Sixteen
Officers Reynolds and Doyle were friendly and polite, had even brought her a turkey sandwich on rye and a bottle of ice-cold Diet Coke. But after seeing Randall carted off in handcuffs, Shirley had lost all desire to cooperate with the police. “I want a lawyer,” she growled.
The two cops exchanged looks. “You aren’t going to be charged with anything, ma’am. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“I still want a lawyer.”
Officer Reynolds sighed and shook her head. She handed Shirley her cell phone. “Well, go ahead and call your lawyer, then, if you have one. We can’t get you a public defender, though, because you’re not being charged with anything.”
Shirley’s heart sank. That meant she could only have a private attorney. And she couldn’t exactly afford to hire a private attorney. The last one she’d hired had eaten up every cent she had to her name. “Never mind,” she said with a sigh. “I guess we need to get this over with. Start asking your questions.”
Reynolds and Doyle conferred for a moment in the far corner of the room, then returned to Shirley’s side. Reynolds smiled, even patted the back of Shirley’s hand. She seemed to be taking on the mother hen role, while Doyle just hung back silently and took notes. “Now Shirley,” she said, her voice soft and gravelly like a grandmother’s, “I know you’re new here in Raleigh. And I also know that you came here to Raleigh to get away from your past. I know you’ve made some mistakes in your personal life, mistakes you’re not proud of. But that’s all in the past, and we’re not here to punish you for what happened back in Statesville. What we do need to do is ask you some questions about what you’ve been doing in your job at University Hospital here in town.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Shirley said. “I’ve barely been on the job for a week. I don’t even know most of my coworkers’ names. And I’ve only assisted on one operation so far.”
“Yes ma’am,” Reynolds said, patting Shirley’s hand again. “And I understand that patient died on the operating table.”
“That’s correct. Though I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why. Except maybe just for the fact that she was old.”
Reynolds and Doyle exchanged looks again, and Doyle took prodigious notes, scratching hard on his pencil with his notepad. “Are you absolutely certain about that, Ms. Daniels?” Reynolds said, leaning in close enough for Shirley to smell her cheap perfume.
“I’m afraid so. The woman was elderly, and her blood pressure dropped immediately after the surgery as she was about to come out from the anesthesia. There were no other warning signs to indicate why that might have happened, at least not that I was aware of. The surgeon had already closed the wound, which makes it unlikely that he nicked an artery or something that would cause her to bleed internally.”
Doyle perked right up at that comment. He leaned over and whispered something to Reynolds, then took more notes. “Are you absolutely sure about that?” Reynolds asked.
“No, not absolutely sure,” Shirley admitted. “I suppose when you have an elderly patient on the table like that, anything’s possible.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Sometimes people die on the operating table for no reason whatsoever. At least not a reason that can be easily determined. Especially if they are older.” Suddenly Shirley felt as if she were back in nursing school, quoting from one of her textbooks. “A lot of people don’t realize that going under anesthesia can sometimes kill otherwise healthy people without explanation. It’s just the risk you take whenever you go under the knife. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything suspicious is going on.”
“But something suspicious did happen, didn’t it, Shirley?” Reynolds said. Her tone had gone from gentle mother hen to shrill and accusatory. “Something happened in that OR that wasn’t at all routine, right?”
“Well—“
Officer Reynolds pounded on the tabletop. So much for the mother-hen routine. “Look, Shirley, we already know what happened in there. So don’t try to hide things from us. And don’t try to protect anyone. We just want to hear your side of the story.”
“My side of the story? I don’t know what you mean—“
“Stop stalling and get on with it, goddamn it.” Doyle’s deep, gruff baritone reverberated off the soundproofed walls of the interrogation room, sending Shirley’s head and stomach reeling. Even with the scrawny body and the geeky crewcut, with a voice that intimidating it was easy to see why the man had become a cop.
“All right, fine,” Shirley said, holding up her hands. “But honestly, I don’t know if what I’m about to say means anything at all.”
Officer Doyle’s eyes narrowed. “Tell us anyway.”
Shirley sighed. “Well, here goes. Instead of supervising the end-of-operation anesthesia shutdown procedures as he should have, Dr. Hamm left the OR and left me in charge. Which even though it’s a little unorthodox, it actually isn’t technically a problem, since I am more than capable of supervising anesthesia myself, without a physician’s help. I did most of my operations solo back in Statesville, since we were always short of anesthesiologists, and—“
Shirley’s voice trailed off as she realized that her excuses and explanations for Dr. Hamm’s odd behavior just weren’t going to cut it. The two officers were obviously unimpressed. They stared her down, brows furrowed, jaws tensing. They looked seconds away from popping her with the Tasers they both kept in their belts.
Shirley gave up. “You’ve charged Dr. Hamm with murder, haven’t you?”
Officer Reynolds blinked. “Actually, no. We’ve charged him with obstruction.”
“Obstruction?”
“Obstruction of justice,” Officer Doyle explained. “We know he knows something about Enola Higginbottom’s death that he’s not telling us. We were hoping you could help explain it to us.”
“What? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Which was true. She was in way over her head here. What she wouldn’t give to be able to afford her old bloodsucking lawyer again!
The two officers got up and conferred on the other side of the room again. After a few minutes of harried whispering, they came back and sat down. “We have it on good authority that you had a clandestine meeting with Dr. Reginald Chalmers, the president of University Hospital, the other day. We also have it on good authority that Dr. Chalmers charged you with gathering information on Dr. Randall Hamm, and that you were to keep this fact a secret.”
Wheels began to turn inside Shirley’s head. “On whose authority do you know this?” Although she already had a pretty good idea.
“I’m afraid we can’t divulge that information.”
“Marla Crabtree told you, didn’t she?” Shirley hissed. “Damn it, I knew that woman was too good to be true.”
Officer Reynolds flushed red, hemmed and hawed just like her bad-cop colleague Officer McIntosh had an hour or so earlier. “Uhhhhh—“
“It’s all right, you can admit it. I’ve already figured it out anyway.” Her cheeks burned and her eyes smarted. She’d poured her guts out to Marla Crabtree, had even looked past her own nagging suspicions and considered the older woman a friend. And in return the woman had gone and ratted her out to the police.
Goddamn the big city. You just couldn’t trust anybody here. Least of all crotchety old ladies who talked about banging Tae Bo instructors in public like they were discussing the weather. “So what else did she tell you?” Shirley sputtered.
“Not much. She said that you’d know what Dr. Hamm was really up to, though.”
“Well, she lied to you. Because I have absolutely no idea.”
The two cops conferred some more. Shirley struggled to eavesdrop, but the soundproofing tiles on the ceiling and walls absorbed every shred of their whispered conversation. After several minutes, they returned to her side, looking nervous. “We’ve decided to rethink our investigative strategy,” Officer Doyle said in his booming baritone. “We’d like for yo
u to use your assignment from President Chalmers as a means to investigate him. We have a strong suspicion that he may be involved in Enola Higginbottom’s death. It seems that he’s taken a liking to you, maybe even trusts you enough to share information with you that he won’t share with anyone else.”
Shirley sighed. This was just getting more and more complicated by the second. And the cops’ theory that she could solve a murder mystery based on her one and only meeting with President Chalmers seemed more than a little far-fetched. Still, she was willing to give it a shot—under certain conditions. “And if I do that for you, what do I get in return?”
Officer Reynolds flinched. “Ummm, nothing? Other than the fact that you’d be doing a service to the citizens of Raleigh and the state of North Carolina.”
“No deal. If I lose my job because of this, I’m screwed. I’m still broke and in debt from all the legal bills I racked up back in Statesville. If you want me to take a risk like this, I need some kind of financial protection.”
More conferring. “I’m sure we could arrange something with the State Witness Assistance program if need be,” Doyle muttered. “They can offer financial assistance and job placement when needed. But only if you lose your job as a result of helping us.”
“That’s more like it,” Shirley said, suddenly feeling very confident. “Now what exactly am I supposed to be finding out for you?”
The two cops looked sheepish. “We don’t exactly know,” Reynolds admitted. “But we do know that at one point in time, Dr. Chalmers was heavily invested in one of Enola Higginbottom’s companies—a company that eventually tanked and he lost his entire investment. We think that might be a potential motive for him to have been involved in her death—or perhaps, just to be covering up what really caused her death.”
Knowing what had happened with Joe Middleton’s role in the patent-royalties scam back in Statesville, Shirley could already see plenty of potential angles for Dr. Chalmers to work in this case. As odd as it may seem, there were plenty of ways a hospital could profit from a suspicious death—from insurance claims to lucrative lawsuits against the presiding doctors. Maybe what the two cops were suggesting wasn’t so far-fetched after all.
And maybe it was her chance to atone for what she’d done back in Statesville. She still carried around a tremendous amount of guilt from her deeds. Using what she’d learned from that very negative situation by helping solve a potential crime just might set her karma and life back on the right track.
And maybe, just maybe, doing some digging of her own just might help her discover the key to what kind of man Dr. Randall Hamm really was.
Seventeen
Shirley gave the cab driver the transport voucher she’d received from the police department, along with a fifty-cent tip. She wasn’t feeling especially generous today—and even if she were, she couldn’t afford to be. The driver swore in Spanish at her as he drove off, but she didn’t care.
What a day! This morning she’d started out her day as a junior-level nurse in a big-city hospital with a dull, humdrum life and no romantic entanglements aside from the occasional one-night stand. Less than twelve hours later, she’d had the best sex of her life with a complex, mysterious man she cared deeply for, and yet didn’t understand at all. She’d had the rug pulled out from under her at her new job, and she was helping to investigate a murder mystery for the state of North Carolina.
Talk about rapid turnarounds.
Raleigh might not be Chicago or New York City, but when it came to keeping its inhabitants on their toes, this Southern metropolis was light-years ahead of the sleepy small town where she’d grown up.
Shirley was exhausted. Even if it was only nine-thirty, she was already about to call it a night. She just hoped she wouldn’t run into Ed or his bubbly blonde girlfriend in the hallway. She was in no mood for nostrings-attached sex tonight. She was in no mood for nostrings-attached sex ever again, in fact. As fun as that part of her life had been in recent months, Shirley had learned the hard way that getting busy with everything in pants eventually came with a price. An emotional price.
She’d jumped into bed with Dr. Randall Hamm today, expecting to come away with the sense of empowerment and elation all her past impromptu trysts had gotten her—but the exact opposite had happened. Instead of helping to satisfy her cravings—whether for sex or for the man himself—this afternoon’s encounter just made her want him all the more. The satisfaction her body had enjoyed just a few hours ago was short-lived; now she was as horny and on-edge as a frustrated teenage virgin. She wanted him, needed him, had to have him—now.
Only problem was, Dr. Randall Hamm was in jail.
Damn it. Today just wasn’t her day.
Shirley walked up her apartment building’s gravel driveway, rummaging in her handbag for her keys. They’d fallen all the way to the bottom of her purse, and she was so busy trying to dig them out that she didn’t notice that someone was waiting for her on the front stoop.
“Hello, Shirley,” a familiar male voice said. A voice that stopped her dead in her tracks.
Shirley looked up, and stared into Bob Watson’s haggard, unshaven face.
“Bob? What the—“ she sputtered. Suddenly she felt faint; she had to brace herself against one of the porch pillars to keep from falling over. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in prison!”
Bob shrugged. “They let me out early. Counted the time I did awaiting trial as time served. Budget cuts, you know. With the recession, the government can’t afford to keep people in jail.”
“Get out of here,” Shirley seethed. “Get out of here before I call the police.”
“I’m not breaking the law,” he retorted. “I’m just standing here in front of my own apartment building, minding my own business.
Shirley felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “What?” she shrieked. “You live here?”
“Yup,” he said. “And why not? It’s a good location, and the rent’s cheap. ‘Sides, from what I hear from the neighbors, it’s a regular Melrose Place around here. Plenty of hot tail available whenever you want it.” He eyed her lasciviously. “So whattaya say, babe? Since you’re already givin’ it away for free to the neighbors, how ‘bout you an’ me head up to my place for old time’s sake? I’ve got a nice new waterbed.”
Shirley shivered with disgust, and choked down the bile in her throat as her stomach turned at the very thought of getting back into bed with the sleazy, slimy—not to mention totally impotent—Bob Watson. “If you think for one minute that I would even consider getting back together with you, you are beyond crazy.”
“I didn’t say anything ‘bout us getting back together babe,” Bob oozed, all slimy snake-oil salesman. “I’m just lookin’ for a quick roll in the sack. Then maybe you an’ me can talk about my latest business plan.”
Business plan? Oh that’s just great, Shirley mused to herself. What Bob Watson called business plans, the rest of the world called illegal scams. “I don’t think so, Bob. Now get out of my way. I need to get up to my apartment.”
Bob rooted his feet into the concrete. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, babe. If you want to get upstairs, you’ve gotta take me up there with you.”
Shirley ground her teeth. The audacity of this man was beyond the pale. What did she ever see in him, anyway? “Do you really want me to call the cops, Bob? Because I happen to be very good friends with a couple members of Raleigh’s finest.”
Bob laughed. “I highly doubt that,” he sneered. “You’re just as much as an ex-con as me, even if you used your fancy-dancy lawyer to buy your way outa jail. And now I hear you’re broke. Guess maybe that’s why you’re sleepin’ with everybody under the sun. You makin’ any money from that? Maybe you should.”
That did it. Shirley blew her stack. “You have no right to judge me, Bob! No right at all.” She put both hands to his chest and shoved so hard he toppled over. She dashed past him into the building and ran upstairs, cheeks burning and eyes smar
ting from humiliation. Damn it. Damn it all to hell. Not only had Ed blabbed the sordid details of their trysts to the whole universe, Bob Watson was now her neighbor, too.
There was absolutely no way she could keep living here. She would have to move. How, exactly, she had no idea. Bob was right—she was broke. She couldn’t afford to break her lease, couldn’t even afford to rent a moving van. But that was another matter for another time. Right now, she just had to get the hell out of there.
Shirley hastily packed an overnight bag and headed back outside. Thankfully, Bob had disappeared. Shirley walked to the corner, flagged a taxi, and asked the driver to take her to the nearest budget hotel.
Eighteen
Shirley sat wedged into the narrow, undersized bathtub in her $39.95 motel room at the Raleigh Budget Superlodge. The tiny tub was filled with lavender-scented suds from the bubble bath she’d brought with her from home, but the hot bath wasn’t comforting at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had cricks in her neck and back from wedging her body into far too small a space, and a splitting headache from the sound of throbbing bass and screeching rap music booming from the souped-up cars that drove through the hotel’s less-than-desirable neighborhood. The bathroom mirror was cracked, the tile was chipped and moldy. If Shirley had somewhere else to go, she would. But as the old saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers.
Even if the tiny bathroom was miserable, the motel room was worse. The whole reason Shirley had locked herself in the bathroom in the first place was to escape the sounds of the cheap one-night stands happening on the other side of her motel room’s thin paneled walls. From the sound of it, the room to her left contained a middle-aged couple doing the nasty up against a wall, and the room to her right housed a pair of young lovers just getting acquainted with each other. Under normal circumstances, the sound of overheard lovemaking would have turned Shirley on. But after all that had happened today, all it did was make her feel lonely and miserable.
Shirley’s cell phone sat perched on the side of the tub. Officer Reynolds had asked that she keep it turned on and close by at all times, in case they needed to notify her of any changes or developments in their ongoing investigation. She stared at the phone and mentally willed it to ring—not because she wanted to jump into her undercover work, but because she was desperate for any excuse to get the hell out of that hotel room.
Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy Page 32