No Cure for Murder

by Lawrence Gold

  “Saving souls...lots to save down here. I hope your call means you’ve decided to come here for a vacation. I would enjoy seeing you.”

  “I bet you would,” she purred. “Sorry, but right now First Rapid City United couldn’t survive without me. I have talents.”

  “I hope you’re not employing those talents at work, Rita.”

  “No. I’m exploring other, less risky venues.”

  “Well, what can I do for you?”

  “No reverend, it’s what can I do for you. Is everything okay in Berkeley?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m afraid a private investigator, Terrence Wilcox from Sioux Falls, has managed to open old wounds with his questions about you and your interlude with us.”

  He felt a hollow cramp sensation in the pit of his stomach and began sweating. “What did you tell him?”

  “Me, I told him nothing, but he had conversations with the president of the church, several elders, county social services, and with the police. I think, my friend, that old faucets leak, no matter how hard you try to tighten them.”

  Please, dear God, the chaplain thought, stunned into silence.

  After a minute, Rita said, “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, Rita. This is terrible news.”

  “Adios, chaplain. Give me a call sometime from wherever your travels take you.”

  When Byron Harwood pulled into the driveway, he was surprised to see Zoe’s car. He checked his watch, 6:30 p.m. He couldn’t remember her getting home before 8:00 p.m. in the last year. Byron grasped the knob to the door leading from the garage to the kitchen. It turned, but he had to push hard before it opened. Got to fix that damn door.

  He lifted his nose in the hope that Zoe had prepared dinner, but sensed instead, cigarette smoke and trouble. “Zoe, I’m home,” he yelled.

  He put his briefcase on the kitchen table and walked through the house. After checking the upstairs bedroom and the den, he retraced his step. Through the patio windows, he saw rising wisps of cigarette smoke.

  “Hey, sweetheart, didn’t you hear me come in?”

  Zoe took a long drag on her cigarette, and then looked away. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I thought you stopped smoking.”

  “I did.”

  “You’re home early. Is everything okay?”

  She turned to face him. Her eyes were red, but cold. “Who is she?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Please, Byron. Don’t insult my intelligence. Just tell me who she is.”

  “Please, Zoe,” he said approaching her. He reached for her hand, but she jerked it away.

  “Don’t...don’t touch me.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “How could you do this to me? After all we’ve been through together. How could you?”

  “This is absurd, Zoe. I won’t know what you’re thinking until you say it.”

  “Why is the wife the last one to know? Tell me about The Waterfront Plaza Hotel.”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about. What about the hotel?”

  “I know you’ve been there with her. Why lie about it now?”

  Byron’s head was spinning. “Of course I know the hotel. We had dinner there once about a year ago, and I met Lynda, our accountant, there several weeks ago for lunch...a business lunch.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened. “You thought I wouldn’t notice the late meetings, the weekend retreats, and the trips out of town. I’m not an idiot!”

  “Please calm down, Zoe. The neighbors will hear you.”

  “I don’t give a shit...let them...let them know who you are, what you are.”

  “You’re out of control. I’m calling Jacob.”

  “You’re not calling anybody. Now get out before I call the police.”

  “Zoe, please. Don’t do this. I’ve never thought of cheating on you...you must know that.”

  “I only know that I want you out of here, and I mean now.”

  Byron raised his hands in surrender, and then slowly backed away. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be at the faculty club. I’ll call you in the morning to see if you’re okay.”

  Zoe stood. Her eyes blazed with rage. “Just shut up and get out.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Sarah Hughes tossed in bed, switching from one side to the other, unable to find a comfortable position. Beads of perspiration bloomed on her forehead and upper lip. She turned back the blanket, leaving only the top sheet.

  She must have slept, because when she opened her eyes the red LEDs of the alarm clock were flashing 12:00...another power outage. Sarah reached for her pillow, and as she slid her left arm under its softness, it passed over something warm and slimy. She reached further under the pillow and felt something firm caught in a fold of the pillow case...what is that? Her hand grasped the object and when she turned on the bedside lamp, she saw the tiny fingers of the bloody severed hand. Sarah raised her blood soaked hands and heard an unearthly scream...it was coming from her.

  “Wake up...wake up,” cried Marilyn. “You’re having a bad dream. Mama’s here.”

  Sarah sobbed in her mother’s arms. “It was horrible. The blood, it was everywhere...and the arm.”

  “It’s okay,” said Robert. “It was only a nightmare.”

  Sarah was still shaken when her alarm clock sounded the next morning. She showered and dressed, then noticed the flashing icon on her computer screen indicating new email. The first two were reminders from friends about their outing this weekend, the third was her Spanish word of the day, but the fourth labeled URGENT came from her own email address. That must be some sort of mistake.

  When she opened the email, the words flashed on the screen in large red letters: LYING LIPS ARE AN ABOMINATION TO THE LORD (Proverbs XII, V.22), then near the bottom of the screen: HELL IS THE WRATH OF GOD—HIS HATE OF SIN (P.J. Bailey).

  Sarah printed off a hard copy.

  Who had access to my e-mail account, she thought. How had they discovered my password?

  They think I’m a sociopath. That’s a laugh.

  He’ll get caught, they say. That kind of lunatic pushes and pushes until he achieves his objective: to be caught...to be stopped.

  The halls of Brier Hospital create a casino of discovery for my wagers, the fortuitous flings of life’s fortunes. Chance rules, but my mission sets the odds.

  I search for the names, the patients, their physicians and try to assess their karma.

  The heightened security makes travel through Brier difficult, for most, but not for me.

  I haven’t forgotten you, Harry Rodman.

  I look around.

  The hallway is empty.

  I start back for his room when the bathroom door opens and his wife returns to his bedside.

  I keep walking.

  Not to worry my friend. Your luck can’t hold out forever. Nothing worthwhile comes easily.

  We’ll meet again soon.

  “They want to do what?” cried Jacob.

  Mark Whitson refused to meet Jacob’s eyes. “The DA has ordered the exhumation of Shannon Hogan and P.J. Manning.”

  “That’s absurd, and worse, it’s cruel to families who have suffered enough. I won’t have it.”

  “You don’t have a choice. I think it’s a long shot too, Jacob, but two of your cases, Nathan Seigel and Harry Rodman, are likely victims of this killer. Then we have Joshua Friedman.”

  “If you mention Marion Krupp and her bizarre charges...”

  Mark shook his head. “Easy, Jacob, this has nothing to do with Marion. We went back over Joshua’s blood and Jacob, the levels of morphine are way beyond what anyone would use to control pain in the most difficult terminal patient.

  “Don’t take this wrong, old friend,” he continued, “but it’s in your interest to clarify the precise causes of death in these patients. So far, seven deaths popped up in our screening, and Jacob, five of them belong to you.”

 
Chapter Fifty-Four

  Carleton Dix didn’t hear it at first as he sat with his head down on his desk, eyes closed. The soft tapping, more urgent now, caught his attention. He raised his head, straightened his collar.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened slowly and Kelly Cowan entered. She stared at the floor. “Do you have a few minutes, Reverend?”

  “This isn’t a good time, Kelly. Is it important?”

  “No, it’s all right.” She turned for the door. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He shook his head in frustration. “Come on, Kelly. It’s okay. Let’s sit for a moment and find out what’s wrong.”

  She grabbed a tissue from his desk and blew her nose, then sat in the middle of the sofa, knees together and arms crossed.

  He rolled his desk chair in front of her, then stood and locked the door. When he returned to his chair, he reached for her cheek and caressed it. “We won’t be interrupted. Now, tell me what has you so upset?”

  She held her face. “I know something’s wrong and I want to help. You must let me help.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “People are talking. They’re looking at me funny. I think they know.”

  “Nobody knows anything. What happened between us is secret. I didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  She blew her nose and wiped the tears gaining control. “Of course not. I love you. I want to be with you. Let’s go away together.”

  “I’m sorry, Kelly, but that’s not going to happen. I’m fond of you and thought our little get-togethers would help you. I tried to support you...as a friend.”

  “A friend?” she breathed deeply. “Friends don’t do what we did. I was a virgin...I gave myself to you. You can’t dismiss me this way.”

  “I’m not dismissing you, Kelly. I have great affection for you, but now’s not the time for us to expand our relationship. I’m under pressure. Things are going on...things you know nothing about...things that can hurt both of us. If you care for me, the best way to show it is by trusting me.”

  She stood, then wrapped her arms around him. “I love you. I’ll do anything you want me to do. I’ll protect you in any way I can. Just love me a little in return.”

  He kissed her on the lips. “This is the kind of thing we must avoid for a while. A hint on impropriety could spell the end for me.”

  Carleton walked her to the door. “I’ll call your cell when I have the chance.”

  After the door closed, Carleton returned to his desk thinking it’s out of control. How long can I hold her off? Who’s making these inquiries, and what do they want?

  Jacob drove home for lunch. Edna Charles’s Lincoln Navigator sat in the driveway.

  Three salad bowls, heaped full, sat on the kitchen table. Lola and Edna, deep in conversation, didn’t notice him until he coughed.

  Lola smiled at Jacob. “Hey, look who’s here.”

  “We tried to put her out of our misery when she visited at Brier,” said Jacob, “but that’s one tough old lady.”

  He bent over Edna and gave her a firm hug.

  “Easy, Jacob. I’m not that tough.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Is that a professional or a personal inquiry?”

  “Your choice.”

  “You know, I really love what you and Brier Hospital do, but the place gives me the creeps.”

  She took a sip of iced tea. “It’s not just that I’m old...who at our age doesn’t think of where it will all end, it’s something else.

  “The first morning, when I awakened in the bright light streaming through my window. I felt spacey and had the urge to walk into the light...what a cliché. I shook my head, smiled and thought not yet, damn it, not yet.

  “I remember the somber scenes in the movies when the safari comes into a hidden clearing filled with bones and ivory tusks, the skeletal remains of the elephants who, when it’s their time, find the way to the elephants’ burial ground. I’ve always found that image particularly poignant and sad. Whatever you say, Jacob, you won’t find me plodding my way back to Brier when it’s my time. You’ll make sure that won’t happen.”

  “Just make sure I outlive you, Edna.”

  Lola turned to Jacob. “Did Edna tell you about her visit by your favorite chaplain?”

  “You have a mean streak, Lola,” said Edna. “Let the poor man eat his lunch in peace.”

  Jacob plopped himself into a kitchen chair. “What visit?”

  “It was no big deal. The man meant well, but religious dogma...if my hip wasn’t broken, I’d have sprinted for the door.”

  “I told that guy to keep away from my patients. What’s the matter with him?”

  “I don’t think he can help himself,” said Lola. “He has the zeal of the true believer, and Jacob, my love, you are anathema to everything he cherishes. That’s why you two get along so well.”

  “For most of my youth,” said Jacob, “I embraced a live and let live philosophy, until the men in brown, the Nazis, convinced me otherwise. Nobody can separate ideas from behavior, that’s what makes the religious fanatics dangerous.”

  “You’re too hard on the man,” said Edna. “He carries the burden of an evangelical imprimatur...serious business for a minister.”

  “That’s why I keep away from the topic of religion,” said Jacob. “Every time I open my mouth a wisecrack forces its way out. I’ve seen, first hand, how religion comforts people, and I have the greatest respect for those who have devoted their lives to helping others...”

  “I’m waiting for the but...” said Lola.

  “What I cannot stomach is evil cloaked in the vestments of religion, and in the case of the good chaplain, his incredible hypocrisy.”

  “What hypocrisy?”

  “Later,” said Jacob.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Jacob and Lola sat reading in their matching La-Z-Boy chairs when the doorbell rang.

  “Get me my rifle,” said Jacob, “just in case it’s someone out to save our souls.”

  “Oh no you don’t.” Lola smiled. “Use the baseball bat. The last time, it took me a week to get the blood off the porch.” She stood. “I’ll get the door.”

  “No, it’s all right...we’re out of ammunition anyway.”

  Jacob switched on the porch light then peered through the peep hole and saw Byron Harwood, Zoe’s husband. “Byron, what a surprise. Come in.”

  Byron’s eyes moved wildly. His face was drawn and he hadn’t shaved for several days.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Jacob,” he stuttered. “I had to talk with somebody.”

  Lola joined them at the door. “It’s okay. Come in. Sit. I’ll make coffee.”

  They moved to the great room. Byron sat on the sofa. “Did Zoe speak to you?”

  “No,” said Jacob. “If anything, she’s been quieter than usual. What happened?”

  “I’m not really sure, but she believes that I’m having an affair.” He paused, staring alternately at Jacob and Lola. “I’m not. I love Zoe and I’ve never been unfaithful.”

  Lola studied Byron. “She must have some reason to come to that conclusion.”

  “That’s the weird part, Lola. Sure, I’ve been out at meetings lately and away several weekends, but it was all business and nothing but.”

  While Lola stared at Byron, Jacob formed the image of Lola as Superman with x-ray vision, as she pried into the soul of the man.

  Byron looked up to meet her eyes. “And there was the matchbook.”

  “The matchbook?” Jacob asked.

  “It was nothing. Just a matchbook from a hotel in Jack London Square. I was there for a business lunch with our accountant. To Zoe, it was proof positive of cheating.”

  “There must be more,” said Lola.

  “Nothing. She won’t talk to me. She won’t let me explain.” His eyes filled with desperation. “You’ve got to talk to her, Jacob. She’ll listen to you. She worships you.”

  �
�Jacob will talk with her tomorrow,” said Lola. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Just before noon the next day, Jacob stepped into Zoe’s office, closing the door behind.

  “Oh, Jacob. Is everything okay?”

  “Byron came to see us last night.”

  Zoe tightened her lips. “I’m so sorry, Jacob. He shouldn’t have done that. I apologize for involving you in our sordid little mess.”

  “Don’t be sorry. If we can help, we want to.”

  “Nothing can help, Jacob. It’s too late.”

  “You don’t talk much about your personal life, Zoe. I respect that, but Byron...he’s quite convincing. Lola and I believe him when he denies having an affair.”

  “It’s not your problem, Jacob. You’ve said it yourself a thousand times: Nobody knows what goes on between a couple in the privacy of their home.”

  “Dismiss me if you will, but find somebody to help you two out.”