On top of everything? In charge of her life? Uh-um. This mess told her a different story – it displayed just how out of control she really was.
Messy desk, messy life.
Her eyes drifted to the almost obligatory picture of the happily married couple right next to her against-regulation elevated feet.
Warren and Pepper. Another prop that had nothing to do with reality.
She eyed her husband, the computer wizard. Studied his handsome, sculptured cheekbones, black hair that outshone hers, and eyes that revealed no history, no future, no anything.
You fucking inscrutable Asian. How could anyone know what that stony mug of yours is saying? And look at me – grinning so hard my face is going to split in half.
Tears stung her eyes. Hard to believe the photo was taken only a year ago.
She slammed her feet to the floor so hard the two detectives stopped their cussing and instinctively reached for their guns.
She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Sorry!”
“Get a life, will ya, Yee.”
“Broads!” Their voices were a duet of disdain as they turned away, diving back into their argument.
That asshole’ll never know how close he is to the truth. I have no goddam life.
Who else would hang around this hole and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner from vending machines rather than go out or go home?
Home? That’s where Warren would be. Where he could ignore her, look right through her as though she didn’t exist.
She studied the picture of the happy couple one more time before forcing her focus back to the pile of half-finished forms and reports in front of her. She ran her fingers through the mess of papers and tried to put them in some kind of order.
At the top of the pile were her notes on Gina Mazzio and the missing nurse problem at Ridgewood General.
Damn it!
She was so sick of these nothing cases, cases that were whispers of something but never developed into anything solid. If she wanted respect, she’d have to make a few headlines. Otherwise, she’d be nothing but a female grunt forever.
She conjured up an image of Gina Mazzio. There was nothing inscrutable about that one. Every word, every gesture was a sledgehammer.
Wonder how she’d do with Warren?
Yee had done little work in the past week. Even though she tried, she couldn’t make her mind settle into deductive reasoning, settle down to even caring. All she could think about was Warren.
Why had he stopped loving her, stopped touching her, stopped talking to her? Was he having an affair?
She’d even followed him from work for two consecutive evenings. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing.
Enough, you idiot. Focus! Focus!
Two nurses were missing, or at least unaccounted for.
Well, hell, people do not just disappear. Women in this age group? Usually there was some guy involved, tying them up in the bedroom, and she didn’t mean a crime scene.
Shelly, the advice nurse was now missing for a week. Men. Shelly liked them. The gal slept around. But her manager said she was a steady employee. When she was sick, she called in. Where the hell was she then?
And Diaz?
Her uncle, the Ridgewood administrator claims she’s gone missing. Didn’t show up for a family dinner on Sunday, didn’t show up for work this morning. And Mazzio was bugging her again – now about both of them.
The main problem: no bodies; not a single shred of evidence that a crime had been committed. In either instance.
And who the hell is this weirdo that’s been calling Mazzio? Someone apparently was doing the deed. If you could believe her … and she did.
Yee tapped the eraser end of a pencil on her desk, stirred a stray memo, which ended up moving a couple of inches closer to falling off the edge.
Yeah, she believed the nurse. Didn’t want to, but she was solid enough.
Yee felt uneasy. She’d fallen down on the job. She’d let this and other investigations slide. Her personal problems were standing in the way of her good judgment.
Face it: you haven’t done squat in weeks.
“Have to make things happen,” she muttered to herself.
She quickly made neat stacks of the papers on her desk, but without any rhyme or reason. Again, sixth-grade props to make her look like the efficient cop that she knew she wasn’t, at least not currently.
She picked up the phone, found the right Post-it, and called Walter Cooke, the human body parts man.
“You’ve had enough time to mull over my offer, Walter. It’s time to get your ass down here and talk to me. Either that, or I’ll send a car to pick you up.”
In the process of straitening the paper mess, the notes on the missing nurse problem ended up buried somewhere in the midst of the stack.
₪ CHAPTER 24
Megan Ann’s hands shook as she moved away from the entrance to the cafeteria. She watched the elevator clunk open and saw Gina move to the end of the line of impatient staffers wanting to get served.
She swallowed hard to drown the bitterness in her throat. Anger forced her into motion. She walked up to Gina, grabbed her wrist. Gina’s mouth formed a perfect circle of surprise.
“I know,” Megan Ann said.
“Hey, cut that out!”
“One of the surgery nurses saw the two of you at The Hideaway. She was more than happy to pass on that tasty tidbit.”
Gina’s eyes widened; she yanked her arm away. “What are you talking about?”
“You know!”
Megan Ann’s legs trembled, her heart pounded; she had to shove her hands into her coat pockets to keep from slapping the advice nurse.
Gina’s face morphed from puzzlement to irritation. Arching an eyebrow, she jabbed a finger at Megan Ann and said in a heavy New York accent, “Actually, I was wondering who on earth you were talking about since I didn’t know you even had a boyfriend.”
“Rotten smart-ass!” Megan Ann’s voice was climbing in volume in spite of herself. “That’s what everyone says about you.”
“Take it outside,” a voice piped up as people dodged around them to get into the busy cafeteria.
Another voice said, “Pretty unprofessional.” The loudest and nastiest snapped, “For Chrissakes, get lost. Save it for the cat house!”
The staff bumped into, flowed around them, gave them dirty looks. Megan Ann was about to cover her face in embarrassment when Gina grabbed her arm and pulled her off to one side.
“Let’s get out of here,” Gina said. “We need to go someplace where we can talk and settle this.”
Megan Ann’s stomach growled, calling her attention to the painful, gnawing sensation deep down inside.
God, I need a drink.
Her thoughts went immediately to the stash of booze and drugs in her locker. She envisioned the vodka miniatures, the vials of Valium. She pressed hard against her stomach with both hands.
Gina tugged at her arm; she jumped at the touch. “I don’t know what to think,” she said, trying to speak above the hubbub of the lunchtime crowd. Embarrassed, she could see that people were still gaping at them, making rude remarks.
The advice nurse kept tugging at her arm; she relented and meekly followed Gina into an emptying elevator. Gina pressed “3” and they both sighed when the door finally slammed shut. The hubbub of the cafeteria crowd drifted away, vanished.
The elevator carried them to the surgical floor. Gina hurried them past the operating room area, guarded by large double doors and a bold warning:
DESIGNATED PERSONNEL ONLY
There was little activity or traffic in the corridor. Most scheduled surgeries had already taken place, or were well under way.
Gina led Megan Ann farther down the hall until at the very end they stood in front of the hospital chapel. A small doorway sign read:
All Are Welcome
Inside the dimly lit room was an abbreviated altar, set off by flickering candles. Soft, almost indiscernible
music created a sense of tranquility. Megan Ann hadn’t heard spiritual music in a long time. She’d turned away from religion when her husband and baby died. How could any God allow such a senseless loss of life?
They sat down next to each other on one of the three backless benches.
“I like to come here to think,” Gina said. “There’s rarely anyone around during lunch hour. I guess people pray or meditate on some kind of schedule.”
The moment they were seated, Megan Ann covered her face with both hands, started to cry. “I don’t know what came over me.” She looked up at Gina. “I’m so sorry. And in front of all those people.”
“Hey, that bunch has seen a lot worse. They’ll buzz about it for a while until the next oddball thing comes along. You’ll be old news by this afternoon.”
“I was awful.”
“Was this about Eddie St. George? He’s the only guy other than my fiancé I’ve gone out with in a long time.”
“Yes, Eddie.”
Gina touched her shoulder. “Hey, we had a quick, friendly drink. He wasn’t interested in anything else, and neither was I. And I certainly didn’t know he was your boyfriend.”
“He’s not. At least if he is, he doesn’t know anything about it.”
Gina chuckled. “You got to admit it’s really funny. I mean, two grown women fighting about boyfriends. Acting like a couple of silly teenagers.”
Megan Ann tried to smile. “We’re going out tonight, Eddie and me. But it’s not like we’re serious about one another. But I’m hoping.”
“Well, let’s forget about this. It was a drink. Nothing else. Honest!”
“Still, I behaved badly.”
“Not important. Let it go.”
“I know you’ll say I’m a fool, but I think about Eddie a lot.”
The music was beginning to soothe her. She took in a long breath and let it out slowly.
“Eddie looks so much like my husband Aaron that they could have been brothers. Every time I see him, my heart races. I can barely speak. It’s like seeing Aaron across the room.”
“Your husband? I didn’t know you were married.”
“Not too many people do.”
“I can relate to that,” Gina said.
“Aaron died two years ago, along with my two-year-old son.”
“Oh, my God!” Gina put a hand across her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was horrible. I keep seeing my little boy in Aaron’s arms, the two of them igniting, dying in a flash of flames.”
“Megan Ann–“
“I was at the movies with a friend. Neither Aaron nor I would allow baby sitters to stay with Timmy. We worried something might happen and we wouldn’t be there.” Megan Ann looked at Gina. “So ironic.”
“Trying to second-guess yourself is way too difficult. It raises so many questions … questions that most likely can never be answered.”
“I would have gladly changed places with either one of them.” Tears slid down her cheeks, dripped onto her scrubs. “And the worst of it, no one was ever able explain what happened.”
“They don’t know what started the fire?”
Megan Ann hunched over. “They had theories about the furnace, maybe a gas leak. But no one could say for sure.”
Her insides were churning. She dug her nails into her arm until the tracks of old scratches were deep ruts of burgundy.
Gina took her hand. “It must have been terrible.”
“Without them, I’d rather be dead.”
Gina wrapped an arm around Megan Ann and said, “I’m glad you’re not.”
They sat in silence for a long moment before Megan Ann spoke: “If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t be as nice to you.”
“Oh, yes, you would,” Gina said.
Maybe it was the kind words. Maybe it was just telling someone about her family and her loss, what she lived with every moment of every waking day. Whatever, she did feel better. Still, she burst into tears again.
“There’s this … this huge hole inside of me and … and nothing ever seems to fill it.”
Gina drew a tissue from her pocket, pressed it into Megan Ann’s hand.
“It’ll get better in time, Megan Ann. You have to stay strong and believe that.”
₪CHAPTER 25
Eddie St. George was exhausted. He trudged across the room, walked out of his clothes, left them strewn behind on the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. All he wanted was the oblivion of sleep. Instead, his mind spun in a whirlpool of activity.
Mother’s face flashed into his mind, swept along through the years by ancient memories.
No matter how many times Father said that his Mother hated him, that she ran away with another man because she didn’t want to take care of him, Eddie secretly thought of her as beautiful and kind. He remembered how she would sing to him even when she was in bed with her bruised, raccoon-like eyes. And she would hold him close despite her body being a mass of purple blotches.
“Mother fell down the steps,” Father said each time.
Eddie had tried to hold on to Mother’s music, the repertoire of popular songs that she sang to him over and over before she went away. But each passing year slowly deadened those memories. Pop music was no longer a part of his life. And when he danced, he was virtually unaware of the melodies, following only the beat, his involvement only to interest a woman, make her more compliant, easier to take to Father.
A sudden thought of Megan Ann Hendricks displaced the memory of Mother. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to see her even though he was drawn to her. He didn’t want to risk being attracted to her, tried to shake off his vision of her.
She was just a tiny redhead. A nurse, like all the rest.
His breath filtered through prickles of needles that stabbed his chest; loud wheezes echoed off the walls of his apartment. He clutched the bed sheets, yanked until the wrinkled cotton was wet from his sweaty palms.
More. More. More!
The memory of Father’s voice sliced through his brain like an electric knife.
He jumped out of bed, stepped in front of the mirror that filled the expanse of one whole wall. He watched his muscles pull, squeeze his ribs with every struggling breath until he was close to suffocating, was forced to reach for the inhaler on the dresser. He sucked in four long pulls of the medication, ignoring the directions on the container.
His heart raced, a rush coursed through him, followed by a creeping numbness that tugged at his lips. Soon the wheezing dissipated; he closed his eyes and rode with a momentary medication high.
The phone buzzed, shattering the moment like a popped balloon. He got up, stood in place, shaking as he listened to it ring.
Again, he wondered what would happen if he wouldn’t do what Father ordered?
Wouldn’t?
Hadn’t Father taught him the consequences of not doing what he was told? Wasn’t his back, his entire hide, criss-crossed with scars that deformed him with that knowledge?
He’d tried once to escape when he was in junior high, tried to run away. Found a hideaway in an old deserted film studio. Among the mold and dampness and rot, he’d found a traveling trunk, used it to store food and money that he stole from Father a dollar at a time. The day he was going to run away, Father found him. The cruel, harsh words still echoed in his brain: “Did you really think you could escape from me. Did you really think you could get away from your father, you little shit?”
Yes, he remembered everything.
The phone stopped ringing. The silence left the pounding of his heart echoing in his ears.
He paced the room, then frantically began lifting the weights he used to sculpt his body. The movements made him sweat, helped ease the painful memories.
The phone rang again, jarring him back.
He let out a small grunt of defeat, picked up the receiver, and held it far enough away to diminish the voice at the other end.
“Yes, Father. Yes, I understand,” Eddie said. “I’m sorry. You
need to rest. Remember what the doctor said.”
Trickles of perspiration dribbled down the length of his rib cage. Every part of him was soon dripping wet. He watched the sweat splatter onto the bamboo floor.
“Yes. Yes. I will.” He ground the heel of his hand into his chest, the tightening was beginning again. He nodded like a ten-year-old.
“Yes, I will,” he repeated, his chest heaving in pain. “I promise.”
He hung up. He dug into, tore at his scars; his legs collapsed beneath him, allowing his body to crumble to the floor. His breath whistled in short raspy jolts; without warning he vomited on the floor. Only by grasping a fist full of hair and yanking hard was able to stop retching.
He pounded the silent phone. “God damn it … hurry up and die … need to be rid of you. Die, you miserable bastard. Die!”
₪ CHAPTER 26
Pepper Yee looked across her desk at Walter Cooke, pointed her pen at him and said, “I need to hear more about Milton Hiller and his connection with Charlie Auston and his funeral home.”
“I knew it was a mistake to call you. Must have been out of my mind.” Cooke shifted in his chair, his balding head reflecting the overhead light. “I’ve told you all I know.”
“Tell me again,” she said.
Cooke raised his eyes to the ceiling, sighed, and said, “Like I told you the other night. I’m leaving Auston’s Funeral Home after preparing a few donated cadavers for him.” He tapped a long, delicate finger on her desk. “Legitimate, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Detective.”
“Whatever. Just get on with it.”
“So, I’m on my way to the parking lot and I pass this guy going in the opposite direction. Then I say to myself, ‘Hey, I know that guy.’ I stop, turn around, and see him going into the alley behind Auston’s place. There’s a street light and I get a pretty good look at him – Milty Hiller.” Cooke shrugs as if to end the tale.
Sin & Bone: A Medical Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 2) Page 14