The Swick and the Dead

by Maggie Foster

  DeSoto continued. “If they’re putting pure product on the streets, there has to be a reason, and it’s only happening here. We want to find out why.”

  A middle-aged Indian woman leaned forward. Jim had worked with her twice and been impressed. She was intelligent, knowledgeable, and calm in a crisis. “The problem,” she said, “is that the patients are not able to speak to us. So far, they’ve all been dead on arrival.”

  Agent DeSoto nodded. “From massive overdose.”

  Jim caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at his boss. Even in scrubs, Dr. Lyons’ military background showed. He pushed off the wall, drew his five foot ten into a precise vertical line, planted his feet shoulder width apart, crossed his arms on his chest, and addressed the agent.

  “Let me see if I got this straight. You’re telling us that Dallas has a drug problem no one else has.”

  “Right.”

  “And it’s because the dealers are supplying pure, U.S. produced drug to the users.”

  “Right again.”

  “And the users don’t expect that much active ingredient, which leads to accidental overdoses.”

  “Yes.”

  The medical director looked around the table, then back at the DEA agent. “I don’t see how we can help you. If they’re dead, they’re dead.”

  The agent slid off the table and faced Dr. Lyons. “We want to put agents in all the Emergency Rooms in Dallas to interview the families and friends. We’re hoping to get a lead on what’s happening and why and who’s responsible. We need your cooperation to help the agents fit in.”

  Several of the physicians exchanged glances. Agent DeSoto seemed to read their minds.

  “We have a task force put together and everyone on it has basic medical training. We want to disguise them as techs and we expect them to do what they’re told, to maintain their cover, for as long as needed.”

  Dr. Lyons looked around at his crew. “Any discussion?”

  Jim watched as the gathering of physicians considered all the things that could go wrong with a plan like this. Eventually the Indian woman, Dr. Varma, spoke. “If there’s even a hint this is a trap, they will eliminate anyone with knowledge of what’s going on. That means us.”

  Agent DeSoto nodded. “We hope to have a swift resolution to this problem, but it’s true it carries some risk.”

  Dr. Lyons raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Being an ER physician carries risks. We all know that. We just don’t want to put targets on our backs.”

  Dr. Jones looked over at Agent DeSoto. “Would putting more security on help or hurt?”

  “Could go either way. We don’t want to alert anybody, but we could have extra help in-house and ready to respond if needed.”

  Jim leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest. Dr. Lyons looked at him.

  “You have something you want to add, Dr. Mackenzie?”

  Jim turned to face him. “The D.C. area has a lot of crime.” Lyons nodded. He was aware of Jim’s history. “Three years ago, some of the facilities decided to add bulletproof vests under the scrub tops.” Jim took a breath, remembering a particularly hairy night that had seen one death and a number of injuries among the Emergency Room staff. “They work and we were able to work in them.” He met the medical director’s eyes. “But they aren’t cheap.”

  All eyes were on the medical director now. He scanned the room. “Is that what it would take?”

  There were nods from almost everyone around the table.

  “I think we’d all feel better if we knew we weren’t gonna die the first time someone came in guns a-blazing,” Jones said. “It would give us time to duck.”

  Lyons nodded, then looked at Agent DeSoto. “I’ll take it to the Hillcrest hospital board. You’ll have your answer tomorrow, one way or another.”

  * * *

  Monday midafternoon

  Forbes residence

  Later that same afternoon, Ginny sat in front of her computer, her fingers poised to write down whatever she came up with. She had dutifully called Detective Tran and relayed the question about Maria Perez’s nursing license, and been told it would be added to the list.

  “Anything that might have made Mrs. Kyle a target,” Tran had said. If Maria was right, and Phyllis was killed because of her, then there was clearly a motive, but without Maria to tell them what it was, Ginny could only guess.

  She frowned to herself. If Detective Tran was right, it was one of them. Someone she worked with. Someone who could brutally and cold-bloodedly kill another human being, then walk away and blend in with the crowd. A very small crowd.

  Miserable as that thought was, it gave her a starting point. One of the people who’d been present last Friday morning had a connection to both Maria and Phyllis. Maybe not directly, but—if Maria was right—it was there.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  Day 4 – Monday midafternoon

  Jim’s apartment

  Jim had gone home and was now sitting, staring at the wall, thinking of Ginny. He’d promised he wouldn’t order her around, and he meant to do less of it, but she’d announced today that she needed to face her fears and this was one both of them had been avoiding. She needed to get back on the ice.

  She was physically healthy, and he knew she’d had her skates replaced. The last time he’d brought it up, she’d stormed off, but then, the last time, he’d been insisting she wear a helmet.

  He could still see her as she’d looked, lying in the hospital bed, unconscious, then concussed, then merely hurting. He didn’t want to risk that, any more than she did, but it was absolutely necessary she face that fear. She wouldn’t be able to face herself until she did.

  He took a deep breath. It was like surgery; pain for a while, then healing, then strength. She would understand that. There was no sense in putting it off any longer. He pulled his phone out and got to work.

  * * *

  Monday late afternoon

  Dallas Ice Arena

  Ginny sat in the passenger seat of Jim’s car. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He’d announced he was taking her to dinner, but nothing else. Her curiosity had gone into overdrive, but she recognized an immovable object when she saw one.

  Ginny studied his face. He sat with his lips pressed firmly together as if he didn’t trust himself to speak, but she didn’t catch on until twenty minutes later when he pulled up in front of a building she knew all too well.

  “We’re here.” He pulled into a parking space, got out, walked around behind the car, and reached into the trunk. Ginny felt her throat tighten as she recognized her skate bag.

  He opened her door and held out his hand.

  “What are you doing with my skates?” She heard the sharp edge to the question, but was too busy trying not to panic to do anything about it.

  “I had your mother get them out of your car for me.”

  Ginny was having trouble breathing. “I’m not going in there.”

  He set the bag down on the pavement, slipped an arm around her waist, and pulled her out of the car. “We need to get past this.”

  “Not now. Not like this.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You shook me today, Ginny. You reminded me that I can’t do this for you, much as I want to.”

  “Jim, please.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I can’t imagine how frightening this must be for you, but I know you can do it. Your mother says you love to skate and you’ve missed it.”

  Ginny could feel her heart racing, her eyes suspiciously damp. “You promised you wouldn’t tell me what to do anymore.”

  “I’m not going to let you ignore this, any more than I would let you ignore a hot appendix. This needs to be faced.”

  Ginny was shivering, in spite of her warm winter coat. He was right. She needed to skate, to prove to herself she could.

  “I don’t want you to see me li
ke this.”

  “I promised I would do whatever you needed, to help you heal. Lean on me, Ginny. Let me help you.”

  Lean on him! He had no idea what he was suggesting. She should give him his wish. That would teach him. She pulled back and looked up into his face.

  “On one condition.”

  “What is it?”

  “You skate, too.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You said you’d help. I need you out on the ice, with me.”

  She saw the corner of his mouth curve up.

  “All right. If that’s what you need, that’s what we’ll do.” He picked up the bag and turned her toward the entrance.

  Ginny found her head pounding and her conscience in crisis. Why had she insisted on his coming out on the ice with her? What did she hope to get from it? He couldn’t help her. All he could do was find out how hard it was to skate. Why did she want him to know that? Because she was so frightened? Was this revenge?

  He paid their admissions and his skate rental fee, then found a seat in the bleachers while Ginny slipped into the ladies’ room. She kept an extra pair of hose in the bag. She put them on, then pulled her slacks over them, and added a headband to keep her hair out of her eyes. She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing a skater. She looked the part. It remained to be seen if she could act the part as well.

  When she got back to the bleachers, she checked his skates, to make sure they were laced up and tied properly, then put on her own. She had to concentrate to keep her hands from trembling.

  It was the first time she’d had the new skates on. New skates had to be broken in. She wouldn’t have tried anything fancy under any circumstances. So, just the basics. Just get out there and stroke.

  She moved to the boards and did a few stretches, then turned and faced the ice. God! Was she really going to do this?

  “Ready?” Jim put his arm around her waist.

  She stood at the gate wanting to run, knowing she couldn’t, not with him there. She swallowed then stepped over the barrier and onto the frozen surface.

  I can do this, she said to herself. I can do this. She held onto the boards and watched as Jim followed and suddenly knew why she had insisted on his being there. She needed to teach him. Having to focus on him would help her control her fear.

  She spent the next ten minutes showing him the way the figure skates worked and explaining how to control the physics. “Did you go skating as a child?”

  “Yes, but all I had was hockey skates. This is different.”

  “You’re right. It is.”

  She pushed off, her eyes on him, and demonstrated a simple stroke. She went back to collect him, coaxing him away from the wall.

  “Put your hands on mine and look at me. Don’t look down.”

  She skated backwards, swiveling, both feet on the ice, holding him on line and making sure he didn’t get too far off balance. A treacherous little voice in her head taunted her. This isn’t skating. You’ll never skate again. Not the way you used to. She shoved the thought aside.

  “You’re doing fine. Turn your foot to the side and push gently. Bend your knees. Look at me, not at your feet.”

  They made one complete circuit of the ice in this manner. When they got back to where they had started, she let Jim grab the boards and hang on for a bit.

  “I had no idea! It looks so easy on TV.”

  Ginny laughed shortly. “Those effortless movements you see are the result of raw talent, excellent coaching, and a lifetime of practice.”

  “Go skate for me,” he said, nodding at the ice surface. “Show me what you can do.”

  She shook her head. “Not today.” She explained about the new skates.

  “All right. I won’t expect triple axles, but I need a moment. Once around the park, then come get me.”

  Ginny took a deep breath, then nodded.

  She was tight, very, very tight, and that was very, very dangerous. She needed to loosen up. She started around the rink. It had been two months. Two months and a twisted ankle. Two months and a twisted ankle and a cracked skull. She blinked hard, trying to clear the memory out of her mind. She pushed carefully, first with one foot, then the other.

  The new boots were stiff. If she wasn’t careful, they would raise blisters. She bent her knees and pushed again. Nice blades. They bit the ice and pulled her around the curves effortlessly. Very nice. She took a deep breath and looked at the other skaters.

  It was a public session and there were too many people on the ice. No chance she could get away with anything, even if she’d been willing to try.

  She glided toward the boards. The edges were really sweet. She curved back, being careful to stay out of everyone’s way. Gentle swing rolls, into the center and back out. Nothing dangerous. No speed, no sudden changes of direction. She completed the circuit and went back to Jim, who was gripping the barrier as if his life depended on it. He put an arm around her waist, pulling her to him, giving her a hug.

  “You look good.”

  “Your turn.”

  “Mine? I can’t even stand up.”

  “It’s much harder to balance standing still than it is moving. Come on. Basic stroking.” She pulled him away from the side and took him around again, coaching him on posture, foot position, and how to use his muscles. He was being a very good sport, trying to follow her lead and smiling at her between bouts of panic. She let him retire to the boards and stroked back out onto the ice. She was breathing easier now.

  God, it felt good! She found herself settling into old habits, found herself picking up speed, found herself stretching and lifting and shifting her weight. It was all coming back. She turned on the ice without conscious thought, then dropped into a lunge, then headed for the boards and did some kicks.

  She pulled her leg up and moved it into spiral position, then brought it around on the edge-change-edge. It was too crowded for that move, and she was too out of shape to be sure she wouldn’t fall, so she contented herself with one smallish spiral of the straight line variety, but in good position, then into the center and turns again, slowly, but correctly. Then, without thinking, she was into the backwards crossovers, picking up speed and stepping into a spin, then curving into a pivot to finish with a full stop in the center of the ice, just as she used to do.

  She looked up, hunting for Jim. He’d gotten off the ice and was standing in the doorway, his eyes on her, a huge smile on his face.

  Ginny felt a rush of warmth in his direction. She hadn’t done anything, but she felt as if she’d summited Mount Everest. And she’d been able to do it because of him. Because he believed in her. She raced over, jumped off the ice, and threw herself into his arms, knocking both of them to the mats.

  “Oh, Jim! Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome!” He was laughing, his arms around her as she covered him with kisses, on his neck, his cheeks, his lips. Then, suddenly, he was kissing her, seriously, passionately, the two of them locked in an embrace, unaware of the sight they made for the other skaters until someone reached down and offered Ginny a hand to help her to her feet.

  She stood, quivering with the emotions coursing through her, and watched as Jim rose, thanked their helpers, and assured them that neither he nor she was injured.

  He turned to face her and Ginny saw a warmth in his eyes that certainly had not been there earlier. He held out a hand and she let him pull her to him, settling into his arms, her head on his shoulder.

  “You did it,” he whispered in her ear. “I knew you could.”

  Ginny closed her eyes, letting the joy wash over her. She was back on the ice and he had kissed her and for the first time since October it seemed just barely possible that everything was going to be all right after all.

  * * *

  Monday late afternoon

  Perez apartment

  She stood in the apartment and looked around.

  “The police came?”

  “Sunday night.”


  “Did they speak with anyone?”

  “Sí, Señora Jefa. But no one knew anything. Then a man and a woman came. This morning.”

  “What did they want?”

  “El oso del niño.”

  She considered this for a moment. “The child is how old?”

  “Cinco, Señora Jefa.”

  Too young to be on his own. Whoever had the boy probably knew his mother and where to find her. “What did this man and woman look like?”

  The manager raised his arm. “Tall. So. And pálido. The woman, she had long red hair, in a braid. I sent them away.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “The man, he left this.” The manager fished a business card out of his pocket and held it out to her.

  She looked at it, her eyebrows rising. James Mackenzie, MD, Hillcrest Regional. She slipped it in her pocket, then faced the manager. “Wait for me outside.”

  He bobbed his head and left, closing the door behind him.

  She searched the apartment, but there were no drugs and no clues as to where the missing woman might have gone. She was pretty sure she knew what had happened, but she needed to get all her ducks in a row before she reported in. They would have to respond, of course. And quickly.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Day 4 – Monday / Tuesday night shift

  Hillcrest Regional Medical ICU

  When Ginny reported to the hospital on Monday evening, she was still thrumming from the afternoon’s adventure, by which she meant the kiss. She hadn’t even thought about it at the time. It had seemed so right, so natural to kiss him, to show him how happy she was. And he had responded in kind, then with more enthusiasm, and she had found her eyes closed and her head spinning. She caught her breath at the memory.

  Jim (God bless the man—and she meant that) had been patient. She’d been his patient, of course, during the months of healing and only a monster would move in on a woman unable to defend herself. But he’d been more. He had let her curl up in his arms and ache with the devastation; had refrained from making light of the situation, recognizing the depth of the betrayal; had let her pull away when he touched a nerve, without abandoning her.