Lancaster County Target

by Kit Wilkinson

  Abby had plenty of her own, as well.

  “Your cats returned to the house soon after you left. One of my officers fed them,” the chief said. “And other than the mess in your clinic and the missing epi-packs you reported, the house looked untouched. We didn’t lift any prints. Whoever made that mess was wearing gloves. But he did leave footprints outside your back door. We made an impression of those. So far we can only say that he or she was wearing men’s shoes and weighed about 170 to 180 pounds. Same sort of footprints in Eli’s barn, too.”

  “Then there must be two men at work. There is no way that doctor at Fairview weighed 180. More like 220. He was a big man.”

  “What about at the hospital?” Eli asked. “Any news there?”

  Before McClendon could respond, Ms. Ruppert beckoned everyone to her monitor. Abby’s eyes grew wide. She could not believe how real the computer rendition looked. Everything on the screen was how she remembered it—his eyes and skin tone, even the way his face mask draped over his mouth and nose.

  “That’s amazing. But how can you match this to anything?”

  “Well, the next step is all done by the computer. It will compare different chins and hair, et cetera, to the image. With each new combination, it runs searches through all the databases of online profiles.”

  “That must take forever.”

  “It’s not a fast process, but it can be useful.” Ms. Ruppert packed up her equipment as efficiently as she had assembled it and excused herself. Chief McClendon walked her out.

  Abby went to the living room and looked out. She figured her father might be there at any moment and that did not bode well, especially with the chief’s car in front of the house. She nearly jumped when she heard another car approaching. It was Blake. He passed Ms. Ruppert in the driveway, then joined McClendon on the steps. Abby could just overhear their words.

  “Glad you’re here, Jamison,” McClendon said in his low baritone. “I’ve got Hancock’s chart and the autopsy report, and frankly, I think you have some serious explaining to do.”

  Abby scooted away from the window. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But what was the chief talking about? Had Blake been hiding information? Was that why she couldn’t get a read on him? Had he been untruthful?

  Abby dropped her head. The disappointment slammed down on her like a lead weight.

  SIX

  After the visit to Mr. Linton’s office, Blake’s mind had been reeling for the past hour. Had he really seen Pooler? Had his mind been playing tricks on him? It was hard to know which way was up.

  Blake had left a voice-mail message for Pooler. He’d decided not to accuse him of being in Lancaster, but had spoken only of his difficulty in meeting with Linton. He’d taken a minute to calm down. During that moment he’d remembered that Linton, whom he’d seen a picture of when confirming his office address, and Pooler, his mother’s lawyer, were both men in their late fifties with big tufts of gray hair—they would be easy to confuse driving by that quickly. Still pondering what he’d seen, he’d driven straight to the Millers’ farm.

  He was surprised to find Chief McClendon there. And even more surprised by his accusatory greeting.

  “I’ve told you every single thing I know.” Blake stood tall in front of the redheaded Lancaster chief of police. He had nothing to hide. He had done nothing wrong. Perhaps he hadn’t shared one of the reasons he’d come to Lancaster, but that had nothing to do with Hancock or Abigail. It was personal—no one’s business but his own.

  The chief said nothing more on the porch but turned and went inside. Blake followed. Abigail stood with her back to the doorway of the kitchen. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater. Blake slowed his steps. That nurse’s uniform she’d had on the day before had not done her justice. Her big blue eyes glanced back at him as she gave him a nervous half smile. For a second, his anxious thoughts melted away. But after taking a seat next to her at the table, a closer inspection of her face showed the tension around her eyes, reminding him why they were together. It occurred to him that she’d most likely slept worse than he had, and he had slept quite poorly.

  She covered her cheeks with a slender hand. “Eli brought a composite artist to the house. She just left. I was surprised what she was able to get from my limited descriptions. How was your morning?”

  “Not very productive.” Blake swallowed hard. He wanted to share with Abby about his family situation, but this was clearly not the time.

  Eli took his seat next to his sister, and Chief McClendon cleared his throat. “We discovered why you weren’t able to find the remains of Nicolas Hancock when you visited the morgue. The body was there the entire time, just with no identification. Dr. Dodd admitted later that there are some glitches in the records system at the hospital, which also explains why the electronic chart was unavailable when you tried to look at it. Final report from the autopsist agrees that this patient most likely died from an overdose of epinephrine.”

  Blake frowned. “But epinephrine wouldn’t have been detectable through autopsy.”

  “No,” the chief agreed. “That’s not possible. But he ruled out other triggers to the cardiac arrest. The tubing of Mr. Hancock’s IV, which you had the nurse save, showed up and was found to contain definite traces of epinephrine. This might not be enough evidence to convince a jury, but with what you both told me yesterday, it convinced me. And since the nursing staff can swear that you, Dr. Jamison, were in surgery at the time that Mr. Hancock was admitted and had never seen the patient before the Code Blue, your review has been closed. Of course, we need both of you to come to the morgue and identify that the body we have is indeed the one you saw yesterday. In the meantime, Lancaster County has officially opened a murder investigation for the death of Nicolas Hancock. Unfortunately, we’ve had trouble tracking down any information about him.”

  Abby’s spine had gone rigid by midway through the chief’s speech. Blake watched her fingers clench into a fist over the unfinished hardwood of the table. Abby was used to helping pregnant women and babies. He supposed the thought of traveling to the morgue did not appeal to her. Blake fought away the urge he had to comfort her and focused on the chief.

  “What about Hancock’s lawyer?” Eli asked. “Blake said that his information was on the chart.”

  “It’s a phony. There’s no lawyer—at least, not at that phone line. Just a bunch of numbers and a phony name someone keyed in.”

  “And who did key in all of that information at Fairview? Who placed my name with Hancock? I should never have been that man’s doctor,” Blake said.

  “No one.” McClendon shrugged. “Our computer experts tore that system apart. But they cannot find where, when or who keyed in Hancock’s information and none of the data-entry personnel would own up to having done it.”

  “Anything else?” Blake asked, still waiting for McClendon’s big accusation toward him.

  The chief looked across the table at him. “Perhaps you would prefer to speak in private, Dr. Jamison?”

  Blake shrugged. He felt Abby’s eyes on him. He didn’t like the tense expression on her face. No, he wasn’t going to speak in private. He had nothing to do with Hancock. Of that he was certain. And he had nothing to hide from Abby or her family. “Thank you. But I don’t see any reason for that.”

  “Good.” The chief looked pleased, which gave Blake some relief. Maybe what he had to say wasn’t so bad after all.

  McClendon took out a file folder and placed it in the center of the table, opened it and spread the pages out. “This is Hancock’s file. Here we see your name, Dr. Jamison. And your signature. Here is the lawyer’s contact info. But this...this is the doctor who transferred Hancock to Fairview. Here are the insurance papers explaining the need for transfer. Everything is in order. Dr. Jamison, is there anything in the chart you’d like to explain to us?”

  Blake
clenched his teeth. He didn’t like the way the chief was looking at him. He picked up the file and scanned through it. “There’s more information here than what I saw yesterday. A complete workup of his surgery.”

  “Like I said, Dr. Dodd apologized for that. This is a complete and accurate file.”

  “Oh, and this!” Blake couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. “The name of the physician who transferred Hancock to Fairview.” He reread the file in disbelief. He knew the name. He knew the name very well. “Dr. Granger. He was a friend of my parents’. A very good friend, actually.”

  “I know, Dr. Jamison,” the chief said. “On a hunch, since the patient and one of our key witnesses were both from New York, I ran some searches through newspaper articles to see if there was any connection between you and Hancock. I didn’t find one—until I searched for ties between you and Hancock’s doctor. Then the screen lit up with hits of articles and pictures of Dr. Granger and your parents at one society event after another. I also discovered that you’re now worth a lot of money since the loss of your parents. I don’t believe in coincidence. You just arrived and we have a murder in the hospital, which is connected back to someone you know in New York. Why don’t you tell us exactly why you came to Lancaster so we can all get to the bottom of this?”

  Blake nodded. “Right. I’d be glad to, actually. It’s time everyone knew....”

  * * *

  “So, that’s your family connection in Lancaster?” Abby said. “You’re looking for your birth parents? That’s kind of a big deal.”

  “Yes.” Blake nodded. “After mulling it over for several months, I decided it’s the right thing to do.”

  Abby stood, trying to think of how to respond. It was difficult to concentrate with everything she had on her mind. Hannah, her brother and Chief McClendon had already left the kitchen. Before leaving, the chief had given them an hour to get to the morgue and make the ID on Hancock’s body. Abby was dreading that. She didn’t want to look at a dead body. She didn’t want to think about the man on the gurney, whom she’d seen murdered. It was enough that she saw him all the time in her mind. And his killer with his cold eyes.

  So far, this was not the day she’d hoped for. The only thing that would make it worse would be running into her father. She did not have the energy or the heart for that.

  “You don’t approve of me looking for my birth parents, do you? What if I told you my mother believed that my parents were Amish?” Blake looked at her with his soft brown eyes. He wanted her approval. She wondered why. She hardly knew him.

  “It’s none of my business, Blake...but Amish? Are you sure?”

  “Well, no. I’m not sure about any of it, except that I’m adopted. I only know what my mother said in her letter.”

  Abby had a million things she wanted to say, but she shook them off. It was truly none of her business. “Shall we go, then? I really want to get out of here before my father arrives.”

  “Sure.” He looked disappointed that she didn’t want to discuss his search for his birth parents.

  “I’ll just fetch my bag.” She headed for the steps. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  Abby grabbed her things and headed back to the living room. But she hadn’t been fast enough. She slowed her descent as she saw Dat waiting at the bottom of the stairs. It was the first time she’d seen him since telling him about her decision not to join the church. It seemed in those two long weeks that he’d noticeably aged. The creases around his mouth and eyes were more pronounced. His hair thinner. His shoulders more rounded. Or was that her guilt making her see him in that way?

  “Hello, Dat. How are you?”

  The bishop took one look at her fitted jeans and sweater, letting out a disapproving huff as he ran his hands up and down his suspenders in an agitated motion. He readjusted his straw hat and tugged at his long, white beard.

  “You should have tried all of this during your Rumschpringe. That’s what run-around time is for. You were supposed to get all of this—” he motioned to her clothing “—out of your system. And now look what is happening. The outside world is crashing down around you, collapsing. And you are going down with it. I knew this would happen. And I knew how painful it would be to watch.”

  “You knew about what?”

  “I can see the police car. I know what it means. I have heard the reports from the hospital and the Youngers. There has been a murder, and you have brought the killer into our world. What if that man had hurt that little boy?”

  “And that would be my fault? I saw a doctor kill a patient. I am responsible for my own actions. Not for those of others. Isn’t that what you always preach?” Abby had been completely wrong in thinking her father would be upset with Eli for bringing the police to the house. The bishop’s anger was all directed at her. And if there was anything that made Abby down, it was disappointing her father. Even as she tried to defend herself and her actions, her head dropped.

  “Dat, this is nothing. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Chief McClendon will clear this all up in no time. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Exactly. Wrong place. You do not belong there in that hospital. And now you are running around with this doctor?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I’m not running around with anyone. He saved my life, Dat. Twice. He’s just giving me a ride back to the hospital so I can get my car.” And ID the man I saw murdered. She decided to leave that part out.

  “What do you know about this Englischer? He looks very worldly. I saw that fancy car of his.”

  Abby knew she was never going to win this discussion, not today, anyway. She might as well give up on it and talk about something productive. Her mind turned back to Blake’s story.

  She reached for her father’s hand. He was a good man. A good father. A good bishop. He was wise, even if she felt he was a bit blinded when it came to looking at her situation. She took in a deep breath and smiled at him.

  “What’s that look for?” he asked. “I know that look. You’re up to something. Abigail?”

  If anyone would know about Amish adoptions, it would be her father. “Dat, let’s not argue today. Let’s just pray for everyone’s safety and for a quick resolution to this situation and then we can pick this back up later. Okay?”

  He grumbled but gave her hand a squeeze.

  “So, I have a question for you. Have you ever heard of an Amish couple giving up a child for adoption?”

  “Why do you ask this?” He frowned. “One of your patients wants to give up a child? This needs much prayer.”

  “So, it does happen?”

  “There have been some times when a family could not keep a child. But always that child goes to another Amish family. Always. Why do you ask? I can see you are thinking something serious.”

  “No. Not really, Dat,” Abby said. “This has to do with the doctor. He was adopted and wants to find his birth parents. He thinks they might be Amish.”

  “See? You are attached to this doctor. I told you.” Her father’s expression darkened. “No, this story of his cannot be true. Amish do not give away children. We take care of our own. You tell your doctor friend to go back to his real home. He can only cause heartache here if he tries to dig for fool’s gold.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.” Abby smiled and patted her father on the shoulder. “See, Dat? We still agree about most things. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Ach. How can I not worry? My daughter. A car. A job. Police. You should be married. Cooking. Taking care of a family.” With each word, his tone became increasingly aggravated. “What did I do wrong?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything just right.” Abby kissed his cheek and headed for the door.

  “Abigail.” Her father’s soft voice caused her to pause in the doorway. “Promise me you will not
get involved with this Englischer. A New York man dies right after a New York doctor comes to town? You agree that it seems strange, ja? I do not believe in coincidences. There is more to his involvement in this affair than you think.”

  Abby swallowed hard, staring back at her father, whose big, kind blue eyes were focused on her with all the love of an adoring father. She’d already broken his heart and she could barely stand how that felt to her. She hadn’t wanted her own decisions to cause pain to her family. Had she only been selfish in doing what she had done?

  It’s not too late to change your mind about joining the church, his eyes seemed to say. She couldn’t ease that pain for him—but she could give him this promise.

  “Do not worry about that. I can promise you with every amount of certainty that I will never get involved—as you put it—with that Englischer.” Abby kissed his cheek, then turned and fled through the door.

  * * *

  Blake shifted his weight in the driver’s seat of his car. He couldn’t get comfortable. Abby seemed strangely preoccupied and distant after her talk with her father. “You don’t approve, do you?”

  “Approve of what?”

  “Of the reason I came to Lancaster. To look up my birth parents.”

  “I don’t know what I think.”

  “You know I wanted to tell you yesterday,” Blake said. He didn’t like Abby so stiff and standoffish. He felt as if he needed to explain himself. He wanted her back the way she was. So confident and natural. She had totally clammed up and he didn’t know why.

  “Tell me what?”

  “About being adopted. I just, well...with everything that happened... And the truth is, I hadn’t told anyone yet. My friends back home wouldn’t know what to say. I didn’t tell any of them.”

  “Not sure I’d know what to say, either.” Abby feigned a smile. “So, I do have a question, though.... Why did the chief say that you’re worth a lot of money? I’m not sure I understand what that means or how it’s relevant.”