Killerwatt (13 page)

Woody, look at his arms. They’re clean, no orange stain,”
Rhetta said.

“So?” Woody looked confused. His gaze swiveled from
Rhetta to Randolph’s arms.

“See, here?” She pointed to Randolph’s inner elbow.
“There’s no iodine stain. Whoever pulled his blood for the blood alcohol test
didn’t use iodine.” She pushed the call button.

“What are you doing?” Woody sat back in the chair,
and rubbed his head with his handkerchief.

“Calling Doctor Marinthe. I need to ask him about
this.”

Ratched appeared, lips pursed and raising an eyebrow
at Rhetta.
How can she scowl and raise an eyebrow? That must take practice.
Rhetta
didn’t wait for the nurse to speak. “I need to see Doctor Marinthe, right
away.” The woman’s scowl morphed into a façade of concern as she padded up
alongside Randolph’s bed. Her manner had also changed to one of efficiency. She
checked his pulse, then scanned the machinery. When she finished, she looked
up, seeming puzzled. “What seems to be the problem, Mrs. McCarter?”

Woody answered for Rhetta, staring down at Ratched
from his full height. “My sister, here, needs to speak to the doctor right now.
Please get him.”

Ratched merely nodded and hurried out. Woody must
have had authority in his voice, for within minutes they heard a page for
Doctor Marinthe.

When Marinthe arrived moments later, Rhetta tugged
him to her husband’s bedside. The doctor wore a look first of surprise, then
one of concern.

Presenting her husband’s arm for his assessment,
Rhetta asked, “Do you notice anything?” She lifted her husband’s arm and
pointed.

Marinthe appeared puzzled, glancing from the arm to
Rhetta. “What is it? Is he all right?”

“He’s the same, Doctor. What I want you to see is
that my husband’s arms are clean.” She heard her voice rise and fought to keep
it under control. “He hasn’t had a shower, or anything, yet.”

“Yes, I see that.” Marinthe frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m
not following you. What is the significance to you that his arms are clean?”

Rhetta lay Randolph’s arm down, and tucked the sheet
around him. “I just saw a lab tech draw blood on an accident victim downstairs.
She used iodine to swab the area before she pulled blood for a blood alcohol
test. That’s when it hit me that Randolph’s arms didn’t have any orange iodine
stain from where blood was pulled from him.” She stared at Marinthe and
continued. “If alcohol was used instead of iodine to disinfect the skin before
pulling blood, couldn’t some of the alcohol be transferred into the sample?”
Her right temple pounded, and she reached up to massage it. 

Marinthe answered, “That’s possible, of course. The
protocol is to swab with iodine when testing for B.A.C.” He picked up
Randolph’s arm and rubbed the inside. He did the same to the other.

“There has been no iodine on his arms,” he said, and
turned to Rhetta.

“Let’s do another B.A.C. right now,” she said.

Marinthe glanced at his watch, then at the chart at
the foot of Randolph’s bed, which had the patient’s name, room, and bed number
and the time he was admitted.

“It’s been too long. The test will not reveal
anything now,” Marinthe said. “It’s been over twenty-four hours. If there was
any alcohol in his blood when he came in, it would now be gone from his
system.”

Marinthe glanced from Rhetta to Woody, who spoke
first. “So there’s no way of double checking the test?”

“We have to go with what they have?” Rhetta asked. She
sat and lowered her throbbing head to her chest and used both hands to massage
her temples.

“Judge McCarter is screwed,” Woody said, and began
to pace.

“No, Woody, he’s not.” Rhetta set her jaw. She
willed her headache to dissolve.

Turning to Marinthe, she said, “To quote two
American icons, Lenny Kravitz and Yogi Berra, ‘It ain’t over ’til it’s over.’
And, Doctor Marinthe? I assure you, it ain’t over.”

CHAPTER
26

To an exhausted Rhetta, the dark county road leading
to their property stretched endlessly. Eventually, she spotted her driveway.
Before continuing down to the house, she stopped at the big country mailbox and
withdrew a bundle of mail. She tossed it onto the passenger seat. Then she
drove slowly up their long gravel drive. Ahead, her home glowed warmly from
landscape lights surrounding the walks and driveway. The sight normally filled
her with pleasure. Tonight, however, the lighting filled her with overwhelming
sadness as she thought about Randolph lying in the hospital, and the
possibility of never having him home again.

No, that’s not going to happen.
He’s not going to die. I won’t let him!

Rhetta glanced up into the cloudless night sky
filled with a million points of starlight.
I’m so tired. I’m going to lay my
head down for a few hours.
Looking into the vast Milky Way had always
brought issues into perspective for her during many other low points in her
life. Like when her mother had died and she’d wept uncontrollably. She’d been
an only child and had no one to turn to for comfort. A wave of hate for her
father began to roll over her, but she stopped it short. She whispered to God,
hoping she’d gotten back into His good graces. “God, if you can hear me, let
Randolph be okay. Let this nightmare stop.”

Rhetta intended staying home just long enough to
shower, change clothes and grab a sandwich before heading back to the hospital.
She parked Cami near the front door, instead of using the garage.

Once inside the house, she never made it to the
shower. She collapsed, fully dressed, across the sofa and fell instantly
asleep.

*
* *

Figures
and shapes hovered around Rhetta. She stared down at the body on the floor. It
wasn’t Peter LaRose lying there in the hot downtown apartment. She began to
recognize the face. It was Randolph.

The hospital was complicit in the charade. It wasn’t
Randolph, but Peter, who lay in the hospital bed struggling for his life. Why
did the charts say McCarter? If Randolph was dead, shouldn’t she be making
funeral arrangements?

Why is a phone ringing? Where is
the phone?

She groped around until she located her cell phone
under a couch cushion. Staring at it with sleep-blind eyes, she couldn’t
understand why it kept ringing. She pounded the answer bar.

Finally, the fog lifted from her brain and, like
mist in the morning sun, the bad dream began to dissolve. The insistent ringing
was coming from the front doorbell, not the cell phone she cradled stupidly.

She struggled to her feet, shaking her head to chase
away the last of the nightmare. The schoolhouse clock on the fireplace mantel
glowed 6:28.

When she peered through the window, Rhetta barely
recognized Mrs. Koblyk. The neighbor’s normally smiling face wore an expression
as abject as a bird dog that had lost its quarry.

“Hello Missus, how is the good judge today?” the
woman asked by way of greeting after Rhetta sighed and opened the front door.
Rhetta shielded her eyes with her hand against the bright morning sun.

Mrs. Koblyk jutted her chin towards Cami. “I see the
pretty blue car, which means you must be here, so I come to see what I can be
doing for you.” She peered around Rhetta into the still dark house. Rhetta
hadn’t opened the blinds.

“Thanks, Mrs. Koblyk, I appreciate your taking care
of the cats. Everything is fine now.”

What a lie. Nothing’s fine.
Rhetta finger combed her messy
hair.
I must look a sight.

Looking almost disappointed, Mrs. Koblyk turned to
leave. “All right, Missus. But if you need my help, I can come again today to
feed the poor things.”

Rhetta smiled. “I’ll feed them this morning, and
they should be fine until I get back later.” She began to close the door,
yearning for a hot shower and even hotter coffee.

“I ask the man in the green car, or truck you know,
a big car like a truck, if he is family, and how is the judge. But he didn’t
answer me, only turned around in your driveway and sped away, sending up the
gravel, too.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

Rhetta thought she’d missed part of the
conversation.

“What man? Was it an SUV?” She opened the door wider
and stepped out onto the porch, peering around.

“Yes, that’s it, as you say, SUV. The same car, two
times, I see it. The second time, he doesn’t go all the way to your house.”

The Koblyks’ tidy bungalow nestled in a copse of
cedar trees along the county road, directly across from the McCarter driveway.

“We don’t know anyone in a green SUV. Please, Mrs.
Koblyk, you shouldn’t be talking to anyone you don’t know.” Instantly, Rhetta
regretted telling her that. The woman was easily alarmed.

Mrs. Koblyk’s pudgy hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my.
I will be telling that to Mr. Koblyk. We call the police if they are coming
back?”

Rhetta paused a beat before answering. She didn’t
want to frighten the woman, but then, there shouldn’t have been anyone on their
property, either. “Yes, Mrs. Koblyk, you should call the sheriff’s office.
Whatever you do, please stay away from that car and whoever may be in it.”

Mrs. Koblyk’s neat grey curls bounced in rhythm with
her bobbing head. “Yes, I will do that, Missus. Oh, my.” She wrung her hands.
“Oh, my,” she repeated.

Rhetta took both of her neighbor’s hands in her own.
“Mrs. Koblyk, you must call the sheriff if they come back, all right? Those
people have no business on our property.” Rhetta tried to sound calm in spite
of the sudden surge of fear that had invaded her stomach.

The woman nodded and turned to shuffle down the
steps to her own car that she’d parked behind Cami. She waved briefly before
climbing inside, backing up, and then inching forward around Rhetta’s car. She
completed a turn around the circle drive in front of the house, before heading
down the long driveway to the county road.

Once Mrs. Koblyk left, Rhetta made a pot of coffee,
and headed for the deck to feed the cats. When she called to them, she was
greeted by a symphony of plaintive yowling. “Who are you trying to impress? I
know Mrs. Koblyk fed you while I’ve been gone. You aren’t starving.” The three
felines milled around her feet and legs, purring and meowing their innocence.
“All right, you win. I’ll get some breakfast for you.”

The feeding done, Rhetta darted through the kitchen
and began peeling off her clothes on her way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of
discarded items behind her. She managed to be fully naked by the time she
reached the master bath. She turned the shower on full blast and stepped in.
Steam from the shower rose around her, and hot water sluiced down her face.
Rhetta worried who could have been in the strange car. Her heart began
thudding. She twisted the water knob off and grabbed a towel. Green SUV. Mental
head slap! She should’ve asked Mrs. Koblyk if the strange SUV was damaged in
any way around the front or the fenders. She visualized the traces of green
paint on the Artmobile and Al-Serafi’s car. She leapt out of the shower,
snugged a towel around her and snatched her phone off the sink. She dialed the
St. Louis number for the FBI.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“I need to speak with—“

She was interrupted by the automated voice that
continued, “If you know your party’s extension, you may dial it now. For a
directory, please dial 2, for assistance, please dial 3.”

She punched the number 3.

When a male voice answered, she immediately reported
the SUV being on her property.

Before she could explain its significance, the man
interrupted her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but if someone has trespassed on your
property, that would be a matter for the local authorities. I suggest you call
the police or sheriff’s department in the county where you live. Have a nice
day.” He hung up.

“Damn,” she said. She scurried across the bedroom,
snatched the phone book from her nightstand, and dialed the sheriff’s
department.

She was met with the same indifference.

“Do you have a license plate number for this SUV?”
the female dispatcher asked.

“No, we were unable to get that,” Rhetta said. “My
husband was recently run off the road by a green SUV.”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am, but there isn’t anything we
can do for you. If you can get the license number, you may report it again.”

Damn again. The police were no help. Her heart
pounded against her ribcage. She remembered the trip back from Eddie’s impound
yard the day she found the schematic. Someone nearly ran them off the road.

She was sure, now, that the same someone had come to
pay her a visit.

CHAPTER
27