Plan to Kill

by Gregg E. Brickman

  Walden shuffled toward the breakfast room, muttering under his breath.

  Miki followed but went through the galley kitchen, running parallel with the hall, instead. She settled into her chair, checked her watch, then used her cell phone to call the operating room. "This is Miki Murphy. Can you tell me how Katie Walden's procedure is going?" She sipped her beverage as she waited. "The charge nurse is checking now." A moment later, she listened, then said, "Thank you. I'll tell the dad and grandfather."

  "What did she say?" Gentry said.

  "Johnson told her the abscess is drained. It was smaller than he thought. She has some general inflammation in her belly. He thinks she'll be fine, but he's taking her to ICU to be sure."

  "Thank God." Walden wept, his shoulders shuddering with each raspy breath.

  Gentry said, "Amen to that."

  Miki felt like an intruder into a quiet family moment. Even so, she was glad to see the two men getting along.

  Gentry pushed a plate of bagels across the table. "You both should eat. Miki, I know you're exhausted. Food will help. John, it'll be a long day with Katie."

  "I suppose it will." Walden wiped at his eyes with a napkin, then reached for a bagel. He spread a dab of cream cheese on it before placing it on his plate. "Let's talk about something else. Anything else." He sipped his coffee but left the bagel untouched. "Do either of you know what the detectives have found out?"

  Gentry bit into his bagel, chewed, swallowed, and pushed his plate away. "They're talking to Troicki and Gardner this morning."

  Miki said, "Probably done by now." She glanced at Gentry. "By the way, remember last night when you asked about the notes with the bodies, and they wanted to know how you knew about them? How did you? I didn't tell you."

  Gentry seemed puzzled, then smiled. "I thought about it when I got home. I think, maybe John mentioned it."

  "Could be. I don't remember us talking about it though." Walden glanced at his watch.

  Gentry shrugged. "I also chatted with Ephraim for a few minutes the other day. It's common knowledge."

  "I'm going to the hospital. I'm too nervous to sit here." Walden stood. "I'll wait with Madeline for my Katie."

  Gentry walked Walden to the door. "Okay, son. I'll be over a bit later."

  Miki finished the last of her drink. "I'm heading home. I need sleep."

  "You'll have a clearer picture of things later. How about I pick you up for dinner around eight? I'll be your sounding board if you like."

  "I'd like that, but I'd better go to my karate class instead."

  39

  When Miki's phone disrupted her sleep, her first thought was rude awakenings were becoming a habit. She glanced at the clock, seven-fifteen, then reached for the handset. "Hello."

  "Are you up yet?" Gentry said in a soft-sexy voice.

  Miki pushed aside the thought his voice created. "I am now. Good thing you called. I slept through my alarm."

  "Want dinner?"

  "No, Al, not tonight. I need to exercise and collect my thoughts, then review my finances. I want to know my options if and when my circumstances change. I didn't have the energy to do it when I got home."

  "I told you I'd help, give you someone to bounce your thoughts off." The alluring tone was gone.

  "Maybe Friday evening. I'm not scheduled to work. By then I should have my thoughts together."

  "I look forward to it." He paused. "The dinner, I mean."

  She laughed. "That, too." Miki paused. "How're Madeline and Katie?"

  "Madeline is the same, deeper in coma if that's possible. Katie's awake. Says she's better than before the surgery, but she has a fever. John's the problem. He seems manic. Wanders to the sixth floor, down to two, back to six. I told him to go home and sleep. Maybe he will. Elsie said she'd sit with Katie for a few hours. I'll take a turn in the morning and relieve her."

  "Katie is in Pediatric ICU. Someone doesn't have to be with her every minute. The staff is very attentive. She'll be fine with them."

  "I couldn't agree more. Even Katie agrees. It's my son-in-law who insists she not be alone for more than a minute."

  "He's a concern." She checked her watch. She had thirty minutes before the Tuesday evening karate class. If she hurried, she'd make it and perhaps learn the results of her last testing. "It's probably best to keep an eye on things. Too bad I won't be at the hospital to help tonight, but I will check on her tomorrow night."

  "Don't worry about it. I'll do what I can to keep John under control. Talk to you tomorrow."

  "Sounds good." After saying goodbye, Miki hurried to dress for class.

  She slipped into a clean gi and sandals, then tied her blue belt around her middle. After grabbing a protein bar and a bottle of water from the kitchen, she picked up her sport bag and scooted out. She made it to class in time to take her place among the kids in the third row and bow.

  The Shotokan studio, on the second floor of a strip shopping center, taught mixed classes of adults and children. The first two rows were the brown and black belts, the majority of whom were adults or buff teenage boys. The remaining three rows were beginner adults, many of them joining in with their offsprings' activity, and younger children. A few of the women, Miki included, attended to learn self-defense.

  The sensei surveyed the group, then extended his arm. A junior instructor placed several colored belts in his hand. Miki saw a brown one and hoped it was for her.

  She watched with interest as a younger woman stepped forward to receive her critique and her black belt. Miki had sparred with her at the testing and thought she deserved to pass.

  Next, the sensei raised the brown belt and called Miki's name. Controlling her desire to smile, Miki trotted to the front, as was expected, bowed, and assumed a ready position.

  "You did well at the brown belt testing," the sensei said. "Your kata was almost perfect, though I think you need more force behind your punches. In kumite, you're a bit timid. Sparring is what it's about. To progress to the black belt, you'll need to be the aggressor."

  "Yes, sir."

  He placed the belt in her hands. "Put on your belt and join the second row."

  "Thank you, sir." Miki bowed, then hurried to the back of the studio, stowed her blue belt in her bag, and tied the new, stiffer belt around her waist. She adjusted the knot and arranged the ends to hang in perfect position, then glanced in the mirror and smiled. By the time she rejoined the group, the sensei had completed the awards, and she faced the task of keeping pace with her new peers.

  After a vigorous one-hour training session, Miki was winded, but more relaxed than she had been in several days. She considered returning home but decided to head to the beach instead. She stopped in the locker room and changed into shorts and a tee shirt.

  As she pulled into traffic and headed east, she tapped Ephraim's home number into her cell phone. Ephraim wasn't working tonight either. When she answered, Miki said, "Want to ride over and stare at the ocean for a while with me, maybe get some dinner on the way?"

  "You're mighty chipper for someone who got poked in the eye today."

  "Hey, at least I know where Anson stands. However, I received my brown belt this evening. It's the first good thing to happen to me in a long time."

  "Good for you." Ephraim's tone was flippant. There was a long pause. "I don't get you. Our friends are dead, and you're acting like your world hasn't changed. Then you hang around with Gentry so much your job is threatened."

  "You seem very well-informed about my private employment issues. What gives?"

  "Anson met with me. Wants me to try and smack some realism into your thick head."

  "Then come to the beach with me. I have to do something normal, something where I feel safe. Do you feel safe, Jo?"

  "Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I? Whoever is doing this has no reason to come after me. My name was on a few of those charts. So what? My name is on a lot of charts. I work full-time and then some. I don't think I have a thing to fear."

  "I ho
pe not, my friend. But, I'm checking behind me and locking my doors."

  "Whatever. Listen, I have to hang up. Sheila just came home."

  "Goodnight, then." Miki disconnected without waiting to see if Ephraim said anything more. Unsettled, she turned around and headed for home.

  40

  After her conversation with Ephraim, Miki approached her apartment in a cloud of distraction. When she inserted the key into the lock, the door moved a bit. She shook her head. The door was secure when she left for class. She remembered doubling back to check and locking it.

  Miki swung the door open a few inches into total darkness. She paused, trying to remember about the lamp. She'd been in a hurry and forgot to lock the door. Maybe she forgot to turn on the lamp. No. She remembered the glow through the window catching her attention when she pulled out of the parking lot.

  Resisting the urge to investigate, Miki moved away from the door and onto the sidewalk. After scanning the parking lot and seeing no movement, she hurried to her car, climbed in, locked the doors, and dialed 9-1-1.

  She muttered to herself, vowing to talk to management about the upsurge of break-ins around the neighborhood. It was so bad they'd posted a sign reminding residents to lock their doors. "So much for living in a gated community."

  With blue lights flashing, two police cars rolled in less than five minutes later. As the men exited their cars, Miki walked across the drive to meet them.

  "I'm Officer Masters, ma'am." He nodded to the second, shorter man. "This is Officer Grant. What's the problem?"

  Miki explained, then led the way to her door. "I wasn't comfortable going in alone. That's why I called." Miki pointed at the door.

  "Wait here while we check around," Grant said.

  "There's a switch on the wall to the left."

  Masters pushed the door wide, stepped in, and flipped the switch. When Miki moved to follow, he held up a hand cautioning her to hold her place.

  She heard the men moving around, then muffled voices.

  A couple of minutes later, Masters reappeared. "Come in. No one is here now."

  "Did someone break in?"

  "Yes, we think so. The screen is off the rear window, and it's wide open. Looks like he climbed in there." He paused. "We found this card on the coffee table." He pointed to a white card that read,

  miki murphy

  you're on my list;

  saith the lord.

  "Oh my God." Miki collapsed onto the edge of the sofa and wrapped her arms around herself. Her voice shaking, she said, "The killer was here. After me. Call Detective Cavanaugh."

  Masters raised a brow. "The killer? What are you talking about? Why would I want to call Detective Cavanaugh?"

  "The deaths at the Medical Center by the Sea. The killer left a card with each victim." Miki motioned toward the table. "He was here. He brought the card." Miki's world imploded.

  "I'll call it in." Grant stepped into the kitchen.

  Miki slid further onto the sofa, pulled her feet onto the seat, and hugged them to her chest. Her eyes stung, the prelude to tears. When they came, they flowed in silent torrents over her cheeks and onto her legs.

  Miki and the officers waited in silence. After twenty minutes, Cavanaugh tapped on the door, pushed it open, and entered the apartment. She wore jeans, sneakers, and a sleeveless tee shirt. Her badge dangled from the waistband of her pants and a black bag hung from her left shoulder.

  Cavanaugh approached Masters. "This had better be good. You interrupted the first meal I've had with my husband in two weeks."

  "Sorry, Detective. When Mrs. Murphy told us about the card being linked to the murders at the hospital, I thought you'd want to know."

  Cavanaugh nodded. "You're right, of course. Walk me though it, please." After he finished his brief report, she said, "I'll take it from here. Thanks for calling. I need you and . . ." Cavanaugh glanced at Grant's name tag, "Grant. Talk to the neighbors who live in the immediate area and could have witnessed the break in." Cavanaugh motioned, then stepped outside with the two men.

  Miki heard their voices in the corridor. From the few words she caught, it was clear Cavanaugh gave specific directions about what to ask.

  Cavanaugh returned. "Now, Ms. Murphy, tell me your version."

  "My version?" She frowned, then decided to let the slight pass. "I came home and discovered my door wasn't locked." Miki took a deep breath. "I went to my car and called the police."

  "You're sure you locked the place?"

  "Yes. I rushed out, wanting to get to my karate class on time, then had to come back when I realized I didn't remember keying the door."

  Cavanaugh seemed puzzled. "What I'm trying to determine is if you're at risk here, or if this is somehow a setup to pull us off track. It strikes me as beyond circumstantial that every time I get a call, you're finding a body. You know the victims. You know the suspects. Now there's a card in your home."

  "Why would I put a card in my own home and then call the police? I didn't." Miki dabbed at the tears that had reappeared in response to Cavanaugh's veiled accusation. "I've been threatened. If I'd gone inside, I think I'd be dead by now. I'm the one who's been invaded."

  "So you say." Cavanaugh took a paper evidence bag from her purse and slid the card into it. "Did you touch this card?"

  "No."

  "We'll check to be sure." Cavanaugh frowned. "I'll play this both ways. I'll get the crime scene techs in here to take prints, see what we find. We'll need your prints as well."

  Miki thought the detective wanted to check this card and perhaps the other cards, too, for any indication she touched them. "Okay. Tonight?"

  Cavanaugh punched numbers into her phone. "Right now." She made her call. When finished, she said, "Tell me what you did today, who you talked to, what happened."

  After Miki finished an abbreviated version of her day, she considered asking questions about the review of the charts, about the medical records, and about the suspects. Remembering Gentry's advice to say as little as possible to the police and not knowing what Cavanaugh would believe her questions revealed, Miki kept silent. She glanced at her watch—midnight—then looked at Cavanaugh.

  "You seem to be seeing a lot of Al Gentry," Cavanaugh said. "Do you and he have a relationship?"

  "No. We're friends now. We had an affair before he left town. More than that, though, he's the administrator-mentor type, me the underling supervisor. Usually when he's in town for a board meeting, I don't even see him to say hello. This time he sought me out. I think because of Katie, his granddaughter, being ill and my having access to information. We've been out to dinner a couple of times this past week. That's about it."

  "What's your relationship with John Walden?"

  "He's a hospital employee. He's Al's son-in-law. He's the husband of a terminally ill patient and the father of a sick little girl. I like John, and he's a good tech. He has a lot to deal with right now, and I think he needs support from his co-workers because he has been through a lot."

  "Do you make a habit of associating with John Walden outside the hospital?"

  "No." Miki grimaced. "Today is the first time I've gone anywhere in John's company. Al and I were chatting in the lobby. John showed up, clearly upset, and told us his daughter was in surgery again. He needed company. We provided it. Al offered coffee and food."

  Cavanaugh looked thoughtful. "You said something about a terminally ill patient."

  "John's wife, Madeline. She didn't wake up after her surgery a few months ago. Has been in the hospital, comatose, ever since. Her attending physician told John today that Madeline is slipping and doesn't have long to live."

  "How'd Walden react to the information?"

  "He's shook, but coping, I think. I hope."

  Two technicians in light blue shirts and black slacks entered, followed by Detective Quinlan.

  "Let's talk outside for a minute." Cavanaugh moved toward the door.

  When the detectives and technicians returned, Cavanaugh approached
Miki. "I need you to check the apartment with me and tell me if anything is missing or out of place."

  They did a tour and returned to the living room.

  Miki said, "Everything seems fine. Except the window."

  "Good. Sit on the sofa until we're done."

  As Cavanaugh stepped away, Miki's cell phone rang. She dug into her purse and slid her finger across the screen. "Hello."

  "Mom," James said. "What's happening there? At first your emails sounded fine, but the last one sounded desperate. That's not like you."

  "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad to hear from you. I wanted to talk, tell you what's happening, but I didn't have a telephone number. I didn't want to write it in an email." Miki sat on the edge of the sofa.

  "I'm sorry. I couldn't get a telephone right away. I needed to settle into the apartment first so they'd have the billing address. I left a message on your phone on Sunday with the number."

  "I never got the message. Is everything okay there?"

  "It is. Tell me why you're upset? We can catch up on my activities later."

  "Hang on a minute." Miki glanced around the apartment. The officers and technicians were in the bedroom. Lowering her voice, she described the evening's events, then told the story, starting with Sanchez's death. "Now they've threatened my job, not outright but subtly, and I think I'm a suspect. Seems like one detective or the other is always implying I might be involved in the killings. I can't understand it. I call 9-1-1 because my apartment is entered, and they use it as an opportunity to accuse me. Why would they think I have motive?"

  "It sounds like they're shaking the tree, trying to get a piece of ripe fruit to drop in their laps. Take Gentry's advice and don't volunteer anything. You don't want to point them to another innocent person by accident." There was a moment of static-filled silence. "You better get a lawyer. Just in case."

  "Today. I'll do it today."

  41

  Red-eyed from lack of sleep, the man slammed his hand onto his desk with enough force to bounce his laptop computer and send an open box of paper clips flying.