by Opal Carew
Her colleagues. The people who would decide whether or not she could remain on staff as a doctor.
Needing distance from him, she took a step back and inched her head up to meet his gaze, refusing to be cowed. His light blue eyes chilled at her actions and the muscles of his jaw clenched tight. She knew she needed to avoid confrontation at all costs. Especially now when Mick and his guest needed her help, but she would not let him control her with fear any longer.
“I wanted to check up on one of my patients before rounds,” Liliana finally answered.
“Is that right?” He took a small step toward her, the tightness of his body causing an instinctive response in her to avoid the threatening gesture. Unfortunately the wall was at her back and he had effectively cut off any forward retreat.
Stiffening her spine and pulling back her shoulders, she tilted her head and defended herself in the only way she could at that moment. Calmly she said, “Do you really want to do this here and give the hospital even more to gossip about?”
He narrowed his eyes, considering her.
“What do you mean? Gossip?”
The squeak of a rubber-soled shoe on the gleaming tile floor intruded.
Chapter 12
Harrison’s head snapped around and as the nurse turned the corner and came into view, he took a step away from Liliana. With that step, his entire persona morphed.
“See you at home later, honey,” he said, the tones of his voice light and cheerful. A movie star bright smile on his face.
She barely controlled the flinch when he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead and sauntered away with that phony smile.
“Morning, Nurse Edmonds,” he said, his tones almost too friendly.
The nurse nodded curtly and shot a chill look at Harrison. As Liliana stopped at the nurse’s station to slip the patient’s chart into the chart rack, the nurse offered her a warmer greeting. “Good morning, Dr. Carrera.”
When the nurse’s gaze met hers for one brief second, understanding blossomed there.
“Good morning, Sara. How is Mrs. Rodriguez this afternoon?”
“Better than you are, I suspect,” she said beneath her breath, removed the Rodriguez chart from the rack, and handed it to Liliana.
Liliana buried her gaze in the papers, reviewing the patient’s vitals and progress. “Looks good. I’m going to pop in and check on our patient.”
“By the way. Dr. Rojas was looking for you. She came up to the floor about half an hour ago.”
With a quick nod, she walked away, chart in hand to see to her patient, but all the time wondering what Carmen could want since her friend hadn’t been expecting the results of any of the other tests any time soon.
At the patient’s door, she stopped to see if Mrs. Rodriguez was awake. The hip replacement surgery had gone well, but had taxed the older woman.
When Mrs. Rodriquez noticed her waiting by the door, she grinned happily and waved her in. “Come in, niña.”
The welcome on the older woman’s face filled her with satisfaction and confirmed yet again the reason why she had gone into medicine.
Something which whoever had worked on Mick’s friend seemed to have forgotten.
* * *
Continuing his investigation was being hampered by having to babysit the unpredictable Ms. Shaw.
Luckily his sister’s schedule had some freedom for the next few days. In the meantime, Mick had figured out what to do to keep Caterina contained which was why he was waiting for his cousin Ramon. Sheriff Ramon Gonzalez now that he was all grown up. Head of one of the local police departments.
Ramon had agreed to meet him at the Dunkin Donuts in Belmar which was buzzing with an assortment of the resident clam-diggers and the Bennies who rented shore homes in town during the summer months, inflating the town’s population and filling many of the local shops along Ocean Avenue.
The Dunkin Donuts was crowded, but far enough away from his usual haunts that it was safe to meet Ramon there.
At Mick’s request, Ramon was dressed in civvies to avoid attracting attention. His cousin slipped onto the cement bench opposite him at the outdoor table where Mick had settled down to wait for him. On top of the table – Ramon’s favorites: black coffee with a chocolate frosted donut.
As his cousin noted the treat, his eyes lit up with joy, reminding Mick of a younger Ramon when they were children.
“Thanks, mano.” He picked up the paper cup and took a sip, wincing at the heat of the coffee. His hand was headed for the donut when Mick stopped him.
“Did you bring what I asked?” Mick said.
Ramon rolled his eyes. “When you called me, I thought, Miguelito is finally going to do the right thing and join the force.”
Mick shook his head. “You know that I can’t consider joining the force – “
“On account of your parents? Because of the money they need?” Ramon immediately challenged. He braced his hands on the edge of the thick cement tabletop and leaned forward. “They’re almost finished paying off that bank loan. You don’t need to keep on sacrificing what you want – “
“No sacrifice, Ramon. It’s what I like to do,” he replied and picked up his own cup of coffee to take a sip.
“Bullshit, mano. You were always a White Hat. You can’t have changed that much over the years.”
A White Hat, he thought, clenching his jaw to contain a retort. If he was, that hat was way muddied and grey in spots. Life had taught him nothing was ever black or white.
“Did you bring what I asked?” Mick repeated.
Ramon looked from side-to-side, clearly cautious. Then he plopped a plastic bag from a local grocery store on top of the table. “Everything you need is in the bag, but if you get caught – “
“I’ll explain how I stole it from your police station. Does Mabel still leave the women’s bathroom window open so she can sneak a smoke?”
Ramon shook his head and in a chiding tone said, “Mabel retired last year. You might have known that if you came to visit more often.”
Mick knew that Ramon wasn’t just talking about visiting the people he had befriended while working as an EMT for the town. Ramon was guilting him about visiting his family more often.
He raised his hands and held them out in a now you see me gesture. “I’m here.”
Ramon rolled his eyes again, picked up the donut, and took a big bite. Gesturing to him with the half-eaten confection, he said, “You’re here and I bet you haven’t called your mom. You know that the last thing you want is to have your mom show up at your door uninvited.”
Mick could well imagine it. His loving, but demanding mother descending on his home in the midst of this mess with Shaw. He could picture his captive going all camo in front of his mother. Hell, he wished he could hide out when his mother was on one of her missions.
Snagging the plastic bag from the middle of the table, he opened it and peeked within. Inside was the electronic monitoring device he had requested as well as a small piece of paper. He didn’t need to look at the paper to know it held information on how to access the system to activate and track the ankle bracelet he planned on clamping on his captive.
“Thanks. What do you know about McMahon and Hernandez?”
Ramon took another sip of his coffee. “The two detectives manning the Wells murder?”
Mick nodded and Ramon continued. “Straight-up guys. Capable, but they’re stuck waiting for the state lab guys to process the evidence.”
“So they can’t release the crime scene yet?” Mick said with a smile.
“Not for another day or two. What’s your interest in the case?” Ramon asked, not that Mick intended to answer.
Instead he stood, grabbed the bag and jiggled it as he said, “Thanks again. Could I ask you to do me one more favor?”
Ramon grew serious and once again perused the area around them before he said, “You name it.”
Mick nodded, leaned forward and whispered, “Keep mom away for the next few days.”
* * *
He hadn’t been gone for long. Not more than an hour. The beep beep beep of the alarm system announced his return.
Caterina wondered where he had been while she lay tied to the bed, the soft strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons playing in the background. Her one hand moving against imaginary strings, recalling how to play the piece.
Summer was playing. Somehow appropriate. She couldn’t remember how long she had been in the Wardwell facilities, but recalling the heat and humidity after she had escaped, she definitely knew it was summer now.
Noise came from downstairs. His voice. Muted from the distance between her room and where ever he was on the lower floor.
Then silence.
A few seconds later she heard his tread on the stairs. Surprisingly light. She caught a glimpse of him through the open doorway as he climbed up the stairs and then he was at the entrance to the room.
He said nothing as he entered, walked to the chair and sat, a plastic bag in his hand. Opening the bag, he slipped a small piece of paper into the pocket of the button-down shirt he wore and then removed a coil of something thin and metallic-looking.
He rose, stepped to the foot of the bed and roughly grabbed hold of her heel. Held it steady as he slipped the coil around her ankle, joined the two ends and then twisted them to secure it to her leg.
“What is that?” she asked.
“An electronic monitoring device. If you attempt to leave the area, it’ll warn me. If you continue beyond the perimeter of the house, I’ll still be able to track you down and I will.”
Caterina stared at him hard, anger vibrating through her body at his threat.
“I’m not a monster,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
“Prove it. Let me go.”
Chapter 13
Surprise and a pleased smile flickered across the harshly chiseled lines of his face before he reined himself in. “No can do.”
He returned to the chair, stared at her intently as he said, “I have to go, but I won’t be gone long. Don’t think of running away.”
She watched him leave and immediately tugged at her restraints. Futile. The bindings held, softer against her skin than those that Wardwell had used, but no less confining.
She was imprisoned again and judging by what she knew of the hard-faced man so far, escaping him would not be easy.
And still she tried, pulling at the restraints and imagining how far she could run before he caught her again.
* * *
Mick parked the Jeep in the visitor section, taking a moment to survey the three different wings of the Wardwell facilities.
The center wing held all the corporate staff and security. It was where he had met with Edwards the other day.
The wing to the left of that housed the sterile lab areas responsible for creating the cloning products and tests Wardwell manufactured while the wing to the right held the medical complex where Caterina and the other patients were housed.
He left his Jeep and entered the center wing where he stopped for a moment to check out the guards at the security desk. As he had hoped, a different set of guards was on duty in the later afternoon hours than had been present when he had visited the other morning. If not, he would have returned to his Jeep before approaching and added a disguise.
He sauntered up to the desk and waited for the guard to acknowledge him.
The ill-fitting suit was tight across Mick’s shoulders and the starch in the collar of the shirt had chafed a spot on his throat raw, but the outfit certainly screamed underpaid cop.
When the guard finally looked up from his papers, Mick reached into the suit jacket pocket and flashed a fake badge from the local police department. Fake, but good enough to pass scrutiny.
“Detective Ramirez,” Mick said and tucked the badge back into his jacket pocket.
“I thought you guys were done already,” the guard asked even while he was pushing forward the log book for him to sign.
Mick scrawled a name in the visitor book along with a time as he answered, “State lab boys needed another sample. Asked me to come down and get it so they can finish up their investigation and release the crime scene.”
He held up a briefcase as if to confirm that he intended to put the evidence within it.
The security guard nodded and handed over a visitor’s badge. “Third door on the right. Then go through the breezeway into the next wing and follow the hall to the very end. You’ll need the badge to open all the doors.”
Mick shot him a quick salute and did as the man said, swiping the badge at the door to access the breezeway before he walked down to the end of the hall. Even if there hadn’t been crime scene tape everywhere, a quick peek through the glass panel in the door would have confirmed that something major had gone on in the room.
Blood spatter marred the walls and a larger splotch stained a spot in the center of the floor. Pieces of lab furniture, shattered beakers, microscopes and other equipment, littered the room. Across the room, large pieces of plywood closed off what had once been a large plate glass window.
Mick slipped beneath the crime scene tape, swiped the card to open the door, and entered the laboratory where he took photos with a camera and made mental notes of everything in the room, including the destruction in various areas. Then he strode to the lateral file cabinets along the far wall. The doors of the cabinets were dented and blood-splattered.
He cracked open the first drawer. Lots of files, but with very few papers. The second drawer was more of the same.
The next lateral file was locked.
He removed a locksmith’s pick from his suit jacket pocket, slipped it into the opening. A few pokes and twists and the lock on the cabinet popped out with a ka-thunk.
Patient files filled the top drawer. Files with red labels which read “Terminated” took up the bulk of the space. The name on the last file in the cabinet was Jenkins.
He closed the drawer and opened up the second one.
Bingo. Shaw’s file was smack in the middle. He removed it and for good measure, grabbed two of the nearby files with the troublesome “Terminated” stickers.
He tucked the files into the briefcase and locked the cabinet, returning it to its original state. He hurried back out into the hallway and as he did so, a woman in scrubs turned the corner and headed toward him.
When she realized he was by the door to the lab, she paused, clearly uncertain.
“Detective Ramirez,” he said, reached into his jacket and extracted the badge.
She nodded and he said, “Do you work here? In the lab?”
“I did until Dr. Wells was murdered. They’ve closed up the facility for now,” the woman said, fingering the hem of her shirt nervously. She motioned to another door further up the hall. “I was just going to pick up some samples in there.”
“Where are the patients?” he asked.
The woman shrugged. “Gone. Dr. Edwards thought it would be better to move them away from the violence.”
And away from anyone who could question them about what really went on the night Wells was murdered, he thought. Edwards was certainly trying to cover up the incident. Since it had been two days since they had met, he wondered why his client hadn’t already called him about the progress he was making on the case.
“Thank you for your time,” he said and with a polite bob of his head, he exited the Wardwell facilities.
Outside the building, he hurried around the exterior of the structure to the spot where Caterina had supposedly made her escape by tossing a heavy piece of lab equipment through the glass. Several large pieces of plywood sealed off the damage.
He bent down and examined the base of the makeshift plywood barrier and bits of broken window glass glinted in the sunlight.
Very little glass.
Someone might have cleaned up, but if the glass had shattered as badly as indicated in the police reports, he would have expected a fairly large area where bits of the window glass would have
been broadcast by the force of the blow.
He stood and surveyed the area in a six foot or so radius from the window.
Nothing, which didn’t seem possible to him even if someone had cleaned up. Human nature being what it was, they would have focused on the area close to the window and likely missed the farthest most pieces scattered by the impact.
The lack of glass raised another possibility in his mind – that the window had been broken from the outside, spewing bits of window glass inward.
He made a note to review the police reports again when he returned home.
The files in the briefcase were heavy, dragging at his arm as he rushed back to his car. Dragging on his conscience as he recalled how many red “Terminated” labels there had been in the two drawers.
If either he or Franklin had completed their mission, would Shaw have been the next patient with the “Terminated” designation?
He intended to find out just what that status meant and who it was that responsible for the deaths of so many.
* * *
Mick paced the length of the living room in his home, his booted feet sounding loudly on the polished wood floors, making him wish for once that he had put carpet down. The carpet would have muffled the sound, but then again, it would also provide stealth to an intruder.
Not that he had ever meant for his chosen profession to intrude in this place, even though he had secured this home as thoroughly as he had his apartment/office.
A car door slammed outside and he went to the door and peered out the spyglass.
Liliana was hurrying up the walk, medical bag in hand once again together with a white paper bag with the familiar logo for his family’s Mexican restaurant. His stomach growled in anticipation of what was in the bag, although acknowledging his hunger was tempered by his responsibility for the young woman tied to the bed upstairs.