Dead Calm

by Annelise Ryan

  “That’s no reason to excuse criminal behavior,” Hurley grumbles.

  “I don’t think David is guilty of anything criminal, but if it turns out I’m wrong, we’ll deal with it when we get there. Given past relationships, the case should probably be handed off to another jurisdiction, if it comes to that.”

  Silence again. I suspect this is because Hurley realizes I’m right. “Are we good?” I ask him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay then. I’ll talk to you later when I’m done with my prison visit. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he says, and I quickly hang up before things can get tense again.

  CHAPTER 27

  I know from seeing David’s calendar the other day, and from past experience, that he will spend some time in his office this morning. It’s a Saturday, so he has no scheduled surgeries or appointments, but he will make the rounds of his hospital patients and then spend some time on paperwork. I call his cell phone, and he answers on the first ring. I can tell from the way the call hesitates a second before connecting that he is answering via the Bluetooth connection in his car. This might be a good thing for me since he didn’t wait long enough before answering to see who the caller was.

  “Dr. Winston,” he says.

  “David, it’s Mattie.”

  “Oh. Hi.” Instant indifference.

  “I need to talk to you about something, and it’s urgent. I wonder if I might be able to drop by your office this morning.”

  “I suppose. What is this about?”

  “It’s about a case I’m working on. I can explain more when I get there.”

  “Fine. I’m about to run through the coffee drive-through. I’ll meet you at my office in five or so, if that’s okay?”

  It is, and I tell him so. The line at the coffee shop must have been longer than anticipated because even after checking in with both Izzy and Otto to tell them where I’m going and then driving to the clinic, I arrive seconds before David does. I see him pull in, driving the Mercedes he bought after his last car was burned up along with the house we used to share.

  He gets out and gives me a distracted smile, fumbling with his keys as we walk to the back door of the clinic building. I wait as he unlocks the door, then follow him inside. As he enters his office, I hear him say, “Ah, there it is.” Then I watch as he bends down and picks up his ID badge where I’d tossed it the night before. He clips it to his shirt and then moves behind his desk and boots up his computer.

  “I lost my badge yesterday,” he explains. “I could have sworn I had it on me when I went in to the OR because I used it to gain access. At least I think I did,” he says with a frown. “Maybe that was the day before.” He shakes his head and gives me a little smile.

  This minor confusion over a task one performs routinely every day is what I had hoped for. David might have used his ID badge to gain entrance to the OR yesterday, or it might have been one of those days when the doors were already open because someone was coming out or someone ahead of him had already badged in. Days tend to blur together when you get used to doing things over and over again, and people don’t always remember each individual action or task when dealing with common, everyday routines.

  “What did you want to discuss?” David asks as I settle into a seat across the desk from him. He eyes his computer screen as it boots up and then types in his username and password.

  “Before I get into that, let me say congratulations to you and Patty. I met with her the other day and heard the good news. I’m very happy for the two of you.”

  David looks away from his computer screen and scrutinizes me long enough to make me squirm a little. That intense gaze used to titillate me; now it just makes me uncomfortable. “I take it you’re referring to the baby?” he says.

  “Of course,” I say. “What else could it be?”

  He doesn’t answer me and looks back at his computer screen. Then he opens the top drawer of his desk and removes a pair of glasses. He slips them on and starts tapping at his keyboard.

  “I like your new house,” I tell him. “It’s quite different from the one we had, very modern, but I really like it.”

  David shoots me a look over the top of his glasses and shakes his head. “Come on, Mattie, I know your sense of style. You must hate that place.”

  “Not hate, no,” I say. “I will admit it’s not my style, but Patty has done a nice job with the design.”

  David says nothing, his focus back on his screen.

  “Your office looks a lot like it did in the old house,” I say, watching for a reaction. “Was that your choice or hers?”

  David looks at me and cocks his head to one side. “Mattie, why are you here again? I have patients I need to round on.” He glances pointedly at his watch.

  “Okay, sorry. I’m here because I’m a little worried about Izzy. He’s recovering from his heart attack nicely, but I think he needs to take some time away from the job, time he can spend with Dom and Juliana. But you know how stubborn he can be with that kind of thing. So I was thinking that if I could somehow arrange a vacation of sorts disguised as work, he might go for it.”

  “A vacation disguised as work?” David echoes. His tone suggests he thinks I’ve lost my mind.

  “Yeah, remember that trip we took to Florida right after we were married? To the conference where you did your talk? The one where we went scuba diving in the Keys?”

  He nods and smiles. “That was a fun trip.”

  “It was.” I leave out mentioning that the scuba diving certification I got for that trip came in handy a few weeks ago while investigating Hal’s murder. “And then there was the trip we took to London a year or so later.”

  “Another fun time,” he says, looking almost wistful. But he shakes it off quickly. “What about them?”

  “Who sponsored you for those trips? Who arranged the speaking engagements?”

  His eyes narrow. “I don’t recall off the top of my head. Those trips were years ago. Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I was thinking something similar might be a way for Izzy and Dom to get a vacation of sorts. I don’t know if Izzy will take a vacation otherwise. But if he’s being paid to do a lecture and can convince himself it’s work, then . . .” I shrug and give him a conspiratorial smile.

  David scoffs at my idea. “Those trips are typically sponsored by pharmaceutical companies, and I don’t imagine Izzy’s patients have much of a need for drugs.”

  “There might be a way to tie something in to the benefits of a certain drug. I’m sure we could find some sort of relevant lecture Izzy could do. I just need some leads, some companies where I can maybe name-drop a little.”

  David arches an eyebrow at me. “You want to use my name to get an in? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “If it will help,” I say, trying to look sheepish. “You’ve been invited to several of those conferences, so clearly you’re someone they respect.”

  David never could resist ego stroking, and I see that hasn’t changed. He smiles, shaking his head and looking pleased. “I suppose.”

  “Do you have a strong relationship with any one company in particular? Who invited you to speak at the London and Miami conferences?”

  David shrugs. “I don’t remember, and I’m not sure it matters. All those companies are intertwined anyway. It’s an incestuous little business with one big head overseeing dozens of Medusas, who oversee all their little snake offspring.”

  “You sound kind of cynical.”

  “Well, they are in the business of selling their drugs,” David says. “That’s why I think your idea to get Izzy a speaking engagement isn’t likely to work. You’ll have a hard time convincing them to support him.”

  “Is pushing their drugs an understood agreement?” I ask. “Did they pressure you to push a certain drug when they offered you these speaking engagements?” I make air quotes around the words “speaking engagements.”

  “Not exactly,” David says. “I mean,
they always have some new drug on the market that they’re hoping to get the most out of before their licensing runs out and the generics start hitting the market. They educate and encourage, but they don’t force you to prescribe anything.”

  “What kinds of drugs do they typically push to you?”

  “Pain meds, mostly. A few GI drugs, anxiety drugs, some clotting aids, that sort of stuff. To be honest, as a surgeon I’m not someone who offers them a lot of return on their investment. I’m not a big prescriber, particularly over the long term. They tend to prefer the internists and family practice docs. If they have a specialty drug they’re pushing, they might target the specialists in that field, but for the most part they go after the generalists.”

  “I suppose that makes sense from a sales and marketing perspective.”

  “I do remember one drug they were pushing when I got invited to speak at that conference in Italy. Remember that one? You were sick with some kind of stomach bug and had to cancel at the last minute, so I went alone.”

  “Oh, I remember it well,” I say. “It broke my heart that I couldn’t go on that trip.” This was true. The fact that I didn’t go was a testament to how sick I was. If I’d been hemorrhaging or on my deathbed with cancer or suffering from any number of other ailments, I would have dragged myself on that trip anyway. Not only did I desperately want to tour and visit parts of Italy, Italian is my favorite food group. But I was stricken with a vicious GI bug that had fluids exiting my body through every orifice every half hour for three days straight. I practically lived in my bathroom and spent hours worshipping the shiny porcelain god. By the time that bug was done with me, I was so weak I could barely manage to get from my bed to the bathroom, and I had my nursing buddy, Phyllis (aka Syph), come by the house and start an IV on me to give me some fluids. It took me the better part of a month to fully recover.

  “I recall the drug they were peddling for the Italy trip,” David goes on, “because I remember joking with the rep about how the only reason he was sending me to Italy was so I’d get fat on all that delicious Italian food and end up needing this drug myself. It was a new weight-loss drug called Leptosoma.”

  “Did you prescribe this Leptosoma for anyone?”

  “I did on a few bariatric patients who needed to lose some weight before I’d consider them for gastric bypass surgery or banding, or who didn’t qualify for the surgery at all. It worked well for the most part.”

  “Interesting. It sounds like a huge moneymaker if it really works.”

  David goes wide-eyed a moment. “It does have potential. In fact, I instructed my stock market guy to buy a bunch of shares in the company that makes it.”

  “Really? Maybe I should invest as well. Have you heard of any problems with the drug? Any serious side effects?”

  “I had one patient who died while taking it, but I don’t think it had anything to do with the drug.”

  “What’s the name of the company that makes it?”

  David squints in thought. “Can’t remember off the top of my head,” he says with an apologetic look. I wonder if he’s telling me the truth or trying to keep a great stock tip to himself.

  “What about a rep? Do you remember the name of the one who contacted you about the Italy trip?”

  “It was a guy . . .” He rubs his temples, squinting some more. Then he snaps his fingers. “Wait, I think I have his card here somewhere.” He opens his desk drawer and drags out a rubber-banded stack of business cards nearly three inches thick. “I’m pretty sure it was one of these.” He removes the rubber band and starts sorting through the cards. “I think his name was Derrick something or other,” he says, still sorting. Then he stops and smiles. “This is it,” he says, handing me a card.

  I take it, half expecting to see the name Drake Industries on it. But instead it just says Algernon Pharmaceutical Products, with the name Derrick Hutchins on the bottom. I tuck the card into my purse and get out of my chair. “I’ve taken up enough of your time,” I say. “I’d best get going.”

  David shoots me a bemused look. “You’re going to keep that card?” he says. “What possible topic could Izzy lecture on that is in any way related to a weight-loss drug?”

  “The epidemic of morbid obesity in our country,” I say. “He sees the end results of it all the time on our autopsy tables.”

  “Yeah, I guess I can see that,” David says. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. And congratulations again on the pregnancy,” I say. I walk over and glance out the window toward the back of the clinic, wanting to ask more, but not wanting to look David in the eye when I do. “Are you excited about it?”

  There is the briefest hesitation before he says, “Of course. I mean, it’s all happened kind of fast, but then we’re not getting any younger, are we?”

  Before I can answer, his office door opens. I’m not visible to the person who opened the door, nor can I see who it is. But I recognize the voice. It’s David’s new office nurse, Glory, an attractive brunette in her mid-thirties.

  “Your first patient is ready, Doctor,” she says in a sexy, teasing tone. “I have a serious ache right here between my legs, and—”

  David bursts out of his seat. “Thanks, Glory. Let me just finish up here with Mattie, and I’ll be right with you.” He makes a pointed look in my direction.

  I can’t see Glory, but I swear I can feel the heat of her blush radiating through the door.

  “Of course, Da . . . um, Doctor,” she says, and then the door quickly closes.

  I look over at David and shake my head. “Really, David? Your wife—your relatively new wife, mind you—is pregnant. And you’re cheating on her?”

  “It’s . . . I’m . . .”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, David. Spare me the lies and denials. I’ve been there, remember? I know the signs.”

  To his credit, he doesn’t try to deny it. Instead, he hangs his head, at least having the decency to look embarrassed, though I suspect his embarrassment stems more from the fact that he was caught rather than from what he actually did. Or is doing. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” I say to him. “A snake may shed its skin, but on the inside, it’s still a snake. You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

  With that I walk out of the office, head held high, glad I escaped the marriage when I did. I’m tempted to go find Glory and say something to her, but I decide not to. It’s not my business anymore. The bigger question I have to deal with is whether or not to say something to Patty. When I was in her position, others knew what was going on and didn’t say anything to me. Would it have made a difference in the outcome if I’d known sooner? Probably not. But given the shocking and embarrassing way I found out, I would have preferred something a little lower on the adrenaline-release scale.

  But my situation was different from Patty’s. She’s pregnant. And I know from having been pregnant myself and essentially single at the time that it’s not easy. I like Patty. I harbor no ill will toward her. She didn’t cheat with my husband. She started her relationship with David long after our marriage had blown apart.

  Didn’t she?

  I realize then that I have no way of knowing if the two of them were carrying on before David and I split. And then I realize I don’t care. David is not a part of my life anymore, at least not a significant part. I have a sexy husband I adore, a son I cherish more than life itself, and a stepdaughter who I’ve come to love like my own. Granted, my life has been exhausting and complicated lately, but that’s about to change. With a new house coming and a new coworker on the horizon, life is about to get even better.

  I just need to figure out how to deal with DEFCON Level 1 farts, overeager alien enthusiasts, and paranoid construction workers. Piece of cake.

  CHAPTER 28

  The drive to Waupun is a surprisingly peaceful time for me. Despite where I’m headed and why, I am alone in my hearse, the windows down, the warm summer wind blowing my hair into a riotous mess, the fragrance of late summer tickling my nose.
It’s a rare moment of solitude, peace, and quiet, and it’s definitely the happiest fifty minutes of my day.

  When I arrive at the prison, I park and show my driver’s license to a guard at an outside gate, and then proceed through a metal detector at the main entrance to the building. As I step through, it squawks, and I check my pockets to make sure I’ve removed everything. I took my watch and earrings off out in the car and left them, along with my cell phone, in the glove box. The man at the gate had warned me that cell phones weren’t allowed.

  I also left my purse in the car, and it has all of my money. There is no change in my pockets, no other jewelry, no clips in my hair, no belt around my waist. Puzzled, I step back around and walk through the metal detector again. And again it squawks. I give the guard a puzzled look and shrug.

  “Step over here please,” he says, indicating an area off to his left. There are two other people behind me, and he sees them through the metal detector—they get through just fine—before turning his attention back to me.

  “We’re going to need to search you,” he says. “I don’t have a female guard here at the moment, so you’ll have to wait.”

  “Are we talking about a basic pat down?” I say.

  The guard, whose name tag reads BRAD ADAMS, nods.

  “Listen, Brad,” I say, hoping that a first-name basis will help me bond with the guy. “I’m from the medical examiner’s office in Sorenson. I have a badge, but I left it in my car because. . . well, because of that thing.” I point to the metal detector. I hold my arms up, making my blouse tighten over my bosom. My pants, which are typical lightweight summer fare, cling to my legs and butt. “Look at me,” I say. “Where could I hide anything?”

  Brad gives me a tired look of impatience that tells me he isn’t the type to cave in. Then he looks directly at my bustline, and I realize he has a point. My boobs are quite large, and I have enough cleavage to hide quite a few things, including a weapon or two. Hell, my bras are weapons by themselves. If David had had one of my bras to use as a slingshot, he could have flung a larger rock at Goliath and done him in more quickly.