"Sorry to keep you waiting," a young woman said in Spanish-accented English as she approached the counter. "What can I get for you?"
Miki pulled a note from her pocket and pretended to read. "The medical record for Al Gentry."
"Got a number?"
"No," she said, staring at her paper. "I didn't note it. His attending was Pancoast."
"I'll find it. Want me to send it upstairs when I do?"
"No. I need a few facts for a quality study. It'll only take me a minute once I get the chart."
"Fine." She tapped her index finger on the log sheet on the counter. "Sign in. Put the patient's name, too." She pointed to a partitioned counter. "You can wait there."
Miki cringed, thinking about the ethics of her actions, then signed her name. She retreated to the designated carrel feeling ashamed of herself, but she needed to know what was going on with Al's illness. She waited a few minutes, accepted the chart from the woman, and bent into the dictation carrel, hoping to obscure her face from anyone who would identify her as an intruder.
The physician's progress notes described Gentry's disease and his terminal prognosis. The prostate cancer had metastasized throughout his body before he sought care. He hadn't mentioned his symptoms to his physician until he was beyond effective options. Pancoast referred Gentry to a local oncologist, then wrote that Gentry preferred to get chemotherapy in Roanoke, Virginia, near his vacation home.
Miki stared at the prognosis. Pancoast wrote and underlined that he told Gentry he had a year to live, perhaps a bit longer if treatment was helpful. The date of the note was nine months prior.
50
The doorbell chimed.
Before Miki pushed aside her first cup of afternoon coffee and walked to the foyer, fists pounded the door with enough intensity to activate the security system. The shrill alarm startled her and sent shivers down her spine. "Hope it scares the impatient son of a bitch." She peered through the peephole. Quinlan. She backtracked a few steps to the shiny, white control panel and keyed in the code to notify the monitoring company of an erroneous signal.
After tightening the belt on her robe and running her fingers through her short, blond curls, she took a deep breath and opened the door. "Detective Quinlan. What do you want now?"
"Some security setup you have. I don't remember it being here."
"It wasn't."
"Why have it now? You live in a gated community."
"Since no one in your department thinks I'm at risk, I decided to protect myself. Now, like I said, what do you want?" Miki's voice was edgy, bordering on rude.
"Can I come in?"
"No."
"I have some questions." He stepped forward, but stopped when Miki moved into the breezeway and pulled the door closed behind her.
"Detective, with all due respect, I'm done responding to questions and accusations."
"In that case, you can come downtown with me. I'd going to ask you the questions one way or the other."
"Got a warrant?"
"I'd appreciate it if you'd come to the station. I don't have a warrant. The other choice is for you to continue to play hardball with me, and I'll go see the judge and get one."
"Detective Quinlan, I'll go inside, call my lawyer, and then I'll let you know." She opened the door behind her. "Does that do it for you?"
"Leave the door open while you do."
Miki stepped into the apartment, closed the door, flipped the lock, slid the chain in place, and reset the alarm. She peaked out and smiled when she saw Quinlan retreat and lean against the facing wall.
She called her attorney, Kyle Everson.
The receptionist answered, and Miki introduced herself and explained the problem.
"He's expecting your call. Go to the station. Don't answer any questions. Not even something simple. Tell him Mr. Everson will meet you there."
"Why was he expecting my call?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask him."
Miki selected jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers, then took her time dressing and combing her hair. She picked up her pocketbook, iPhone, a sweater, and her keys, and returned to the door.
"I'll drive my own car. I'll need a way home."
"When you come home, if you come home, someone will drive you." He escorted her to his Buick and opened the rear door. He extended his hand. "I'll check the contents of your purse before I allow you to keep it with you."
"Got a warrant?" She held her pocketbook close to her side as she entered the car.
She saw Quinlan frown as he walked around the car behind the steering wheel.
The ride to the police station felt interminable. Orange cones blocked one lane of traffic, and pushy drivers jockeyed for positions in line at the expense of others.
Quinlan kept to his lane, displaying more patience than Miki imagined he possessed, given the elephant-in-the-corn behavior she'd witnessed earlier. She regretted not asking him the reason for his wanting to question her. Now he was hauling her in for a formal interview.
Quinlan pulled his car into an official-vehicle-only space near the police department's side entrance. He escorted Miki through a door, then to the second floor via a service elevator. Miki saw a security camera mounted high above the control panel and believed he'd brought her in through the door reserved for criminals.
He stuck her in a room that looked like an interrogation chamber out of an old television cop show. Ugly grey, textured, soundproofing material covered unadorned walls. A small table occupied the center. A video recorder hung from the corner. He left, closing the door behind him.
Several minutes later, Quinlan returned. "Sit." He pointed to the chair facing the camera. "Let's get started."
"When my attorney arrives."
"Lawyering-up. Shows a guilty conscience."
Miki stared at him, concentrating on keeping her expression neutral.
Quinlan frowned. "Who'd you call?"
"Kyle Everson."
"I'll return when he arrives." Quinlan left.
Miki glanced at the camera, then stood under it, not wanting to be taped while she waited.
Everson arrived wearing baggy khakis, a red-striped golf shirt, and a Florida Marlins' hat.
"Sorry to interrupt your game," she said.
"No problem, Ms. Murphy, happens all the time. Truth is, I expected the call."
"Your receptionist said the same thing. Why?"
"Let's take a short walk. It's best to avoid private discussions here. We'll talk outside."
"They'd listen to a privileged conversation?"
"In a heartbeat. Of course they couldn't use it in court, but they can and do use it to advance an investigation." He held a finger in front of his mouth, then motioned her to the door. He led the way to a flight of stairs, out the front door, and across the parking lot to a bus bench facing the street.
After they sat, he said, "You do know someone murdered Dr. Joanne Ephraim today, don't you?"
"God, no. I didn't know." The words choked her. "Not Jo. Why Jo?" Tears filled her eyes, and she choked back sobs as she cried for the loss of her friend for the second time that day. She fumbled in her bag for a pack of tissues. "Oh God, how did it happen?"
"She was in her car this morning. The killer cut her throat."
"I warned her. I tried to tell her to be careful. She didn't believe me." Miki sobbed harder.
Everson waited for Miki to gain control. "I take it you were fond of her."
She dabbed at the tears. "Very. I mean, we've had problems with our friendship since all this started." She explained their difficulties. "I've been trying to understand why she turned on me. We were close, then suddenly our conversations grew tense and angry. Today we had another disagreement."
"What did you argue about?"
"She took issue with everything. I've avoided her as much as possible since Wednesday." Miki paused, catching her breath, stifling a sob. "I probably should start with the events from earlier in the shift." She reported her activ
ities, including her trip to Oster's area and her record review. "After I checked the charts, I got to thinking that if I'm on the killer's to do list, then Jo must be, too. I don't know if I'm off base, but her name is on more of those charts than mine is, and she played a prominent role in the care of two of the patients who had bad results. Anyway, I wanted to warn her, to try to get her to protect herself. It appears I was right."
"What happened when you warned her?"
"She erupted in anger. Accused me of wishing her harm. Told me I have bad judgment to keep associating with Gentry. She stormed away."
Everson frowned. "Any witnesses?"
"Our voices were raised. She got very loud. I'm sure everyone heard us."
"Fuel for Quinlan. What were your activities this morning?"
"I worked all night, left the hospital around eight, ran an errand to Medical Center by the Glades, then went home to bed. Oh, I stopped at an accident on my way to Glades, rendered aid, then spoke to a patrolman and paramedics I know. I've been asleep most of the day." Miki wiped again at her tears, then blew her nose. "I have to stop crying."
Everson waited a moment. "Quinlan didn't tell you the reason for the interview?"
"No. Truth is I didn't allow him to tell me. He's accusatory and disagreeable. I'd much rather deal with Cavanaugh, if I have to talk with either of them."
"It's unfortunate, but Cavanaugh isn't available." Everson questioned Miki in detail about her activities over the last couple of days.
"What worries me is Jo and I argued in the parking lot on Wednesday, too."
"You mentioned that argument yesterday when we met. Ephraim took issue with your suggesting she could have been involved in the murders." He shifted his considerable weight on the hard bench. "Were there witnesses to the quarrel Wednesday?"
"Yes. I saw someone in the shadows. I have no idea who it was."
Everson pursued the line of questioning for a minute, then asked, "What was the errand across town?"
Miki paused, flushing. With downcast eyes, she said, "Gentry said he's fine, but it's obvious he's not. Popping pills. In pain. The biggest problem is it wasn't ethical. I violated his privacy and the HIPAA regulations, too. If they learn about it at work, I'm a goner. They've been searching for a reason to get rid of me anyway, because of my association with Gentry. He and the board of trustees chair are openly hostile to each other. Now Troicki is trying to get me fired as well."
"We'll stay away from it if we can. But if it will keep you out of jail, then we have to use it. I assume there are witnesses."
"Sure, I signed in as a fifth floor nurse, used my own name and ID, and signed for the chart."
"A solid alibi, but not your smartest move." Everson puffed his chubby cheeks. "We'll go with the accident alibi. The patrolman or the paramedic should have noted your name on their reports." He rubbed his chin. "Was your interest in Gentry's chart curiosity?"
"No. Desperation, I think. Something doesn't fit with Gentry. His behavior. His over-interest in me, all of a sudden. Don't get me wrong, we've known each other for years, had an intense affair before he left town almost a year ago. I believe he's sincerely fond of me. But his pursuit doesn't hit me as honest, not now."
"Maybe the guy is lonely. Stuck here with his daughter sick and Troicki after his hide. I've known him for years. Nice guy, maybe a bit too smooth."
"I agree with that assessment."
After a few more questions, Everson said, "Let's see Quinlan and get this over with. Remember to pause before you answer any question and give me a chance to intervene if necessary. I'd like to get as much information from Quinlan as possible, so I won't stop the interview until I'm ready."
"I understand." As they walked into the building, Miki asked, "Do you think this is going to be bad?"
"Hard to say. He has a reputation for being a bulldog. The common opinion is he's trying to make a name for himself. He'll be especially dangerous with Cavanaugh gone for a couple of days."
"Where is she?"
"She had a family wedding. Quinlan said she'd be at work on Monday. I believe he'd like nothing better than to wrap this thing up while she's gone."
"Wonderful. Now I'm fodder for an ambitious cop."
"Looks that way. Let's keep it under control. Okay?" Everson opened the door to the interrogation room.
Quinlan entered a minute later. "Sit. Let's get started."
Miki moved toward the chair closest to the door.
"No, you sit there." He pointed to the chair across from the video camera.
She slid onto the chair.
Everson selected a seat, angling toward Miki.
Quinlan sat across the table from Everson, moving his chair close to Miki and turning to face her, invading her space.
Everson stood. "Listen, Detective. My client is here of her own free will. You don't have a warrant, and I have no reason to believe she is a logical suspect or you'd charge her. Either you back off and give the lady some space, or we're leaving."
Quinlan pushed his chair back a couple of feet. "Mrs. Murphy, I have a few questions for you."
51
Miki slid into Everson's Porsche and secured the seat belt. The clock on the dash displayed two minutes after eight. "I appreciate you running me home. I've had enough police escorts to last me a lifetime."
"You've been taken to the police station before?" He started the car and exited the parking lot.
"No. I think once is more than enough." She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. An image of Ephraim vibrant and alive ran through her mind, and she popped her eyes open. "I can't believe that monster killed Jo."
"Monster or monsters. From what Quinlan implied, they're not convinced it's the work of one person. I have a buddy in the department. He told me the crime scenes are inconsistent. No pattern."
"I'm seeing a pattern. Actually, I'm seeing three patterns. First, all of us worked together on Sanchez's patients. Second, everyone knew about or participated in Troicki's failed project, the Century Arts Building. Third, they all knew each other from Jackson Memorial in Miami. What doesn't fit with the last pattern is I never worked a day at JMH, and I'm obviously at risk."
"You need to adjust your thinking." Everson cornered onto Sample Road. "It's important now to keep yourself safe. Maybe take a vacation. Keep away from the investigation. Keep your mouth shut. What I'm saying is stay under the radar. Quinlan told me he's thinking two people. Don't get the idea that because you have an alibi for Ephraim's murder, you're in the clear. He can try to peg you for some of the other murders, planning, conspiracy to commit." He glanced at Miki.
Miki nodded.
"Having said that, I think he has to leave you alone for now. His theory went bust when the medical records supervisor at Glades and the paramedics confirmed your alibi. Please keep every possible entrance locked and your alarm activated when you're home, only leave your apartment with an escort or to go to populated places if you can manage it, and keep your phone on your person."
"You believe I'm at risk." Miki felt comforted, but his validation of her risk increased her tension. She sat on her hands to make them quit shaking.
"Of course." He scowled. "Let me continue. Can you take time away from work? Is there anyone who can stay with you, both for protection and to assure you have an alibi should something else happen?"
"I can check about vacation days, but I don't know of anyone to babysit me."
"See what you can do. Be seen by your neighbors. Use your home telephone and computer. At the very least, be visible on line."
Miki nodded, feeling as if he were taking her home to imprison her.
Everson's cell chimed. The radio, which had been playing low volume elevator music, silenced and a name and number appeared on the GPS screen. He said, "Hang on a minute." He keyed something into his phone, then put it to his ear.
Miki realized he'd changed the mode to privacy. While he talked, she tried closing her eyes. She succeeded in keeping images of Eph
raim at bay, but couldn't block the reality. Tears streamed over her cheeks and onto her tee shirt. She didn't bother wiping them away.
Everson chatted on the phone until he pulled into her complex. She directed him to her apartment.
"I'll walk you into your apartment."
Miki nodded, opened her door, and walked to her apartment with Everson following.
"It looks fine. Set your alarm."
She walked him to the door and gave him a weak-wristed wave. Then after locking the door and setting the alarm, she went to the kitchen to check for voice messages.
She needed to decide what to do next. She didn't plan to work again until Monday. Maybe she could use the weekend to get her life together.
The first problem was Gentry. She wanted to apologize for invading his privacy.
The message indicator on her machine flashed three. She punched the button.
The first message was curt. Leslie Anson's secretary instructed her to check her hospital email account. The time of the message was three o'clock, just after she'd gone on her trip to the police station. Unusual. Miki shuddered.
The second message was from Gentry. "Call me." Also unusual. His normal manner was to leave a greeting and some detail about what he wanted. A computerized voice announced the message recorded at seven minutes past six.
Feeling as if she needed to fortify herself to respond to either message, she dried her tears and got down on her knees next to the kitchen cabinet. She removed her big roasting pan and the bread maker. "There the damn thing is," she said as she extracted a half-full bottle of scotch Gentry abandoned when he left town.
She poured herself a double-shot and drank it in two gulps. When she finished coughing and sputtering, she refilled her glass, and reached for the telephone.
When Gentry answered, she said, "Al, I'm glad you left a message. I want to talk to you."
"What in the hell do you think you're doing? I got a call from Medical Center by the Glades informing me you'd accessed my medical record. If I wanted you to know, I'd have told you."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I was so worried about you last evening. You looked ill. I checked in our medical records first, saw the PSA level, then I needed to know."
Plan to Kill Page 19