Josh walked in with the maintenance man just as Dorey walked in with the printed photos. I took them from her and spread them out on top of the desk. “Drag in some chairs and let’s get started.” I wanted Josh and Dorey present because they would be my eyes and ears from this point on. They were in the field, talking with employees, more than I would ever expect to be.
A few moments later, as Josh brought in an extra chair, Michele walked in with a list of suspects. At least to me they were suspects until the police verified their alibies.
“Also, the agency assured me that they could send two people right away, and find the other three in the next twenty-four hours,” Michele stated.
“Extra help, that’s wonderful,” Dorey announced.
“Thank you, Ms. Michaels,” I said. “If you would stay and take notes for me, that would be great.” She smiled, and I got the feeling she appreciated being included.
Finally, once everyone was settled, I looked at the man Josh had delivered and held out my hand. “I’m the new Chief of Security, Casey Dennis, and you are?”
He gripped my hand tightly, but not aggressively. “Michael Sherman, Maintenance Mechanic III.”
“I understand you were first on the scene. Tell us the first thing you saw that told you something was wrong.”
Michael paused for a moment, as if he were walking up to the scene again and then he focused on me. “I was taking a short cut across the parking lot on my way to the hamburger joint across the street when I saw a lump of clothes on the ground. But when I walked closer, it wasn’t clothes, it was a woman lying on the pavement. At first, I thought maybe she was a vagrant passed out on the ground, you know? We get them sometimes because of the whorehouse down the street.”
Dorey put her hands on her hips and looked at him through shuttered, angry eyes. “That whorehouse, as you so eloquently called it, is a homeless shelter for battered women.”
His face turned red as he held up his hands and shook his head. “Whoa! No, not that one. On the opposite end of that street there is a bar where my buddy and I go sometimes to pick up hookers.”
I looked down at the photos on the desk and picked up one that showed the victim’s entire body from the back and what she was wearing. “I don’t think she was a prostitute based on her clothes,” I surmised, showing Dorey and Josh the photo.
“You’re right,” Josh agreed after looking at the picture. “She was wearing a blouse and slacks with low heels. That doesn’t look like a prostitute to me, or a homeless person.”
“Oh, God. Do you think she’s an employee?” Dorey asked, raising a good question.
“Is there any way to tell?” Josh asked. He picked up the frontal view of the victim and shook his head. “She’s not wearing a badge, which is mandatory when you’re on duty, although that doesn’t mean anything. The OR staff rarely wear their badges.”
“Right, but she’s not a nurse or tech because they wear scrubs,” Dorey included.
“Good observations,” I said, feeling like their instructor. “Once the police identify the victim, we’ll know who she is and that will lead us… I mean, the police to find the killer.”
“We’re going to wait for the police to tell us?” Josh asked.
I knew that I wouldn’t wait, but I also knew that I couldn’t pursue it because I wasn’t a detective anymore and my job now was to protect the patients and employees in this hospital. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be back to solving murders again. “I understand where you’re coming from, Mr. Hamilton, but when it’s all said and done, our first priority is to this hospital. The only reason I asked Mr. Sherman here was to determine from what he saw whether our staff and patients are safe from another attack. Everything here indicates that they are.”
“What if it’s one of our own employees who killed the girl?” Michele asked, almost timidly.
Gazing at her for a moment, I realized that they weren’t going to let it go. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Sherman. If you remember anything else that you think could be helpful, please don’t hesitate to tell one of us.” I shook his hand and opened the door. He nodded and left, and I shut the door again.
Turning back to the three of them, I crossed my arms over my chest and stood there. Then I decided I was being too rigid and lowered my arms and walked back to my desk chair and sat down. I waited for them to sit down before I leaned forward, propping my elbows on my desk. “Under no circumstances are you to investigate this murder or the victim—”
“Excuse me, but isn’t that what we’ve been doing just now?” Josh asked testily.
“Chief, this my hospital. These are my people. I can’t just stand by and do nothing,” Dorey added.
Pleased with their passion, I put my hand on Michele’s, stopping her from making notes. She looked at me and I shook my head. She understood and set her pen and tablet on the desk. “Here’s the thing. I only just met you people today, but I feel like I can trust you. At least that’s my hope.”
“Absolutely, Chief,” Dorey stated.
“Ditto,” Michele chirped.
“Without a doubt,” Josh agreed.
Their eagerness was palpable. Still, I had a question. “We just met a few hours ago. Why are you so willing to trust me?
“For the same reason you’re about to trust us, Chief,” Dorey explained. “We recognize good leadership when we see it.”
“Especially after the last two bosses we had,” Michele included with a smirk.
Something inside me believed them. I knew in the first thirty minutes I met with them this morning that Dorey and Josh were trustworthy, and Michele was just too… I don’t know, special, to be devious. “I believe that I am the only trained homicide detective in this room, correct?” All three nodded at once. “And, as such, if you want to continue the investigation, you will wait for my direction. Understood?”
It felt like being back in the academy when the three simultaneously shouted, “Yes, ma’am!”
“Okay, so here’s the deal. First off, this will not be included in your evaluation. Second, I’ve not had the same interactions with the others, so this must stay in this room and only between us. As my mother would say, too many cooks in the kitchen tends to piss me off.”
“Agreed,” Josh said. “So, what’s next?”
“You three go over this list of disgruntled employees and family members that Michele got for us and tell me who pops out at you and why.”
Luckily it was only one sheet of paper but it had two columns of names listed.
“Oh, I remember him,” Michele spoke first. “He was very scary.”
Suppressing a smile at her scrunched-up face, I asked, “Why was he scary?”
“He burst in here with a scary look on his face, and I almost wet my pants,” Michele explained a little too vividly.
“Yeah, I remember him,” Dorey joined in. “It was about three months ago, and he was looking for Byron. Apparently, Byron incapacitated him with his Taser. He said the guy was trying to assault a nurse.”
“And was the attack authenticated?” I asked. Having run up against Byron myself, I knew it didn’t take much to provoke him.
“The nurse he supposedly assaulted verified it, but…” Dorey hesitated.
“But Byron had been sleeping with her, right?” I asked. She nodded. “Dorey, would you check to see if the nurse was related to the man who supposedly assaulted her? If she’s not, then we’ll put him on the suspect list.”
Dorey looked at Josh and he shrugged. She looked back at me and said, “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll check it out.”
“Thanks. Who else?”
“This one,” Josh said, pointing at a name in the second column. “Gena Laporte. She tried to steal a baby and was carted off to the psych ward at another hospital. She swore she would kill the woman who stole her baby, but the police determined that she had never been pregnant. I’m not sure what happened to her after she got out of the other facility. It was the first
time that I had ever tackled a woman.”
I expected him to say more, like how easy it was to defeat a woman, but to his credit, he didn’t.
He shook his head. “It took two of us to take her down.”
“Okay, if you think she’s capable, check her out and see what she’s doing now. I’ve got to go report to the CEO, so we’ll catch up later.”
Chapter Six
Casey Dennis
“This is a complete nightmare,” Rebecca Thomas, public relations spokeswoman for the hospital, exclaimed. Rebecca had a distinct aura about her and as I did an assessment of her, as I do on everyone I meet, I found her to be a bit extreme; very hyper and negative. She was pretty though, with long brown hair, and brown eyes. I also got the feeling she was asexual, because she reminded me of someone about to turn thirty and still a virgin.
Sitting at a table in the administration conference room with Christopher Alexander, CEO, Rebecca Thomas, PR, a few other people that I didn’t know, and the corporate lawyer, I felt way out of my league. However, I did manage to keep my face neutral, for the most part.
I had given a quick assessment of the situation, which was interrupted several times by questions from the lawyer, and now I was sitting back in my chair, listening to them strategize. I tried to leave after my report, but the CEO asked me to stay. I had a fleeting thought that I was going to be fired over this. I’m not sure why I thought that, but I know that in situations like this, there must be a scapegoat to pin it on.
“Yes, we know it’s a media relations nightmare, but the question is, how do we spin it in our favor?” Christopher asked, looking around the table. Christopher, whose hair was receding, and whose long face was flushed red, had only been CEO for six months, so I felt a kinship with him. This was as bad for his career as it could be for mine.
“Get out in front of it,” Rebecca suggested. “Join the police when they do a press conference, and—”
“If they do a press conference,” the lawyer cut in.
“Then we hold one ourselves and invite them to attend,” she emphasized.
“And say what?” Christopher asked.
Rebecca shrugged. “The truth. That there has been a murder in the parking lot.”
“We don’t know for sure that it was a murder in the parking lot,” I interjected.
“How the hell could it be anything else?” a man I didn’t know, asked. “You said she was stabbed in the back.”
“Yes, but the autopsy hasn’t been done and the ballistics haven’t come in yet. All I’m saying is, don’t put a label on it until all the facts are in. This woman may have been stabbed on the other side of town and tried to get to the hospital for help.”
“That’s it. That’s how we spin it,” Rebecca said, making notes on her notepad.
The memory of how much I hated talking to the press came rushing back. They were always trying to put a label on my cases, giving them clever titles to sell more papers, or spin it to fit their needs.
“I don’t think—”
Rebecca cut me off. “I’ll set up a conference for five o’clock and write out some talking points. Do you want to be the spokesperson on this, Christopher?”
Christopher looked at her and then his eyes trailed over to me. “I think our new Chief of Security should speak for us. She knows what she’s talking about.”
Oh, shit. My mouth went suddenly dry and my eyes felt like they were on fire. I was beginning to wish I had stayed in Houston.
***
My new office with its bare walls and drab metal desk was the last place I expected to be interrogated, but that’s where Detective Littleton found me late that afternoon. She was questioning the staff and I was in my office trying to prepare for a news conference.
“Where were you at the time the body was found today?” Detective Littleton asked, sitting across from me in my office.
“I was having lunch with Dr. Aponte.”
“Oh?” She jotted something on her notepad. “Are you two a couple?”
As a former detective, that question was legitimate, albeit unnecessary for this case, but now sitting on the other side of those questions, it felt intrusive. “No. I only just met her today.”
“That’s right, you said you were new here.”
“Yes. Today is my first day on the job.”
She looked up at me with what I thought were sympathetic eyes, but then she blinked and her piercing baby blues sharpened their focus again. “And you said you were a former decorated detective in Texas, is that correct?”
She had checked me out. Not a surprise, it’s standard operating procedure. Still, it felt a bit disjointed to me. “No, I said I was a former police detective from Texas, Detective Littleton.”
Her face softened, as if she had come to a conclusion that she was happy about. “You’re not a suspect, Chief. You’re welcome to elaborate, if you’d like.”
I shook my head. “I would not. I was a detective, now I’m the Chief of Security at this hospital. End of story.”
The disappointed look on her face made me almost feel guilty. “But it’s such a riveting story,” she said without candor. “Your captain told mine all about you. Youngest officer to make detective. Awarded several citations, and even the state’s highest medal for heroism. He even said to tell you that your job is still available if you change your mind. So, why did you quit?”
That sounded accusing. “Detective Littleton. Are we done here? As you can imagine, I have quite a lot to do, not the least of which is speak to the press in half an hour.” First day on the job and I was already hating it.
“Yes, of course,” she said, gathering her things and standing up. “Go play nice with the reporters. I can continue my investigation without you.”
She sounded mad, but I was pissed. I inhaled sharply, stood up and sneered at her. “I have a job to do. I didn’t say I liked it, but talking with the media could be just as important to your investigation as questioning witnesses.”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement and my anger was instantly deflated.
“I agree, Chief. It will take a few days to get the DNA results back so we can identify the victim. We’re cross checking missing person’s reports, but so far, we’ve got bupkis. Perhaps when people see you on TV, someone will call in. We have a hotline number you can give out and here’s a photo of the dead girl.” She put her pen down and pulled an 8x10 photo out of her portfolio. “Without fingerprints, it’s very hard to identify someone right away.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, taking the photo from her.
“I hate the idea of showing her photograph,” the detective continued. “Because it’s a crappy way to learn your daughter or wife is dead. But it’s all we have.”
“I agree, Detective Littleton.” I was touched by her concern. Hardened detectives like myself sometimes forgot the victim had a family.
The corners of her lips turned slightly as she said, “Why don’t you call me Becky?”
“Thanks, and you can call me Casey.”
***
“I have a statement,” I said into the five different-shaped microphones laying on the podium set up outside the education building adjacent to the hospital. Reporters, television camcorders and cameramen stood in front of me, eager to ask their questions even before I read the statement. I glanced at Becky, who stood beside me, and then faced the reporters and saw Michele standing in the back with Rebecca. I know from experience how hard it was to keep the press from becoming too curious, and Michele confirmed that the hospital had a policy on not allowing reporters to roam free, so I asked my staff to cover the exits to make sure that the media didn’t go inside and bother the patients and staff, or trample the crime scene in the back. Finally, I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled out my speech, written by Rebecca. Unfolding it, I smoothed it out on the podium before I looked up at the reporters.
“Angelstone Women’s and Children’s Center is saddened by the tragic death of the victim found on our ca
mpus. This hospital strives to heal patients and keep them healthy, and this senseless death goes against everything we stand for. We are cooperating closely with the Boulder Police Department to find justice for the victim. The police have asked that you call 303-555-2840 if you have any information about the incident or can help us identify her.” I held up the photograph and the reporters clambered to get a closer look. “As I said, the police have been unable to identify her, so if anyone knows who she is, please let them know.” I glanced over at Becky. “Please keep in mind that this victim has a family who loves her and are not aware of what has happened to her.” I folded up my paper and tucked it in my jacket pocket. “Questions?”
“Is it true that she was shot in the back?” a reporter shouted.
I turned to Becky. It was her place to answer. “Detective Littleton, from the Boulder Police Department, will answer that question.”
“No, it is not true,” she said, stepping to the podium, “but we ascertained that while we believe she was attacked here, she was being detained somewhere else.”
“You mean she was being held hostage?” another reporter asked.
“We believe so,” Becky answered and then pointed to a woman who had her hand up.
“Sally Rodgers, News 9. Why do you think she was held hostage? Were there signs of torture?”
“No comment,” Becky stated. Which of course the reporters knew meant yes. But Becky couldn’t give out any details for fear it would compromise the case.
“Is it the Dumpster Butcherer?” a reporter in the back shouted.
“We have not determined that there is a connection.”
“That’s not a denial, Detective,” the reporter countered.
“When I know more, you’ll know more,” Becky said, using the standard vague answer taught to detectives on day one.
After the conference was over, Becky and I walked back in the hospital and out the back door to the parking lot where the crime took place.
Better the Devil You Don't Know Page 5