Plan to Kill

by Gregg E. Brickman

  She took a deep breath and exhaled with force. "My God, it's the crack of damn dawn. I didn't get to bed until around five."

  "Are you scheduled to work tonight?"

  "No, not until tomorrow." She sighed. "When do you want to see me?"

  "As soon as possible."

  "I'll be there by nine. What is this about?"

  "I'll tell you when you get here. See you at nine." Anson disconnected.

  It wasn't only Ephraim who was abrupt and rude. Now it was her boss as well. Were they distancing themselves from her? Perhaps the stress was having an effect on everyone. She wanted to know the topic of the meeting with Anson. It wasn't like her to be vague.

  Miki showered, then dressed in a navy blue pantsuit and pale pink blouse. She didn't know what she was walking into, but she wanted to be prepared for anything. After a quick bowl of cereal, she filled a travel mug with strong coffee and headed into the hot, humid morning. She'd get there early and perhaps talk to Ephraim before her meeting with Anson. Maybe discover what was going on.

  Her cup was half-empty when she parked in the hospital's employee lot. Taking the mug with her, she made her way toward the ER entrance. She turned at the sound of her name.

  "Did you hear about Jamal?" Kimberly Hackim, the young ER nurse, made her way through a couple of rows of cars. Her wrinkled scrubs showed the effects of a long shift. Dots of iodine solution scattered over the front spoke of a hurried wound treatment, and a black mark on the leg suggested an encounter with the wheel on a gurney.

  "I did. It's so distressing. He was a good man."

  "It's all distressing, if you ask me." The birthmark on Kimberly's cheek reddened as her face flushed. "I mean, three people we knew murdered within ten days. I'm afraid. I'm thinking about going home to Kentucky. I asked my manager this morning for time off. She said I couldn't have any, not with Arlene gone and staffing short."

  Miki touched the younger nurse's arm. "I don't believe you're at risk. You're new to the area. Be careful and travel in a crowd. You know what I mean."

  "We did that in school when there was a problem. I'll think about it. Mom wants me home." Hackim walked away. "Bye, Miki."

  Miki thought Hackim's farewell sounded final. If it was, they'd have to cope with more staffing issues. With everything else going on, struggling with staffing would only complicate her life further.

  Miki talked to two more departing night-shifters. Both had similar concerns, but neither mentioned leaving town.

  She entered the ER through the ambulance entrance and walked at a slow pace to the nursing station, glancing into the patient cubicles. At the counter, she asked Sam, the unit secretary, "Is Dr. Ephraim here?'

  Sam nodded, motioning toward the staff lounge. "She finished a bit ago. She's waiting for the detectives. The night crew said it was a rough night for her. The cops were in to see her early in the shift, then again later. She sent them away both times. Too many patients waiting."

  As Miki reached the lounge, Ephraim stepped out of the staff bathroom. She'd changed into a new set of scrubs that were a size too big and had loosened her hair. She wiped at a tear. "I can't believe it. Jamal."

  "Do you know any of the details?"

  "Only what I heard on the vine. Brutal."

  Miki dropped into a molded plastic chair, then took a gulp from her cup. She filled Ephraim in on her late night visit to the police station without mentioning Gentry. "I'm thinking it has to be a dissatisfied patient or family. Probably family since so much of it seems the work of a man, and Sanchez only treated women. Someone who came in through the ER. Went to surgery. Jamal would fit. Arlene, too."

  "I agree with you. How do we figure out who it is?"

  "I don't think we can. The police have copies of the charts with Sanchez's and Arlene's names in them. I assume they'll include Dempsey now as well. I remember seeing his name on a few reports when I helped with the records."

  Ephraim's face clouded. "Did you see my name?"

  Miki nodded. "On several. Mine, too, but not as many. I think you should be careful. You could be at risk."

  "You, too."

  The intercom buzzed. Sam's voice boomed into the room. "The police detectives are on their way back."

  Miki stood. "That's my exit line. I'm gone. One conversation with them every twenty-four hours is my psychological limit." Miki left the lounge and took a sharp left through an Employee Only doorway connecting to the main hospital corridor.

  It was almost nine. She decided to go to administration and wait until her appointment. "Hi, Carly," she said to the receptionist as she entered the dark-paneled administrative lobby.

  Troicki followed her in. "Mrs. Murphy, can I have a word?"

  Miki faced the beefy-faced chairman. "What can I do for you?" She wasn't in the mood to fend off one of his indecent, sexist proposals.

  "You can quit discussing hospital business with Al Gentry. We know about your relationship with him—you've been quite public about it—and we don't approve."

  "Ah . . . I—"

  "Carly, open the door," Troicki said to the receptionist. He pulled the handle and disappeared into the suite as soon as the lock clicked.

  Carly said, "Miki, Mrs. Anson is waiting for you."

  Miki found Anson at her light-oak desk. She entered the spacious office and sat across from her.

  "Good morning. You look tired," Anson said.

  "I'm exhausted. Too much stress. Not enough sleep."

  "I'm sorry to have a part in it. Tell me what's going on from your viewpoint."

  Miki brought Anson up-to-date, including the comment Troicki made a few minutes earlier.

  Anson nodded and said, "Yes, go on," at regular intervals, but contributed no new information.

  "What's the reason I'm here?"

  "Mr. Troicki."

  Miki glared at Anson, wide-eyed. "Yes?"

  "He wants me to suspend you until this is over. It is his feeling you—"

  "I know, share too much with his enemy, Al Gentry."

  "Miki, I agree with him. It's not good judgment, your liaison with Gentry."

  "I thought he was a friend of yours, too."

  "He is—was, actually—but things are different now. He's making waves at the board level and causing problems for Troicki. Gentry even threatened him in an open meeting last week."

  "Whoa. I didn't know." Miki paused. "However, the fact is, we've only had dinner a couple of times. We've been friends for years. He's visiting the area. I don't see the problem."

  "What have you told him?"

  "Nothing important. We talk about his granddaughter, his odd son-in-law, and I let him ramble on about the hospital. I work nights. What do I really know about this place?"

  "Point taken. The problem is Troicki is making demands." Anson appeared perplexed. "Now, the truth is I can't suspend you for associating with a board member. Tim Gardner and I explained the facts to Troicki. He didn't like it one bit. It would be best if you're not seen with Gentry, especially around the hospital."

  "You're telling me I have to fear for my position?"

  "You do a good job for us. I'd hate to lose you." Anson stood.

  Miki rose. "I've been warned. Thank you for defending me anyway."

  34

  As Cavanaugh approached the ER staff lounge, a soft chuckle she couldn't squelch escaped. A wedge of wood propped open the door framing a young looking Jo Ephraim. The doctor's brown hair fell over her shoulders in messy banana curls. To Cavanaugh, she seemed like a pouty teenager, curled in a chair, waiting for the unknown.

  "Something funny?" Quinlan said, stopping about ten feet from the lounge. He lowered his voice. "I don't see anything funny."

  "I was thinking," Cavanaugh tipped her chin in Ephraim's direction, "she looks like a stern parent grounded her. Then I realized I was the guilty party. She wasn't happy when I called and told her she could either wait for us here or present herself at our convenience at the station."

  "Not to defend the
woman, but she did work twelve hours in an ER, and we've kept her waiting for another two."

  "Funny how the murder of a colleague inconveniences people. Damned if I give a shit." Cavanaugh scowled.

  "Whoa. Strong language coming from you this morning."

  Cavanaugh rolled her eyes at her partner and continued at her maximum walking speed. She glanced over her shoulder at Quinlan, who hesitated and then caught up in three quick strides.

  When Cavanaugh entered the small room, Ephraim lifted her head.

  Cavanaugh said, "Good morning, doctor. Can we talk here, or do you want to go someplace else?"

  "Here works. Close the door behind you."

  Quinlan said, "You mean kick this illegal door stop here."

  "Whatever. Are you the fire marshal now?" Ephraim stood and faced Quinlan, coming to about mid-chest. "You know, big man, some of us are concerned about the deaths around here. We don't find it a joking matter. Some of us may even think our lives are at risk, but we came to work anyway. Now I'm exhausted, annoyed—no, pissed on and pissed off—and you come in here like a wise ass. Ask your questions and let me go home and sleep." She plopped into her chair and glared at him, defiance pouring from her eyes.

  Cavanaugh tried a different approach. She put her hand on the back of a chair. "May I sit?"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  "We'll chat while my partner walks over to administration and arranges to see some people there."

  Quinlan scowled, then turned and left, closing the door tightly behind him.

  "Doctor, first let me apologize for Detective Quinlan's behavior."

  "Not your responsibility. He can tell me he's sorry himself. I don't, however, think he is."

  Cavanaugh shrugged. "I believe you're correct." She placed a digital recorder on the marred laminate table. "I want to record this conversation. Is that acceptable?"

  "Go ahead."

  Cavanaugh made introductory remarks, giving the date, place, and time of the interview, as well as the circumstances and the participants' names. "Here's the deal. You're one of the people who interests us in these three deaths."

  "Why, may I ask?"

  "You don't have an alibi for any of the times of death, not a solid one in any event."

  "Oh, but I do. Yesterday I was asleep at home, but my roommate, Sheila Kenton, called in at two and woke me."

  "On your cell phone?"

  "No, Detective, on my house phone. I'm sure you can check the phone records and confirm the call."

  "Why didn't you tell us when we spoke with you last evening?"

  "I forgot. She awakened me in the middle of my sleep. That's one of the reasons I picked emergency medicine. When staff woke me to talk about patients, I'd give orders, then not remember the conversation. The ER works better. I take care of my patients face to face in real time and get few calls at home."

  "What's your home phone number?"

  Ephraim recited it. "If you wait a few minutes, Sheila will be here to pick me up. She'll tell you she called me." She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "I checked the computer records. You'll see that on the night Arlene died, I entered orders in the computer every few minutes the entire night. Furthermore, I could never have overpowered Arlene Porter, even if I had wanted to, which I didn't."

  "We know you couldn't have accomplished much alone—maybe you could have murdered Sanchez alone. But, working with someone else is a different matter in my opinion. You have the knowhow . . ."

  "Please. Almost any doctor, nurse, paramedic, or maybe plumber in town could be guilty. You're only targeting me because I knew everyone."

  "You had a serious connection with them. Relationship for years with Sanchez. We understand Porter had a fling with your domestic partner, too."

  "So, what else did that loud mouth Gentry tell you?"

  "Dr. Ephraim, I'm asking the questions." She paused. "I know you were a medical resident at Jackson in Miami when all three of the victims worked or trained there."

  Ephraim pinched her lips and knitted her brows. "It's a big place. Lots of local physicians were in that residency program. But, here are the facts. Sanchez and I split several years ago. We got along well even after he suggested we resume our relationship—on the side. His wife doesn't like me. Guess she knew he married her on the rebound.

  "Arlene roomed with Sheila for a while. They experimented with a relationship. Then Arlene got married. She had a lot of family pressure to do the husband and kids thing. I didn't see her again until she hired on here.

  "Jamal," Ephraim continued, "was a sweet man. All through anesthesia school at Jackson, he was dedicated to his wife and kids first, then to his education second. Trying to do right by his family. That's how he behaved here too. Friendly, outgoing, willing, and never any trouble for anyone. I did hear him arguing with Miki Murphy a few weeks ago. I remember thinking it was not in character for him."

  "What was it about? Do you know?"

  "The usual night shift stuff. He was supposed go home. Someone else was on call. Miki wanted him to wait until the on call man was on premises. Her reasoning was good since an ambulance was en route from the scene of a traffic accident, and she was verifying the trauma team's availability. It got a bit heated, nasty. He agreed to hang around, but he threatened to report her to administration in the process."

  "Did he report her?" Cavanaugh raised a hand to punctuate the question.

  "Don't know. You'll have to ask Miki."

  Cavanaugh said, "Do you know if Dempsey had affairs? Something that would have given someone reason to hate him?"

  "Who knows what people do in their own lives? If he did, it was never public knowledge—not here, not at Jackson."

  "What about the others? Any reason for someone to want them dead?"

  "I understand how Sanchez could be a target for murder. He pissed people off all the time." Ephraim shook her head.

  "How do you mean?"

  "For example, he shoved his friend Dr. Pancoast aside and grabbed the chief of staff position. Bad politics. It was like Sanchez was angry with the world. He quit taking care of himself, gained a bunch of weight, and was always rushed and rude. Don't get me wrong, he was kind enough to his patients, but sometimes I cringed at his manner with their families."

  "How about Porter? Any reason someone would want to kill her?"

  "She was a great nurse. Attentive, considerate. But, she was always fooling around, sexually I mean, with both men and women. It didn't seem to matter. She told me once she craved the excitement, the challenge. Said it was why she worked the ER at night, too."

  "Did her husband know?"

  "Sure he did. Threatened to kill her over it more than once. Then they came to an agreement, an open marriage sort of thing. For the sake of the kids, she said. So they playacted at marriage, and each went their own way otherwise."

  After asking more questions, Cavanaugh believed Ephraim was truthful, if not always forthcoming. She removed Ephraim from her short list of suspects, then wondered if the lady doctor—whose name appeared on several of the medical charts—was on the killer's short list of targets.

  35

  Cavanaugh entered the administrative suite's reception area and found Quinlan pacing a track in the dark-red carpet near the mahogany inner doors. A young woman sat behind a chest-high counter illuminated by the glow from her computer screen, shoulders moving in rhythm with the clicking of her keyboard. The dozen or so seats for waiting guests were empty.

  "What gives?" Cavanaugh asked, raising a brow.

  "Waiting for you. Carly," he nodded toward the receptionist, "told me to have a seat. Both Troicki and Gardner are inside."

  "Detective Quinlan," Carly said, her voice soft and sweet, "you and your partner can go in now. To the left and halfway down the hall. Mr. Gardner's secretary—her name's Linda—will show you right in."

  A chime and a soft click indicated Carly unlocked the door. Cavanaugh waited as Quinlan pulled it wide. They entered the carpeted corridor and rounded
the corner. Three men in suits chatted in front of a secretarial alcove. She stopped and motioned to Quinlan to do the same.

  Cavanaugh recognized them. Gentry, tall and thin with too-long white hair, trimmed beard, and pale complexion. Cavanaugh remembered seeing the man at a hospital function several years earlier, and though he was lean then, he appeared to have lost weight. She hadn't noticed during the late night interview. Even so, his tailored dark suit draped elegantly over his back. He looked very much the executive.

  She'd met the second gentleman, the portly Mr. Gardner, the morning after Sanchez died. She guessed he wore the same clothing, unless he had a closet full of ill-fitting, frumpy, gray suits. Standing about eye height to Gentry's shoulder, the man looked as if he had slept in his jacket—which maybe he had, given the events occurring on his watch. Thinning gray hair framed his round pockmarked face.

  The third man, Ralph Troicki, was a community figure. In his role as city councilman, he owned the reputation of being stubborn, opinionated, and rude. Even so, he managed to make his mark, getting a park approved for his district and new lighting for the streets surrounding the high school. He made one unsuccessful run for mayor, defeated, people said, not by his opponent but by his personality. Now, as chairman of the board of the hospital, he threw his influence and considerable wealth around on this side of town. People said he had aspirations. Cavanaugh wondered to what—and to what lengths he might go to achieve them.

  None of the men glanced in the direction of the two detectives, continuing their conversation as if unaware.

  Gentry touched Gardner's arm. "Tim," he said, "I like what you've done with the lobby area and the courtyard. Very welcoming."

  "The project you started before . . . before you retired."

  "Yes, yes. You seem to have improved on my vision. Well done is all I can say."

  "I'm glad you approve." Gardner retreated a step, positioning himself closer to Troicki's shoulder.

  An expression between a smile and a sneer crossed Gentry's face. Cavanaugh imagined he'd noted the subtle change in Gardner's position. Politics.

  Troicki's voice boomed. "So, Gentry, when are you packing up and leaving town? When you show up things always get a little dicey around here."