Silent Treatment
Page 44
“An argument?”
Perhaps.
“And the water in his lungs and stomach?”
“I’m waiting for—”
“Home is the hunter, home from the kill. Oh, hi, Joe.”
“It’s home from the hill, Brad,” Nikki said. “Did you pick up the package?”
“I did. What do you need chlorine test strips for?”
“I think your tubber,’ as you so quaintly put it, actually drowned in a pool.”
“But then, how did … murdered?”
“You are exceedingly sharp,” Nikki said. “No wonder they named you Brad.”
She dipped one of the strips into the water in Belanger’s stomach. In seconds the tiny indicator square had turned faint purple.
“I am most impressed,” Keller said. “I shall call our friends at the stationhouse and let them know. This is quite fascinating … quite fascinating indeed,”
He limped back to his office.
“Good thing I insisted you do a full autopsy on this guy,” Brad said.
Nikki glared at the man but honestly couldn’t tell if he was being serious. The overhead speaker kept her from finding out.
“Dr. Solari, are you still in there?”
“Yes, Ruth, I’m here.”
“There’s an outside call for you. I’m going to transfer it.”
Seconds later the wail phone rang. Brad held his ground as she passed, forcing her to squeeze between him and Belanger’s autopsy table.
“Grow up,” she said as she passed.
“She digs me,” Brad said.
This time Nikki ignored him.
“Pathology, this is Dr. Solari.”
“Nikki?”
Nikki felt her heart stop.
“Kath, where are you, honey? Are you all right?”
Kathy Wilson’s voice was that of a small child.
“Nikki, I’m so cold.… They’re after me and I’m so cold.”
There were traffic noises in the background, now a car horn. She was calling from a pay phone.
“Kathy, stay calm. I’m going to help you. You’re going to be all right.”
“Why are they trying to kill me, Nik?… Why am I so cold?”
“Hey, what gives?” Brad Cummings asked.
Nikki snapped a finger against her lips, then waved him out of the room.
“Get out,” she mouthed.
“Okay, okay. You know, you’re really very touchy today. You must be having your—”
“Out!” This time she shouted the word. Pouting theatrically Cummings left. “Kathy, listen, just tell me where you are and I’ll come right over and get you.… Kath?”
“You’re just like all the others, Nikki. You want my music to stop.… Is that why they’re after me? Because they want my music to stop?”
Her singsong voice was haunting and vague. Nikki imagined her on some street corner, huddled at a pay-phone kiosk in the pouring rain. She cast about for some way to alert the police and maybe have this call traced.
“Kathy,” she tried, “look around and tell me what you see.”
“Nikki … Nikki … Nikki. You sent them, didn’t you? You sent them to silence my music. I’ll get you for this, Nikki. I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I love you, Kathy. You’re my friend. I would never do anything to hurt you. In your heart you know that. Honey, you’re not thinking clearly right now. You’ve got to come home. Let me help you.”
“Help … me …”
There was a prolonged silence, then nothing.
“Kathy?”
Nikki waited for thirty seconds before slowly setting the receiver in its cradle. Then, making no attempt to deal with the cadaver of Roger Belanger, she burst into tears and raced from the room.