"No she's not," Janice countered sharply from where she was sliding the identification bracelet around the patient's wrist proclaiming him Mr. B. until they could get his papers completely filled out. "I just put her in the waiting room."
Everybody looked up. Then they looked at Mr. B.
"I don't think that's the wife," the secretary said. "She was just on the phone."
Abe turned to Janice from where he was pulling a sterile towel from a pacemaker kit. "Is your wife young, blond, and have a lot of makeup?"
Janice nodded. "Yeah."
She was met by a chorus. "Then that's not the wife."
"Oh, shit," she groaned, swinging for the door. "I just gave her his wallet."
"He never had a chance to get his pants off," Abe mourned, bending over the dusky chest and probing for the subclavian vein. "Just think, he hadn't even come and he was gone."
But the surprises weren't over. Janice had just walked back into the room clutching Mr. B's wallet when Marva let out a howl.
"Watch out. We got a fashion alert."
She'd been setting up to insert a catheter. When she'd pulled at his trousers, she'd unearthed Mr. B's real secret.
"Sweet Jesus have mercy," she crooned in wonder.
"Leopard skin," Abe mused with a shake of his head. "It doesn't go with the black lace at all."
"Your beast would look lovely sheathed in all those spots, Abe," the X-ray tech offered.
"You'd need bigger spots," Casey retorted.
"Much bigger," Michael agreed from where he was assisting Abe.
"Check that woman out there and see if she's missin' some nylons and a garter belt," Marva demanded.
Uncapping the blood drawer's syringe from her line and hooking up the IV, Casey couldn't stop chuckling. She'd wondered sometimes what Ed would look like in twenty years. She'd been right. It wouldn't have been worth sticking around for.
Janice shook her head, her gaze brushing past Casey's and then away before either could react. "Those aren't hers," she announced with some disdain. "She has better taste."
"Where the hell did he get one that wide?" the paramedic demanded, still pumping, his only reaction a funny gurgling noise in his throat as he tried to keep from laughing on top of his patient.
Casey uncapped the epi with her teeth and began to push. "Check his wife when she comes in."
Marva didn't have the slightest compunction about laughing. "Well, what do I do now?"
"You want help?" Abe countered, still probing around in doughy flesh in an attempt to insert the catheter for the pacer. "I'm real good at getting garters loose."
"I'm sure he'd be thrilled."
Abe went on probing without success. "I got news for you. He's never going to be thrilled again."
"Serves him right," Janice announced from the door with surprising conviction. "If I were his wife, I'd bury him in the damn things. Face down, just like he died. In an open coffin."
"I'd pay to see it," Abe retorted, not really paying attention.
Casey wasn't so blithe. She looked up from pushing drugs to catch the flare of pain in Janice's eyes. Their gazes locked for just a moment, tight and significant across the jumble of staff and equipment.
Casey had forgotten. In everything else that had gone on in the last few weeks, she'd shoved Janice to the background. This time she didn't feel guilty, though. She felt frustrated. Yet another problem, another friend in need of help. Another burden.
They had no sooner called the code when Janice waylaid her. Marva was finishing notes and Casey was pulling equipment.
"Casey," Janice asked, her hands restless. "Are you doing anything for lunch tomorrow?"
Now Casey did feel guilty. She looked up to see the fresh turmoil in Janice's eyes and realized that she was grateful that she had an excuse.
"Oh, I can't Jan," she hedged, knowing Janice wanted to talk about marriage and divorce and decisions. "I'm having lunch with some of Izzy's nurses tomorrow."
Janice, who had never faltered before any situation, who had always remained as poised as a duchess amid the muck and mire of the halls, hesitated. She shifted on her feet, took a shaky breath. She picked at one of her perfect nails, and Casey knew the trouble was big.
"How 'bout after work tomorrow?" she capitulated. "I'm not scheduled for any all-night novenas or anything."
Janice only allowed a brief nod of relief before turning back to work.
In parting she offered a grin toward the still semiclad body on the cart. "It's impressive in person."
Casey grinned back. "Even more impressive in action."
Marva waited only long enough to see the door swing shut behind Janice. "What Isidore nurses?" she demanded without looking up from her work.
Casey went back to hers, preparing the body for transport down to the morgue. "Some of the OB crew. We're talking about a memorial of some kind for Evelyn."
She must not have sounded nonchalant enough. Marva anticipated her again. "Evelyn your friend who was murdered? That Evelyn?"
Casey refused to look up. "Uh huh."
"The one who was murdered right before you took to reading all the police reports in the paper."
"That's her."
"And you're gonna talk about her memorial."
"That's right."
"You're talkin' about trouble," Marva countered fiercely. "Aren't you?"
Casey tried her best to be offhand. "Yeah, well, you know me. Never satisfied to be gainfully employed and well thought of by my betters."
Marva gave her head a slow, mournful shake. "You really convinced, aren't you? You think Hunsacker's poppin' people in the streets."
Casey suddenly understood the look in Janice's eyes a minute ago. It had been the need to share, to confess. She had it now herself. She wanted somebody else to know what she suspected. Somebody besides a cop who didn't know her, didn't trust her, and probably wouldn't do anything about what she brought him.
"I know for a fact that there are two women from Izzy's who had big arguments with Hunsacker and then died or disappeared," she said. "And a third, the hooker I was reading about the other day when he came in..." Casey drew a breath, looked around. Both doors were closed. Nobody could hear her. Still, she thought her voice was too loud. "Grapevine has it that he was seeing her."
"And you think he killed her."
This time Casey didn't flinch from Marva's hard brown eyes. "I think he killed her."
"The same man who cried for an hour after losing that little girl."
"Hitler liked dogs, Marva. How do I know what makes Hunsacker tick? He's... there's something about him I can't explain."
"That only you can see."
Now it was Casey's turn to be hard. "How many pelvics have you done with him?"
"A few, why?"
"Tell me, is he gentle? Does he warm up the speculum and wait if his lady's afraid and go in real gentle so he doesn't hurt her?"
Marva's eyes gave her away. She'd seen it, too. "Lots of OBs are assholes. It doesn't make them killers."
Casey straightened, faced her friend with her suspicions, the dread that only a woman could understand, the intangible that made most sense to her. "He does a pelvic on every woman he sees. No matter what. And not out of concern, Marva. I think it's his way of controlling them. Of violating them without their even knowing it. They come to him to be hurt. They ask for it. They cave in to that smile and then let him abuse them, and nobody says a thing. Evelyn heard he'd been doing the three-finger special."
Marva battled Casey's words in silence, the repugnance of her accusations tightening the black woman's features and drawing her mouth into a taut line of contention.
"It's still not murder," she countered, struggling to hold on to her neutrality.
"It's a symptom. So is murder. At first, I thought he was just your garden-variety sociopath. You know, amoral, manipulative, that kind of thing. God knows, we got enough of 'em in medicine, one more wouldn't be noticed. But I'm telling you, Marva
, I'm beginning to think he's a grade-A psychopath. Serious stuff. Real serious stuff. He really gets off on not just controlling people, but hurting them. If you think I'm completely nuts, tell me so. If not, just don't rat on me. I need to find out."
"Baby." Marva sighed, a hand out in commiseration. "You ain't nuts. Not like that. But you is the stupidest creature alive if you think this man's so bad and you still want to go after him."
Fortified by her friend's understanding, Casey offered a smile in return. "I won't argue with you there. I'd rather be back home knitting altar cloths. But I'll be damned if I can let him get away with it."
Marva reclaimed her hand and bestowed another shake of the head. "Jus' as long as you don't know my name when the administration interrogates you."
Casey grinned. "Whose name?"
"You still have to work with him," Marva said. "How you gonna do that?"
Casey took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Hold my tongue and hope he doesn't smell me sweat."
He did smell her sweat. He must have smelled it all the way down the hall, because the minute Casey opened the door from that room, he turned where he stood at the far end and smiled at her.
Casey was getting tired of the way her chest caved in when he did that. She wanted to get a good breath again, and knew she wouldn't until he left the work lane. She wanted to be able to get through a day where her hands didn't sweat and she didn't feel as if somebody had just stripped her bare in public.
And to think that it was just all beginning.
That ubiquitous little notebook in his hands, he strolled toward her. Casey scuttled over to the supply cart and began filling her arms with equipment to resupply her room. She could feel him approach, heard his footsteps like the lap of a deadly flood at her doorstep. Still she worked, crouched down to pull out catheter kits, fighting to overcome the urge to look around, to look up and discover that he knew she'd gone to the police.
Then the back of her neck signaled his proximity. She climbed back to her feet, unwilling to allow him a superior position.
"Been a busy night, I hear," he greeted her, with a smile that put Casey in mind of Pussy in sight of a mouse.
Casey clutched her equipment and straightened, willing herself to answer his smile with a cool one of her own. "You weren't in the lounge talking about how quiet it had been today, were you?"
It seemed he wasn't in the mood for small talk. His eyes promised meaning beyond his words, teased and tormented like a lover holding a surprise behind his back.
"Have there been any more good murders?"
Casey almost dropped the IVs. Instead she fixed her smile in place and headed back to the room. "I don't know," she answered, her own audacity clogging in her throat. "Have there?"
Hunsacker reached across her to push the door open. Casey balked at his proximity. She didn't want to accidentally brush against him, or let him close enough to sense the adrenaline that throbbed through her. Yet she couldn't afford to falter.
"Thanks," she allowed and glided past him, her breath dead still in her chest.
Still insulated in the now-silent room, Marva looked up. Casey saw the brief flash of surprise in her eyes, the retreat as she bent back over her notes.
"Good grief." Hunsacker grinned at the sight on the table. "Abe said something about an affair to remember, but you really get the full effect in person, don't you?"
"We ain't chargin' admission here," Marva announced without looking up.
Casey dropped her load on the counter and went to better cover the patient. Hunsacker didn't move from the door.
"I was over at St. Isidore's the other day," he said to her, his voice caressing her like a soft hand. "Understand you were married to Ed Baker."
Casey reacted before she thought of it, spinning around to face him. She saw him glance over to where the garish leopard-skin and lace attire lay hidden beneath the drab green sheet.
"Nice guy," he said. Then Hunsacker lifted his gaze to Casey and let it rest there, his new smile feral and knowing. Before Casey could think to counterattack, he walked out.
Casey couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. Outrage spilled through her like hot lye. Fury, frustration. Impotence. She'd just been violated as surely as if he'd had his hands on her, and nobody had known it. He'd just slid a knife in her and slipped out the door.
Damn him. Goddamn him. How did he find out about Ed? How did he know about their marriage, and why taunt her with it? And if he knew about that, what else did he know?
"Casey?"
Casey didn't even hear Marva's concern. She couldn't drag her eyes away from the closed door. "Casey, honey, what happened?"
Casey flinched at Marva's touch. Startled, she looked up to remember that her friend had witnessed Hunsacker's actions. Marva had overheard a threat she didn't understand.
"Sweet Jesus, girl, you look like you daddy just came back from the dead."
Casey shook her head, struggling to voice her distress. Tears blurred her vision. She couldn't make Marva understand the poison in Hunsacker's words unless she explained about Ed. And that was just too much for her right now.
"He knows," she said instead, suddenly certain. "Hunsacker knows I suspect him."
Chapter 9
Barb slapped open the door. "What are you guys doin' in here," she demanded, the cacophony of a full work lane spilling in behind her. "Getting fashion tips?"
"Get out," Marva commanded, her hand on Casey's arm, her eyes never leaving Casey's stony face.
Barb stiffened with outrage. "Don't you give me—"
Now Marva did lift her gaze and it landed square on Barb. "I said get out."
Barb got out. Casey barely heard her. She was still trying to settle down, trying her best to regain control over her temper.
"Now," Marva said quietly, still holding Casey in place, Mr. B a mute witness over her shoulder. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"
"I wondered before," Casey admitted with a shaky breath. "Whether he knew I suspected him. I'm sure he does now. He just... I think he gave me a kind of warning."
Marva looked around her as if she'd missed something and could still find it amid the litter of the code. "Warning? What about?"
Casey's smile was grim. Poor Ed. He wasn't getting any anonymity tonight. "Remember the underpants on our friend there?"
"So?"
"Ed has much worse taste. He buys his lacy things at Frederick's."
Marva took another look at the anonymous mass on the cart, and then back to Casey. "Sweet Jesus."
"Nobody knows. I mean nobody. Hunsacker just told me that that's all changed. I think it was a threat about what kind of adversary he's going to be."
"What are you gonna do?"
Casey took the time to drag in a few more breaths. She focused on the red of the needle disposal box at the back of the counter. "I don't know," she admitted in a small voice.
"Tell Tom," Marva insisted, her grip tightening.
Casey swung on her. "Tell him what?" she demanded. "That Hunsacker knows my ex-husband liked pretty things more than I did? Tell him that I think Hunsacker's offing nurses who piss him off, and that now he knows I know? You tell me, Marva. What is Tom going to say to that?"
"But he threatened you, girl."
"You were standing right there. Did it sound like a threat to you?"
"The look on your face sure sounded like he gave you a threat."
Casey shook her head, knowing she had no choice. Caught tight between her suspicions and Hunsacker's power over her, Casey knew she had no one who could help her.
The door swung open behind her. "I can't field a team with only one player," Tom announced in a clipped voice.
"Listen, Tom—" Marva started.
Casey silenced her. "We'll be right out," she said. "We were just cleaning up."
"You aren't the only two players on the team," he threatened. "Just remember, Keith Hernandez was traded, and you can be, too."
Casey looked up to
see the pique in his eyes and knew just how far a complaint to him would go. She already had a reputation as a shit-disturber. All she'd need was to lodge a complaint against the hospital's favorite doctor and she'd land on her butt in the proverbial snow. Especially since it seemed the doctor in question knew just how to play this game.
All Casey could do was learn to play it better.
"Dr. Hunsacker was asking me about somebody I knew over at St. Isidore's," Casey lied with an utter sincerity that threatened to make her nauseous. "A nurse who was murdered. We're thinking of setting up a memorial fund for her, and he wanted to know about it. I'm sorry, Tom."
His posture of vexation crumbled halfway through her little speech. By the time she offered him a wan smile, he was ready to reach into his own pocket.
"Oh, that's fine, Casey. I'm sorry," he conceded. "Barb just didn't know what you were so upset about. It's tough when you have to, you know, bang the drum slowly for a teammate."
Casey was glad he left then. She didn't want to laugh in his face.
"Thank God he's off the work lanes." Marva chortled. "Can you imagine him dishin' that kinda crap to Mrs. B out there? He'd get to the part about banging' slowly and find himself airborne."
Casey shared the laughter. "God, he's getting bad. Now he's using clichés from baseball movies. Next we'll hear how he's the luckiest guy in the world."
Marva shook her head, amazed. "How did you do that? You switched gears so fast I got left in the dirt."
Casey's smile died into real sincerity, the kind that darkened her features into conviction. "I've decided to study the Handbook of Social Success by Dr. Dale Hunsacker. I won't be able to outdistance him if I'm thrown out of the race."
Marva stared. "You're serious. You're not going to quit?"
Casey turned back to finishing her job. "I've already been screwed. The least I can do is deserve it."
* * *
Casey wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to get out of her lunch with Betty Fernandez. She needed to keep some kind of contact with St. Isidore's, since any information she could get about Evelyn or Wanda would have to come through that particular grapevine. She needed to hear another view of Hunsacker. Maybe he didn't sit so high over at Izzy's where they had some real doctors. Maybe somebody else over there saw him for what he was.
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