Dead Wrong (5 page)

Chapter 6

Students straggled into the classroom. They picked up an exam, shuffled past me with their Dunkin' Donuts coffee and mumbling greetings. I balanced against the lectern and mentally flicked off their names as they passed. Dario Ramirez, an undercover Providence cop, slouched into a seat at the rear of the room. He gave me a small wave as my eyes swept past him.

The door swung open. Porter Anderson, a good-looking, grey-eyed Providence detective, wandered over. With a smile, he handed me a giant coffee and winked. As he passed by I whispered to him to wait a second. The smile widened.

Every semester, without fail, a cop or two would hit on me for a date. Early in the semester, Porter had made a bet with Ramirez that he could get a date. He'd lost. It was smart not to enter into relationships with cops or students. I had been good at not doing either until I met Marcus. He'd managed to sneak under my defenses and win my heart.

My inner voice always cautioned me about dating a cop. It nagged incessantly about a broken heart being the ultimate result of any liaison with law enforcement officers. Since Marcus and I never spoke of marriage or the commitment word, I figured I was safe.

Porter sidled up close and I leaned my head towards his. I whispered, “I need a favor if you can help me out.”

His eyebrows hiked a notch and his smile broadened. “What exactly do you need?” he murmured in a soft voice, a tentative sparkle in his eyes.

“Information on a therapy clinic and its personnel. See me after class, okay?”

“Sure, I can do that.” He walked toward his seat, and I noticed Ramirez staring at us.

I limped in front of the class to explain the exam requirements. A low hum of conversation buzzed around the room, accompanied by soft laughter. Plainly, these people worked the streets at night. They weren't their sharpest in the early morning hours. Everyone turned toward me as I briefly explained what I expected and how grading would work.

Laughter echoed from the back of the room when I finished speaking. My gaze rested on Ramirez. I was sure he'd heard about my debt to Detective Bellini at the PPD after my Aunt Muffy had been arrested along with her racketeer boyfriend. Bellini had let me take the old battle-ax home, but he'd made it clear that I owed him. My brows arched and I waited, sure of what was to come.

“Hey, teach, how big of a curve are you grading on?” His wide grin brought laughter from the other students.

“Why? Didn't you study, Ramirez?” I smirked.

“Just wonderin' teach … that's all,” he chuckled.

My smile lingered as everyone started the multiple-choice exam. I'd never been able to tolerate exams that required long, drawn-out answers. These people probably felt the same way. Yes or no, true or false, each offers a 50/50 chance of getting the question correct.

That's what worked for all of us.

The hot coffee soothed me. Now if only I had a donut. Leaning back in a chair, I glanced around the room until a cell phone chimed its merry tune. The noise came from within my handbag and I realized I'd forgotten to turn it off. I withdrew it simply out of curiosity. The clinic number glared from the small panel. Heading out the door, I answered the call.

“Good morning, Vinnie Esposito speaking.” How's that for businesslike?

“Ms. Esposito, this is Nurse Crisp. I have changed your appointment. You have been moved up to this afternoon at four o'clock. Don't be late.”

The phone went dead. I stared at the unit in my hand. Had I imagined the call? Anger raced along my nerves at the rudeness of the miserable nurse. I took a deep breath, held it for a second, and let it out slowly. Frustration took the place of anger. I couldn't wait until my therapy ended once and for all.

The door swung wide as I limped into the room and headed toward the lectern. The crutches were at home. Irritated by the use of them, I'd decided to kick them loose and stop acting like an invalid. It had gotten old real fast.

I drew the handbag closer and tucked the phone inside. I pulled out my appointment book. The ribbon marker flipped to today's page, and I turned to next week. My appointment card for the clinic lay tucked between the pages. My appointment had been set for next Friday at four in the afternoon. Hmm.

Annoyed by Nurse Crisp, I realized that I must be making sufficient progress if the date had been moved ahead. Mollified by the thought, I settled at the nearby desk, waiting for the papers to start coming in.

One by one, the security personnel – or Two-Point-Fives as they're called, real Five-Os, and detective wannabe's filed past, setting their exams before me. Each person took a seat, sipped their coffees in silence, and waited until everyone was finished. Why they worked nights and came to class days could only mean these people had lofty goals. They wanted promotions and raises. It was gratifying to know I made a difference in their lives.

As I rose from the chair, I gazed around the room to see if everyone was finished. Porter Anderson's exam lay in front of him on the desk, but he made no move to return it. Dario strode forward and handed me his. I read the first page and realized his answers were all correct. Lifting my eyes to his, I saw a gleam of satisfaction in the black orbs staring at me. I grinned and he nodded as he returned to his seat. This man might act nonchalant, but he was more intelligent than I gave him credit for.

The next assignment sheets passed from person to person after I handed them to Porter. I glanced at his exam, but he flipped it over. He'd hand it in at the end of class, and I knew why. Dismissing the class for the day, I watched them file out the door, laughing and joking with one another. They relished the treat of being cut loose this early.

I slipped the suede jacket over my jersey while Porter stepped up. He handed me the exam, studying me for a second.

“Why aren't Handsome and Romeo doing the research for you?” He smirked, as though he didn't know what my response would be. Most detectives don't ask a question without knowing the answer ahead of time.

My chuckle met his question. “Handsome and Romeo, huh? Well, truthfully, they have offered to do so, but I want to ensure I'm not being put off. There's something weird about the place and the employees. It isn't my imagination either.”

“I figured as much. You have good senses, Vin, but you don't know when to back off. That's what bothers Handsome and Romeo, isn't it? They try to protect you from yourself.”

He waited for a response, and when I said nothing he tapped the slip of paper I'd handed him and said, “When I find out anything, I'll call you.”

Side by side, we strolled toward the parking area. He strolled while I hobbled, was more like it. As we neared the car park, Ramirez materialized out of nowhere to walk on the other side of me. He grasped my valise and smiled as we walked.

“You two up to no good, or what?” he asked.

“Or what,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wonderin', teach.” His dark eyes sparkled as he chuckled.

“There's nothing nefarious going on. Honest.” I laughed.

“One never knows with you, teach. I just wanted to make sure you weren't being harassed by any of your old acquaintances, like before.”

“Ramirez, I'm not being stalked, or harassed, or anything else, but thanks for the concern.” Ramirez, while always polite, left me a bit uncomfortable for some unknown reason. I guessed it was just a gut reaction and I usually ignored it.

“If you say so, teach. Just let me know if you are.”

He handed over the valise before he walked away. A few minutes later, his truck swept past and he waved. I smiled and waved.

“Sometimes I wonder about him. He's kinda strange, don't you think?” I asked. I stared ‘till the truck disappeared from view then turned my glance to Porter.

“It only seems that way. These undercover cops live in the muck that the rest of us avoid. They get paranoid over nothing, and everyone is suspect. It tends to twist their mind.”

“I guess so, but he comes through at the worst times, doesn't he?”

“Yeah,” Porter said. “He saved my butt once, before I became a detective. I'm indebted to him big time.” He gave me a salute and said, “You owe me lunch for this, you know.” When he walked away laughing, I figured he'd won the new bet. There was always a bet.

My car rolled from the parking lot behind his and we both headed west. I drove toward Scituate while he took the downtown Providence Exit. The trip home took less time than I'd thought. When I reached the village, I turned left at the intersection where Lola's deli stood.

I slipped into the spot next to her Mini Cooper and cut the engine. Crisp fresh air mixed with the heavenly scents surrounding the deli. I could smell Italian food and maybe an apple pie, too. Hmm. My mouth watered as I quickly limped inside.

A young woman placed puff pastry into the glass case as I entered the large dining room. Two elderly ladies munched scones and sipped tea. A middle-aged gent read the newspaper and sucked down a sandwich as he leaned forward on the sofa.

“May I help you?” the squeaky voice asked.

I turned toward the voice belonging to the young woman. I put her in her late twenties. She appeared to have no meat on her bones – wrist joints protruded, and I could see sharp elbows through the thin sweater. Hollow cheeks and large blue eyes filled a gaunt oval face. Longish blond hair sat on her shoulders. Unkempt, the dull blond strands hung limp. Her hair was clipped off her face by a set of bobby pins with blue butterflies. She stood below my shoulder, making me aware of my height.

“Yes, you may.” I smiled and ordered Earl Grey tea along with a fresh pastry from the case. I asked if Lola was around.

“She's in the back. Shall I tell her you'd like to speak with her?” she asked as she strolled along the back of the counter while I limped along the front of it.

When I reached the end of the glass cases that offered a variety of salads, deli foods, and meat pies, I realized the woman blocked my path. She stared at me and I stared back. I took a step forward, but she didn't move.

“Excuse me. I'd like to pass,” I said.

“You can't go back there.”

My eyes widened as did hers. A nasty look must have crossed my features because she cringed and leaned back a tad.

“I'm sorry, but Lola and I are friends and have been for a number of years. I go back there all the time.” I took a purposeful step forward and watched fear cross her thin face.

“O-okay, then. G-go ahead.” She paled and stepped aside.

I moved past her toward the mouth-watering smells that tickled my taste buds.

Realizing I'd just scared the bejeepers out of her, I turned back, smiled, and uttered my thanks. “You can bring my order into the kitchen. Thank you.”

She nodded and scuttled along the counter, busying herself. I peered at her movements for a few seconds, shook my head, and gimped into the kitchen.

The storage closet door stood open, and I heard mumbling from within. In a few seconds, Lola walked out carrying several bundles and a box of dry goods. She glanced at me, jumped, and dropped everything on the floor.

“You scared the crap out of me. I didn't hear you come in.” With her hand raised to her heart, Lola smiled shakily.

“It's my motto. Scare 'em when ya can. Do you like it? I just scared the daylights out of your counter help, too.”

The Julia Roberts smile was back in place, making me grin. “Please, don't scare my help. Since the two summer girls returned to college I haven't had any decent help at all.”

My shoulders hunched in a shrug. “Sorry about that.”

Her smile stopped men in their tracks. Lola turned men to putty with just one of those Julia smiles. Honestly, I'd seen Marcus turn to jelly and Aaron, too. It was a never-fail smile. She got away with anything and everything by using it. I chuckled at her and lit on the stool near the stainless steel worktable.

Spicy aromas emanated from the pots on the huge stove, and I inhaled deeply. Lola pushed the flat wooden spatula under it and pizza slid from the oven. Cheese oozed and bubbled on the top while other delights lay just underneath. I could see green pepper and the tips of mushrooms pushing through the cheese. My mouth watered again just as my order arrived. I thanked the woman and Lola introduced Millie Endrend to me. I inclined my head and apologized for my aggressive behavior earlier and watched her sheepish smile.

After she left, I munched the pastry and sipped my tea. I checked my watch and realized I had a few hours before my torture session. Lola mixed ingredients together in a mixing bowl as I watched.

“The guys are coming to dinner tonight. I need a whole bunch of food to feed them. Some dessert, too.”

Dark eyes gazed at me in surprise. “Both of them are coming to dinner? Is something wrong, or do you plan to be the cookie filling?”

“Things are okay, but the cookie filling thing might be fun.” I laughed, licking pastry crumbs from my fingertips. In a few moments, I'd explained my concerns and the end results of them.

“You sure jump from one dilemma to another, don't you, Vin?” Lola shook her thick auburn mane. Dark brown eyes crinkled with laughter as her freckled face held that infamous smile.

“Marcus is right. I'm just a disaster magnet, that's all there is to it.” I sighed over the inevitable truth of the statement. “I'll come by around five or so to pick up the food, okay? I have to go home and change before my therapy appointment. If I'm late Nurse Crisp will fry my ass for me.”

Chapter 7

The run-down clinic loomed before me. I pulled into the slot beside the shabby door and parked the car. Paint peeled off the exterior of this building that stood a few blocks away from the walk-in emergency room I'd attended for treatment.

The building appeared abandoned, as it did on most days when I arrived. There were two other cars in the lot, the same two that were here every time I came. I wondered if I'd been mistaken about the appointment. With a heavy sigh I left the car and made my way up the steps and through the dilapidated door.

Entering the waiting room, I noticed Nurse Crisp at work behind the cruddy counter. My gaze wandered around the room. I came to the conclusion no other patients were here but me.

At the counter, I waited for Crisp to look up. It was a game we played at each appointment. The old harridan would wait until I made my presence known, but sometimes I just took a seat and didn't check in. Childish, I know, but worthwhile anyway.

“Ahem,” I said.

“Do you have an appointment today?” Crisp asked in that nasal tone which drove me nuts. She glared over the rim of her half-glasses – her lips pursed and her arched penciled-on eyebrows raised.

“You called me and said I was to come in today at four.” I lifted my wrist to check my watch. “It's four now, I believe.”

“Let me see if you are on the schedule,” she murmured. Her finger skimmed down the roster as she asked my name.

Annoyed, I told her she'd called and set it up herself, earlier that day, and I peered over the counter while she checked the schedule book. Names filled nearly every line up to, and after, my appointment time. Again, I glanced around the room and wondered if they were ghost patients or what.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Esposito.” She glanced up and glared at me. “I had to squeeze you in, and you were lucky to get the appointment. It was only because Mr. Herrera cancelled that I could fit you in.”

Astounded, I stared at the woman. Was she from Jupiter or was I? She acted like I'd made the appointment. What the hell? Crisp pointed to the corridor on her right. I rounded the counter and limped down the hallway.

Only the sound of my footsteps echoed in the hall. I stopped and listened to the silence. Goosebumps raised the hairs on my arms, sending a chill down my spine. Shaking off the weird feelings, I continued toward the double doors at the end of the corridor. At the entrance, I peered through windows level with my nose.

Nothing moved in the torture chamber. All was quiet. A sense of foreboding weighed me down. Reluctant, I entered the room, called Gristle's name and gazed around. No one answered. I figured Gristle might be in the men's room.

Slowly I wandered past the machines with my stomach tied in a knot. Uneasy, I called Gristle's name again, but only the sound of my breathing could be heard. My panic lay just beneath the surface, and I wondered at my nervousness. The equipment lay silent, unused. I noticed some of the machines held a thin layer of dust. Why hadn't I noticed that before?

The leg press stood not five feet away. Heavy weights burdened the tall L-shaped machine. Empty racks faced me as I approached the piece of equipment I'd labeled ‘The Rack.' Gristle had forced me onward when my leg refused to do one more repetition. He'd loaded the weights on the bars while I lay on my back with my legs bent at the hip, extended upward. With my feet set flat against the press, I'd push up and then slowly allow the machine to lower, bending my knees and building muscle. It felt more like increasing pain than muscle, but I what did I know?

The press sat low, halfway down the machine. It was an unusual place for it to be, and I stopped short. The ridged side of a shoe sole protruded off the edge of the press. On closer inspection I could see a white pant leg, flopped back in an unnatural manner. Gristle's knees lay squashed against his chest. He was upside down and on his back. Edging around the machine, I could see blood pooled at the base where his head lay. My eyes crept toward Gristle's bloody, distorted features. My hand covered my mouth as I gagged. The stench of coagulated blood reached me then, and I hastily slid my hand over my nose. I backed away, tripping on the weight stand. The landing was hard and I scrambled backwards on all fours, my knee-pain forgotten.

From about ten feet away Gristle didn't look so bad, but not any better either – and he was still dead as a doornail. I could see his eyes, blank and staring – the dark-rimmed glasses hung askew. His mouth held a grimace. A heavy weight lay near his forehead. My stomach churned. I gulped hard and fast.

Lola's flaky pastry was about to make a return visit.

My phone lay in my handbag. I scooped it from the floor and dialed 911. A disembodied voice answered the call. I requested the police to be sent to the clinic address. The voice calmly asked what the problem was. I yelled that there was a dead man on the leg press. It made sense to me.

Completely rattled, I glanced around the room in search of the culprit. The only other occupant was the corpse. Running a shaky hand over my face, I swept the hair off my sweaty forehead. Yep, I was about to be good and sick. I never did blood on a good day – never mind today.

Stomach heaving, I fled to the bathroom and made it just in time. What little food there was, came out in a rush. I braced myself until the heaves subsided. Grasping a wad of toilet paper, I blew my nose, rinsed my mouth with water from the faucet, and wiped my face with paper towels.

Sanity returned. I left the room, heading toward the reception area and Nurse Crisp. When I arrived the room stood empty. No papers littered the counter, the phone had disappeared, and all the detritus I'd witnessed earlier was gone. The appointment book was missing as well. I turned in time to see two cops barrel through the door – their guns drawn. I watched them approach.

“Hands where I can see 'em,” one of them yelled as he aimed at me.

Raising my hands in the air, I stood transfixed. This was reminiscent of when I'd broken into my own gift shop during the summer. I'd nearly been arrested then.

“Name?” he demanded as he got closer.

I opened my mouth, but before I could utter a sound, another voice answered.

“Lavinia Esposito.” Porter Anderson stepped around the doorway, a smirk on his face.

The two cops stood staring at me and then at him as he flashed his badge. He waltzed up to me and whispered, “You just can't stay out of trouble, can you, Vinnie?”

“There's a dead guy in the torture chamber. The top of his head is smashed and it's really gross.” My stomach heaved, but I took a deep breath and held it for a second.

“Stay here,” he ordered one of the cops after explaining that I wasn't the assailant.

I silently thanked Porter for that and walked down the hall with him and the other cop. The officer still held his gun, but Porter only had a hand on his weapon.

“Nobody was in there when I went in, just the corpse.”

“Uh huh,” he said. “When did you arrive?”

“Four o'clock. My appointment was for four o'clock.”

“This clinic doesn't register anywhere on file, Vinnie. Are you sure it's a real deal?” He glanced at me as we stood outside the room.

“I've been coming here for a while now, being tortured to improve my injury.” I stood still when my body started to shake. “He's over there on the leg press.” I pointed toward the right, guiding them through the double doors.”

“You can come in if you want, but not if you'll be sick. This is a crime scene now. You were sick, right?” Porter asked.

Nodding up and down, I could feel the sweat break out on my forehead again. “If I have to go in, I will, but I don't want to.”

“We just need you to make the ID for us.”

“Uh, okay. I can't imagine where Nurse Crisp went. She was here when I arrived. She said there were other patients and that the clinic was booked solid.” I babbled, I knew, but I seemed unable to stop.

The doors creaked and groaned as we entered the room. Nothing had changed since I'd left to barf. Not that I expected it to, I'd only hoped the dead body was a mirage or something stupid like that. We moved across the floor, the cop and Porter, with me sandwiched between. Their eyes scanned the contents of the room taking in every detail just as they were taught to do. I could almost see the wheels turning in their heads as they memorized the scene.

We'd nearly reached the corpse when I started to shake in earnest. Porter put a hand on my arm in an effort to calm me. My stomach heaved. Before I made a complete fool of myself, I turned and ran from the room.

In the lavatory, I dry-heaved until I thought my stomach would come out through my mouth. It finally stopped as my phone jingled from inside my handbag. I dug deep into my purse for it. My brother's number blazed across the small screen. The last thing I wanted to do now was speak with family. I let the call go to voice mail and chucked the phone back into the bag.

A few seconds later, the phone jingled again. Frustrated, I dug the phone from the bottom of the bag and answered it.

“Giovanni, you've arrived?” I asked, my voice shaky and breathing rapid.

“Just landed. I wanted to let you know. Is something the matter?” he asked. A worried tinge filtered through the richness of his deep voice.

“I just found a dead guy. He's my physical therapist.” I hadn't meant to blurt that out, but I couldn't hold it in. Sort of like the pastry, it had come out.

“Where are you? I'll be right there.” He really sounded worried now.

“No, the cops are here. Everything is fine. I really can't talk now.” I realized I sounded a bit hysterical. After all, it isn't every day I find a dead man.

“If you're sure. I'll call you later then.” Gio hesitated. “Are you positive you don't want me to come there?”

“Gio, everything is going to be fine. I know one of the cops, and he'll keep the other two on a leash. Don't tell Mom and Dad, please.”

“You got it. Talk to you later.”

I hung up, wiped my sweaty face with my sleeve and returned to the therapy gym. Anderson spoke in a hushed voice to the other cop who took notes. The third officer must have stayed in the front of the building, I thought.

“Is everything all right, Vin?” Porter asked as he approached me.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I'll ID this guy now.” I stepped forward, but Porter held my arm.

“No need. We searched him and found a driver's license in his wallet. His name is Stanley Gristle, correct?”

I nodded.

“He had a second ID on him as well. He went by another name. Did you know that?” His eyebrow arched when I shook my head no.

“What was the name?”

“Stephen Gurrelli. Ring any bells?”

“No, none. Same initials though. How strange is that?”

“Mmm. Have you seen him anywhere other than here?”

“No, I haven't. I told you earlier about this place and the doctor who sent me here. It's really fishy, ya know?”

He nodded. “When I ran a check, nothing came up. No license to practice as a clinic, nothing registered with the Department of Business Regulation or the Better Business Bureau either. I even ran a credit check on the place, but got nada. It just doesn't exist. No paper trail at all.” His grey eyes peered at me.

“It has to. I've come here for at least six visits.” I paced back and forth a bit, frustrated. “I do have to say though, Crisp and Gristle seemed to be the only ones here when I arrived and when I left. There were never any other patients that I saw. What do you make of that?”

“Don't know, but I'll find out. You can be sure of it.”

“I hope so.” I thought for a moment and then said, “Maybe my insurance company will help you track the company.” I rummaged in my wallet for the medical card and gave him the name and number.

“Good idea. Call me with any other thoughts when you get home. The crime scene techs will be here soon, so leave while you can.” Porter escorted me down the hall and out the door.

At the car, Porter gave me a grim nod and walked away. I stared at his retreating figure for a few seconds and then backed out of the parking lot, heading home. A disaster magnet, that's exactly what Marcus called me. No getting around the truth.

The dashboard clock read after six as I hustled up the highway. Late for dinner, I couldn't imagine why I hadn't received a call from either Aaron or Marcus. The thought no sooner flicked through my mind when the cell phone jingled. I pulled to the side of the road, dug the phone out of my bag, and read the number before I flipped it open.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“Hello, Marcus, how are you?” I asked and swung the car back onto the road.

A heavy sigh sounded in my ear. Apparently he was upset.

“You were supposed to be here at six, remember?”

“I'm running a bit late, that's all. Are you at the house?”

“Yeah, I'm upstairs at Romeo's. He went to the deli to pick up the order. Lola called. You were supposed to pick it up around five-thirty, but she hadn't heard from you.”

“You sound upset. What's the problem?” I bided my time since I wasn't sure if he knew about the dead Gristle.

“Maybe you'd like to give me a good explanation of why you went to therapy again today, Lavinia.”

“I'll explain when I get there. I'm almost at the intersection in the village now. Don't be upset.”

Jeez, I'd just found a dead guy, all right? So sorry dinner is late. No wonder I wasn't married. These thoughts skittered through my mind as I pulled into the driveway and parked next to Aaron's Yukon.

The back door was flung open, and Marcus motioned me inside and up the stairs. I quickly hobbled into the house, curious as to why he was on this tangent. At the look on his stony features, I wondered if he already knew I'd found Gristle dead. Nah. News didn't travel that fast, not even in the police world.