The Swick and the Dead

by Maggie Foster

  “Was Phyllis pretending to be you?”

  “Yes, but the other woman knew who it was. She called her by name.”

  “Can you describe the other woman?”

  “Sure. A tall, elegant black woman. And I got the impression this wasn’t the first time they’d argued.”

  Ginny pulled up the Hillcrest website and accessed the ICU staff directory. “Clara, if I send you a picture of a woman, can you tell me if it’s the same one?”

  “Maybe. Let me see it.”

  Ginny sent it over the wire, then waited for the image to arrive in Clara’s e-mail box.

  “Yes. That’s her.”

  Grace.

  “Can you remember what she said?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying that much attention. I remember the other woman pointing her finger at Phyllis and poking the air with it. You know.”

  “Yes,” Ginny had no trouble imagining that scene. “How are things going on your end?”

  “We’ve had the most exciting day! According to the news, they’ve made twenty drug busts. It’s as if the police suddenly had inside information on where to find the criminals.”

  “Are you out of hiding?”

  “Sort of. The police have cleared me to go home, but I’m officially on vacation for a while.”

  “Give it a week. If I know Agent DeSoto, he’ll have the streets of Austin safe to walk again before you can turn around.”

  “Just in case I want to turn streetwalker.”

  “Or saunter down Sixth Street, enjoying the evening air.”

  “That sounds nice. You should come down and join me.”

  Ginny promised to come visit, then hung up the phone and turned back to the investigation.

  On the face of it, Grace was elsewhere when the murder took place. The evidence that supported her claim included the computer-generated date/time stamps, the images of her with her patients, the non-movement of her ID badge during the relevant times, the image showing her with neither her scrub jacket nor her badge, and the subsequent images showing her with both.

  The evidence contradicting her story (if you were willing to give it such a strong name) consisted of the image of Grace making changes to the TPN pump in Phyllis’ room at five minutes after three a.m., while Phyllis was alive and well and helping Susan with her admission.

  Evidence of nothing in particular included images showing Grace in the scrum in front of the nurses’ station each time there was a Code or an admission.

  Evidence of a motive included Grace and Phyllis’ animosity toward one another. They had been seen arguing more than once (Lisa’s testimony about the fight under the bridge and Clara’s report of Grace’s threats toward Phyllis). But heated words do not prove murder. What in Grace’s life could have made it necessary that Phyllis should die?

  Ginny glanced at the clock. Three hours, minimum, before she could hope to catch Grace at work. If Grace was guilty, she would just deny killing Phyllis. But if she wasn’t, she might say something different, or say the same thing a different way, and maybe it would help solve this case.

  Ginny jotted a few notes down on a piece of paper and stuck it in her pocket, then rose from her chair and turned to find Fergus leaning against the door jamb.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  “A while.” He pushed off the wall and stood square in the doorway, his arms crossed on his chest. “Your mother asked me to remind you. John Kyle and his sons are expected for dinner.”

  “Oh!” Ginny had forgotten about the visit. Well, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t expect to find any of the night crew in place until well after seven p.m. “I’ll be right down.”

  Fergus didn’t move. “I’d like to ask you a question, if I may.”

  Ginny found her attention suddenly focused on the man standing in her doorway. She nodded.

  “What’s your relationship with Jim Mackenzie?”

  “He’s my laird’s grandson.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  “He’s in love with you.”

  Ginny took a grip on herself. A man like Fergus, trained to pay attention, could hardly have missed that.

  “I know.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Fergus uncrossed his arms and moved toward her. “Has he hurt you?”

  Ginny found herself rooted to the spot, her eyes locked on his. She managed to shake her head.

  He crossed the carpet and stood looking down at her. “Ginny, if you need help, tell me.”

  She swallowed, then forced herself to speak. “No. He’s done nothing wrong. It’s not him, it’s me.”

  “Tell me.”

  She shook her head.

  “You can trust me, Ginny.”

  She swallowed hard. “I know.”

  His brow furrowed. “You told me Lisa made accusations against Jim, but she didn’t tell you what he’s supposed to have done. Would you like me to find out for you?”

  Ginny wasn’t aware she had stopped breathing until the room started to spin.

  Fergus put her back in her chair, then pulled up the other, and sat down facing her. “I have resources. Discreet ones. He would never know. Neither would Angus.”

  Ginny sucked in a breath. “I’m supposed to be learning to trust him.”

  “That will be easier if you know the truth.”

  Her forehead was a collection of tight little knots. “Trust means not insisting on knowing.”

  He sighed. “Ginny, there’s no man on earth, no man worth knowing anyway, who hasn’t done something he’d rather not have everyone find out about. The best men confess to the women they love. Has he done so?”

  Ginny swallowed and shook her head. “But he might.”

  “And you want to give him the chance.”

  She nodded.

  Fergus studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll wait and see what kind of a man he is.”

  “He will be Laird of Loch Lonach.”

  Fergus raised an eyebrow, his eyes still on hers. “All the more reason to know if he’s the right man—for the job—and for you.”

  * * *

  Chapter 49

  Day 20 – Wednesday evening

  Forbes residence

  Detective Tran kept her promise, sending a pair of digital images with a polite request that Ginny explain herself. The camera had caught the subject both coming and going. Ginny tucked the images into her bag intending to ask Grace about them when she caught up with her tonight. In the meantime, there were guests to be entertained.

  Ginny, her mother, Fergus, John Kyle, and the two small Kyle boys were gathered in the den watching a recording of the Christmas Pageant. There was a lot of noise and movement in the room as the boys squealed in delight, or jumped up and ran from the room, then ran back in again, or climbed on their father’s lap, then off again. Joey kept drawing the grown-ups attention to his part in the play.

  “Look! Look at me! There I am!”

  Ginny collared him at one point and pulled him up onto her lap. “Tell me who else was in the play.”

  “Luis was. See?”

  “I see him. Who else?”

  “Our whole class.”

  “Anyone else?”

  The child screwed his face up, finding the question a bit of a challenge. “Lots of people.” He squirmed loose and ran off again, his father in hot pursuit this time.

  Whoever had put the video together had gathered clips from the parents. Each child was featured. The cameos were framed by shots of the set, the backstage action, the supporting adults, and the crowd.

  Ginny almost missed it. The camera flashed to the audience, most of the faces hidden behind digital recording devices, but one in the clear. Grace Edwards, smiling at the woman sitting beside her. A sister, maybe, and a niece or nephew in the pageant. Grace was connected with Mater Dolorosa, the same church as Maria Perez and Phyllis Kyle.

&nb
sp; Ginny shook herself mentally. She was fully aware of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, that quirk of the mind that makes it seem as if something you never noticed before suddenly crops up everywhere. Still, there she was.

  The Kyle boys were young and their father took them home almost as soon as the video was over, apologizing, and expressing thanks for the company and the meal, and receiving hugs all around.

  The minute they were out the door, Ginny grabbed her coat and her cousin.

  Mrs. Forbes looked at her in surprise. “I thought you were off tonight.”

  “I am. Fergus and I are going to see if we can ask Grace a few questions. Don’t wait up.”

  * * *

  Wednesday evening

  Hillcrest Medical ICU

  Ginny led the way. “My car this time. I’ve got a parking pass for the hospital lot.”

  “May I drive?”

  Ginny hesitated, then nodded. Hal had insisted he drive whenever the two of them were in the car together. Jim, too. She settled into the passenger side seat, rubbing damp palms on her pants and telling herself she was being silly. Probably he wanted to make sure he could get her out of danger if someone started to follow them.

  “Talk to me.”

  Ginny looked over at her body guard. He was backing the car out of the garage and onto the street, expertly. He met her eyes as he turned forward again, then focused on the street.

  “Why did you go pale when I asked to drive? I’m quite good.”

  “I can see that. Turn left at the next corner.”

  He said nothing more until they pulled into the Hillcrest lot and parked the car, then he turned off the engine, twisted in his seat so he could face her and said, “Thank you.”

  Ginny nodded. She knew, in her conscious mind, that she could trust Fergus with her life. It was her subconscious that hadn’t caught up, yet.

  They rode up in the elevator, Fergus keeping an eye on the surroundings while Ginny got her thoughts in order. She led him into the Unit and called out greetings to the staff.

  “I’ve brought a visitor to see what mysteries occur behind closed doors.” Several of the women looked up, then suddenly found they had time to come over and be polite. Ginny introduced them.

  “This is Ann, and June, and Susan, and Margot.” There were three newcomers among the group of women now eyeing Fergus. Margot introduced them to Ginny.

  “Janet, Maureen, and Thessaly are helping out while we’re so short staffed, and might be persuaded to come onboard if we’re nice to them.” She turned to Ginny. “And on the same subject, when are you coming back?”

  Ginny shrugged. “I haven’t been released. Soon, I hope. Is it okay if I show Fergus around?”

  “Sure, as long as he doesn’t get in the way.”

  “I won’t ma’am. I promise.”

  “Ma’am, is it?” Margot shook her head. “I must be getting old. Gray hair and a rocking chair for me.”

  Fergus turned to her, moving a half-step closer and smiling in a way Ginny hadn’t seen before. He caught Margot’s gaze and it seemed the temperature in the immediate area rose by several degrees. He held out his hand and Margot placed hers in it.

  “I sincerely hope not,” he said. “To deprive the world of those gorgeous eyes of yours would be a real shame.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and saluted them. “I meant only deference to your skill in saving lives and mending broken bodies, for which I have a tremendous respect, having needed those services more than once in the past.”

  Ginny stifled a giggle as she saw Margot melt into his hands. It seemed even she was susceptible to charm on this scale. The others were openly drooling and Ginny had trouble extricating him.

  “Nice women.”

  “And smart.” Ginny grinned. “Usually. Would you like to see the scene of the crime?”

  Ginny lead him to the staff break room, then into the women’s restroom.

  “This is where I found her.”

  He inspected the handicap stall, then nodded, looked around the rest of the room, then held the door for her to exit.

  “This is the break room.” Ginny turned slowly, studying the ceiling. “There!”

  “I see it.”

  Fergus climbed up on one of the chairs, pulling a tool out of his pocket. He examined the device with a flashlight, then carefully removed it from its mounting, climbed down, and handed it to Ginny.

  She ran her finger along the edge. “It’s got a memory card.”

  “Hang onto it until we get home. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes.” Ginny pocketed the camera, led the way to the nurses’ station, and located Margot.

  “Is Grace available?”

  “She was supposed to be on tonight, but she’s a no-show and no one can reach her at any of her numbers.”

  “Is that usual?” Fergus asked.

  Margot shook her head. “No. I can’t think what’s happened to her. She’s been behaving weird recently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Coming in late, disappearing during the shift, saying things that don’t make sense.”

  “When did this start?”

  “About the same time Phyllis was killed. I didn’t think anything of it. We were all upset. But she’s gotten worse.”

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. A no-show and no one able to reach her. She felt a frisson go down her spine. There were too many bodies in this case already. “Where does she live?” she asked.

  Margot dug into the files and came up with the emergency contact information on Grace. “Here’s her address.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  Margot’s eyebrows rose. “Well, no. Why would we do that?”

  Ginny thought there might be a good many reasons why her employer should report a missing nurse, but didn’t say so. She gestured toward the patient rooms. “I just want to check one thing.”

  “Help yourself.”

  Ginny motioned for Fergus to follow her.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  “EKG cables.” She explained about the wire used to kill Phyllis, then slipped into one of the empty ICU rooms, pulled open a drawer, and rummaged around until she found what she wanted.

  It had taken a while, but she’d finally figured out what those sheep had been trying to tell her. The murder weapon was something from the unit. Something only an insider would know was there.

  “My subconscious has been giving me fits over this. I knew I’d seen it before, that I should recognize it, but I’ve been distracted. Then, when I told Detective Tran, she said they knew all about it, so I went away again, feeling foolish.” She handed him the example.

  “These cables are hard-wires for the old-fashioned EKG monitors. We use wireless now, but these are kept in each of the rooms as a back-up. Each cable has five wires, one each in red, black, white, green, and brown.”

  He tugged on the wires, finding that each one came easily out of the connection. “These are heavy.”

  “And long. Quite sufficient to choke someone with.”

  “And the one they found around her neck was a red wire.”

  “Yes.”

  “So all we need to do is find a set with a missing red wire.”

  “It’s not that simple. They migrate from room to room. Right now, I’m just doing a census.”

  They spent the next half hour going through the drawers in each of the twelve ICU rooms, at the end of which Ginny had discovered there were three rooms with a modified set; one had two greens and no red, one had two whites and no green, one had all but the red, the rest had the usual one of each color.

  “Which room had only four wires and none was red?” Fergus was keeping track.

  “Room eleven.”

  “Does that help?”

  “Grace had rooms eleven and twelve on the night of Phyllis’ murder.”

  “Would the murderer be able to count on a red wire being handy at need?”

  “A wire, certainly. The color would
n’t matter.”

  “So it might have been premeditated, but it’s more likely to have been a spur-of-the-moment murder.”

  “Yes.” Ginny turned her head toward the nurses’ station where a confrontation of some sort was in progress. “What’s going on over there?”

  “Let’s go find out.” Fergus led the way.

  What they found was a visitor with minimal English trying to communicate with Margot, who had almost no Spanish.

  “Senorita Grace, por favor.

  “I’m sorry. She’s not here.”

  “What does mean, not here?”

  “I’m sorry.” Margo spread her hands. “She’s not here tonight.”

  “No here? Where is?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “I must speak.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”

  “Debo hablar con la señorita Grace. Dime dónde encontrarla, por favor. Es importante.”

  “Excuse me,” Fergus address the stranger. “¿Puedo ayudar?”

  “Ah! ¡Sí!” The stranger launched into an impassioned string of Spanish, to which Fergus replied with courtesy, in the same language. After a minute or two of listening, he turned to Margot and translated.

  “She says she must speak with Grace. That it’s necessary she understand they do not blame her.”

  “Blame her for what?” Margot asked. Fergus translated the question, then the answer.

  “She says, they don’t blame Grace for the child’s death. He was dying anyway and they knew she was trying to help.”

  “What child?” Ginny asked.

  The conversation went on for the next fifteen minutes, during which Ginny learned that Grace had been providing chemotherapy drugs to a child who was in the country illegally; that the family had refused to take the child to the free clinic, for fear of deportation; that Grace had taken the child to the clinic anyway, when he got much worse; that he had died in the night in spite of everything the medical professionals could do; and that the illegal community Grace had been supplying with drugs and medical expertise did not blame her for the death, needed her help, and were begging her to come back to them.

  Fergus assured the visitor that they, too, were looking for Grace, and would give her the message when they found her. The woman appeared mollified and went away, leaving the ICU staff to stare at one another.