thanks for checking him. I guess you want to get home to your family now.”
>
Rick looked down, seemingly surprised at the wedding ring on his hand. “Oh, you noticed that? Probably should take it off, but hope springs eternal.” He twisted the ring. “My wife and I are separated right now. She and my daughter are with her folks in Arizona.”
“I’m sorry.” She knew she should let it lie, but before she could stop them, the words tumbled out. “It must be hard being married to a doctor.”
“That’s one of the reasons for this rough patch—not the only one, but we don’t need to go into that.” Rick frowned. “I thought maybe things would get better when I went into emergency medicine. The stress is unbelievable at times, but the hours are regular. I don’t make as much as some specialists, but . . . You don’t want to hear all this. Sorry.”
No, she didn’t want to hear about how hard it was to live with a doctor. She’d had to confront that once and thought it was a dead issue, but things were changing. Why had she taken on Matt as a project? Why was she coming back for him after his shift, instead of letting him take a taxi? “I hope you work it out,” Sandra said. And maybe that goes for me too.
Lou swallowed hard, then cleared his throat a couple of times. “We’ve got a little problem.”
Once more he stood in front of the big man’s desk. When he looked at the rug he almost expected to see a bare spot from his shuffling feet. The throw rug on which he stood probably cost more than all the suits in Lou’s closet, and there was a rumor that it concealed bloodstains on the floor beneath it, blood from a man who tried to pull a double cross. Lou wasn’t certain of the truth behind that story, and he wasn’t about to find out.
“We’ve got a problem?” the boss echoed. “We’ve got a problem?” The sneer in his voice was mirrored on his face. “Since when do your problems become mine?”
“Sorry. I guess I’ve got a problem.” Lou made a conscious effort to keep his expression neutral. “I visited the doctor’s house last night while he was at work. He’s changed the locks, but that didn’t keep me out.” He paused, waiting for praise, but got none. He steeled himself before delivering the news. “I searched the whole place, looking for a pistol, but it wasn’t there.”
Stress Test Page 14