Miki's mind wandered. She studied Gentry, who appeared stoic and morose, but dry-eyed. Sitting next to Walden, Elsie and Katie held hands. Elsie's eyes looked wet with tears. Katie appeared bored.
The larger words engraved on the niches were visible from Miki's position. Madeline's ashes would reside between her mother's and little brother's. Gentry's name with a birth date and a dash appeared on the marble covering the adjacent space. It seemed to Miki that Gentry was placing Madeline in the spot, next to her mother, one he had intended for himself. Now, the parents would rest flanking their children. All dead young.
Miki couldn't imagine how Gentry planned all the details, including the inscription on the place his urn would rest. She strained to read the rest of the writing, but it was too small.
She wondered who owned the remaining niches. Perhaps one was for John Walden. She hoped not, feeling it was much too soon to make such a final commitment.
Miki turned her attention to the service as it concluded. No one other than the minister chose to speak.
59
Elsie served coffee, tea, soft drinks, and cookies in her living room. Gentry sat in the corner nearest the front door and drank Cutty Sark. He didn't offer to share. Walton sat by himself in a far corner drinking Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat. He didn't offer to share either.
Miki understood Walton's behavior since the funeral party had left the cemetery only thirty minutes earlier. Gentry's self-imposed isolation was harder to grasp. It was such a change from his pillar-of-strength attitude the previous few days.
She approached Walton first and murmured her condolences. He made eye contact, grasped her forearm, and nodded his head.
Gentry seemed not to hear her when she spoke his name. She touched his shoulder, and he drew away. "Al, I'm so sorry. I can see you're hurting."
"Miki. I'm sorry, too. Maybe later we'll talk." He returned his attention to his almost empty glass.
The other guests milled around, attempted conversation with Walton and Gentry, then gathered near Elsie for a few moments. After a short while, James and Miki followed the last of the guests through the front door. Their departure went unacknowledged by Walton and Gentry.
Miki and James stopped at the mall on the way home, bought a few essentials to supplement James' wardrobe—he'd left most of his clothing in Gainesville or Italy—then stopped for an early dinner in the food court.
While James joined the long line at Chick-fil-A, Miki headed to the Japanese booth for her much-loved chicken teriyaki. The line there wasn't as long, so Miki found a table near the cookie stand. She knew James would want a giant chocolate chip cookie for dessert. She never rejected his offer to buy two, one for each of them. She'd eat half. He'd eat the rest, snatching it from her tray without a modicum of guilt.
"Ms. Murphy."
Miki turned at the sound of her name.
Detective Cavanaugh approached. "Got a minute?"
"Are you following me? This doesn't seem the appropriate place for another one of your interrogations."
Cavanaugh exhaled, sounding resigned. "No. My husband and I are shopping." She nodded to a tall man standing at a distance. "I saw you sitting here and decided to take the opportunity to approach you on neutral turf."
Miki frowned, then nodded for Cavanaugh to continue.
"I apologize for Detective Quinlan's behavior. I don't see where he had cause to haul you into the station after Jo Ephraim was murdered."
"Well he did, and now it's costing me a fortune in attorney's fees."
"I left a message at your house, but you haven't called back."
"Haven't been home. What did you want? Maybe to tell me you've solved the murders, and I can return to my job and my life?"
"No, I—”
"Oh, maybe to tell me you know I'm at risk, and you'll provide some protection so I don't end up as dead as my colleagues and friends?"
"I don't beli—"
"Right. You don't believe I'm at risk. Whoop-de-do." Miki made a spinning motion with her finger in the air. "What do you want?"
"You're pretty hostile."
"Do you blame me? I mean, really. Think about what you people have done to me . . . because I was doing my damn job."
Cavanaugh pointed to a chair. "Can I sit?"
"Suit yourself, but my son will be along in a minute, and I'd like to enjoy his company."
"Fair enough." Cavanaugh sat. "I wanted you to call me to clear up a few things about the other morning."
"Which morning?"
"The morning Dr. Ephraim died."
Miki nodded in the direction of James, who was making his way among the tables. "I'd rather not have this discussion with my son present. I'll call my lawyer and have him schedule an interview if he thinks it's a good idea."
Cavanaugh sighed. "Okay. I was trying to save you a trip downtown."
Miki grimaced. "It's not as if either you or Quinlan give a damn about how many trips I make to that God-forsaken dump. Why don't you check my whereabouts for that morning, verify I didn't kill my friend, and get off my back?" Miki looked at James and pointed to a chair. "Detective, this is my son, James. James, the detective is just leaving."
They watched as Cavanaugh left the food court.
"That was pointedly rude." James ripped open the wrapper on his sandwich.
"Yes. If she wants to talk to me, she can contact my lawyer. That's why I'm paying him a bloody fortune. She was doing the good cop routine, then she'll, no doubt, turn on me again."
"What did she want?"
Miki repeated the conversation. "Let's eat. After we finish, we can talk about the murders and the suspects. I'd appreciate your help to get me out of the trouble those damn detectives have put me in."
"That's a plan. But, Mom, they're doing their jobs. Remember when I got busted in high school for smoking pot. You told me to lay off the cops. They were doing their jobs."
Miki frowned. "I suppose so. I won't take it personal. I will not talk to them without my lawyer either."
They ate in silence, watching people pass, and letting the hint of friction the conversation generated dissipate. After they finished, James bought the cookies and fresh coffee.
Miki savored the taste of the sweet treat in her mouth for a moment before resuming the conversation. "Let's start by reviewing the links between the victims. Maybe there is something I missed."
"Okay." James leaned forward.
"One of the things I noticed is that everyone—except me—was connected with Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami. Jo lived with Peter Sanchez before she decided she was gay, and I know he tried to renew the relationship on several occasions, even after he married and started a family."
"It's hard on a guy to lose his woman to another girl. I can see how a person like Sanchez would try to prove he is the better man."
"Odd phrasing."
"I suppose it is, but you know what I mean. From what you said about Sanchez, he was very much into the big doctor role. I translate that to mean he would play the big man role, too."
Miki considered James' comment. "You have a valid point. I don't know how it relates to the murders though."
"Got paper? Let's put some organization to this." He accepted the spiral-bound notebook and pen Miki offered. "Review the order of the deaths for me."
"Peter Sanchez, Arlene Porter, Jamal Dempsey, Jo." Miki watched as James wrote the names along the left margin of the first page. She cringed as he wrote Miki on the bottom of the list.
He tapped the six by eight inch page with his pen. "I'll try to do this in such a way we can tape them together and make a better visual when we get home. If we need to, that is."
Miki nodded.
He joined Ephraim and Sanchez with a bracket, then jotted Sheila outside the bracket. "If I remember, Sheila is the third person in the little triangle. Is there any link between Sheila and Sanchez?"
"They knew each other at JMH and have run into each other in the ER here on occasion. Jo told me the encoun
ters were uncomfortable for Sheila."
"Uncomfortable?"
"Jo thought Sheila felt threatened. Sheila knew there once was a strong bond between Jo and Sanchez and didn't believe the tie was fully broken. Remember Jo's history was to go both ways."
"How about Dempsey and the others, outside of their background at JMH and their professional roles at the hospital, I mean?"
"I know they invested in Troicki's failed Century Arts Building project. Lost a bit of money. I overheard the conversations, and Jo mentioned it."
James drew lines from the three names to Troicki. "Now Porter."
"Also JMH, but you know that. Oh, she was Jamaican. Her husband's Jamaican. She lived with Sheila when they were both nurses at Jackson. Before Sheila and Jo got together."
"Sheila's Jamaican, too?"
"Yes."
"Did they have a thing going?"
"They might have. I know Arlene and her husband had a rather open marriage, at least in her opinion. Sheila knows the husband. I saw the two of them head-to-head and tight-as-thieves at Jo's funeral."
"Is he part of the Miami group, too?"
"I don't know. We need to find out. Start a list."
James made a dotted line between Porter and Ephraim. He connected them in a triangle to Porter's husband, Bob, then drew a skewed, overlaid version connecting them to Sheila. "I don't see your relationship to any of these."
"At Jo's funeral, Troicki made a pass at me. He's done it before. In fact he has a reputation for hitting on anything in a skirt." She glanced at her slacks. "Figuratively speaking, of course." She paused, trying to bring a thought forward. "Jo told me once how disgusted she felt when Troicki hit on her. And, I remember seeing him in the ER one night. Arlene stormed away from him. He might have said something out of line to her. He can be abrasive and crude. Also, a couple of times since this all started, Troicki has been rude to me. Doesn't figure."
"Troicki is stacking up as a suspect who may have had a beef with at least three of the four dead, maybe with Porter, and possibly with you." James made another set of lines using little stars joining all of the victims to Troicki. "You said he was around the hospital when the murders occurred."
"Yes, but he's there a lot." Miki shook her head, trying to clear her confusion.
James flipped the page and made notes. "How about John Walden? You said he was working when the bodies were found in the hospital."
"What about him? He wasn't part of the JMH group. It's true he knew everyone, but anyone at the hospital could have known them, and John worked ER nights. He assisted the two women and interfaced with the men. From a distance—since he is a tech. I don't see any motive."
"He seems to have slipped off his gurney."
Miki laughed. "True, but he held his own until Madeline died. Acted normal. Showed up for work. Took care of Katie. No, I don't see it."
"Is Gentry a suspect?"
"No motive. I don't think he even knew Arlene. He knew the docs from when he was the CEO. He asked Jo to dinner once." She stretched to read James' chart. The names written in a column on the right side of the page were Troicki, with four connections, Bob Porter with one, and Sheila Kenton with one. She pointed. "You'd better run a dotted line between Kenton and Bob, too. They could have worked this together."
"Motive?"
"Insurance money, revenge, sex."
"Wonderful place you work, Mom." He flipped to a blank page. "Let's make a list of things to check on."
"Starting with going to see your father. He can give us more information on Troicki and his failed building project."
60
"Hey, Susan," Miki said to the on-duty nursing supervisor. She'd slipped into her former office at Medical Center by the Sea through the side door.
Susan smiled. "Hi. I've been expecting you. Sit." She pointed to the chair across the desk from her.
Miki sat.
"Did you attend Madeline Walden's funeral today?"
"It was so sad." Miki summarized the funeral and the shiva.
"I couldn't go." Susan grimaced. "That's not entirely true. I didn't want to and made an excuse. You're stronger than I am."
Miki shrugged, then glanced around, finding the place unchanged. A fleeting, why would it be different? passed through her mind. Though Anson had suspended her a mere five days earlier, it seemed a lifetime. "I see Anson didn't make you guys take my name plaque away." She pointed to the cabinet above her workstation in the back room.
"We would refuse. They can't fire everyone, you know. Night supervisors don't grow aplenty on thorn bushes the way paranoid administrators do."
"You've got a point." Miki took a minute to close the blinds over the glass panel adjacent to the main door, then dropped into a seat. Susan, like her co-workers, used the receptionist's desk during the late hours because it allowed visual access to the main hospital corridor and made the suite feel less isolated.
"Everyone knows Anson suspended you because Troicki raised a stink and threatened her. In fact, she told us—in strictest confidence, of course—what happened." Susan glanced at the report on her desk. "This can wait." She stuck her pen into the pocket of her pristine white lab coat.
"What else did you hear?"
"Not a whole lot. The police come around from time to time. They've quit asking everyone questions about you and have been asking about Troicki's comings and goings instead. Also, they pore over visitor logs and patient records. I think they are trying to connect the murders to a disgruntled family member. That's my take on it anyway. Anson had me stay and help them review a stack of charts."
"I did that with them days ago."
"They wanted to look again—with a different hospital nurse helping them."
Miki sighed, feeling resigned to her status. "Makes sense, I suppose. Given they keep treating me as a suspect."
"The cops doing the review at the station couldn't read a lot of the writing and neither could the R.N. they hired on consult. Their task was even harder because of the photocopies. They had to come here for a translation."
Miki laughed. "A nurse learns the writing styles and earns a magic decoder ring at every hospital in order to survive."
"What do you think?" Susan looked thoughtful. "About the murders, I mean."
Miki reviewed her suspect list. "James and I linked the names with the victims. At the moment, I have Troicki on the top of my list, though his connection and motivation seems a bit tenuous with both Arlene Porter and me."
"The man does have a rep for being a bulldog."
"A male bulldog in permanent heat."
"When the detectives were here, I overheard the guy say something about following up on Troicki's business dealings. I don't believe they knew I was just beyond the door and in hearing range."
"Good to know." Miki shifted in her chair, growing impatient. "Do you think you can get me into the records department without getting caught by security?"
"I did you one better. We reviewed the last of the charts this morning." She pointed over her shoulder. "In the conference room. I haven't taken the opportunity to return the charts. Isn't that something special?"
"Nice. Is Madeline Walton's chart among them?"
"Why would it be? It wasn't on the list you and Oster helped them make a couple of weeks ago."
"Because Madeline's name wasn't on the discharge list then—she wasn't dead yet. She fits the criteria for having Sanchez as a surgeon and having a bad result. I'd like to check the names on her chart as well."
"I couldn't agree more. You get started, and I'll pull it and bring it here. Stay in the back. I'll open the blinds so security won't check to see why they're closed. They've stepped up patrols on nights and in the parking lots. Anything different or unusual, they're on it."
"A good thing. If that had happened sooner, maybe Jo would be alive."
Miki grabbed a legal pad from the supply shelf and settled at the conference table. She made six columns, one for the medical record number, then one eac
h for Sanchez, Porter, Dempsey, Ephraim, and Murphy.
While she waited for Madeline's chart, she reviewed the first record on the top of the stack, confirming what she already knew. The first four names appeared, but hers didn't. She set the file aside, and reached for the next one.
Susan returned a couple of hours later—a cardiac arrest in the ER had kept her occupied. Miki's review had found her name on only one of the records, though they all contained the first four names. She told Susan, who offered to help.
"I think I'd prefer to do this alone." Miki pointed to the one chart. "I'm in that, but it's not important. A quick comment that I started an IV while the patient was in the ICU."
"Smithson. Everyone started IVs for her. Terrible veins. Couldn't keep a line in for long."
Miki frowned. "Sanchez ordered a general surgical consult to insert a subclavian line, if I remember correctly."
"See anything else of interest?"
"Not a thing. I'll go through Madeline's next, then finish the stack and sneak away before you get in trouble."
"Works for me." Susan reached for the doorknob. "I'll leave you to it then."
"Susan, wait a minute." Miki stood. "I appreciate your help. Thank you."
"You're welcome. I know you didn't do anything. This is so unfair."
When Susan left, Miki watched the closed door for a minute, then sat, reaching for the chart. "Madeline Walton. What surprises do you have for me?"
Miki read through the forms detailing Madeline's admission to the hospital. Ephraim's examination of the woman. The delay in reaching Sanchez. The delay in finding a willing anesthesiologist. Miki's intervention. The doctors arriving. The hurried surgical prep. Frequent comments about John Walton's erratic behavior—demanding, anxious, rude. Finally, the events surrounding her surgery.
Miki found her name in numerous places, often times noted by Porter, but many times in her own hand. She helped with the transport to the OR, met with John Walton throughout the surgery, and was the first to tell him something was wrong. As time went on, she'd documented IV starts and other incidental details of care.
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