Breach of Ethics

by Sharon St. George

  “No,” Cleo said. “That’s not our call. Rita Lowe left it with you. You keep it for now until you can check with her to see if she wants it back. I’ll take printed copies of both documents to Health Information and talk this over with Jerrylu. She’ll have to decide whether Lowe’s note to himself can be considered part of Natasha’s official record.”

  Cleo was right. Jerrylu Stanley was TMC’s director of health information. It was her call.

  Back in the library, I called Rita Lowe. She told me to do what seemed appropriate with the flash drive. She had no reason to want it back. I devoted the rest of my workday to library business, and then headed for the refuge of my barn-top apartment in Coyote Creek.

  On the way I stopped at the Four Corners Market to pick up something for dinner. While I waited for my deli-ordered turkey panini, I decided to pick up staples like bread, milk, and assorted salad veggies. I walked to my car in the nearly dark parking lot, balancing my takeout carton in one hand while I held my grocery bag in my other arm. I had almost reached my car with my keys out when something slammed against me from behind. I felt my arm being jerked as I went crashing to the ground, face first into a puddle. My groceries scattered and my panini popped out of its box, landing next to me in the muddy water.

  A motorcycle revved up and screamed out of the parking lot just as a spry senior couple hurried over to ask if I needed help. I pushed myself up on hands and knees. Intense pain told me both knees were banged up. I stood on shaky legs and wiped my face.

  “We saw it,” the woman said. “He snatched your purse and got away on a motorcycle.”

  Her husband handed me his cell phone. “Here, I’ve dialed 911 for you.”

  A sheriff’s deputy arrived within a few minutes to question me and the witnesses about the mugging. After I assured him that I didn’t require medical attention, he told me they’d do everything possible to track down my purse. He also said not to count on its return—that random purse snatches usually left law enforcement little to go on. The elderly witnesses weren’t able to identify the assailant or the make of motorcycle he rode.

  “Looked like the guy was lurking—maybe waiting for this young lady.”

  “Yes,” his wife said. “Soon as she came out, he took off after her.”

  The officer nodded. “Probably was lurking, watching for an easy target.”

  Great. An easy target. I planned to keep the deputy’s remark to myself, or I’d never hear the end of it from Harry and Nick.

  At home I made a phone call reporting my stolen credit card. In a stroke of luck, my cell phone had been in my car and not in my purse. After I called the DMV about my driver’s license, I showered and applied antibiotic ointment and bandages to the abrasions on my knees. I decided not to worry Amah and Jack about the attack, which I wasn’t at all sure was random. There were lots of other people coming and going in that parking lot. Thinking back to what the senior couple said, I suspected I’d been targeted. If so, why me?

  Then I recalled the flash drive in my purse. I called Cleo and told her about the incident.

  “My God, are you okay?”

  “Except for the embarrassment. I’m probably being paranoid, but I’m not positive it was a random thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The witnesses thought the guy was lying in wait for me. The only thing unusual in my purse was that flash drive. I’m wondering what happened when you told Jerrylu about its contents.”

  “She took the printed copy of the OP report that you gave me and said she’d append it to Natasha’s chart. She was glad to get it. All she’s had up to now is a handwritten operative progress note from Lowe with just enough information to manage Natasha’s post-op care. She’s going to leave Lowe’s note to himself about Natasha’s custody in the chart, at least until Sybil Snyder decides what to do about it.”

  “What time did you talk to Jerrylu?”

  “Early this afternoon. Not long after you gave me the printed notes.”

  “Did you tell her I had the flash drive?’

  “Oh, hell.” I heard Cleo take a breath. “I did. You think you were mugged for the flash drive?”

  “Maybe.”

  “But the copy of its contents is already in the chart.”

  “Unless it isn’t.” I told her what Korba had said—that both he and Melissa Gailworth had access to the medical record. If Melissa had access, so did her husband.

  “I get you,” Cleo said. “The Gailworths wouldn’t be happy with Lowe’s demand for rigid monitoring of Natasha’s dietary regimen. But would they go to extremes like accosting you in a parking lot?”

  “Maybe not Melissa, but I wouldn’t put anything past Abel Gailworth.”

  “I’ll check with Jerrylu first thing tomorrow and let you know if Lowe’s note about custody is still in the chart. Be a shame if it’s not. Dr. Lowe wanted that little girl protected.” Cleo paused. “Did you happen to copy it to your hard drive?”

  “No, I wasn’t sure I should do that until we heard how Snyder wanted it handled.”

  “Too bad, but I see your point. I'll let you know if I hear anything more.”

  My next move was to ’fess up to Nick and Harry about the snatched purse. I called Harry first. He berated me, as I’d expected, for not being aware of my surroundings, then asked if I’d told Nick. I assured him that I would.

  Chapter 14

  With crime still on my mind, I put off calling Nick long enough to watch the local six thirty news for any mention of Dr. Lowe’s murder. The anchor said that leads were being pursued by the police. I wondered how many of their leads were the same as those Cleo and I wanted to pursue with the help of Harry and Nick.

  The police would undoubtedly focus their energy on Jared Quinn, their most obvious suspect. He had to be ruled out or arrested at some point. If the police were keeping Sanjay informed, he wasn’t sharing updates with the rest of us. Cleo believed Quinn was innocent, and I was almost sure she was right. With the help of Harry and Nick, we could explore other possibilities, including a jealous mistress or even Mrs. Lowe herself.

  Jealousy seemed to be a common theme. First Harry and I had overheard the exchange in the TMC stairwell between Sybil Snyder and her husband.

  Then Rita Lowe had implied that one of her husband’s jealous lovers might be responsible for his death. Even my masked dust-buster Bernie Kluckert was troubled by jealousy. He had it bad for Lola, who seemed more interested in her younger suitor, Oslo Swanson. Pushing ninety, Bernie was probably old enough to keep his emotions in check even if he was unlucky in love.

  But jealousy was only one possible motive. I wasn’t ready to discount Abel or Melissa Gailworth. At the time of Lowe’s death, they’d probably had no idea Lowe leaned toward recommending they retain custody of Natasha. Most likely they thought the opposite. If anything, it was Korba who would have expected Lowe to recommend in his favor.

  I recalled Hector Korba’s description of the Gailworths as that insane couple who would have Natasha’s life in their hands when she was released from the hospital. How crazy were the Gailworths? Crazy enough to kill a doctor who ordered the blood transfusion that saved their child? Maybe, if they assumed he was going to testify against them.

  The news ended just as I polished off a bowl of Jack’s venison stew. Amah supplied me with an extra container for my freezer whenever Jack made a new batch. On a chilly February evening it was the perfect comfort food.

  Considering the aggravation of the day’s events and the physical pain of my battered knees, the only comfort I really wanted was Nick. When had I last seen him? We had visited the Abel’s Breath church on Sunday morning and after, we’d had an uneasy talk about where our relationship was headed. Only two days ago, but it seemed so much longer.

  The days when we had lived together as a couple seemed long ago, too. We’d had five months of closeness, followed by six months of living apart. During that time our feelings for each other drew us near then pulled us away li
ke a tide at the mercy of the moon.

  Time to call him. Not only about the purse snatching, but to fill him in. Harry had probably told him all about the fire drill plan we had hatched, but neither Harry nor Nick knew about my visits from Rita Lowe and Hector Korba, or about the parking lot incident. Nick had some of Buck Sawyer’s super geeks digging into Abel Gailworth’s past. I wondered what they’d found. Korba was so set against seeing his granddaughter released to her mother and stepfather, I felt compelled to know more about them. I reached for my cell phone and it rang in my hand. It was Nick. Telephone ESP. A good sign. Maybe he and I were back on the same wavelength.

  “Hi,” I opted for light and breezy, “I’m glad you called. What’s up?”

  “I have a bit of news about our preacher boy. What’s new on your end? And don’t say a butterfly tattoo, because then I’d need to see proof.”

  “No tattoo, but I do have news. It sounds like yours is more specific though. Why don’t you start?” I wasn’t in a hurry to get into the purse snatching.

  “Do you want to do this on the phone or can we meet? My night is open, how about yours?”

  “I’m free. Do you want to come to my place? I’ll heat a bowl of Jack’s stew if you haven’t eaten.”

  “Do that,” he said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  I could do a lot of primping in twenty minutes. I freshened my makeup and hair and started to pulled on my favorite skinny jeans, only to realize they weren’t going to work over the bandages on my knees. Sweat pants would have to do.

  Nick arrived just as I finished dressing. I closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold and the rest of the world.

  “That stew smells delicious.” He pulled me into a hug. “But you smell even better.”

  So did he. Lime and spice.

  I stepped back reluctantly and took his steaming bowl of stew out of my microwave. He sat at my dinette table and dug in while I poured soda crackers into a bowl and popped the caps on two bottles of beer. After polishing off his meal in a matter of minutes, Nick took his bowl to the sink and rinsed it. Back at the table, he said, “Ready to trade intel?”

  “I am. I’m dying to hear what you have on Gailworth.”

  Nick pulled his chair next to mine and dropped a pocket notepad on the table in front of us. “Well, for starters, we have to roll back a few years, before he married Melissa Korba. My guys found evidence of something called the Holy Gail Ministry back in Arkansas. It was founded and run by a Reverend Gailworth.”

  “Oh. Holy Gail. I get it,” I said. “What a narcissistic cheese ball. Are you sure it’s the same guy?”

  “Yep. The photos from back then match up to what I saw of him on Sunday.”

  “So what happened to that gig? Did he get run out of Arkansas?”

  “More or less. Seems there are several churches using forms of the Holy Grail in their names. A few of them weren’t too happy with Holy Gail. They thought his play on words was blasphemy, so they got together and threatened to sue the pants off him.”

  “So he took his business elsewhere. How did he meet Melissa Korba?”

  “The way it’s done these days. An online dating service. She was lonely and apparently gullible. He proposed before they ever met in person and she accepted.”

  Nick had draped a casual arm over the back of my chair, playing havoc with my concentration. I forced myself to stop thinking about the scent of his aftershave and to focus on the matter at hand.

  “Do you think Gailworth already knew about Natasha’s musical gift when he proposed to Melissa?”

  “No doubt about it. He’s a hustler and an opportunist. He must have thought he’d found the goose that laid the golden eggs.”

  “Then why the veganism and the Abel’s Breath church? Why not just take over managing Natasha’s career?”

  “Hector Korba is why not. Korba’s been managing his granddaughter’s musical career since she was three years old, and I can’t see him relinquishing that position. He’s shrewd enough to sniff out a phony when he sees one. He’s been fighting for custody of Natasha since the day Melissa Korba married Gailworth.”

  “How long ago did they marry?”

  “Almost three years now. And I’m guessing veganism is a ploy Gailworth has been using to try and lure upper class, upper income types into his congregation.”

  “From what we saw at his church, that isn’t working.”

  “He doesn’t seem to care. At this point, the church seems to be little more than a front to keep him occupied until he can wrest control of Natasha Korba from her grandfather.”

  “What I don’t understand is, if Melissa was vegan before she married Gailworth, why wouldn’t she know about her daughter’s dietary needs?”

  “Apparently she wasn’t vegan, but converted after she remarried.”

  Did anything Nick was telling me shed light on Lowe’s murder? Gailworth might not hesitate to commit a variety of cons and frauds, but he seemed too concerned with his own survival to resort to homicide.

  “Is there anything else? Was there any record of violence in Gailworth’s past?”

  “Nothing but some traffic tickets.” Nick flipped through a few pages of his notebook. “Apparently he’s never been arrested. Not the bar brawl type.” Nick laughed. “You must have noticed that he’s a good-lookin’ dude. That’s probably his greatest asset. He’d shy away from any altercation that might mess up his pretty face.”

  “He’s a little too pretty for my taste, but I did notice he dyes his hair, so you’re probably right about his preoccupation with his looks.”

  Nick’s looks were my standard. Hair the color of summer wheat, blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. I loved the planes of his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw.

  “Aimee? Did you hear me?” Nick waved his hand in front of my face.

  “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said Gailworth must be doing something more than preaching his gospel. His congregation is miniscule, and mostly low-income. There’s no way his church is supporting him.”

  “Have Buck’s cyber sleuths nosed out any other sources of income?”

  “Not yet, and that’s troubling. If he’s mixed up in something illegal, he knows how to cover his tracks.”

  “I’ll keep digging for more on Gailworth. Now it’s your turn. You said you had some news.”

  As I expected, Harry had already told him about the plan to sneak into Quinn’s office during the fire drill. Reluctant to tell Nick about the mugging, I stalled. Instead, I reminded him about my phone conversation with Rita Lowe, and how she had tossed out the idea that one of his mistresses might have committed the murder. I also brought up the exchange between Sybil Snyder and Glen Capshaw in the hospital stairwell. Capshaw’s jealousy seemed worth considering if it turned out Snyder was seeing Lowe on the side.

  “That’s about it,” I said. “It’s conjecture at best. Nothing specific.”

  “What about taking your suspicions to the police? I don’t like what happens when you start poking at hornet’s nests.”

  “I’m not keen on contacting the police on my own. Cleo says they’re not giving Sanjay or the home office any updates on their investigation.”

  “Probably standard procedure.”

  “I guess, but I still get the creeps when I think about Detective Kass interviewing me in the TMC library. If I go to him suggesting alternative suspects, he might think I’m doing it to take the focus off myself and Quinn. What if that backfires? I’d rather not take that chance unless we come up with evidence too convincing to be ignored.”

  “You may be right, but I’m not sure what you expect to find by prowling around in Quinn’s office tomorrow night. You’re better schooled in forensics than the general public, but the police department’s crime scene people do it every day, hands on. If there was something to be found in there, they’ve already found it.”

  I couldn’t argue with his logic. “My schooling in forens
ics was related to cataloging and disseminating forensic research materials and resources. That’s very different from being a crime scene investigator. It was Harry’s idea to have a look at the crime scene. He hasn’t told me what he hopes to find, but he must have his reasons. Did he say anything to you?”

  Nick took a long pull from his beer then put the bottle down. “Just that there’s only an outside chance he’s right. He didn’t want to elaborate.”

  Nick suddenly reached out and brushed his fingers across my cheek, sending tingles down my arms to my fingertips.

  “That’s better,” he said. “You had an eyelash on your cheek.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I had been wondering how to bring up the subject of Harry and Rella. Nick’s intimate gesture was the opening I needed.

  “Nick, remember when I asked if you knew who Harry’s dating? You said I’d have to ask him.”

  “I remember.” He leaned back in his chair. “So did you?”

  “I did. We talked last night.”

  “How did that go?”

  “I’m not sure. He suggested I should get to know Rella better.”

  “Probably a good idea. Is there anything more you want to tell me about this?”

  “No. Just thought you should know and that I’m okay with whatever makes Harry happy.”

  “Then we should probably call it a night. It’s getting late.

  “Not yet,” I said. The parking lot incident couldn’t be avoided any longer. “There’s something else I have to tell you, but you’re not going to like it. Just hear me out before you say anything, okay?”

  I told him the whole story, starting with the flash drive Rita Lowe left behind, and ending with the assault in the parking lot. I filled him in on my conversation with Cleo about Lowe’s informal notes related to Natasha’s custody.

  “Son of a … were you hurt?” Nick reached for me, touched my face.

  “No, I’m fine. Except for my knees.”

  You’re thinking the mugger was after the flash drive?”

  “It’s possible. What do you think?”