The Crush (3 page)

"You'll want to be in on this one, Wick."

"Not a chance in hell."

"I'm not asking for a long-term commitment, or a return to the department. Just this one case."

"Still no."

"I need your help."

"Sorry."

"Is that your final answer?"

Wick picked up his fresh beer, took a large swallow, then belched loudly.

Despite the smelly shrimp shells, Oren leaned forward across the table. "It's a murder case. Made the news."

"I don't watch the news or read the papers."

"Must not. Because if you had, you'd have sped straight to Fort Worth and saved me this trip."

Wick couldn't stop himself from asking

"Why's that?"

"Popular doctor gets popped in the parking lot of Tarrant General."

"Catchy, Oren. Are you quoting the headline?"

"Nope. I'm giving you the sum total of what we know about this homicide. The crime is five days old and that's all we've got."

"Not my problem."

"The perp did the killing within yards of a potential eyewitness but wasn't seen.

Wasn't heard. As silent as vapor.

Invisible. And he didn't leave a trace, Wick." Oren lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Not a fucking trace."

Wick searched his former partner's dark eyes.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Lozada?"

Settling back in his chair, Oren smiled complacently.

Chapter 2

Dr. Rennie Newton stepped off the elevator and approached the central nurses' station. The nurse at the desk, who was usually talkative, was noticeably subdued. "Good evening, Dr. Newton."

"Hello."

The nurse took in the black dress under Rennie's lab coat. "The funeral today?"

Rennie nodded. "I didn't take time to change afterward."

"Was it a nice service?"

"Well, as funerals go, yes. There was a large turnout."

"Dr. Howell was so well liked. And he'd just gotten that promotion. It's too awful."

"I agree. Awful."

The nurse's eyes filled with tears. "We-everybody on this floor--we saw him nearly every day. We can't believe it."

Nor could Rennie. Five days ago her colleague Lee Howell had died. Given his age, a sudden death from cardiac arrest or an accident would have been hard to accept. But Lee had been murdered in cold blood. Everyone who knew him was still reeling, from the shock of his death as well as from the violent way he'd died. She almost expected him to pop out from behind a door and cry "Just kidding!"

But his murder wasn't one of the lousy practical jokes for which Lee Howell was famous. She had seen his sealed, flower-banked coffin at the church altar this morning. She had heard the emotional eulogies delivered by family members and friends. She had seen Myrna and his son weeping inconsolably in the front pew, making his death and the permanence of it jarringly real and even more difficult to accept.

"It will take time for all of us to absorb the shock," Rennie said in a tone both quiet and conclusive.

But the nurse wasn't ready to let the subject drop. "I heard the police had questioned everybody who was at Dr. Howell's party that night."

Rennie studied the patient charts that had been passed to her during the conversation and didn't address the implied question underlying the nurse's statement.

"Dr. Howell was always joking, wasn't he?"

The nurse giggled as though remembering something funny. "And you and he fought like cats and dogs."

"We didn't fight," Rennie said, correcting her. "Occasionally we quarreled.

There's a difference."

"I remember some of those quarrels getting pretty rowdy."

"We made good sparring partners," she said, smiling sadly.

She had performed two operations that morning before the funeral. Considering the circumstances, she could have justified rescheduling today's surgeries and closing her office this afternoon. But she was already in a time crunch due to a recent, unavoidable ten-day absence from the hospital, which had proved to be an awful inconvenience to her and her patients.

Taking another day off so soon after her return would have been unfair to those patients whose surgeries had been postponed once already. It would have placed her further behind and created yet another logjam in her scrupulously organized calendar. So she had elected to perform the operations and keep the appointments in her office. Lee would have understood.

Seeing the post-op patients was her last official duty of this long, emotionally draining, exhausting day, and she was ready to put an end to it. Closing the topic of her colleague's demise and funeral, she inquired about Mr.

Tolar, whose esophageal hernia she had repaired that morning.

"Still groggy, but he's doing very well."

Taking the charts with her, Rennie entered the surgical recovery room. Mrs. Tolar was taking advantage of the five-minute visitation period that was permitted a family member once each hour. Rennie joined her at the patient's bedside. "Hello, Mrs. Tolar. I hear he's still sleepy."

"During my last visit he came awake long enough to ask me the time."

"A common question. The light in here never changes. It's disorienting."

The woman touched her husband's cheek.

"He's sleeping through this visit."

"That's the best thing for him. No surprises on his chart," Rennie told her as she scanned the information. "Blood pressure is good." She closed the metal cover on the chart. "In a couple of weeks he'll feel like a new man.

No more sleeping at a slant."

She noticed how dubiously the woman was gazing at her husband and added, "He's doing great, Mrs. Tolar. Everyone looks a little ragged fresh out of surgery. He'll look a thousand percent better tomorrow, although he'll be so grumpy and sore you'll wish he was anesthetized again."

"Grumpiness I can take, so long as he's not suffering anymore." Turning to Rennie, she lowered her voice to a confidential pitch. "I guess it's okay to tell you this now."

Rennie tilted her head inquisitively.

"He was skeptical when his internist referred him to you. He didn't know what to make of a lady surgeon."

Rennie laughed softly. "I hope I earned his confidence."

"Oh, you did. On the very first visit to your office you had him convinced you knew your stuff."

"I'm pleased to hear that."

"Although he said you were too pretty to be hiding behind a surgeon's mask."

"When he wakes up, I must remember to thank him."

The two women exchanged smiles, then Mrs.

Tolar's expression turned somber. "I heard about Dr. Howell. Did you know him well?"

"Very well. We'd been colleagues for several years. I considered him a friend."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. He'll be missed." Not wishing to have another conversation about the funeral, she returned the topic to the patient. "He's so out of it he won't really know whether or not you're here tonight, Mrs. Tolar. Try to get some rest while you can. Save your energy for when you take him home."

"One more visit, then I'll be leaving."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Rennie moved to her next patient. No one was standing vigil at her bedside. The elderly woman was a charity case. She resided in a state-funded nursing facility. According to her patient history she had no family beyond one brother who lived in Alaska. The septuagenarian was doing well, but even after reviewing her vitals Rennie stayed with her.

She believed that charity went beyond waiving her fee. In fact, waiving her fee was the least of it. She held the woman's hand and stroked her forehead, hoping that on a subconscious level her elderly patient was comforted by her presence, her touch. Eventually, convinced that the small amount of time she'd given the woman would make a difference, she left her to the nurses' care.

"I'm not on call tonight," she told the nurse at the desk as she returned the charts. "But page me if either of these patients takes a downward turn."

"Certainly, Dr. Newton. Have you had dinner?"

"Why."

"Pardon me for saying so, but you look done in."

She smiled wanly. "It's been a long day.

And a very sad one."

"I recommend a cheeseburger, double fries, a glass of wine, and a bubble bath."

"If I can keep my eyes open that long."

She said her good night and made her way toward the elevator. As she waited for it, she ground both fists into the small of her back and stretched.

Being away, and for a reason not of her own making, had cost her more than time and inconvenience. Her pacing was still off. She wasn't yet back into the rhythm of the hospital. It wasn't always a regular rhythm, but at least it was a familiar one.

And just as she was beginning to get back into the swing of things, Lee Howell had been murdered on the parking lot she traversed each time she came to the hospital.

While she was still stunned from that blow, more unpleasantness had followed. Along with everyone who'd been at the Howells' house that night, she had been questioned by the police. It had been a routine interrogation, textbook in nature.

Nevertheless, it had left her shaken.

Today she had seen Lee Howell buried. She would never quarrel with him again over something as important as OR scheduling or something as petty as whole milk versus skim. She would never laugh at one of his stupid jokes.

Taking all that had happened into account, it was an understatement to say that the past three weeks had amounted to a major upheaval in her routine.

This was no small thing. Dr. Rennie Newton adhered to rhythms and routine with fanatical self-discipline.

Her house was a ten-minute drive from the hospital. Most young professionals lived in newer, more fashionable neighborhoods of Fort Worth. Rennie could have afforded to live anywhere, but she preferred this older, well-established neighborhood.

Not only was its location convenient to the hospital, but she liked the narrow, tree-lined brick streets, which had been laid decades ago and remained a quaint feature of the neighborhood. The mature landscaping didn't look as though it had been installed yesterday.

Most of the houses had been built prior to World War II, giving them an aura of permanence and solidity that she favored. Her house had been quaintly described as a bungalow. Having only five rooms, it was perfect for a single, which she was, and which she would remain.

The house had been renovated twice, and she had put it through a third remodeling and modernization before she moved in. The stucco exterior was dove gray with white trim. The front door was cranberry red with a shiny brass knocker and kick plate. In the flower beds, white and red impatiens bloomed beneath shrubbery with dark, waxy foliage. Sprawling trees shaded the lawn against even the harshest sun.

She paid dearly for a professional service to keep the yard meticulously groomed and maintained.

She turned into the driveway and used her automatic garage-door opener, one of her innovations. She closed the garage door behind her and let herself in through the connecting kitchen door. It wasn't quite dusk yet, so the small room was bathed in the golden light of a setting sun that filtered through the large sycamore trees in her backyard.

She had forgone the suggested cheeseburger and fries, but since she wasn't on call tonight she poured herself a glass of Chardonnay and carried it with her into the living room--where she almost dropped it.

A crystal vase of red roses stood on her living-room coffee table.

Five dozen perfect buds on the brink of blossoming open. They looked velvety to the touch. Fragrant. Expensive. The cut crystal vase was also extraordinarily beautiful. Its myriad facets sparkled as only pricey crystal can and splashed miniature rainbows onto the walls.

When Rennie had recovered from her initial shock, she set her wineglass on the coffee table and searched among the roses and greenery for an enclosure card. She didn't find one.

"What the hell?"

It wasn't her birthday, and even if it were, no one would know it. She didn't celebrate an anniversary of any kind with anyone. were the roses meant to convey condolence? She had worked with Lee Howell every day for years, but receiving flowers on the day of his funeral was hardly warranted or even appropriate given their professional relationship.

A grateful patient? Possibly, but unlikely. Who among them would know her home address? Her office address was the one listed in the telephone directory. If a patient had been so moved by gratitude, the roses would have gone either there or to the hospital.

Only a handful of friends knew where she lived.

She never entertained at home. She returned social obligations by hosting dinner or Sunday brunch in a restaurant. She had many colleagues and acquaintances, but no friendships close enough to merit an extravagant bouquet of roses. No family. No boyfriend. No exor wanna-be boyfriends.