Miki thought for a moment. It was obvious Gentry wanted her company. "I'll meet you at the Italian place north of your condo at seven."
"Don't trust me to drive you anymore?"
"No. It's not only John who needs some rest. You do, too. We'll keep it simple."
"Yes, nurse." Gentry flashed the same endearing, gentle smile that had sealed their friendship many years before.
Miki glanced at her watch. She, too, felt exhausted, but needed to remain awake until a normal bedtime as part of her plan to readjust her schedule. After Gentry and Walden drove away, she sat in her car, air conditioner running, and made a grocery list on her iPhone. Then she went to the store, reasoning she would be safer carrying in the groceries during daylight hours.
Miki accomplished her chore with enough time left to refresh her make-up and slip into a black and pale-blue print dress. She added a second gold chain to the one she'd worn during the day and changed her earrings to a pair with dangling cultured pearls. In the mirror, she looked appropriate for a Saturday dinner, which really wasn't a date.
She saw Gentry sitting on a bench near the door when she entered the restaurant. He'd closed his eyes, but she sensed he wasn't asleep. She took the spot next to him, touching his thigh with hers.
"I'm glad you're here. You were right about me needing rest."
"I can see." She faced him, sitting sideways on the bench. "Did you put your name in?"
"Yes. They'll call us in a minute."
"How'd it go with John this afternoon?"
"Lousy. The sleep will help him. Katie is taking things in stride. I think she already mourned for her mother and is more realistic than her loosely-wrapped father."
"It'll hit her. Might take a while. Kids process death in a manner different from adults."
"I suppose you're right." He nodded, glancing at Miki with heavy, sad eyes.
The hostess approached, and Gentry and Miki stood, following her to a booth toward the rear of the restaurant.
Gentry ordered drinks—Chivas for himself, Pinot Grigio for her. When they arrived, he raised his. "To better times."
"Amen."
"Wilma told me you're suspended."
"True." His statement struck Miki as an invitation to talk. She told him about going to the police station, her lawyer's concerns, her conversation with Sheila, her worry over James being out of contact, and finally her encounter with Troicki.
Gentry listened to the monologue without comment, nodding his head at intervals.
"I believe I'm at risk, and I think I've done all I can to protect myself."
"Except leaving town. You're unemployed, at least for the moment. You could leave, and I believe you should."
"I'm also a suspect. It I run, it'll make me look guilty, and I won't be here to defend myself. Besides, I have to find James." She blinked several times to ward off the sensation of impending tears. "Since losing contact with him, I'm worried sick."
Gentry looked thoughtful. "All valid points. I wouldn't worry about your son if I were you."
"James isn't attached to my apron strings or anything—if I owned an apron. It's just that—since the Navy anyway—he's kept in touch. Maybe a phone call. Maybe an email. I talked to him the other day, expected him to call again and check on me. He sounded very concerned. But nothing. Not a peep. It's not like him. Not like him at all. Since the divorce, he's acted like it was his job to look after me rather than the other way around. His dad acted like a real son of a bitch, and James took it personally."
"Italy is a fun country, and he's young and footloose. He'll reappear in a few days."
"Oh God, I hope he does. I feel alone. I suppose that's why I'm desperate to reach him. I couldn't bear to lose . . ."
A dark expression crossed Gentry's face.
"I'm . . . Al, I'm sorry. You've had such a tremendous loss, and here I am prattling on about my little issues."
Gentry smiled. "I'm delighted to listen to you. First, I'm concerned about you, and I want to know what's going on. Second, you've taken my thoughts off my own troubles." He sipped his drink. "I think you have to be realistic about what's happening to you at the moment. It seems to me you've been a rather open target, what with working nights and coming and going in the dark. Someone could still be planning to harm you. It seems to me, given everything that's happened, they didn't take advantage of your schedule. Now it will be harder for them. Listen to your lawyer's counsel. Stay surrounded by other people. Lock your door. Short of taking my advice and leaving town, that's all you can do."
"So, you think the danger to me is real."
"It certainly is. But, I could be wrong. I've been before. Consider that, but be careful." He raised his glass to his lips. "For my part, I'll try to make sure you're not alone very much. I contacted my realtor and put my house in Virginia on the market. I plan to stay here for the duration."
Miki felt shocked by his easy reference to his situation. At least she assumed that was his meaning. She thought to comment, then decided to let it pass. If they were going to enjoy a relationship, however brief, it needed to focus on living, not dying. If he wanted to pursue the topic, she knew he'd invite the discussion.
They lightened their conversation during dinner, talking about hospital personalities and local news. Soon they stood next to her car.
"I'm going to lock you into the car. The minute you get inside your apartment, call me. If I don't hear from you in twenty minutes, I'll call the police."
Miki grimaced.
"From what you told me, you may have baited a bear today. I don't know if I believe Troicki is a valid suspect for the murders, but I believe he's capable of getting revenge for defying him."
He drew her close, resting his cheek on the top of her head and running his hands over the length of her back. She tipped her face up and accepted his gentle kiss. After a few moments, she pushed away. He helped her into her car and remained in place as she turned into the street.
When she stopped at the first light, the message alert on her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she noticed she hadn't turned the ring back on after leaving the funeral home.
She didn't recognize the number but thinking it might be James, she retrieved the message.
"This is Professor Shelby from the University of Florida. I've lost touch with your son. Have you heard from him? He was supposed to email his first report on his practicum yesterday. I wouldn't be worried with most of the students, but James is always on time, usually early. I've talked to a couple of other students, and they haven't seen him since the beginning of the week. Call me as soon as you can."
She knew she should pull over until she quit shaking and crying. But she didn't know James' whereabouts and had no way to find him. His telephone was out of service. He didn't respond to her emails. She focused on keeping her car in the right lane and forced herself to watch the traffic. She needed to get home where she had the phone numbers of James' friends. She'd start there.
James was always a resourceful kid, and given his military background, he was a competent man. But, a lot could happen to a single man living on a whole different continent. She thought about calling his father, but what could he do? Dan would use the opportunity to humiliate her for being a doting mother.
Miki took a moment to remember she had last spoken with James on Tuesday evening. This was only Friday. She'd try to reach him again. If she didn't have any luck, she'd call his friends, then the Italian police.
Miki felt as if her whole world had gone to hell. In spite of her plan, tears welled. She pulled her car into a small shopping center, grabbed a tissue, and cried. "James, my son, where are you?" Then realizing she accomplished nothing by collapsing, she put the car into gear.
Miki rounded the corner to her condo and noticed the light over her parking space was out. All of the lights in the area were out. Kids, she thought. There was a group of young boys in the complex who enjoyed throwing rocks or baseballs at the lights. Feeling uneasy, reme
mbering her lawyer's warnings, Miki pulled into her slot.
The pockets of blackness between the cars and near the bushes spooked her. Deciding the situation required discretion, she checked the locks, then leaned forward in the seat to better survey the area. Her headlights revealed nothing unusual. She hit the switch and waited for her eyes to adjust.
Inexplicable feelings alarmed her more than the darkness. She was accustomed to it, having worked nights for most of her career. There was nothing in the shadows to fear. However, she possessed a respect for the unknowns sometimes hiding there. At work, she never hesitated to call for an escort. She considered contacting the police, but after her last encounter with them, she wasn't in a hurry to provoke another. No, she was on her own.
The minutes passed. The windows of several apartments glowed from lights within, illuminating slivers of the night. Nothing moved. Miki edged out of the car and crossed the sidewalk to the alcove leading to her apartment.
The area looked empty. Taking a breath and hoping for the best, she hurried forward, key ready. She grabbed the doorknob—not locked. She knew she locked it. Since the break in, she was careful. Someone had entered her apartment. Was he still there?
Miki fumbled with her phone. Pushed a button to light the keypad. Poked at the nine. The phone slipped from her shaking hand to the concrete floor. She cried out and jumped back to the far wall when the apartment door swung open.
A man appeared in the opening.
James.
James stood in the doorway.
She collapsed in his arms. Tears of relief flooded her eyes. "Why didn't you call me? I've been so worried."
55
Miki allowed her son to half-pull, half-carry her into the apartment and stood by as he closed the door and set the alarm.
"How did you know the code?" Miki asked, sniffling through her tears.
"No big deal, Mom. You're predictable as hell. Got it first try. You always use some variation of my birthday." James laughed, the sound deep and rich. "This is the one you used on the garage door when I was ten."
"I did that so you'd remember how to get into the house." Miki laughed.
"Worked."
"I wonder who else has figured it out."
"Just Dad, and he doesn't care."
The comment sounded harsh to Miki. She exhaled and wiped her face on her sleeve. "Truer words."
She touched his face. James didn't look at all like his father. Instead, he followed Miki's family, the O'Reilly side. He stood six-three, just over Miki's father's height, and had the trademark auburn hair. Being with him gave Miki the feeling of security she'd always had in her late father's presence. She thought it was somewhat justified. James left for the Navy as a boy in an adult's body and came home a man. Still, like the over-protective mother she tried hard not to be, she worried. Without cause, apparently.
Miki dropped her purse on the cocktail table and then sat in her recliner. "Sit and tell me why you're here? I didn't expect to see you."
"After we talked on Tuesday evening, I couldn't get the sense you were in danger out of my mind. Then on Wednesday, I emailed you."
"I didn't get an email, and I sent you several."
"Which I didn't get. My phone didn't work. When I contacted the phone company, they claimed I called in the disconnect order." James ran his fingers through his hair. "Then yesterday, I hit Google and saw someone murdered Dr. Ephraim. I went to the airport and caught the first flight home. Now, what's going on?"
Miki started with the first murder, giving him a sketch of the details about Peter Sanchez, Arlene Porter, Jamal Dempsey, and Jo Ephraim. "Meanwhile, Al Gentry is in town. I learned he is dying from prostate cancer, and his daughter, Madeline, died this morning."
Miki's cell phone signaled a message. Remembering Al's instruction to call him, she glanced at the screen. You home? Al's message read. Yes. TTYL, she replied. She smiled. "Al wanted me to let him know I was home okay. I forgot."
James looked thoughtful. "I remember Madeline was sick. You talked a lot about how sad her situation was when I was home on spring break."
"It had to end. The poor woman wasted away to almost nothing. John, her husband, seemed to be holding up today, but I sense he's close to the edge."
"Is he connected with the murders?"
"No, of course not. Why would you ask that?"
"Wasn't Sanchez the surgeon on her case?"
"Yeah, but he was the surgeon on a lot of cases." Miki paused, thinking about James' comments. She set aside the notion. "He was very attentive to both Madeline and John, visited daily, followed her care."
"You said on several occasions that Sanchez was an ass."
Miki laughed. "He was, or could be, would be more accurate." She sobered. "He'd grown arrogant and full of himself. Made enemies, even on the medical staff. The other victims weren't like him. That's what's strange about it. I can't understand why I might be a target. I don't even belong in the same circle as the others. I knew them all, but I was close friends with Jo."
James leaned against the sofa, appearing more tired than thoughtful. He closed his eyes. "You're nothing like Sanchez, Mom. We have to figure out how you fit into the group. That's probably the key to it all."
"I think we should call it a night," Miki said. "I'm trying to get myself on regular-people time, and you're exhausted."
"Works for me," he said with no hint of protest. "I almost fell asleep waiting for you to come home."
"I'll make your bed." She rose.
"Already done." He laughed. "I moved home while you weren't paying attention."
Miki smiled and followed her son down the hall, kissed his cheek, then made her rounds through the house, checking windows and turning off lights. She considered calling Gentry with the news of James' arrival, then decided it would wait. The man needed his rest, perhaps more than anyone.
Miki got ready for bed, slipped between the covers, and drifted into sleep, feeling safe with her son in the house. One less worry, she thought.
56
The morning sun streaming through the blinds should have cheered him. It didn't. A dreary, rainy, humid day would have better fit his mood.
Nothing is unexpected, he thought. Not life. Not death. Not the decisions about who should live or die. Or even more basic, not the decisions of who should prosper, and who should slink away.
He hadn't finished his work. Reordered it, perhaps. But not completed. There were two deaths to come, hers and his. Together with a note of explanation, maybe. He would give it some thought. He needed to consider the timing? He needed to attend the funerals. He wanted to see her there, hurting and grieving for her friends. Miki deserved the final pain.
He rubbed his head and remembered why he had included her on his list. She'd been polite and supportive most of the time, though perhaps distant sometimes. She did her job. Kept her place. And that made her responsible, just like the others. Death was her due. Vengeance would be his.
Paying the computer nerd to block her emails to her son and disconnect his telephone had been genius. Though Miki Murphy hid her torment well, he knew she was worried. What mother wouldn't be? The beauty was it had been so simple. The hacker changed one letter in the kid's email address in her contacts folder—stupid woman left her computer on without a firewall. He hacked her email server and sent her son's incoming emails to her junk mail folder. Then he did the same magic with the Italian cell phone service. Her son was no doubt wondering why his mother didn't respond to his emails and what screwed up his telephone service.
First, there were other things to do.
The man grabbed the side of the mattress and pulled himself to a sitting position. When his feet touched the floor, he centered his elbows on his knees, then cradled his head in his hands and considered his dilemma.
He didn't feel ready to make decisions, so he stood and shuffled into the bathroom. He showered and dressed for the day in slacks and a pullover, made a pot of coffee and a light breakfast, and c
arried them to his desk.
He cleaned each picture as he removed it from the wall, then stacked them out of the way. There was one card tacked to the wall, the last card, the one bearing his name. Dumbfounded, he stared at it. Where was Miki Murphy's card?
He shoved the chair back, bolted to his feet, and rushed into the bedroom. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and nausea gripped his gut. If someone found the baggie with the card, police might identify him before he completed his work. His prints covered it. He scoured the apartment, searching, not finding. His clothes weren't on the floor next to his bed where he normally left them, sometimes for days. Where then?
Remembering the circumstances of the previous day, he ran into the bathroom and upended his laundry basket onto the floor. Taking deep breaths and forcing a calmer mindset, he dropped to his knees and handled his clothing piece by piece. At last, his fingers slid over the baggie tucked deep into the pocket of his pants. Miki's card. He sighed in relief, then rubbed his stomach until it settled.
Back at his desk, he laid the two cards side by side, studying them. His other work had been straightforward, his methods dictated by opportunity, convenience, revenge, and in the case of the young doctor Dempsey, competitive blood lust. Though he didn't plan it, he presumed the change of methods confused the police. A good thing, he thought. Soon it wouldn't matter anymore.
Placing the card in Miki's apartment had alerted her of his interest. His idea to watch her sweat was a huge mistake, his only one so far. Now, she was more careful. She'd installed a damned alarm system and cut off his free access to her apartment. She was careful, unlike the others.
He wanted to plan something fitting. He ran his fingers over the plastic covering her name. Vengeance.
He hung the cards on the wall and reached for the pictures to cover them, but stopped. It didn't matter. He wouldn't be caught. He was, after all, the lord.
57
On Monday morning, Miki and James slipped into the family reception room before Ephraim's funeral. Ephraim's partner, Sheila Kenton, turned away as they approached her, causing Miki to wonder if the snub was deliberate. At a loss on how to respond, Miki and James offered condolences to Ephraim's widowed mother, then left the area, finding seats in the rear of the chapel next to Al Gentry.
Plan to Kill Page 21