Imperfect Contract
Page 12
"I didn't want Barry to realize I'd heard the fight, so I asked about my real estate deal. After awhile, I heard some noise in the back and Amelia's voice on the telephone, or maybe talking to someone in the back."
"Did she come out?"
"A bit later. She said hello to me, told Barry she had a headache, and she left."
"Did you see any bruises or damage to her face or anything?"
"No. But men who beat their women are smarter than that. Craig never hit me on my face. He broke my ribs, bruised my breasts, and battered about every clothed part of my body. He wanted to make sure no one thought badly of him."
"I have to admit, I had no idea he beat you all those years, not until you asked for help. It's a good thing you found the courage. I'm sure he'd have killed you otherwise."
"He might still do that. He refuses to believe I have a brain. My independence drives him crazy."
"It's good you're going into a multi-family area, more people around." I watched Karma for a minute. "Van, did Amelia say anything more to you about her marriage?"
"No. The problems with the sellers and with the mortgage company began. Our relationship fell apart, and we quit having social conversations." She slurped the last of her coffee through the hollow plastic stirrer. "One day in the hospital, she said 'By the way,'" again Vanessa used her hand to depict her conversation, "'Barry and I made up. Isn't that grand? Now I have an invalid to take care of and still no husband.'"
"Heavy stuff."
"I thought so."
"Have you told any of this to the cops?"
"No, they haven't asked anything except a few questions about my purchase transaction."
"They will. I helped Ray make a list of people who were there when Hutchinson coded. You're on the list."
"Thanks a bunch."
"I couldn't help it. Besides, it's part of the record."
"Okay, sure."
I tried to make eye contact, but she looked away.
Vanessa said, "Let's go shopping. You have anything special in mind?"
"Something slinky."
"Thinking about Ray?"
"Yeah." I loaded Vanessa's trash with mine and double stacked the cafeteria-style trays. Taking the last sip of my coffee, I added it to the pile. "Let's go."
Two hours later, I had a foxy little-black-dress from the sale rack at Macy's, high-heeled sandals from a new boutique shoe shop across from Gordon's, and some sexy underwear from Victoria's Secret. For the underwear, I used a gift certificate from my ever-hopeful mother. She'd approve. If I promised to wear it for Ray, she'd even buy me more. She loved him like a son. Vanessa didn't buy anything. She saved her pennies.
"Vanessa," I said, climbing behind the wheel of my Mini, "how about you follow me over to the station and get your conversation with Ray out of the way?"
She stood beyond the swing of the door on the driver's side. Her car was about two rows over. "Why would I want to do that?"
"Because if you do it now, I'll be there with you. At another time, maybe not."
She put both hands on top of the car and bent to look in the window. "Are you sure he's there?"
"Let me give him a call." I dug in my purse for my cell phone, turned it on, then keyed in Ray's work number. He answered on the first ring, made a crack about my cell phone being out-of-service, then said he'd wait at the station for us. "He'll be there. You know where it is if we get separated?"
"Yes." She gave me the directions, not the ones I would have taken, but one of the many possible routes from the mall to the police station.
22
As I closed the car door, Vanessa pulled in next to me in the police station lot. We walked side-by-side into the building, rode the elevator to the second floor, and approached the reception desk in silence.
"Good morning, Sophia," the elderly volunteer said, buzzing open the security door. "Detective Stone is expecting you. He said to send you right on back."
"Thanks Elsie. You're looking well," I said as we passed through the door. Elsie was a fixture around the department.
In the hallway, a couple detectives leered at Vanessa but only glanced at me, nodding hello.
Unsmiling, Ray watched us walk across the room. I'd surprised him, and he didn't appear to appreciate it. The edges of his goatee twitched, but he smiled when we drew near, sending a mixed message.
He stood and greeted Vanessa, extending his hand. "Thanks for coming down," Ray said. "Have a seat. I want to talk to Sophia."
Vanessa said, "Fine." The word dripped with attitude.
I wanted to tell her to lighten up. Ray was already pissed, and she was about to make it worse. Instead, I followed him to the coffee room.
The tiny break room reminded me of the one on my nursing unit—messy, an empty donut box on a cluttered table, various notices on a large corkboard, a small refrigerator, and a full coffee pot. It was unoccupied except for a dead roach on the floor near the john door.
He stopped and faced me. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"You call me in the middle of the afternoon and tell me you're bringing someone in to question. Someone, by the way, who might prove to be a suspect."
"I brought her because she has information about Amelia and Barry. She overheard a fight, one with physical contact. I thought you needed to know. It happened before the shooting."
"Sophia, she could tell me all about it when we bring her in for an interview." I knew he was mad. He called me Sophia.
"Listen, I'll tell you what. Why don't we just leave? You can make your own arrangements to see her." I took a quick step toward the hall.
"You're unreasonable." He reached out and touched my arm.
I brushed him off, turning to face him. "You think it's fine to use my services anytime you need help at the hospital. Meanwhile, I'm ratting on my friends, then you get pissed when I deliver them to you." My face flushed—I felt the heat. "She's had a tough life. I wanted to be around to support her during the interview. Screw it. I'm going home, and I'm going to tell her to leave with me."
"Like hell, you will. I'll talk to her for a minute now, but depending on what else I find out, I may need to talk to her again—without you holding her hand."
"Okay." Without further conversation, we rejoined Vanessa.
"Vanessa," Ray said with a smile, this time a bit more sincere. "Let's go into one of the interview rooms where we can sit and talk without interruption.
"Sure." She followed Ray, and I brought up the rear.
Ray held the door open, ushering Vanessa in with a wave of his right hand. When I started to follow, he said, "You can come in but don't say anything."
Without interrupting, Ray allowed Vanessa to tell him about Amelia and Barry Hutchinson's fight, nodding encouragement at frequent intervals. Every once in a while, he'd jot on his tablet. I strained to see his notes, but the glare from the window obliterated them, perhaps by his intention, but I thought not. When Vanessa finished, we sat in silence for a couple of minutes.
Ray leaned forward in his chair and looked Vanessa directly in the eyes. "Vanessa, you said Amelia came out of the office and pretended as if nothing happened."
"Yes, that's what I said."
"Did you see evidence he'd hit her? Maybe it was Amelia who hit Hutchinson."
"She's pretty dark skinned." Vanessa appeared thoughtful.
"Did you see any evidence Hutchinson had been hit?"
"No, I told you." Vanessa raised her voice a few decibels.
"Back to what you overheard. You said you heard a crash, some yelling, the sound of fists, and another crash."
"I definitely heard her get hit, she yelled in between, said she was going to kill him, then I heard her fall."
"How do you know it was Amelia who fell and not a chair or even Hutchinson?"
"Well, I . . . I . . ." She looked confused and uncomfortable. She smoothed her jacket over her slacks, buttoning and unbuttoning the collar closure a couple of times. "
I know the sound of a body hitting the wall. A body sounds like a body, not like the crack of a chair."
Ray took a long moment to make notes, doing nothing to help her feel less uncomfortable. Vanessa squirmed in her seat. He asked a few general questions, then wrote several lines on his pad.
Ray stood, pushing back his chair. "Vanessa, thank you for coming in. You've been a big help." He opened the door, our signal to leave. As we passed in front of him, he said, "Vanessa, I'll be talking with you again. I'm in the process of interviewing everyone who was around on the day he died, just to get the facts straight. Where can I reach you?"
Vanessa swallowed hard and gave Ray her home number and mobile number. She looked pale. I thought all the discussion about abuse was painful for her, raising threatening memories. She looked in my direction, grimaced, then walked out of the station too fast for me to keep pace. By the time I reached the parking lot, her car was gone.
Ray had followed me out of the station, but as I gathered my thoughts, I pretended to be unaware. "Sophi." I heard his voice from a few feet away.
"Yes." I turned to see him approach. I suspected he had an agenda unrelated to the case.
"I'll call you later. Will you be home?" His voice was soft, the drawl more evident.
"What for? I got the idea you were angry."
He bit the side of his lip, looking thoughtful. "I am pissed about you bringing her here with her half-baked story, but that's not what's on my mind. I figure we can keep this case and the rest of our lives separate."
"That's a thought."
"I'd like to take you to dinner."
"Call." I raised my hand about half-way and hurried to my car. I had the little black dress, proving I wanted to go out with him. Still I was ambivalent. Fool me once, I thought, shame on you. "Fool me twice," I said under my breath as I started my Mini's engine, "shame on me."
23
When I arrived home—I'd run several errands—I stashed the dog food under the sink, greeted Sunshine, let him out in the yard, and punched the button on the answering machine. The first message was from the hospital, the risk manager wanted me to call her anytime day or night. Her voice sounded tense, irritated.
Since it was still business hours for her, I picked up the telephone. "Brenda," I said when she answered, "this is Sophia Burgess. You called."
"Detective Ray Stone came in to see me about the Hutchinson death," she answered, sounding ticked.
I noted that she skipped her usual social litany. "I thought he would, given he's investigating a homicide."
"I wasn't prepared. He raised the possibility the death was negligence, but he seemed more inclined to believe it was murder."
"I know. Someone gunned Hutchinson down in the street. There's a good possibility they wanted to finish the job," I said, trying to keep my tone matter-of-fact.
She exhaled heavily into the telephone. "I feel a little blindsided here. All of a sudden, I get this call. You could have warned me, given me time to prepare."
I started explaining from the beginning. It took me several minutes to tell her everything I knew or suspected about what happened to Hutchinson in the hospital. I concluded by saying, "In my defense, I was the charge nurse when Hutchinson died. The staff sent down an incident report to your office. I went to your office, read it, and added an attachment of my own. I was careful to make sure you had a complete report."
"I have it."
"Help me here. Why do you feel blindsided?"
"The incident reports talks about the patient being found coded, off the vent. I thought accident. Murder didn't cross my mind."
"Think of it. It wouldn't have been appropriate for me to mention murder on the report. Just the facts. Remember." I felt impatient. I understood the hospital's unpleasant position. If I were the administrator, I wouldn't want someone murdered on my watch either. Looks bad. But on the other hand, the murderer controlled the events.
"Ah . . . um . . ." she stammered.
"Look at it this way," I decided to take a more reasonable tone with her. It wouldn't pay to tick off the hospital establishment—bad for longevity. "Not only were there several hospital employees in the room, there were also a number of family members and acquaintances. I listed all the traffic I witnessed on my addendum. The possibilities are endless." I paused to allow her time to stay with my thinking. "I called Detective Stone and told him a nurse found Hutchinson's ventilator disconnected. Then I called him when Hutchinson died. There's a note on the chart from your office directing the staff to keep the police informed on the patient's progress. It was the appropriate thing to do."
After a long moment, Brenda said, "Just for the record, if something like this happens in the future, don't call a homicide detective with the news without telling me first. Of course, you needed to notify him. I agree with you, but you should have told me in advance. It would have given me time to call administration and cover our butts before he came knocking on the door."
"Okay." What more could I say? She was right.
I brought her up to date on the investigation, throwing her extra information to maintain some kind of a professional relationship, and we said goodbye.
Gritting my teeth, I returned to the recorded messages on my machine.
Ray's voice drifted from my machine, soft and relaxed. "I want to take you for a nice dinner. I made a reservation at Pete's for eight o'clock this evening."
The invitation hit below my lingerie elastic. He knew I favored Pete's in Boca. We went there many times in the past for special occasions.
"I'll be out of touch for the next few hours," he continued, "I'll show up at seven-thirty. See you then."
What are my choices? I thought. I wanted to spend the evening with him. I headed for the shower with Sunshine trailing along. As I stripped off my jeans, Sunshine hopped on the bed for a snooze. With him in the house, I was never alone for long.
The dress fit like a dream, slinky, skimming my body, not clinging anywhere, but not bagging either. It stopped above the knee. I wore black stockings and black high-heeled sandals. The spaghetti-strapped bodice—it would have revealed cleavage if I had cleavage—showed under the loose-fitting tunic. I fingered the sparkling beads, running my fingers over the swirling pattern. The air conditioning would be an issue in Pete's, but if we ventured onto the dance floor, I'd want to take the tunic off. I added diamond and gold earrings and a thin gold chain necklace, both gifts from Ray. I thought he'd be pleased I hadn't given them away.
Ray arrived at seven-thirty, looking good—real good. His dark suit was a longer-styled, three-button European job that accented his broad shoulders and tapered around his hips. He'd stopped for a haircut and a beard trim since I'd talked to him in the middle of the afternoon. And, he carried a dozen red roses.
I stood back as he stepped into the entry, then watched as Sunshine welcomed him like a long-lost housemate. Ray squatted and allowed the dog to lick his face, providing the required ear rub in return.
I wasn't sure I wanted to climb the hill I faced. But then again, I did.
When Sunshine finished with him, Ray stood and looked me over. "Nice." He nodded. "You look beautiful." He handed me the roses. "These are for you." He always had a way with stating the obvious. I guess it was better than just saying here.
It had been a long time since someone gave me flowers. I got on my knees and dug out a vase from behind the dog food and tall bags under the kitchen sink. After washing it, I arranged the deep-red roses and positioned them in the middle of the kitchen island.
"Ready?" I said, picking up my black, beaded evening bag.
The Honda shone in evening sun. He had attended to the car as well as to himself. The sun hung low on the horizon and glowed red behind scattered fluffy clouds, backlighting them in shades of orange and gold.
Feeling the heat, I slipped off my jacket before sinking into the passenger seat. As Ray closed the door, the side windows and black interior enclosed me, creating a topless cocoon.
In truth, he drove sedately out of my small community. We weren't off with a roar until he accelerated onto the Sawgrass Expressway, heading toward the Florida Turnpike. Then he tromped the accelerator.
Ray felt speed limits were for civilians. He'd said many times he trained to drive at high speeds, give chase, and apprehend criminals. I gave up taking issue with his speeding several years ago. I noticed, back when we were a couple, he followed the speed laws when we left South Florida. I guess his police officer conferred immunity wasn't nationwide.
We exited the Turnpike at Glades Road and turned into Pete's driveway. A thick layer of clouds hid the sky. Ray glanced heavenward, hit the button for the convertible top, and locked it in place. He handed a valet key to a kid with dark circles under his eyes and told him to park it.
"Yes, sir," the kid said. He slid in and put the key in the ignition, tried to turn it to start the car, then grinned when Ray pointed at the red start-button to the left of the steering column
We watched while the kid glanced at the shift knob, put the car in gear, and pulled out of the driveway.
"Guess he won't leave the transmission in the parking lot," Ray said, guiding me into the restaurant.
As we relaxed at our table, our chilled wine on ice beside us, Ray lifted his glass to mine. The crystal pinged as we touched stemware. "To old times," he said, his voice soft and low. "I've missed you."
"To old times." I smiled, feeling warmed by the thought. I took a sip of wine and set my glass next to my bread plate. "How's the investigation going?"
His eyes flashed disappointment, signaling he hadn't planned to discuss Hutchinson's unfortunate demise. Oh well, I wasn't ready to thrash out our relationship either.
"Not ready to talk about us, huh?" Though the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, he looked sad.