Sleight of Hand (34 page)

Nellie answered her.  "We've decided–" She cut her husband a look, but he remained silent.  "That is, we thought it would be better if one of us stays with Muriel from now on.  I'm certain you need your rest after being up all night."

"I'm fine–" she started, then realized that this had nothing to do with her beauty sleep.  "Who have you been talking to?  Karl Sterling?"

Nellie nodded.  "And Virginia Ulrich.  They mentioned your husband's accusations and an investigation from the Medical Board.  There was also a news conference on TV that said you might be suspended."

"It's not that we believe any of this–" Jacob put in.

"I promised Drake I'd stay with her," she protested.

"I have to protect my sister's best interests," Nellie continued in a firm tone.  "You understand, I'm sure."

Cassie glanced down, saw the photo of Charlie Ulrich on the table between them.  Virginia Ulrich's trump card.    

"We understand you only wanted to help," Jacob said, trying to soften the blow.  "Thank you.  But it really is for the best."

"Don't forget your quilt," Nellie added.  "We wouldn't want to be responsible for a family heirloom."

Tying up loose ends, giving her no excuse to return.  How could she keep her promise to Drake if they wouldn't let her near Muriel?  Cassie's jaw clenched in frustration, and she didn't trust her voice.  She nodded her understanding, spun on her heel and left.

She wasn't surprised when Nellie followed her into the ICU and watched her as she gathered Rosa's
perina
into her arms.  The quilt's colors appeared faded and dull in the bright lights, as if all the magic had been drained from it.  Cassie bent over the bedrail, took Muriel's hand in hers and gave it a small squeeze.  She saw Nellie approach, but didn't let go.

"You take care," she whispered to the comatose woman.  "I'll be back.  Somehow."

"Please leave now," Nellie said.  Cassie saw the determined expression on her face.  "Don't force me to call security."

Cassie backed away from the bed.  At least Nellie and Jacob would be watching over Muriel.

She clutched the
perina
to her chest and walked away.  Couldn't help stopping and looking back.  Nellie stood beside her sister, one hand protectively on her shoulder, staring at Cassie.  Muriel appeared pale, otherworldly, in the glare of the lights reflected from the crisp white sheets and bandages surrounding her.  Then Nellie yanked the curtain closed around the bed, blocking Muriel from view. 

<><><>

Drake now knew more about the Trevasian family than their parish priest.  He'd gone over the family routines, friends, families, acquaintances in tedious detail until all of them were frustrated.  Nothing seemed to have any connection to the attack on Snickers.  An attack Drake was convinced was aimed at the children.

He was just leaving when his cell phone rang again.

"I've got Lucas to move the Kaminsky PM up," Jimmy said by way of greeting.  "He's getting ready to start now."

"I'm on my way."  Drake said farewell to the parents, then stopped by the family room where Katie Jean and Nate sat Indian-style on the floor, mesmerized by the cartoons flickering on the TV.  Bugs Bunny had been replaced by Scooby Doo.

Katie Jean scrambled to her feet, ran to Drake, almost bowling him over with a hug.  She tugged his arm until he squatted to meet her gaze.  "You'll find the bad man," she whispered to him.  "Put him in jail for hurting Snickers."  

It wasn't a question, he understood, but a command.  A single, silent tear slipped from her eye as she looked over her shoulder at Nate, who stared blankly at the TV as if he'd escaped into his own private world.  Own private hell, more like it.

"I'll do my best," he assured the ten-year-old.  She held his hand as he moved into the room and squatted down beside Nate.  "Draw me some pictures, all right Nate?  Anything you're worried about, you just draw it and I'll come take a look at it.  Maybe bring you some paints and art books next time I come, all right?"

Nate's gaze never wavered from the point fixed just below the TV screen.  He didn't even blink, merely rocked back and forth as if an unseen wind was pushing at him.  Drake gave up, reached out and patted the boy's head, and left.

Lucas Steward, the Assistant Medical Examiner, was noted for his attention to detail and strict adherence to his routines.  Which is why Drake wondered what Jimmy had done to get him to bump his scheduled cases to perform Kaminsky's autopsy.  When he arrived at the autopsy suite, he found Lucas had already begun the external exam, but hadn't yet made the Y-shaped incision.  

Jimmy was dressed in a white Tyvek coverall and had his protective mask on.  Another break in routine–Jimmy hated post mortems, usually that was Drake's territory.  Drake didn't mind, he was fascinated by the endless variety of the human form.

"What's the big deal?" he asked after changing into his own protective gear and joining them in the well-lit autopsy suite.  "Kaminsky killed herself after trying to kill Hart.  Case closed, right?"

"Not quite," Jimmy replied.  He and Lucas were bent over the naked woman's face, huddled together as they peered through the large round illuminated magnifying lens.

"Look here," Lucas instructed, holding Kaminsky's mouth open.  "Petechiae and contusions on the upper gingiva and frenulem."

"Someone held her mouth closed so hard that it caused bruising inside her lip," Jimmy translated.  "Probably while they were force feeding her the pills and booze."

"Couldn't she have injured herself?" Drake asked.  "Maybe trying not to vomit after she took everything?  Because if she did, she'd have to start all over again."

Jimmy and Lucas exchanged glances.  

"Show him Exhibit One," Jimmy said.  

Lucas pulled out an Alternate Light Source and handed both of them tinted goggles.  He nodded to his assistant who turned off the room lights.  A moment later the darkness was broken by the gleam of the ALS, revealing faint markings on Kaminsky's neck and face.  Drake leaned forward, held his hand out as a gauge.  The markings lined up almost perfectly.

"A hand, probably a man's," he said.

"Bingo," Jimmy replied.  "Our suicide just became a homicide."

<><><>

Nellie Steadman found Paul Ulrich alone in his office at King, King and Ulrich.  It was a corner office, spacious enough to hold several large and expensive Navajo rugs, a leather sofa, coffee table and two club chairs as well as a rough-hewn desk with two chairs in front of it, both upholstered in a western motif.  The only personal item in the room was a framed photo of Ulrich with his wife and son.

Nellie had done her research.  Ulrich had a reputation as a fierce divorce attorney whose motto was: take no prisoners and leave no asset untouched.  He was a man who'd made many enemies during his fight to ensure his clients walked away from the bargaining table with their pockets brimming over.

The man who stood before her, head bowed low as he stared at the family portrait on his desk was not the man she'd expected to find.

"Thank you for seeing me," she told him, standing a small distance away, giving him time to collect himself.  "I know this is a bad time for you."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded.  "I just got back from the hospital.  The social worker took me in to see Charlie.  Virginia–she broke down, she couldn't bear to go in there knowing that she'd have to abandon him, leave him–" his voice caught, and he cleared his throat.

"How's he doing?" Nellie asked.  She knew how she'd felt when the nurses told her she couldn't stay by Muriel's side.  How much worse for a parent to be forced to leave their child?

"Actually he seems much better," he said.  "Smiled at me, laughed at the video we watched.  Veggie Tales, his favorite."  He took a deep, ragged breath, then turned to face Nellie.  "So what can I possibly do for you, Mrs. Steadman?"

"You know what happened to my sister?"

"Of course.  And surely you also know that Dr. Hart's accusations against my wife are preposterous.  Virginia, my father and myself were all with Dr. Sterling and several other medical professionals discussing Charlie's case."

"I know.  Apparently the van that hit my sister belonged to a nurse who accused your wife of abusing your first son."

"Sheila Kaminsky.  I don't think I ever met her myself, but Scott–Scott Thayer, my assistant–he told me how unstable she was.  I believe she was even hospitalized for psychiatric reasons."

"Did you know she lost her job because Virginia accused her of giving George an overdose of potassium?"

Ulrich looked up at that, surprised.  Nellie wondered how much the man actually knew about either of his sons' illnesses or what went on when they were in the hospital.  

"Virginia deals with all the medical details," he explained.  "I used to try to go as much as possible, but with work–" He gestured at his affluent office as if it explained everything.  

"And I admit, I get nervous in hospitals.  Virginia says I only make things worse for the boys–for Charlie," he amended with a catch in his voice.  "Just the other night when I was holding him, I almost pulled his IV line out.  Virginia caught it in time, thank God.  So I try to concentrate on providing her and Charlie with everything she needs to focus on getting him better." He shrugged.  "It's what works for us."

"Did you know about the first CYS investigation while George was alive?"

A shadow crossed his face.  "That nurse, Kaminsky, said she'd seen Virginia do something–I can't remember what.  But when they looked through the notes they realized that a lot of times George would get worse while I was there.  Virginia said if I wasn't careful, they'd start investigating me.  That's when I stopped going as often."  He glanced down at the intricately woven rug beneath his feet.  "I have to confess, it was a relief, in a way.  I felt so helpless, overwhelmed, every time I saw him.  And the look in Virginia's eyes whenever things would get worse–" 

His gaze drifted up to his family's photo again.  He straightened, seemed to take strength from the images of his loved ones.  "You have no idea how brave my wife is.  She's given her heart and soul to those boys and somehow even found the time to help the Children's Coalition.  Everyday I think how lucky I was to have found her."

Nellie watched as his shoulders shook and realized that the attorney was weeping.  Sleep deprivation and the emotional strain of everything Charlie and his family were going through had no doubt taken their toll.  The woman in her felt guilty about taking advantage of his emotional vulnerability.  The reporter in her recognized a golden opportunity to get to unspoken truths.

"I think your wife is very lucky to have you, Mr. Ulrich," she offered.  "Without your support, where would she have found the strength to make it through George and Charlie's illnesses?"

He shook his head, one hand raised as if warding off her praise.  "The only thing Virginia has ever wanted in this life was a healthy child.  I've failed, I haven't been able to give her–God, she deserves so much better than me."  He sank into his desk chair and stared unseeing at the panoramic view of Point Park.  "At least with Samantha everything will be all right.  Virginia can finally have a healthy child and live the life she deserves."

Nellie looked up at that.  "What makes you so certain that Samantha will be healthy?"

He seemed oblivious to her blunt intrusion into his personal life.  Nellie usually had to work to relax a subject to the point where they lowered their guard.  The stress that Paul Ulrich had been under lately had done that for her.

"Samantha isn't mine," he stated the fact as if commenting on the weather.  Then he looked up at her, making direct eye contact for the first time.  "I see every kind of marriage and relationship come through here, Mrs. Steadman.  I see what breaks the vows and pledges once given out of love.  I understand that what drives most divorces is the need to take control, to selfishly deprive the partner of whatever it is that they cherish.  Often this is done in an attempt to refocus their attention back on their spouse, but it always backfires.

"I have learned over the years that the key to a successful marriage is the willingness to do whatever is necessary, no matter the personal cost, to ensure that your spouse is given what they most desire and need.  Virginia has done that for me–given unselfishly of herself to care for our children, to create a wonderful home and allow me to focus on my career.  When Dr. Sterling suggested that our sons' illness could be hereditary, I decided to," he hesitated, searching for a word, "encourage Virginia to seek pleasure outside of our bedroom."  

Nellie found herself holding her breath, afraid to disturb the spell that had loosened the lawyer's tongue.  Paul Ulrich spoke as if he were unburdening his soul in an act of confession.  

"I was never a very satisfying lover to her, never devoted the attention or time to her that she deserved.  It was hard, probably the most painful thing I've ever done, but she's carrying a healthy child.  After Samantha is born, we can be the family that Virginia has always dreamed of."

Nellie stared at him dumbfounded.  "Why are you telling me this?"

Ulrich looked up at her with red-rimmed and weary eyes.  "Because Virginia had an affair with Richard King.  I believe he's the father of the baby she's carrying."

Nellie took a step back.  King, Cassie's ex-husband–the one who had accused her of using drugs.  And Cassie was the reason King was in that wheelchair to start with.

The possibilities swirled in her mind.  Was Muriel lying in the ICU, fighting for her life because of some kind of warped tug of war between Richard King and his ex-wife?  Had this whole awful situation evolved out of the wretched remnants of a marriage gone bad?

She'd overheard Remy mention that King was obsessed with Cassie–could the reverse be true as well?

"I'm sure you understand now why it's so important that Charlie be returned to us.  And why I had to take such extreme measures to ensure that Dr. Hart never goes near him again," Ulrich finished.