by L. T. Ryan
“Something tells me you don’t want to draw that kind of attention to yourself.” Cassie held up her hands in surrender, though she stayed at the ready to move in either direction if Heather attempted to run again. “Look, I think we might be after the same thing.”
Heather barked out a laugh. “I doubt it.”
“We know about the deaths here at UMC. And Tulane. And the other hospitals.”
She grew still. “And?”
“And we want answers.” Cassie lowered her hands slowly. “We spoke with your mother. We know what happened with your sister.”
Silence hung in the air.
“Did you know some coma patients feel pain just like the rest of us?” Heather’s eyes were wild. “She was suffering. And my parents would’ve kept her alive for years if they could. Until all the money ran out. No one deserves to live that way.”
Cassie’s mind split in two, exploring each possibility simultaneously. On the one hand, she could see Heather as she always had. Devastated by the loss of her sister. Frustrated that she had no one to blame but a faulty machine. A mere glitch that took her sister away. Angry and upset, she knew Daisy wasn’t the only one to have suffered like that. She began volunteering to get closer to the patients. She figured out this was happening at more than one hospital, so she created different personas to gather more data. All she had to do was put it together, and she’d be able to prove liability. It would shock the nation to hear what had gone on in New Orleans, right under everyone’s noses.
But there was a second path, one that hadn’t previously occurred to Cassie. The loss of her sister had devastated Heather, but the idea of her sister suffering for years, unable to express her discomfort, was even more traumatizing. Frustrated, she broke the machine, feeling as though she had done her sister a favor. She left home, knowing her parents would never understand. Heather didn’t want anyone else to suffer like that, so she began volunteering to get closer to the patients. She created different personas so she wouldn’t bring attention to herself. Thanks to her parents’ money, she even got a separate apartment, so if anyone came looking for her, they’d never know her true identity. She could do anything she wanted, right under everyone’s noses.
The true irony here was the Ghost Doctor had been an unwitting accomplice. Cassie had yet to solve that mystery, but Dr. Cohen had pointed her toward the true culprit. She had shown Cassie who Heather really was. They had spent so much time looking into the doctor that it had allowed Heather to claim another victim.
They had wondered if Dr. Cohen was an angel of death when they should’ve asked the same of Heather. All the pieces slid into place and Cassie remembered stories of people like Donald Harvey, who had spent years killing patients, claiming he was euthanizing them for their own good. Did Heather know anything about him? Had she studied his methods?
“It was you.” Cassie didn’t bother asking it as a question. She couldn’t deny the truth now. “You killed all those people. Why?”
“No one deserves to live that way,” Heather repeated. She didn’t bother trying to get away. She stood tall. She believed in her cause. “They were in pain. I was helping them.”
Whether Jason had come to the same conclusion as Cassie or if he understood what she was implying, Cassie didn’t know. But he was standing right beside her, his voice deadly quiet. “Do you even know who they were? Did you know anything about them?”
“I remember all of them.” She was defiant. “I knew everything about them.”
“Jasmine Broussard. Did you kill her?”
Heather looked away. But not before they saw the recognition in her eyes. And the fear.
Jason stepped closer. “She was my baby cousin.” His voice broke. He recovered. It hardened into steel, and Cassie’s heart shattered. “She would’ve survived that surgery if it weren’t for you. She would’ve had years left to live.”
“Years full of suffering.” Heather didn’t meet his eyes. “She didn’t deserve that.”
“You don’t get to make that call.” Jason’s voice was steady, and that scared Cassie even more. She wanted him to yell, to be angry, to explode the way she wanted to explode. Somehow, this was worse. It was like he was turning in on himself, shutting everything down. And something deep inside her feared he’d never open up again. “You took her choice away. How could you ever think that was right?”
Cassie had been in this position before, wanting to understand the mind of a killer. Jason had said he understood evil, but this was something else. In her own twisted mind, Heather thought she was doing the right thing. Her sister’s comatose state broke something inside of her, and when she put herself back together, she did it all wrong.
“You know what it feels like to lose someone,” Jason continued. “You know how a piece of you dies with them. You know that, and yet you’ve done that to dozens of families. How could you?”
For the first time since they’d confronted her, Heather didn’t have an answer. She opened her mouth to respond, but before they could hear whatever excuse came next, the door at the top of the stairs opened.
“—heard voices down here.”
Two figures stopped at the top and looked down at them. One was a nurse, her face pallid and weary. The other was a security guard, his face rich brown and startled.
“That’s her.” The woman extended a finger to point at Heather. “That’s the volunteer I kept seeing outside the room. And I’ve seen her other times, too. Last month, they asked her about another patient who died. She’d been the last one to see him alive, too.”
Heather didn’t hesitate. She threw an elbow at Cassie’s face with the intention of either breaking her nose or, at the very least, knocking her off her feet. What she didn’t expect was Cassie’s quick reaction time. Years of finding herself in these kinds of situations and a few self-defense classes had paid off.
Instead of enduring a bloody nose, Cassie blocked the elbow with her palm. She pushed back at the same time she put a leg behind the other woman. The momentum threw Heather off-balance, sending her sprawling back into the wall instead of down the stairs. Jason was there in an instant, making sure Heather couldn’t escape. The security guard already had his cuffs out by the time he hit the bottom step.
Cassie looked down at the woman huddled in the corner. She pitied her for everything she had been through with her sister, even understood the way her own mind had twisted her drive to make sure no one had suffered the way her sister had. But none of that made it okay.
Jason, Cassie, and the nurse followed them back up the stairs to the sixth floor. The security guard led Heather to the elevator. He would call the authorities as soon as they hit the first floor. Cassie and Jason would have to stick around to tell them what she had confessed, but now that they caught her, it wouldn’t take too much digging to find the paper trail. She had thrived on living just under the radar, but now that the spotlight was on her, she had nowhere to go.
“I feel bad for her parents,” Jason said.
“I can’t imagine how Lily will feel once she learns what Heather did.”
The pair of them walked along the hall, giving the security guard and Heather time to make their exit. There were still a few nurses going in and out of the room where the last patient had died. Cassie peeked into the room as she passed it and came to a halt.
The man in the bed couldn’t have been much older than Cassie. Someone had pulled the blankets back, and even from the doorway, Cassie could see he was missing an arm and a leg. Was that why Heather had chosen him? Fury swirled through Cassie’s veins. Heather saw people as a combination of their illnesses and disabilities. She’d played God with people who had full lives ahead of them. And even if their time on earth had to be cut short, they had the right to live it however they wanted.
For the first time, Cassie realized that ten years ago she might’ve been on Heather’s list. Lying broken and bruised in a hospital while a team of doctors tried to put her back together. She still carried
those scars with her wherever she went, but she was no lesser for it.
It was simply a part of her story.
But none of this was why she pulled up short. Next to the bed, Dr. Cohen stood over the deceased. She placed a gentle hand on the man’s arm. When she pulled back, his spirit sat up and slid off the bed. If he felt confusion or anger or sadness at what Heather had done to him, he didn’t show it. He held Dr. Cohen’s hand and didn’t look back.
Cassie watched with wide eyes as Dr. Cohen walked across the room with the man in tow. She held Cassie’s gaze, her hazel eyes as bright and entrancing as ever. They rooted Cassie to the spot. The truth dawned on her. Dr. Cohen had spent her entire life trying to save lives and now she spent her death saving souls. The Ghost Doctor had never once stolen a person from their body. She’d simply been there when it was their time to go. She helped them let go of their physical form. She knew, in the way only another spirit could, how to transport them from this world to the next.
Dr. Cohen smiled. It was a beautiful, mysterious thing. It held all the secrets of life beyond this one. Cassie had so many questions for her, but she held her tongue. It wasn’t her place, and it wasn’t her role. She stepped to the side and allowed the doctor to pass.
The man kept his eyes on the doctor, trusting her to carry him to the next life. And together, they walked down the hall, tall and sure, until they faded from view.
Jason placed a hand on Cassie’s shoulder and brought her back to the land of the living.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Everything’s okay.”
36
Detective Adelaide Harris wasn’t prone to making mistakes, but even she could recognize throwing caution to the wind. It was strange—she was as calm, cool, and collected as ever, and yet here she was, meeting the same witness who had contacted David right before his murder.
Harris wasn’t naïve enough to brush away the idea that it could be a trap. She’d confronted Aguilar the day before. The man had to know she was onto him or, at the very least, would risk everything by going after him.
She pulled over to the side of the road and shifted her car into park. When she cracked the window, a cool, night breeze and the smell of her car’s exhaust filtered in. She was a good mile from where she’d told the witness to meet her along River Street. David had met the man in private and still found himself at the wrong end of the barrel. She wanted somewhere open. Somewhere she could see others coming and going. She could use the crowds to her advantage.
It was closing in on nine o’clock. The sun had gone below the horizon hours ago. Few people would still be along the river in December, but there were always a few. She hoped that if anyone wanted to get a jump on her, multiple witnesses would dissuade them.
She’d worry about tomorrow when it came.
Harris shut the car door with a click and hit the button on her fob. A small beep emanated from the vehicle, and she listened for any movement in the shadows. Having heard none, she pulled her cap lower, stuck her hands in her jacket pockets, and headed toward the riverbank.
She didn’t have the same affinity for being on the edge of the water as most other people. Growing up in Montana meant she preferred the mountains over the ocean, no matter how many times someone tried to change her mind.
That said, she had to admit the river walk was nice, especially at this time of night. A few people milled about—couples walking hand in hand, families returning to their cars after a full day, lone travelers who stopped to stare out across the water like it held the answers to all their problems.
It was serene, to be sure, but the wind made her pull her collar up around her face. It was probably for the best. She needed to keep her face hidden long enough to scope out the area ahead of her meeting time. She memorized the faces of every person who passed her. Did she recognize them? Could they work for Aguilar? Had she seen them pass by once already?
The thought that she was overreacting pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, but she brushed it off. Maybe Aguilar had no intention of going after her. Maybe he’d already forgotten her name and face. Then again, he hadn’t gotten to where he was today by being lazy. No, he probably had someone keeping tabs.
She kept thinking of what he’d said at the restaurant about David, but she pushed that away, too. She wouldn’t second guess David’s actions until she had more proof. For now, she had to rely on what she knew. Otherwise, she’d drive herself insane trying to pull answers from thin air.
Unfortunately, she knew little about the witness. His name was Randall Sherman. He was an accountant by trade, which meant it wasn’t a stretch to think he ran Aguilar’s books. If they couldn’t get the kingpin on murder, then perhaps they’d be able to get him on fraud. The tactic had worked before.
She had seen a picture of Randall. It wouldn’t be difficult to pick him out of a crowd. He didn’t look like much—a small, mousy man who wore glasses and had a slight hunch in his back. He didn’t look like the type of person to get in bed with a criminal like Aguilar, but who knew why people made the choices they did? She wouldn’t let her guard down, regardless.
Harris stopped and leaned against the railing to look across the river. She was about three hundred feet from where she needed to be, and at least a half hour early. The chilly air drove the crowd away, but there were still dozens of partiers with drinks in hand.
Harris put her back to the water and scanned the surrounding faces. A man sitting on a bench in a baseball cap glanced her way, but as soon as his buddies joined him, he forgot all about her. He was no one. She moved on, lingering on every person, committing each set of features to memory.
When she felt safe, she pushed off the railing and kept walking. She had her backup piece tucked away in a holster on her hip, and the weight was a comfort as she closed the distance between her and Fool’s Errand, the bar she’d told Randall about. They were to meet on the bench directly across from the establishment, the one that faced the water.
She tried not to let the irony of the restaurant name distract her.
Harris walked by the bench twice, peering at people’s faces and scouting the areas where someone could hide. When she passed by a third time, Randall occupied the space, staring at his phone. He had no sense of self-preservation. If he had, he would’ve kept his head on a swivel.
Still, she ducked away and circled behind him. Peered over his shoulder. He was staring at her phone number, his thumb hovering over the call button.
“No need,” she said, and he jumped. “I’m here.”
“Detective Harris.” His voice was breathier than it was on the phone. He was terrified. His skin was pale and sweaty, but his cheeks were a rosy red. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought he had the flu. “You scared me.”
“Let’s go.”
“Go?” He turned his head in one direction and then the other. “Go where?”
She nodded the way she’d come. “There’s a bench down there with better cover.”
“Better cover?” He stared in the direction she’d indicated, but didn’t move. “Why?”
“Less chance of someone seeing us. Less chance of someone shooting me.”
“Shooting you?”
She was tired of him repeating everything she said, so she didn’t bother answering. She turned and began walking to the other bench. There was no way he wouldn’t follow her, so she didn’t bother looking back over her shoulder.
The second bench was more secluded. Tree branches hung lower. Enough cover for a brief conversation. She brushed crumbs off the seat and sat down. Randall stood in front of her.
“Sit,” she ordered. He complied. There was a foot between them. “Closer.” He scooted to the side a few inches. “Closer. People will avert their eyes if they think we’re together.”
Randall swallowed audibly but complied. His leg pressed up against hers. She could feel heat radiating off him. “Is this okay?”
“That works.” She
let the man breathe for a moment. In and out. In and out. A dozen times. There was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer than that. “Do you know what happened to David?”
“Someone shot him.”
“I’d gathered as much.” She tried to keep the venom from her voice but failed. “Why aren’t you dead, too?”
“I ran.”
Harris bit down on her tongue. She couldn’t blame someone for their survival instinct. Something told Harris he wouldn’t have been much use to David anyway. Not that it made it any easier to hear he’d abandoned her friend as he bled out on a warehouse loading dock floor.
“Do you know who shot him?” She asked.
“Not exactly.” He was shaking now. “But I have a guess.”
“Guesses don’t do me much good. I need proof.”
He produced a flash drive. “This is all the proof I have. It’s not much, but I hope it’ll be enough.”
She eyed the flash drive but didn’t take it. “Why are you giving me this?”
Randall searched for the words, and when he found them, he deflated. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Help him.” He swallowed. “Help Aguilar.”
“How are you helping him?”
“It’s all on here, okay?” For the first time, Randall took in his surroundings, as though it had finally occurred to him he wasn’t safe out in the open like this. “This is what I wanted to give to David. But they killed him before I could.”
“Why now?” Harris asked. “What’s changed?”
Randall looked up, staring into her eyes. There was a type of clarity there she hadn’t seen before. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Everything.”
She needed specifics. She had to know she could trust him. “Like what?”
“My wife’s having a kid.” The smile that blossomed over his face was like the sun after a rainstorm. “It’s gonna be a—”
Harris saw the red blossom across his forehead at the same time she heard the gunshot. She felt the spray of blood hit her cheeks and lips. Her eyes closed involuntarily, but Randall’s face burned its way into her memory. The shock on his face. The vacancy of his eyes. The slackness of his smile.