Death by Request (Caribbean Murder #11)

“Once in a while I take visitors here from the Sands Hotel or the Villas,” the driver sneered. “Don’t see too many of my kind of folk up here, though. And, most of the other hospitals on the island aren’t something to write home about, either.”


Mattheus bristled, “Sorry, fella, I really am,” he said. “It’s a dumb, lousy situation.”

Cindy put her hand on Mattheus’s arm to calm him down before they entered the hospital. Mattheus had an aversion to the wealthy which surfaced abruptly from time to time. Occasionally, Cindy even wondered if Mattheus enjoyed seeing the dark side of wealthy people’s lives. It validated something for him.

“Let’s start out on the right foot, Mattheus,” Cindy said as they got out of the cab and walked to the grand entrance. “We’ve got to stay neutral and clear.”

“You’re right,” Mattheus stopped and nodded. “You keep me straight, Cindy and I love that.”

Cindy squeezed his hand as they walked through the main door and entered a long marble foyer with very high ceilings. Then they went over to the reception booth where a beautiful young, Jamaican woman sat smiling at them.

“C and M Investigations,” Mattheus said to the young woman the moment they approached.

The dazzling smile left her face quickly and she looked down.

“We need to go to Tara Danden’s Room,” Mattheus continued.

“The crime scene?” the young woman asked, looking up.

“Right,” said Mattheus simply.

“I’ve been told you’d be coming,” the young woman spoke so softly now it was hard to hear. “Go to the third floor, Section 222. The room’s on the right, behind large, folding doors. There’s a sign that says no visitors permitted, the police have roped the area off.” She threw a fleeting glance at Cindy, a look of fear flickering across her eyes. “I thought the case was solved,” she murmured.

“It’s okay, we’re only here to help,” said Cindy as the young woman’s smile slowly returned and she motioned for them to proceed.

As Cindy and Mattheus walked their footsteps echoed along the highly polished floors. Then they stepped into an elevator which was filled with soft, cloying music. Everything was arranged to completely disguise the fact that they were in a hospital. The place seemed like a posh rest home, a place people went to recover, far from their everyday lives.

As Cindy and Mattheus stepped out onto third floor Cindy saw huge palm plants placed along the elegant hallways and the doors to the rooms all shut tight. A nurse or two glided by softly with no sense of urgency, illness or concern.

As the young woman had told them Section 222 was hidden behind large, opaque, folding doors with pictures of butterflies on the panels. Mattheus pulled the folding doors to the side, and as they entered the room Cindy saw yellow strips, cordoning off the area. Two beds, which were now empty and perfectly made stood side by side, and a local policeman sat in a chair beside one bed, half asleep.

Cindy and Mattheus walked through the yellow strips and into the room noisily, waking the policeman up.

“Whoah there,” he started and then rubbed his eyes.

“C and M Investigations,” Mattheus announced abruptly.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve been expecting you,” the cop answered hastily, pulled his phone out of his side pocket and put in a quick call. “Yeah, they’re here,” he grunted into the phone. “Okay, I’ll tell them.”

Cindy took in every detail in the room as she waited for him to end the call.

“Sorry about that,” the cop said gruffly. “Gets pretty damn tiring, sitting here alone, hour after hour. The Chief of Police and a few others will be down here right away to talk to you. Sorry I was dozing off.”

Cindy smiled at him, she liked him. “No problem,” she said. “It’s pretty quiet for a hospital.”

The cop seemed to appreciate her comment. “You can call it a hospital, if you want,” he grunted, “some other floors, maybe. But this section here is dead, if you know what I mean.”

“You mean people die here,” Mattheus responded, looking around.

“Most of them do,” the policeman replied. “This is where they put the ones on the way out, anyway.”

“Are patients put here after severe accidents or illness?” Mattheus questioned.

“Nah, then they go to another floor to be worked on,” the cop continued. “They’re brought here when there’s nothing left to do for them.”

“Like a hospice?” Cindy commented.

“Not exactly,” the cop continued, “they’re still alive in a hospice, they can talk to you, get pain medication. They come here when they’re in a coma! On the way out.”

“Some people recover from comas,” Mattheus interjected quickly.

“Some do, not most,” the cop replied quietly. “The doctors play the odds, it’s a waiting game.”

Cindy felt her stomach clench. All of life was a kind of waiting game, she thought, waiting for news, waiting for love, waiting for the sun after a terrible rain. Some people waited for things that never happened and for people who would never return.