Caroline leaned forward. “Is there some way to find out who it was?”
“I can look at the patient-cam images to see if the IV pump showed.”
“Okay, so what will that tell us? There’s a lazy nurse among you?”
Ginny was frowning now. “It should tell us who killed Phyllis.”
Jim leaned forward. “How?”
She turned to face him, still trying to sort out the reasoning in her mind. “It’s not just laziness. It’s negligence.”
Jim nodded. “Not following the doctor’s orders, the patient could have been injured.”
“Right. Which implies that whoever turned down the rate didn’t want to draw attention to the fact Phyllis was missing.”
“Sounds reasonable, but—?”
Ginny shrugged. “If it was the murderer, why didn’t she just let the pump go dry? All she’d have to say is, ‘Phyllis came back from the bathroom, and I went back to work.’ That would have muddied the timeline considerably.”
Jim nodded. “I follow.”
“So do I,” said Caroline.
“So where’s the benefit in resetting the pump?”
“Other than delaying the alarm, you mean.”
Ginny nodded, her frown deepening. “Why would someone kill Phyllis, then sneak in to take care of her patients? It would jeopardize the alibi if she showed up on camera in Phyllis’ rooms, but failed to mention she was MIA. Would someone capable of strangling a fellow nurse care enough about the patients to take that risk?”
Caroline shook her head. “I don’t think it can be the same person. There must be some other explanation.”
Ginny nodded. “And I could still be wrong. It was a crazy night. Any one of us might have run in, made a temporary adjustment, meaning to come back and make a more permanent one later, and run out again, and gotten caught in the next disaster.”
“So, does this exonerate all the nurses, on the grounds of conscience?” Jim asked. “Because, if it does, we have to look elsewhere.”
Ginny sighed. "And I’m fresh out of suspects.”
* * *
Friday night
Zimmerman residence
Marge Hawkins sat in her car on the dark side of the block and watched the front door of the house. Random cars turned into the street and cruised slowly past, looking at the Christmas decorations. She perched her phone on the steering wheel and made sure it was lit, so the curious could see what she was doing, be bored, and move on.
It had already been a long day. She’d completed her preparations for tomorrow, done some Christmas shopping, and paused for a late lunch, only to find Maria Perez’s child right under her nose. She had followed the older Forbes woman to a children’s shelter, and seen the boy turned over to the caretaker there. A bit of research told her the shelter was genuine, but private, under the control of the Scottish community. It seemed unlikely she would get a chance to speak to the boy, much less abduct him.
This target would be different. There would be no protector between her and him, but neither did she want to confront him. What she wanted was to leave a little early Christmas present for him, then slip away.
She’d seen him moving around inside and was beginning to wonder if he was in for the night when the door opened and he emerged, striding down the front walk, camera bag over his shoulder. He climbed into the car parked at the curb and drove off without paying the slightest bit of attention to her.
She waited for five minutes, then approached the door, tools in hand. The lock was a standard double-keyed deadbolt, no additional lock on the handle. The pick gun got her inside in less than twenty seconds. The keypad to the alarm was mounted beside the door, whining at her as the one minute delay counted down. She consulted her notes, then punched in the access code she’d gotten through the simple expedient of recording (using a bionic ear) the sounds made by Zimmerman as he enabled the device, then translating the tones to numbers and letters.
Once safely in, she headed for the kitchen. She’d read somewhere that the thing to do was to dip a spoon in the poison and let it dry. The substance would be totally invisible and all the victim would have to do was stir once. She opened the drawers in turn until she found the cutlery and a neat little stack of spoons.
She pulled the top one out and stepped over to the sink. She carefully poured one milliliter of the neurotoxin into the bowl of the spoon, then rocked it back and forth until it covered the surface completely. She had enough to anoint the back as well. She blew on it, to hasten the drying.
When she could see no more glisten of wetness on either surface, she put the spoon back on the top of the stack, set the alarm, and let herself out of the house. She could not lock the door with the tools she had, but he probably wouldn’t even notice. He would put the key in the lock, turn it, and expect the door to open, and it would.
So now all she had to do was wait. It was lucky she’d made friends with that toxicologist on the last dive. He’d been most helpful in the matter of fugu poison. Quite knowledgeable and quite clueless. She should send him a small token of thanks and ask him where he was headed next. Perhaps they could go diving together again. With the blackmailer finally off her back—the right one this time—she’d be able to afford another trip.
* * *
Chapter 37
Day 16 – Saturday noon, Christmas Eve
Forbes residence
Ginny stared at the image. The TPN bag was clearly visible, as was the profile of the woman making adjustments to the pump. It was one of the Hillcrest Medical ICU nurses. It was not Marjorie Hawkins.
Grace was still in the running, of course. If she was the murderer, she might have set the various drips in the room to an ICU version of autopilot, to make sure no one went looking for Phyllis too soon. That would mean the TPN, plain fluid (for hydration), sedatives, and analgesics. But none of the IV pumps could be trusted completely. Grace would have to check on them at some point.
Ginny searched for evidence that Grace had returned to that patient’s room, and found nothing. She had seen Marge Hawkins doing the four o’clock meds and Dee come in to suction the patient and check the ventilator, but that was all. No one else came or went.
She then followed Grace from Phyllis’ patient’s room to her own and watched for any sign that Grace was concerned about that TPN. Nothing. She seemed to have forgotten it.
It was possible, of course, that Grace had said something to someone else (out of range of the cameras), and that the someone else had ignored the question of Phyllis’ absence.
That meant Marge Hawkins, the acting Charge Nurse for the shift. It would be her job to handle any problems and make sure the proper procedure was followed. Which, apparently, hadn’t happened. Because no one had gone looking for Phyllis, and someone should have.
Ginny sat back in her chair and stared out the window. The winter sky was overcast, the clouds shifting shades of gray and white, billowing in the breeze. She watched the light grow as the clouds parted and a single shaft of sun poured through the gap, slid across the treetops, then faded as the clouds closed ranks again.
Illumination. That’s what she needed. Her eyes drifted back to her computer. Information. Everyone was online these days.
It wasn’t Ginny’s habit to pry into the private lives of those she worked with, but maybe it was time she looked at a few of them. Marjorie Hawkins first.
The Head Nurse had a social media presence filled with images of her hobby, SCUBA diving in exotic locations. There were underwater images and topside images and after party images and in all of them she looked as if she was having a very good time. She also appeared on the Hillcrest Medical Center pages and at a variety of conferences. There were no images that looked like church affiliations, no candid shots taken at home, no picnics, no zoo, no concerts. Nor did she have pet pictures, unless you counted the tropical fish. There may have been pages hiding behind passwords, but nothing stuck out, and Ginny did not have hacking skills. She moved on.
/> Lisa next. Half an hour’s searching added nothing to what Ginny already knew about Lisa.
The third search was more interesting. Grace, as it turned out, had something to say.
Ginny scrolled through the index of video clips, more like a video diary, really, since there were so many of them. They covered the last two years and all said very much the same thing. Grace thought the U.S. government was criminally liable for its treatment of illegal aliens fleeing war-torn countries, and that included Mexicans fleeing the drug cartels.
The U.S., in its arrogance and sloth, had forced the poor illegals to break U.S. laws just to survive. It was necessary that kind-hearted Americans also ignore the law and do the right thing instead. There was a lot more on the subject of following your conscience and not letting a piece of paper get between you and doing good deeds.
Ginny had heard it all before and knew that, far from ignoring the problem, there were more than a hundred agencies in the DFW area set up to deal with it.
Lisa had said Grace fought with Phyllis over this issue, Phyllis urging Grace to take her illegal charges to the free clinics and Grace arguing the illegals couldn’t trust the charities.
Grace was a citizen and could not be deported, but she could be jailed. She had taken an oath when she got her nursing license. She was bound by law and, if she chose to break it, she could not complain about consequences. So was she being wise or foolish? Noble or wicked?
Ginny put the computer away and went off to find her mother. This was not the first time she’d had questions about the relative merits of good and evil. Sinia Forbes, with her vast knowledge of the history of man, understood human motivation, and could be counted on to provide examples of the consequences that followed following one’s conscience. It was usually a sobering lesson.
* * *
Saturday afternoon, Christmas Eve
Hillcrest ER
Dr. Devlin Jones made his way to Exam Room Three, paused long enough to take a deep breath, then knocked.
“Come in.”
He closed the door behind him and stood just inside the room eyeing the federal agent. The man rose and stood facing him, silent, waiting for him to begin the conversation. DJ looked around the room. There were boxes, and evidence of electrical work in progress.
“You’re leaving us?”
Agent DeSoto nodded. “We appreciate your hospitality, but we no longer need a base of operations in this building.” There was a brief silence, then, “Is there something I can do for you?”
DJ frowned, his eyes roving the room. It was hard to know where to begin. “Thank you, for what you did for Corey.”
“You’re welcome.”
Another silence.
DJ licked his lips, then swallowed, then stuck his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “You heard my son and Phyllis are—were cousins?”
DeSoto nodded.
“Phyllis was a good child. Always. Her whole life she was always being good, doing good. She was annoying.”
DeSoto’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
“Normal children get into trouble. They fight and whine and tattle on one another.” He shook his head. “It was as if she skipped childhood and went straight to being an adult. She was the oldest, and there never was a more reliable babysitter. Her mother used to worry that she didn’t seem to have friends her own age. I knew better. She had a gang.”
DeSoto’s brow rose. “A street gang?”
DJ nodded. “You know what those damned children did? They picked up trash. They passed out water to construction workers. They cut the grass for the handful of geriatrics that lived in the neighborhood. And she played nurse. Patched up elbows and preached healthy living. I don’t know where she got it. The media, maybe, or the library.” He fell silent.
“And?”
“When she got older, she went underground. None of us ever saw her doing anything she shouldn’t, going any place dangerous. But she did. The other children were less discreet.” DJ shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “She made contacts among the drug culture. Maybe through her volunteer work, homeless shelters, that sort of thing.”
He took a deep breath. “Corey had gotten in with a bad crowd. She went in, more than once, and hauled his sorry ass home. Saved his life at least once. He’d bought some tainted crack and came very close to dying.” DJ shook his head. “I loved my niece, but I didn’t like her. None of us could live up to her example and that pissed me off.” He looked up and met DeSoto’s eyes. “But I didn’t kill her.”
The DEA agent nodded. “We know.”
DJ nodded in return, then took another deep breath, pulled his hands out of his pockets, and crossed his arms on his chest. “I went to visit Corey’s supplier, to settle the debt. He’s out of the business, so I was dealing with a stranger. He said he appreciated my position and that Corey was welcome anytime, as long I remembered to pay the bill.”
DeSoto’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I asked him how they knew where to find Corey the night of the Christmas party and he laughed. ‘Technology is a wonderful thing,’ he said. ‘You can track anyone anywhere anytime, as long as they’re stupid enough to use their own phone.’” DJ found his eyes wandering the room, avoiding the agent’s. “Corey told me what he told you. It’s probably true. I don’t really know what I said. I was so mad.” He blinked hard, then looked back at the agent. “I didn’t kill my niece, even if I threatened to. I’m sorry she’s dead. The world needs more people like her. And I want a promise from you. I want that slimy bastard dealing drugs under the bridge to disappear. I would prefer dead, but life in prison will do.”
Agent DeSoto nodded. “That’s my intention.” He came over. “I’m sorry for your loss. Can I count on your help?”
DJ swallowed hard, then nodded. “You’ve got it. Anything I can do.”
Agent DeSoto smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Chapter 38
Day 16 – Saturday midnight, Christmas Eve
Rooftop Helipad, Hillcrest Regional Medical Center
Ginny glanced at the clock. She had some things she had to finish before she could turn responsibility for her patient over to Susan, but she would make it to the helipad on time.
Every year, on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus arrived on the hospital roof with a helicopter full of donated toys, gifts, and food. It took a small army to get them all unloaded and distributed to the various floors, but it was one of the perks of having to work on Christmas Eve.
Every effort was made to send patients home for the holidays, but there were always some too sick to move, and more that came in through the ER doors because of loneliness or to escape the cold. Some years everyone was too busy to help. Not this year, though. The Unit was quiet and the patients mostly stable. What was uncertain this year was the weather.
“It’s starting to snow!” Lisa came back from her foray to the window at the end of the hall.
“Will that interfere with the toy delivery?” June asked.
Lisa pushed one hand into the arm of her coat. “Too soon to tell. We’re only supposed to get a dusting. Come on, Ginny. Get your coat.”
“Coming.” She turned to Susan. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Take your time. I’ve got this.”
Ginny hurried into the breakroom and pulled her winter coat from her locker, stuffing her arms into the sleeves as she ran for the elevator. There were already volunteers in the car, one of them holding the door open for her. They rode up to the top floor, then streamed out onto the brightly lit roof. The flood lamps were on to help the helicopter land safely, but they also caught the falling snow, making the air shimmer.
“Look, look!” Lisa was holding her hands out, her face tipped up to the sky. “We’re going to have a white Christmas!”
“Come on, ladies. Say ‘cheese’.”
Ginny turned and smiled into the camera. “Hello, Isaac. Working late ag
ain?”
He shrugged. “Part of the job. We’re supposed to be humanizing health care. Besides, it’s not every day you get to see Santa climb out of a helicopter.”
“True.”
“Over here, everyone.”
Ginny turned to find Marjorie Hawkins herding the volunteers into the shelter of the elevator canopy. She was passing out gay apparel: Santa hats, reindeer headbands, strings of flashing colored lights. Ginny had come prepared and was wearing an especially long candy cane pattern stocking cap that wrapped twice around her neck for added warmth.
“We need to stay out of the way until the rotor blades stop turning. As soon as that happens we can start unloading. Management wants pictures, so pretend you’re having fun. Here, Ginny, you get to be Rudolph.”
Ginny took the glowing red nose and placed it over her own, grinning at what she saw reflected in the Plexiglas wall. She felt a hand descend on her shoulder and turned to see Lisa, reindeer headband in place over her fur hat, her cheeks ruddy from the cold.
“No fair!” Lisa said. “I want to be Rudolph!”
Ginny sighed to herself then pulled the red nose off and handed it to Lisa. Anything for a little peace on Earth.
“Of course. It goes with your antlers.” She smiled, trying to put some Christmas spirit into the words, then turned her back on Lisa and moved away.
The helicopter was landing. They all watched as it settled onto the helipad, the rotors kicking up the snow and making a very convincing blizzard around the familiar figure that was climbing out of the belly of the chopper.
“What’s this? I thought you were going to play Rudolph?”
Ginny hadn’t noticed Marjorie Hawkins standing just to her right. She turned and smiled at her boss. “Lisa wanted the nose to go with her antlers. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Lisa? Lisa Braden?”
“Yes. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“Isaac! Take my picture!” Lisa pushed past Ginny, posing in front of the helicopter, waving at the camera.
“She looks cute, don’t you think?” Ginny turned to her boss, then instinctively took a step back as the Head Nurse’s cordial public face dissolved in fury.
The Swick and the Dead Page 25