EMBRYO 5: SILVER GIRL (EMBRYO: A Raney & Levine Thriller)

by J. A. Schneider

  “But when it hits home that’s different,” Sam said, struggling with chopsticks. “You see it here all the time, right?”

  Woody was absently dissecting a dim sum. “She’s weak? Fragile?” he frowned, looking up.

  Two nods from Jill and David. They were in the doctors’ lounge. Interns and residents came and went, some of them stopping to greet, then heading to the busy showers beyond. The TV burbled across the room.

  “Arender said Deborah prefers denial,” Jill said. “Would probably prefer a nervous breakdown to facing the truth.”

  Even with patients – and Deborah wasn’t a patient - in frightening situations you could only plead; try to throw up your hands; fail. Jill sank into a fit of abstraction, imagining Reid Wylie drunk, raging, and waving his gun. In an apartment no doubt full of guns. Murder/suicide was also a fear. The department had had a case just months ago: a sweet, despairing patient who wouldn’t listen. A trauma for those who tried to save her.

  Jill wracked her brain: What can I do? She was vaguely aware of the activity around her, friends trying to unwind, change the subject for just a few minutes of reprieve: Woody wondering what was really inside dim sums; Sam threatening to quit medicine and get a job in a fortune cookie factory; David leaning over her lap, reaching past her to hand Tricia baby wipes. “For you,” his voice semi-teased. “There’s sauce on your cheek.”

  Jill looked.

  Jesse had smeared duck sauce on Tricia; she did look comical. Sam cracked about her needing a shower curtain, Woody piped “Cleanup in aisle four!” and there were a few tense chuckles. They had to relax a little over dinner, didn’t they? Their days were so full of other stress, patients getting bad news, struggling for life.

  “Ha,” Tricia snorted, making a face at Sam and Woody. “Like you weren’t hair-tearing little food throwers when you were eighteen months.” She was scrubbing her cheek with the baby wipes, which Jesse thought was hilarious.

  “Tisha mesh!” He pointed, and his little smeared face grinned.

  “Mess, honey,” Tricia told him. “Tricia’s a mess. You gotta work on your r’s and s’s.”

  Jill continued brooding about Deborah. Should I try to call again?

  “It’s good you were extra concerned with her,” she told David almost absently, seeing Deborah again on East 80th Street, begging, Please, help us get the guy who did this. “Maybe she’ll still see the light.”

  He raised his shoulders and hesitated. “Uh, maybe I seemed too concerned.”

  Jill looked at him and he shrugged again. “I was trying to comfort, then felt uncomfortable when she clutched my arm, hard; was really clinging.”

  Sam commented that that’s what some patients do; they clutch your arm all needy and fall in love with you.

  “She’s not a patient,” Woody muttered.

  David gave Jill a troubled glance.

  “I don’t like the sound of that Robin Whatsername,” Tricia said, baby-wiping her wire rims. “Does she know how to shoot?”

  “What’s so difficult?” Woody hooted. “You aim the gun and pull the trigger.”

  And Jill thought: Deborah thinks Robin’s such a dear friend. Robin must have been many times to their apartment, where there must be guns, lots of guns…

  The door opened. Kerri Blasco and Alex Brand followed George Mackey in, with the overweight resident solemn and talking, probably asking about the investigation. The house staff were used to Kerri and Alex, other detectives.

  Alex approached tiredly, balancing his notebook, his tablet, and a bag that read Ling’s Chow. Kerri carried a pizza.

  “Chinese food and pizza,” Kerri smirked. “You making a lifetime habit of this?”

  “Just the past few days,” David muttered.

  They pulled up chairs and got right down to it, listening to more about Deborah with Alex scribbling. Kerri asked questions and took a few notes too, managing despite Jesse scooting to her with a yelp, planting himself between her knees as she cut pieces of pizza for him.

  “Kewwie, yum!” he piped, stuffing his little mouth.

  She grinned. “That’s the nicest thing any male’s ever said about me.”

  Alex gave her a look. “I doubt that.”

  “Shut up. Eat and listen.”

  David described Deborah’s tears, her insistence that Reid was innocent. “She said, ’Reid did not do this. He didn’t hurt those girls. He’s never hurt anybody in his life.’”

  “Her exact words?” Alex asked.

  “I can still hear her saying them. She was frantic.”

  The whole group leaned forward in a huddle, as if under an invisible dome.

  Alex screwed up his face. “This fits with what’s bothering us, namely Arender’s story that Reid hollered he wanted Jody ‘gone’ around the office. That’s not the MO of someone planning murder.”

  David’s phone chirped. He checked it and groaned. “We’ve been called,” he told Jill. “Twins on their way.”

  Sam soft-punched Woody’s arm and said, “We’ll take it.”

  David hesitated, then gave a nod.

  They waved, urged caution, and rushed out.

  Tricia went to rescue Kerri, who was trying to concentrate and deal with Jesse practically climbing into her pizza. “Oh, look at you,” Tricia murmured, gently fussing. “This is going to take more than baby wipes.”

  The others talked about Robin Abel.

  “If there’s anything between her and Reid,” David said solemnly, “Deborah seems not to know. She called Robin her rock, and so devoted.”

  He gave Jill an ironic look. “Deborah wants us to come visit their roof garden. Reid’s built almost-finished stairs to it and restored an old water tower into a gazebo. She wants us to see it.”

  “Oh?” Jill asked in a tense deadpan. “They’re ready to order patio furniture and all-weather cushions?”

  “Yep. Her face practically lit when she described it.”

  Jill looked back to the detectives, repeated Arender’s assertion that Deborah would prefer a breakdown to facing facts.

  Her phone suddenly chirped and she grabbed it.

  Stared at the readout.

  “It’s Edna Polsen,” she said in surprise, turning up the volume on the frail, excited voice.

  “Oh! Doctor Raney? Whew! Is that really you? I have the most wonderful news. I’ve been so worried I wouldn’t find your card. I just looked and looked and now I’m dizzy! Dog tired! But I found it, you’ll be happy to know I found it!”

  Puzzled looks.

  “You found my card? You’re calling to say you found my card?”

  “No, silly! I’ve finally remembered what’s been bothering me about my dream - and that man on the stairs. Who now I think maybe wasn’t a man - his dark hair was too long!” Edna gulped a breath. “The hair was like a woman’s with short hair, but it was longer than Mr. Wylie ever wore it. You know, I never did like that Miss Abel, Deborah’s assistant.”

  Jill shot to her feet. “You think it was Robin Abel you saw that night?”

  “Which night?”

  “The night Jody and Celie were murdered.” Kerri was motioning wildly. Alex was on his feet with his phone.

  “Yes, I think it was her.” Edna’s voice shook with excitement. Barking sounded in the background. “That snoopy Robin was always there when Deborah came down to visit, asking questions about Jody I thought she had no business asking. Misty, stop that! She’d insist the plants needed watering when they were already wet, just so she could pump me with questions about Jody! Poor Deborah’s in such a fog-”

  “Mrs. Polsen, I’m on call, but Detectives Blasco and Brand would like to talk to you about this.”

  “No police!”

  “But you liked Kerri.”

  “Oh, Kerri. I’d forgotten her last name. Well, would you ask them to come tomorrow? No visitors now, I’m so tired. I have to lie down. Misty, stop that!”

  Alex pocketed his phone. “Just called Connor and Zienuc,” he said. “Th
ey’re going to re-interview Robin Abel. Edna thinks it was her? That’s still something.”

  39

  Tricia carried Jesse, and they were hurrying with the detectives to the elevators when Jill’s phone went off again.

  She looked at it, blinking.

  “It’s Deborah.”

  The others moved closer; heard the alarmed voice before Jill even had the phone to her ear. “This is crazy,” Deborah Wylie cried. “The police called Robin and want to talk to her again. She said they sounded accusing.”

  “Oh?” Jill said evasively. “I don’t know about-”

  “This is all so unfair. My God, first my husband and now my friend - suspects in this terrible thing.”

  It was visiting hours, and starting to get noisy. David motioned them all to a quiet spot by a supply room.

  Deborah was sputtering: “…wasn’t either of them. It couldn’t be. Why harass people like this, just because they have no one else to pin it on?”

  “You sound convinced,” Jill said, again evasively. From Tricia’s arms Jesse was grabbing for the phone. David reached for his little hand and he yanked it away; grabbed again. Tricia drew back with him to a water bubbler. Balanced him on her hip and started using more wipes as he squirmed.

  And on the other end of Jill’s phone, there was a hesitation. “I…” Deborah started to weep. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I’ve been…struggling with myself. Feeling...so bad. Can you come, Jill? I so need to talk.”

  Looks were exchanged. A split second of trying to decide what to do.

  Then Kerri and Alex nodded, Go. David eyes were uneasy, but he, too, nodded.

  “I can get coverage for an hour,” Jill said back to the phone. “Would you like anyone else to come? A health counselor? A second listener to comfort?”

  “I …no one else.” The voice burst into sobs. “I can’t even think. Something just came clear to me and I’m…so torn, afraid. I need to talk.”

  Before Jill’s worried eyes Kerri scribbled, Something just came clear? GO, we’ll be with you. Then Kerri held her notebook for Tricia, who balanced Jesse and frantically scribbled, I’ll put J to bed. And David was on his phone, muttering fast, his face telling Jill he was arranging coverage, and he’d go too.

  Jill locked eyes with him, and nodded. “Give me your address,” she said back to the phone. “I can be there ASAP.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Stuttering, sniffling, Deborah gave their street and apartment number way over on East 74th. “I’ll tell the doorman to expect you,” she said shakily. “Thank you, Jill, so much!”

  They hurried. Hugged Tricia, kissed Jesse. Led Kerri and Alex to their lockers for their jackets as Alex called for a listening van, planning something they’d done before. David called Jill’s phone. She pulled on her parka and answered. Left the call open, put her phone in the breast pocket of her scrub top, and left her parka open for better transmission. The police would patch in.

  “Something just came clear to her?” Kerri muttered, pacing as they waited in the ambulance bay. “This could be good.”

  “It could be very good.” Alex impatiently watched the bay entrance. Red-blue lights flashed the darkness as two ambulances and three patrol cars screamed in. “They’re almost here,” he said through his teeth, re-pocketing his phone, waiting for different vehicles.

  David bent his head to Jill. “Keep your phone on full volume,” he said, reassuring himself as he patted her breast pocket. “We don’t know what’s going on with Deborah.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said tightly. Gusts chilled her beneath her scrub’s thin cotton.

  Abruptly David frowned, taking a step away and slapping his hand to his brow. “Wait a minute. What was I thinking? What if Reid’s there? The guns in their place-”

  “Deborah sounded alone.” Jill’s teeth were chattering. She zipped up her jacket temporarily, folded her arms tight. “She wants to talk, sounded needy. You described yourself how she gets needy.”

  “Okay, what if - oh Christ, what if she suddenly sees you as having a child and…me - and has an acute psychotic episode and she grabs a gun?”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Here we go,” Alex called with a wave to the entrance.

  A patrol car pulled up to them. Jill got in.

  David leaned through the open door and said, “I changed my mind. Get out.”

  Jill touched his hand, looking resolute. “I want to hear what just came clear to Deborah.” Her eyes flicked to Alex and Kerri. “They do too.”

  She’d worn that resolute look since Deborah’s call. There’d never have been any re-thinking or stopping this. David’s suddenly alarmed face creased in shadow. “God, what are we doing? Please get out.”

  “I’m not worried. I know you’ll be downstairs.”

  “Downstairs and outside.”

  “I’ll be fine. Lemme close the door, okay?”

  A long van with Lee’s Electrical Contracting on the side pulled up. The patrol car started away. David gulped air, then ducked into the van with Kerri and Alex.

  It was forty-one minutes past seven.

  The van followed the blue-and-white out.

  40

  The brick, Moorish-style building rose twelve stories into the night, its arched, lit windows further illuminated by lights from across the street. Approaching on that side from a block away, Jill peered up to the roof’s water tower. Very exotic. Pale columned, high-arched, with a dim light on in it.

  It was lit?

  Lee’s Electrical hadn’t arrived yet. Jill paced tensely to the end of the almost dark, lightly crowded block, then turned and paced back, watching the other side of the street. A car honked. A truck backfired and she jumped; moved on, hugging herself.

  There. The van pulled in and double parked before the building next to Deborah’s. Jill waited for two cars to pass, and darted across. Approached the van from behind it and passed the driver, at the wheel with the window rolled up.

  “You with me?” she muttered toward her breast pocket.

  “Yeah,” came a male voice. “All patched in.”

  She pictured David, cramped in there with the others and bitching about wanting out. There’d be no keeping him; Jill imagined his hand already on the slider handle.

  The doorman nodded affably and directed her. “Third elevator on the right,” he said, gesturing into the lobby. “That goes to the older part of the building. Ms. Wylie’s expecting you. Whew, she’s had a lot of deliveries today.”

  Deliveries, ha. Only in the hospital did that mean babies.

  And then Jill thought: Why lots of deliveries if Deborah’s upset?

  She unzipped her jacket, exposing her thin scrub top and the phone in its pocket. Then thought more about the doorman’s comment. Maybe she was feeling okay earlier, tried to stay busy…

  The elevator was oak-paneled, with a dingy green carpet and the aroma of old lavender sachets. It lurched to a stop. Jill got out to a dim hallway walled and carpeted in dark green.

  Silent, sculptured doors watched her from peep scopes. Jill shivered and looked down in surprise. Odd – the carpet was littered with shriveled flower petals. Pink and white, here, there; red petals too, like scattered drops of blood. They led past more doors and stopped at 12G, the Wylies’ apartment.

  Jill raised her hand, pressed the buzzer, then stopped.

  The door creaked open an inch.

  “Surprise,” she whispered to her phone. “Door’s ajar.”

  “Copy,” the phone whispered back.

  She stepped in, closed the door but didn’t lock it. “Deborah?” she called out.

  No answer.

  She called out again, moving through an elaborate arched foyer, past plump furniture and one dimly lit lamp. On a coffee table were books and magazines, looking strewn: Architectural Digest, Glorious Roof Gardens, Japanese Gardens. On the floor Jill stumbled over a thick Gardens in Provence, flung open with pages torn out. Then she collided with a thin, bloom
ing shrub in a tub which toppled, spilling water in a spreading puddle.

  She stared stupidly at the puddle, the blooms. Lilacs? Then looked ahead, saw that the far side of the oriental-carpeted room was jammed with potted, blooming tulips and azaleas, every color with their price tags still hanging, and a path made between them leading to…

  …a circular, wrought iron stairway, bolted at the floor and ceiling.

  “Huh? Plants everywhere,” Jill muttered to herself, but the phone heard.

  “Deborah?” she called. “It’s Jill. Where are you?”

  Nothing. The room and the rooms beyond were too quiet. Jill’s heart thudded. She felt their tension down in the van; all of them hunched, ready to leap…

  She turned back to the spiral stairway, this time squinting up to the shadowy ceiling.

  No door yet up there. Just a bolted, round hatch, dimly lit…silent. Jill remembered seeing the light from outside.

  A sound came to her in the stillness. A slow, dripping sound. The iron steps were feet away, and the sound, crazily, was coming from there. Drops splashing metal - ping!

  She stepped closer. Stared wildly. Heard herself gasp in horror.

  Fat, red drops on the steps. More dripping down.

  Jill’s eyes shot up.

  “Blood! Oh God!” she screamed, grabbing a high step, scrambling and slipping up and around. The stairway hitched; she grabbed the rail, blood-slippery too, and scrambled higher.

  The van door whammed open and they burst out. Two more cops joined them from a near unit. Kerri was on her phone calling for the SWAT team as the elevator reached the lobby.

  The car swooped up and David’s stomach fell away. “Blood,” he groaned. His hands shook violently as he bent to his phone, heard Jill struggling and screaming, “…steps…slippery!” He was too clenched to move.

  “This woman sounded suicidal?” one of the new cops muttered, hearing it too through his earpiece.

  Alex didn’t answer. He glared up at the floor numbers that never rose fast enough; nudged Kerri who was listening too. “Ambulance on its way?”

  “Two of them,” she said.

  Jill grabbed the hatch - chill air swooped down – and pulled halfway up to a shadowy fantasy room: one dim lamp, plants hung in waist-high, gusting Moorish arches, cream-painted columns, the beginnings of a blue and white tile floor…