Die Before Your Time (Elia Christie / Luis Echevarria medical mysteries)

by Polonus Mucha, Susan

  Once they were safe on the sidewalk, Elia said, “I want to call Vicente's parents.”

  “Want me to do that?”

  “I'd like to talk with them. But, yes, it would be good if you could explain the medical part.”

  “I will. Let's go back to the cottage and call them. And then we'll find something to do indoors.”

  Chapter 10

  The sun was setting when they retraced their steps to the ferry terminal. Luis pulled the schedule out of his pocket as they lined up to buy tickets.

  “Ten minutes, if it's on time,” Luis said.

  “You can set your watch by it.” A tall fellow in Bermuda shorts and sport coat stood behind them. “Sorry to pop in on your musings,” he said, “but we pride ourselves on our timely ferries. If it says 6:47, it'll be here promptly at 6:47. And it'll be off as soon as all passengers present are on board.”

  Elia looked at the large clock on the side of the building. She watched its hands creep toward the scheduled time. “Sure enough. Exactly.”

  The waiting passengers filed on board — not hurriedly, but no one dawdled. The ferry pulled away and picked up speed as it headed toward the next stop.

  “Elia, you're in another world.” They stood at the railing and watched Hamilton grow smaller.

  “Just thinking.”

  “And?”

  “If it wasn't a mistake, then it was on purpose. So I want to know why someone had to do that. I want to know who.”

  Luis leaned against the railing, crossed his arms, and squinted at Elia. “I want the same, but it's up to the police. And we don't even know if Ramsey turned it over to the police.

  “We might find something.” Elia continued to stare at Hamilton.

  “You're not writing a story, Elia. Let Ramsey and Bermuda police handle it.”

  “I want to be kept abreast.” She turned to face him, as if to stare him down.

  Luis took a deep breath. Then he held up his hands in a “stop” gesture and smiled a smile that reached his eyes. “Truce?”

  “Are you backing down from this argument, or are you conceding?”

  “Backing down.” He gave her a quick kiss then consulted his schedule again. As their stop loomed near, he checked his watch and shook his head. “Amazing. To the minute.” Elia and Luis were the only passengers disembarking. The tiny ferry station was deserted with one dim light bulb burning inside the station. It was cool as nightfall approached. A slight breeze was in the air. Elia shivered.

  “Cold?” Luis asked.

  “No. Just sad, I guess.”

  They climbed the stone steps in a comfortable silence.

  Elia's grandparents were composed when she and Luis stopped to check on them.

  “Raf talked with the authorities. We're taking Vicente home tomorrow,” Señor Amauro said.

  “I'm coming, too” Elia said.

  “No, hija. Stay in Bermuda. This is your time.”

  “But we do have a favor to ask of you,” Elia's grandmother said. She looked from Elia to Luis. “Vicente's father asked if you'd go to Charleston to arrange for someone to pack up his son's belongings.” “I told him you would. Did I do right?”

  Elia glanced at Luis before she answered. “Of course, Mamama, we'll go. I'll call Señor Pereda and tell him myself.”

  Her grandmother looked relieved. “I have his address, hija.” She handed Elia a sheet of paper. “It's not Charleston. He lived near, though. On an island. Kiawah.”

  “We'll find it, Mamama.” She took the paper and put her arm around her grandmother. “You take care of yourself. Promise me.”

  They said goodnight and then stopped to see Raf at his cottage and made plans to go to the airport with the family the next day.

  At the airport, Elia made sure her brother had her international cell phone number, then she and Luis said goodbye to their family.

  “I'm sorry about the sadness on your honeymoon, hermanita.” Raf said. “We'll take care of things in Perú.” He paused as if he wanted to say something more.

  “What is it, Raf?”

  He shook his head. “Nada. Another time.” He plastered a smile on his face.

  Elia studied his face, then gave him a hug. She shooed him toward security. “Go, big brother. Call us from Lima.” When he turned his back on them, Elia frowned. “What's on his mind?”

  “Besides the obvious?” Luis shrugged. “Maybe it's just the obvious.”

  Elia was quiet and subdued.

  “You're upset. It's only normal, Honey.”

  “Not only about Vicente. I'm always sad to say goodbye. And to send my entire family off on an airplane…” She trembled involuntarily. Her parents had been on their way to Perú for the Christmas holidays when their plane crashed over the Andes. Elia was a student at Notre Dame at the time and had planned to join them in Lima after her finals.

  Luis put his arms around his wife. “I know.”

  She drew a deep breath and said, “Luis, thanks for being understanding about my going to Lima for the funeral.”

  Luis pulled her close. “You go. I'll go home and check on Blue. He'll be glad to see me. I'll arrange for the dog sitter to stay on.”

  “And Charleston?”

  “You can fly into Charleston after the funeral; I'll drive from Augusta, pick you up at the airport, and we'll take care of Vicente's place.” He kissed her on the top of her head. “Then we'll take some time for ourselves.”

  Elia nodded. “I can fly as far as Atlanta with you, then catch the plane to Lima. When Raf gets to Perú I'll let him know when I'll be there.”

  “This'll be your first time back since…” He stopped. He knew he didn't have to say anything about their near murders in Perú. “You'll be okay?

  “I'll be okay.” Elia suddenly shivered.

  Chapter 11

  Father Rafael Christie sat across the aisle from his grandparents as they journeyed to Perú with Vicente's body. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. His fingers rubbed his neck under his Roman collar. He took a deep breath and exhaled through puffed cheeks and glanced over at his grandparents who talked quietly to each other.

  I can't talk to them. They have enough on their minds. He felt a profound sadness. He needed his dad and mom. He needed guidance. Jesus, help me. Give me wisdom. He thought of the Wise Men who followed the Star on Christmas morning. Jesus, send me my own wise man. Give me wisdom to recognize him.

  Raf had been a priest for eleven years. For most of that time, he had been in Colombia in his diocese's outreach program. Because of his Peruvian background and Spanish language skills, he was able to minister to the South American people as one of their own. Anyone not familiar with Catholics in that part of the world might have been shocked. But not Raf. He had spent his summers in Perú at his grandparents’ home and had come to realize that Catholicism in South America was often more cultural than religious.

  Funny, he saw some of that in his native Pennsylvania. You were Catholic because your parents were. But that's the way it should be: you learn from your parents. He thought of his sister in Georgia. He had visited her and observed. He got to know her pastor, another Pennsylvanian; he met many of the parishioners. The people in the South seemed grateful for their Catholic religion. Maybe because they had been discriminated against; maybe because they still are. Elia. Is she my wise man, Lord? He thought of Elia's strength, of her grace, of her faith. He fell asleep with the thought of how quickly his prayer had been answered.

  Chapter 12

  Elia and Luis took a taxi from the airport to Hamilton, a thirty-minute ride. Both seemed lost in their own thoughts.

  Elia broke the silence. “I want to stop at police headquarters while we're in Hamilton.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  The taxi ride into Hamilton skirted the ocean. The Atlantic, its many shades of blue glistening in the late morning sun, spanned the island on the left side of the road. They reached Hamilton, and the town looked festive. From balconie
s and at each street corner, Bermuda's flag was flying beside Britain's Union Jack.

  “What's going on? Why is England's flag flying everywhere? Luis asked.

  “The Queen is here. We're celebrating her visit, we are,” their driver said in his British accent. “Prince Philip is with her.”

  Most shops were shuttered and had “Welcome, Your Majesty” signs in their windows. Citizens and tourists lined the street.

  “We had heard she was visiting. That's why the people are out, to see her?” Elia asked. She turned in her seat to look out the rearview window.

  “Oh, yes. Queen watching is a grand pastime for Bermudians and visitors. That's what the queue's for. They're lining up to catch a glimpse when she rides by on her way to the House of Assembly. There's a called meeting for her. And high tea, of course, this afternoon.”

  Elia took in the shuttered shops. “That's why stores are closed?” Elia asked.

  “A holiday for the Queen's visit.” The driver turned in his seat to smile at them. His jet black eyes, a shade darker than his skin, shone with pride.

  The taxi took them up a steep hill two blocks off Front Street. The driver dropped them in front of a three-story stucco building. Its deep chocolate color gave it a look of permanence. With their backs to the front entrance, Elia and Luis could look over white roofs and see the ocean. They stepped away from the building and looked up to the top floor. As if on cue, they turned back as one and faced the water. Luis let out a slow whistle. “What a view.”

  They turned back to the building and Luis pushed open the door. They stepped into a large light and airy room. A woman officer dressed in long pants and short-sleeved white shirt stood talking with a similarly clad man. Both looked up and smiled when the door opened.

  “May we speak to the person who is handling the investigation of Vicente Pereda's death?”

  “Inspector Burnside,” said the woman. She pointed to a wide staircase at one end of the room. “Second floor, directly at the top of the stairs. I'll ring him that you're coming. Your names, please?” The officer wrote down the information and reached for the phone as Elia and Luis ascended the steps.

  On the second floor, a neat and dapper-looking man stood in the doorway of an office. He could have been Michael Jordan's clone, except for his five-foot-nine inch height. The sun's rays shone through the open windows behind him, polishing his bald pate to a high gloss. He wore a crisply starched white shirt, blue and white striped necktie, navy blue Bermuda shorts, black knee-high socks, and black oxfords.

  “Come in. I'm Inspector Alex Burnside. Your interest in Dr. Pereda?” He raised his eyebrows with his question.

  Luis extended his hand and introduced himself and Elia. “We're friends. We were with him shortly before he died.” As Luis spoke, Burnside led them to chairs in front of his desk. “And we certainly didn't expect him to die.”

  Burnside nodded with his lips pressed tight. “Please, sit down.” He stood behind his desk until they were seated. “Now, what exactly can I do foryou?” His dark eyes looked from one to the other.

  “It's about Dr. Pereda's autopsy. Would you tell us where you are?” Elia asked.

  He sat back in his chair and made a steeple under his chin with his hands. He seemed to be studying Elia.

  She could see it. Feel it. “Please forgive me,” Elia said. “But we promised Vicente's parents we'd find out what we could about his death.”

  “I see.” Burnside opened a folder on his desk and glanced at it. “You know about the hemorrhaging?”

  “We do,” Luis said. “I was with Dr. Ramsey when he got the report.”

  Again Burnside nodded. If his lips had been glued shut, they wouldn't have looked more sealed. He was silent for a few beats and looked from one to the other. Another nod, this one decisive. One more nod. “We don't know where the heparin came from, if that's what you're interested in. Every dose in the hospital pharmacy has been accounted for.”

  “Have you questioned the personnel in intensive care?” Elia asked.

  A quick frown passed over his face, but he remained silent. He glanced at Luis then returned his attention to Elia. Finally he answered and sounded annoyed. “We have.”

  “She means we wonder if the drug had been ordered for another patient but it was given by mistake to Vicente.”

  “That would certainly make my job easier.”

  “You checked. So your job isn't easy,” Luis said.

  He nodded. “We checked.”

  Elia sat forward in her chair. “He was moved to a private room after we left,” Elia said. “How about those people? And have any of the nurses been cited for medication errors? I suppose you checked backgrounds of all personnel?”

  Luis turned in his chair to look at his wife. A slight shake of his head and an almost imperceptible smile followed. She sounded just as she had when he first met her when she was digging for facts to write the story about the murder at Augusta National.

  “One thing at a time, Mrs. Echevarria.” Now he looked annoyed.

  “Look,” Luis jumped in ahead of Elia, “this is a medication that could only have been given by mistake if it had been ordered for another patient and given to Vicente.”

  “Luis, they checked. Are you thinking it might have been a mistake, after all?” Elia said.

  “Just the opposite.” Luis looked at Burnside. “If every dose has been accounted for…”

  Burnside pushed back from his desk and stood before Luis could finish his sentence. “If you'll excuse me, I have work to catch up on. Enjoy our island and let us handle this. I assure you we are quite capable.”

  “But you won't mind if we keep in touch?” Elia asked.

  “I'll look forward to it.” Burnside held the door.

  Elia and Luis descended the stairs, and Burnside stood at the top watching them until they were out of the station.

  “He certainly let us know that meeting was over,” Luis said. They crossed the street and started down the hill. “You were kind of pushy in there, you know.”

  “You pushed a bit yourself. But he was too sensitive. All about turf.” Elia dug in her purse for her phone and notebook. “Like who are we? And why don't we mind our own business.” She rifled through the pages, then started dialing. “He has no idea.”

  “Who're you calling?” Luis asked.

  Before Elia could answer, she was speaking into the phone. “Dr. Riser? This is Elia Christie. I'm glad I caught you; I was afraid you might still be in your meeting. I wanted to let you know that my brother and grandparents are taking Vicente home to Perú.” She was silent while Riser asked her a question.

  “Nothing. The police are investigating. It's about the medication he was given, but they're not telling us much.”

  As he spoke she gave the universal signal with her hand that he was saying something she didn't want to hear again. “I know, I know. Luis said the same thing. Too early.” She stuck her tongue out at her husband.

  She listened again to Riser on the other end of the line. She looked at Luis. “Let me check. Hold on.”

  Elia put her phone on mute. “He's invited us to go sailing and scuba diving this afternoon. What do you think?”

  They had stopped walking and stood in front of one more closed-for-the-Queen shop.

  “If you want to.” His raised eyebrows, and hand gestures punctuated his words.

  She nodded. “I'm fine with it.”

  They made plans to meet in two hours at the docks in Hamilton. They caught a taxi to their cottage, changed into bathing suits, shorts and tennis shoes and arrived back in Hamilton in time to stop in the dive shop.

  Chapter 13

  “There's Dr. Riser.” Elia pointed to a sailboat as Riser jumped to the dock and walked toward them. The boat held Elia s attention. It was built of teakwood and polished to a rich luster and looked sleek and fast. Two men were rigging the sails and mast.

  “Come on board,” said Riser. His thick glasses had been replaced with equally thick
tinted ones. “We're sailing with a fellow from Pavnor Pharmaceuticals and a friend of ours who sailed this boat over from Charleston. Nice, isn't she?”

  A woman stood on deck watching them as they approached. “And this is my wife, Bonnie.” Riser reached for his wife's hand. She was almost as tall as her husband. Her hair looked golden in the sunlight and her skin was tanned.

  “I'm happy to meet you. Jake told me of your horrible loss. I'm so sorry.” Her smile had turned to a concerned frown and her forehead crinkled into furrows deep as ruts.

  “Thank you. Dr. Riser, how nice that your wife's here,” Elia said.

  “Please. Jake, Bonnie,” Riser said.

  “And we're Elia and Luis,” Elia said gesturing to Luis. “Bonnie, it's nice you're here,” she repeated.

  “He couldn't keep me away from Bermuda.”

  “Bonnie's interested in our conference.”

  “Well, hardly. But I do try to keep abreast of things. Jake tells me you're from Augusta.” She looked at Luis. I know you're not. Your accent. From?”

  “Perú. Lima.”

  “Oh, I see. Dr. Pereda.” She turned to Elia. “Andyour accent isn't southern.”

  “Not yet. I haven't lived in Augusta long enough. I'm originally from Pittsburgh with a lot of time spent in Perú.” She took a deep breath. “That's how I know — knew Vicente.”

  “Oh, yes.” She didn't sound particularly interested and quickly changed the subject. “Pittsburgh. Know it well. I went to college close by. Near where the plane crashed on 9-11.”

  She took Elia's arm. “So, we have something in common. Come with me. Let's introduce you to our hosts.”

  “They were in the yacht race? I read about it,” Luis said.

  Riser laughed. “Hah! That's too much work for these fellows.” He narrowed his eyes, as if in thought. “But they are very competitive.”

  “Frank Hanssen. And this is Aaron Scharff.” Hanssen stuck his hand out. He was gangly, looked about forty, and had neatly trimmed sun-bleached hair. Scharff was a young fifty with dark hair and a mustache flecked with gray. His nose dominated his tanned face. He wore a golf shirt with the Pavnor logo embroidered on the left sleeve.