The Diagnosis is Murder (A Dr. Valorian Mystery Book 1)

by Steven Gossington

  “So, you think I need to see a psychiatrist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ve seen one before. Oh, boy, I’m so tired.”

  “Is your wife at home?”

  “Monica? I don’t know.”

  Laura turned to the nurse. “Please stay with him while I call for admission.”

  Laura left the room for the doctors’ office and spoke with the Psychiatry service on the phone. “I’m seeing a doctor as a patient in my ER with pressured speech and delusions. He’s sleep-deprived, he’s not functional, and I don’t think he’s changed his clothes for a week. I think he’s having an acute bipolar manic episode, and he’s not on any psych meds at this time. I can’t let him go home.”

  “I agree, Laura. Sounds like he needs inpatient care. We’ll find a bed for him on the psychiatric ward.”

  Thirty minutes later, two nurses transferred Dr. Stiles to a transport stretcher and wheeled him to the elevator and upstairs to his hospital bed.

  Whew, what else is in store for me tonight?

  On her office computer, Laura had noticed the next patient’s chief complaint: hand injury. She opened the door and walked into the room.

  Looking up, she lurched back. “What the . . . What’re you doing here?”

  Eric, the triathlete, sat across from her on an examination table. “I hurt my hand, see?” He held up a swollen, bruised left hand.

  Laura inspected his injured hand. “What happened?”

  “I slammed a car door on it.”

  “All right. I’ll order X-rays.”

  “I just wanted—”

  “For the last time, I can’t see you any more.”

  Eric smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “What business is it of yours, whether I’m okay or not okay?”

  “Calm down. There’s no need to get huffy.”

  “How did you know I was working tonight?”

  “It’s easy enough to find out.”

  Laura stared at him for a few seconds, then turned and left the room.

  A short time passed, and she informed Eric that the X-rays were negative for fracture; he’d only bruised his hand. She stood outside the room, her arms crossed, and followed him with her eyes. As Eric exited the ER, he waved at her, a faint smirk on his face.

  On an impulse, Laura walked out of the ER automatic exit doors and scanned the patient parking area, which was just past the ambulance entrance bay. In a splash of light from an overhead towering light pole, two figures stood next to each other. One figure appeared to be Eric; at least the build and height of the person was similar to Eric’s. Laura squinted at the other figure, smaller in height and build, and her jaw dropped. Mr. Hamilton? Why are Eric and Mr. Hamilton talking?

  After a minute or so, the two figures parted. Mr. Hamilton seemed agitated. He walked away waving his arms at Eric, melting into the darkness as Eric drove away in the opposite direction.

  Laura had the next two days off. After her night shift, she slept four hours Wednesday morning and woke up refreshed near noon. As she was cleaning up, she thought about last night, and her eyes squinted as an image of Eric popped into her head. She wondered why he was so interested in her well-being—I just wanted to make sure you’re okay—and why he’d smiled when he said it. Was he in love with her? She didn’t sense that feeling from him. So, why does he keep showing up? Who is he really?

  She completed her morning duties and called Alec. “I’m planning to question my suspects more intensively today.”

  “I should come with you,” Alec said.

  “Okay.”

  “Pick you up in an hour?”

  “Sure. By the way, I haven’t connected again with Dr. Blake Sutcliff, the surgery resident who was fired by Dr. Preswick. I may need your help to locate him.”

  “At your service.”

  “Want to do dinner later tonight?”

  “I can’t. Maybe tomorrow night?”

  “Seeing someone else tonight?” Laura bit her lip. The question had slipped out before she could stop herself.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s really none of my business.”

  “I’m working on another case. Got to make a living ”

  “Tomorrow night is good.”

  “This case is getting tricky. I’ll let a homicide detective friend of mine know what we’re doing.”

  “Great idea. I hope he finds it interesting.”

  “He’ll be interested, but we need a stronger case for murder.”

  “I’ll work on it. Believe me, I’ll work on it.”

  Chapter 17

  Laura felt energized, as if a gentle electrical current was buzzing her body. The investigation of Dr. Preswick’s death had momentum.

  She fed and played with Cosmo for a while and then ate a bowl of cereal with milk. Her lawn grass outside was still damp from a light rain earlier that morning. Laura liked a sunny day after a rain. A thirst-quenching drizzle seemed to brighten the colors of the grass, plants, flowers, and trees.

  She worked out a logical sequence of visits to the suspects. Blake Sutcliff had been unreachable during the daytime, so she’d try to corner him in the evening.

  Alec picked her up early afternoon. He wore a dark red polo shirt, and his chin scar was a faint pink as he smiled at her. It would glow red like Rudolph the reindeer’s nose when Alec was excited, upset, or embarrassed.

  Alec studied the itinerary and started off toward their first objective. He crossed the Potomac River and drove north along the George Washington Memorial Parkway and through Georgetown to the office of Dr. Matthew Kline, near Chevy Chase, Maryland. Laura had remembered Matthew saying that he scheduled office patients on Wednesday afternoons. Alec parked in front of a three-story medical building, its exterior mostly glass and windows.

  Laura noted that the parking lot was more than half full. Business must be good. She turned to Alec. “I think it’s best if I go alone to talk with him. He’s a good friend, and he won’t feel as threatened if I’m by myself.”

  “No problemo. I’ll wait here.”

  Just inside the front entrance, she located Matthew’s office number on the list of building occupants posted by the elevators. After bounding up the nearby stairs to the second floor, she let herself in through Matthew’s office door and into a dark waiting room. No one was behind the receptionist’s window, and the waiting room was empty.

  “Hello? Matthew?” Laura said. A few seconds later, she heard a sound from down a short hallway, and a door opened.

  Matthew appeared. “Laura. What a surprise. Come into my office. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  “Where is everybody?” She was shown into a spacious office with expensive leather furniture and diplomas hanging on the walls.

  “Please sit down.” Matthew emitted a long sigh. “I let the staff have this week off work, and I cancelled all my appointments.”

  They sat in plush black armchairs near one another.

  “Lisa doesn’t know what I’m doing. I can’t let her see how depressed I am about the malpractice case. I’ve been coming to work and sitting around, reading, doing paperwork. I can’t get myself together.”

  “You need help—counseling.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve come to that decision myself.”

  Laura felt sheepish about bothering Matthew at a time like this. She almost apologized to him and begged off, but instead, she took in a deep breath and forged ahead. “I came to ask a few more questions about the death of Dr. Preswick. I feel more strongly now that he was murdered.”

  Matthew’s face reddened. “Why involve yourself in that? You’re a doctor, not a police detective.”

  Laura didn’t answer.

  Matthew shot up out of his chair. “Just leave it alone. The man’s dead. The world’s better off without him.” It was as if he couldn’t decide whether to reason with her, like an impatient friend, or shout sense into her, like an outraged parent.

&nb
sp; “I can’t. I can’t leave it alone.”

  He glared at her for several seconds then sat back down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry. I’m not myself,” he said with a weak smile. “You were like that in medical school. We all saw it. An obsessive-compulsive pit bull, latching onto things and not letting go.”

  Laura pressed on. “Matthew, a man’s been murdered. The police are going to be involved at some point, I feel sure.”

  “Yes, and you already told me I qualify as a suspect.”

  “Where were you the late afternoon and early evening on Monday, the day of Dr. Preswick’s death? The police will ask.”

  Matthew considered the question. “Well, the verdict came in that afternoon, 2:36 p.m. to be exact.” He released another long sigh, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “The rest of that day is kind of foggy. I think I drove around a while, to nowhere in particular. I remember having quite a few drinks in a bar somewhere. I don’t recall the exact place. Somehow, I arrived home that night, around 8:30 or so. I remember Lisa was frantic.”

  “Lisa wasn’t with you in the courtroom that day?”

  “Oh, she was there all right, but after the verdict, I told her I wanted to be alone for a while.”

  Laura took in a deep breath. “I have to mention something.”

  Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “A man—a drug dealer—identified a photo of you as a person he might’ve sold opiates to.”

  Matthew lurched forward to the edge of his chair, slammed his shoes on the floor, and stared open-mouthed at Laura, unable to speak for a few seconds. Then he shouted, “I can’t believe this. What’re you doing? Drug dealers? Opiates? This is getting ridiculous. You have no idea what you’re doing.” He jumped up and pointed to the door. “Please leave, now.”

  Laura stood, her hand over her mouth. She’d never experienced such a verbal assault from a friend. “Okay, I’m leaving. I’m sorry.” As she walked out his office door, she glanced back and noticed that his last expression was not so much one of indignation as apprehension.

  Laura’s head was spinning as she left the building. She was breathing fast, and her hands were tremulous. She ran her fingers through her hair and took slow, deep breaths. She didn’t—and wouldn’t, she knew—feel on top of the world after cross-examining a good friend.

  But, wait a minute, why did he tell her that she didn’t know what she was doing? Sure, the role of crime detective was new territory for her, but, after all, it wasn’t that far removed from medical disease detection. Both roles initially required astute inspection, one for meaningful clues and the other for physical signs or symptoms. In crime detection, one developed a list of suspects and alibis and motives, and in medical detection, a list of possible diagnoses. Then critical analysis of available data would lead to the most probable crime solution—or medical diagnosis.

  Crime Detective. It felt so odd, using those words. But, this murder case was so invigorating. When she was immersed in it, her demons and faults and insecurities were powerless to compete for her attention; they were locked away far from her consciousness.

  Laura stopped and looked back. “Just you wait, Matthew Kline. I’ll show you what I can do.” She whirled around and hurried to the car.

  Their next stop that afternoon was the Preswick home. Alec drove north away from Chevy Chase to the Capital Beltway, which took them west and then south across the Potomac River into Virginia, over roads drying out from the rain. A few streets and turns brought them to the Preswick home. Laura spotted no visitor cars today.

  “Again, I’d like to do this alone. At least, I have some rapport with Mrs. Preswick.”

  Answering the door was the portly maid, who recognized Laura and showed her into the familiar front room. Laura’s gift decorated the center mahogany table, the flowers in the vase still vibrant. Laura stopped and furrowed her brow—there was something different about the paintings on the walls.

  The Picasso is gone.

  After a short time, Mrs. Preswick joined her. She wore a gold evening dress, and an abundance of jewelry glinted from her wrists, neck, and ears. Laura wondered if she ever did any kind of work around the house.

  They sat down near each other on the couch.

  “I apologize for dropping in like this, but—”

  “Are you going to question me again?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, I was wondering about something. I’d heard that Dr. Preswick had partnered with someone named Max Flowers in a business deal. Do you know about that?”

  “Max Flowers. Yes. He came to our house once. They met in the study. Roderick told me they were going to introduce a new medical product and make a lot of money.”

  “Did that ever happen?”

  “I don’t think so. A year or so later, I asked Roderick about it. He told me things weren’t going well.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m not sure, but one evening, Roderick got really angry. He shouted that Mr. Flowers was mismanaging the money, and that he was going to sue that whiney so-and-so.”

  “Did he take him to court?”

  “No. I’m not sure anything happened with that, but Roderick was also going on that evening about Mr. Flowers pestering him for pain medicines.”

  “Pain medicines?”

  Mrs. Preswick leaned toward Laura. “Roderick did an intestinal operation on Mr. Flowers, but it took him longer than usual to recover, and he kept asking for pain pills. Roderick yelled out that he wasn’t going to keep refilling his pain medicines.”

  Laura took a deep breath. So, Max Flowers was addicted to pain medication?

  “I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of line.”

  “No problem,” Laura said. “My lips are sealed.” Laura used her right index finger and thumb to zipper her lips shut.

  Mrs. Preswick smiled and dropped her head.

  Laura changed the subject. “Mrs. Preswick, I talked to the medical examiner recently. He doesn’t suspect foul play, but I still do. I can’t help it. I saw your husband when he was brought to the ER.”

  “What can I say to convince you otherwise?”

  “You won’t even consider foul play as the possible cause of death?”

  “There’s nothing to indicate that.”

  How would you know? Laura thought and then charged ahead. “Well, I’m suspicious, and if I gather enough evidence, the police will get interested. They’ll ask everyone where they were at the time of the murder.” Laura looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  Mrs. Preswick stared back. “I don’t believe this,” she said. After a few seconds, she sighed and kneaded her hands together. “Well, if I have to tell the police anyway, I was . . . let me think, where was I that afternoon? Yes, I was out shopping. Roderick never arrives, well, arrived home until after dark during the week.”

  “Did you ever suspect him of using drugs?”

  Mrs. Preswick’s eyes widened. “Why, no. The idea is preposterous. Roderick would never have done such a thing.” Mrs. Preswick clasped her hands together and began to fidget, her eyes twitching back and forth. She then bolted up with her palms against her temples and glared at Laura. “If you weren’t such a nice doctor, I’d throw you right out on your ear.”

  “I get the message. I’m leaving.” Laura stood and walked out, hastened along by a scowl from Mrs. Preswick. Laura had felt ill at ease since the start of the interview. Even the live oak trees in the front yard were unhappy, beating their branches at her as she hurried by.

  Laura pointed out the next stop on the itinerary sheet. Rush hour traffic on Interstate 66 was heavy, so Alec stayed with back roads to their destination in western Arlington. After parking, he sat back with his hands behind his head, studying Laura. “You’ve got that look again. A woman alone is less threatening, and all that?”

  “Yes, and I’m doing so well by myself, at least with these suspects.”

  Alec shrugged, and Laura stepped out of the car. She wound her
way back to Tina Landry’s apartment and rang the doorbell. Faint sounds of voices and music drifted from inside.

  Tina cracked the door. “Uh, I have company now.”

  Laura took a deep breath. “Ms. Landry, I just have a few more questions. It won’t take long.”

  Tina hesitated, looked behind her, and opened the door. “Okay, come in. I only have a few minutes.”

  “Thank you. A few minutes will do.” Laura walked into the front room and sat down on the furry, orange couch. No one else was in the room.

  Tina silenced the television and stood near her. She wore green shorts and a T-shirt with a photograph of a huge tree falling, under which was printed: “Stop the Rape of the Rain Forests.”

  Laura recalled two things: Tina said that she and Dr. Preswick met in different restaurants and bars, and the paramedic said that two nurses had performed CPR on Dr. Preswick.

  Maybe Tina was one of those nurses.

  Laura crossed her arms. “When I first visited you here, I noticed a tiny bruise under your lower lip, which has now almost disappeared.”

  Tina touched her lower lip.

  “Were you one of the nurses who performed CPR on Dr. Preswick outside the bar?”

  Tina inhaled. “Yes.”

  “That’s where that bruise came from, didn’t it? You gave Dr. Preswick mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

  “Yes. I was nervous at first and pressed too hard against his mouth.”

  “You saw him collapse?”

  “No, no. He had to leave. I stayed inside the bar. About twenty minutes later, I heard someone yell for help with CPR—a man down outside. That’s when I ran out and saw it was him. Someone told me they saw him fall to the ground.”

  “What were you doing there in the first place?”

  Tina paused and sighed. “I met him there, for drinks.”

  “Then you could’ve poisoned his drink, right?”

  “What?” Tina stepped back, her hands on her hips.

  “Just relax. I’m only suggesting possibilities.”

  “No. I would never do anything like that. We were going to be married after he divorced his wife. I loved him. If he was poisoned, I’ll strangle the person who did it.”