Chapter 16
"A young woman was in the room with Wick when he was attacked," Wesley said. "She was dead at the scene."
Rennie schooled her features not to show any reaction. It wasn't easy. Mistrusting her voice, she only nodded.
"The CSU is going over the room now. The motel housekeeper, who'd been a nuisance until this morning, saved his life. She came into Wick's room with her passkey. If she hadn't interrupted when she did, he would have died too."
"Did she see who did it?"
He shook his head. "The bathroom window was left open. We figure he climbed out just ahead of her coming in. She had knocked first. He was scared off."
"So she can't give you a description."
"Unfortunately, no. And motel rooms are hell to gather evidence from because hundreds of people come and go through them."
"Footprints outside the window?"
"Blacktopped alley. So far, we have no clues. But hopefully our techs will find something useful."
"What about that?" she asked, pointing to the bagged screwdriver.
"We'll get what we can from it."
Rennie wanted to ask him if he had any suspects in mind but was afraid of what his answer would be.
"As soon as Wick wakes up, I'll need to question him, find out what he knows," he said.
"I understand, but keep in mind that he fought for his life last night. He'll need rest. I don't want my patient to be agitated."
"I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize Wick's recovery," he said irritably.
"I'll trust you not to. Now, I must excuse myself. I have another operation scheduled in half an hour."
"But you look exhausted," Grace exclaimed.
"I just need some breakfast." She smiled at Grace Wesley, whom she had liked instantly, then turned back to the detective.
"Obviously you and Mr. Threadgill are more than professional associates."
"Friends. Virtually family."
"Then I'll leave word with the ICU nurses that if you call they're free to give you an update on his condition."
"I would appreciate that consideration. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Grace Wesley thanked her again for saving Wick's life.
The detective said a clipped "I'll be in touch," then punched the Down button on the elevator.
Rennie went back into Wick's cubicle and asked the nurse if he had shown any signs of coming around. "He's moaned a couple of times, Doctor. That's all."
"Please page me when he does. I'll be in the OR, but as soon as he wakes up I want to know about it."
"Of course, Dr. Newton."
Before leaving, she gazed down at her patient, but curbed the impulse to brush a wayward strand of hair off his forehead.
SHE SHOWERED IN THE LOCKER ROOM and put on fresh scrubs, then went to the cafeteria on the ground level. She had a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice, but she ate it only because she needed fuel, not because she wanted it or enjoyed tasting the food.
Back on the surgical floor, she reviewed her next patient's charts and spoke to her briefly. "Your oncologist and I agree that the tumor is contained. Once that section of bowel is removed, your prognosis is very good."
The woman thanked her groggily as the anesthesiologist administered the heavy sedative into her IV.
Rennie scrubbed methodically. It felt good to be performing a task that was familiar and routine.
Her carefully organized life had slipped out of her control. Ever since she heard about Lee's murder, ever since the appearance of the roses in her living room, nothing had been in order.
But, she thought as she scrubbed ruthlessly between her fingers, she could get back that control. All she needed to do was focus on her work. Work was her handle on life. Get a grip on her work and she had a grip on her life.
In the operating room, she was slicing through adipose tissue on the patient's abdomen when the assisting resident surgeon said, "Heard you had some excitement around here this morning."
"Our Dr. Newton is a regular heroine," said the scrub tech.
Rennie, whose mind was on her task, asked absently, "What are you talking about?"
"It was all over the news this morning."
Rennie glanced at the anesthesiologist, who'd spoken from his stool behind the patient. "What was on the news?"
"How you saved the cop's life."
The resident said, "Threadgill's brother died in the line of duty a few years ago. You prevented him from doing the same."
"Except that this Threadgill wasn't on duty at the time," said one of the circulating nurses.
"I don't know anything about him," Rennie said coolly. "Suction, please. I responded to an emergency, that's all."
"According to the news, the girl was beyond help," the anesthesiologist remarked.
The talkative resident picked up the story. "I heard straight from the paramedics who responded to the nine-one-one call that she was found in the cop's bed. Apparently whoever attacked Threadgill killed her first."
"Jealous boyfriend?"
"Or husband."
"Could be. The way they've pieced it together, Threadgill was in the shower."
"Speaking for myself," the resident quipped,
"I always have a cigarette first. Then shower. What about you, Betts? Do you smoke after sex?"
"I don't know," replied the circulating nurse. "I've never looked."
Everyone laughed.
The scrub tech bobbed her eyebrows above her mask. "If this cop looks anything like the picture they printed in the newspaper, I'd say the girl died smiling."
"Could we please get back to business here?"
Rennie snapped. "What's her pressure?"
The anesthesiologist replied in a subdued, professional tone. Rennie's brusqueness had quelled the joking. She kept her head down, her concentration focused on the surgery. But when her pager chirped, she asked the circulating nurse to check it for her.
"It's surgical ICU, Dr. Newton."
"Would you call them, please?"
She listened as the nurse placed the call.
"Okay, I'll tell her." She hung up.
"Threadgill's waking up."
"Thanks."
Although she sensed the raised eyebrows above the masks, no one dared to comment. From there the talk related only to the procedure they were performing.
Finally Rennie withdrew her hands and nodded for the assisting surgeon to clip the last internal suture. She probed the area with her gloved finger to make certain all the sutures held.
"Looks good."
"Perfect," he said. "Excellent job, Dr. Newton."
"Thank you. Would you mind closing up for me?"
"Your wish is my command."
"Thanks. Good job, everyone."
She peeled off her bloody gloves and pushed through the door, knowing that as soon as it closed behind her she would be the topic of speculative conversation. Let them wonder, she thought.
She reported the satisfactory results of the operation to the patient's anxious family, then hurried to the locker room, took a second shower, and reached the ICU just as the nurse was urging Wick to cough up his breathing tube.
He suffered the choking sensation all patients did, but eventually the thing was out. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it, Mr. Threadgill? You did real good."
He moved his lips but the nurse couldn't hear him, so she leaned down close. When she straightened up, she was chuckling. "What did he say?" Rennie asked.
"He said, "Get fucked.""
"You don't have to tolerate that from him."
"Don't worry about it, Doctor. I've got a husband and four sons."
Rennie took her place at Wick's bedside. "Wick, do you know where you are?"
He grunted an unintelligible reply. She placed her stethoscope on his chest and listened for several moments. "You're doing fine."
"Thirsty."
"How about some ice chips?" She looked across at the nurse, who nodded and left on the errand.
"We'll start you out on ice chips, Wick. I don't want you to drink anything yet and get nauseated."
He grunted again and was struggling to open his right eye, unaware that it was swollen shut. He would be groggy and disoriented for hours yet. "How's the pain, Wick? I can increase the dosage of your pain medication." He mumbled something else she couldn't interpret. "I'll take that as a yes."
The nurse returned with the cup of crushed ice and a plastic spoon. "Give him a few spoonfuls every time he wakes up." She made the necessary notations on his chart. Before leaving she said,
"I'll be either here or at my office. Page me if there's any change."
"Certainly. Oh, Dr. Newton, I think he wants to speak to you."
Rennie returned to Wick's bedside. He groped for her hand. Despite the IV port that was taped to the back of his hand, his grip was surprisingly strong. She leaned down close.
"What is it, Wick?"
He whispered only one word.
"Lozada."
Detective Wesley frowned at her from the other side of his cluttered desk. "Anything else?"
"Just that. "Lozada," Rennie repeated.
"When was this?"
"Around noon today."
"And you're just now telling me?"
"I had to sort it out first."
"Sort what out?"
Other personnel in the Criminal Investigation Division appeared to be going about their business, but Rennie was aware that she was an object of curiosity. "Is there someplace we can talk more privately?"
Wesley shrugged and indicated for her to follow him. He led her into the same room where the interrogation had been videotaped. They sat in the same seating arrangement. She didn't particularly like the implication that she was once again being placed in a defensive position, but she didn't remark on it. Instead she immediately resumed the conversation.
"Could that mean it was Lozada who attacked Wick last night?"
"Oh, you think so?"
She felt her cheeks turn warm.
"Apparently that's not a news flash to you."
"Hardly, Doctor."
"May I ask you a question?" He shrugged with indifference. "What is it about me that rubs you the wrong way?"
He shifted in his chair. "Nothing."
"That's not true. You've disliked me from the get-go. Why?"
"Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind, Dr. Newton? What did you "sort out" this afternoon?"
"The day of Lee Howell's funeral, I received a bouquet of roses. This was the enclosure card."
She opened her handbag and took out a plastic bag in which she'd placed the small white card.
It was the second piece of evidence she had collected that day, although she tried not to think about having to pull the screwdriver from Wick's back.
Wesley took the bag from her, looked at the card and read the single typed line, but his reaction wasn't what she had expected.
In fact, he didn't react at all. His expression remained unchanged.
"Evidently this comes as no surprise to you, either."
"I didn't know it had accompanied a bouquet of roses sent to you the day of Howell's funeral."
"But you recognize the card, don't you? How could you? It's been ..." She stopped, looked at him aghast. "You weren't content just to watch my house--you searched it. You did, didn't you?"
"Not me."
She sat back as though pushed by an invisible hand. "Wick."
Wesley said nothing.
Her head dropped forward. She stared at her hands, which no amount of cream or lotion could keep moisturized because of the antiseptic soap she scrubbed with.
Wick had been inside her house, rummaging through her drawers, going through her things. Before or after they'd met? she wondered. Although it didn't matter. Her privacy had been violated, and, worse, Wick had been the one who'd violated it.
After a brief but strained silence, she raised her head and looked at Wesley. "The card came from Lozada. He personally delivered the roses. He broke into my house and left them for me to find."
"How do you know?"
"He told me."
"Told you?"
"He's called me several times. I've asked him not to. I've insisted that he leave me alone. But he keeps calling."
"And says what?"
"Read the card, Detective. He developed a crush on me during his trial.
He stared at me constantly, every moment he was in the courtroom. To the point where it became noticeable and embarrassing. Apparently he's now deluded himself into thinking that I reciprocate his romantic interest."
"Because of the verdict?"
"I suppose. Who knows why? He's crazy."
He harrumphed. "Lozada is a lot of things, but crazy isn't one of them." He watched her for a moment. "Why are you telling me all this now?"
"I'm afraid that he killed Dr. Howell.
I think he learned that Lee was named chief of surgery over me, so he killed him as a favor for me. He told me he wanted to return the favor I did him."
"By acquitting him?"
"A twelve-person jury acquitted him."
His deep shrug said If you say so. "Go on."
"Lozada is the one who told me about your surveillance. He's been watching me too.
He saw Wick follow me home yesterday afternoon. I guess Lozada followed him around the block to the stakeout house. Then he called me.
He enjoyed telling me that my newfound friend is a cop."
"Wick would argue that."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind. Why didn't you tell us about Lozada last night when you confronted us?"
"Because I didn't want you to think what you're thinking."
"Which is?"
"That I'm in cahoots with Lozada!" she exclaimed. "That is what you're thinking, isn't it? You think I contracted him to kill Lee. And now ... now Wick. That's why you objected to my operating on him."
"You were angry at us. At Wick in particular."
"So you think I called this paid assassin, who just so happens to have a crush on me, and instructed him to stab Wick in the back with a screwdriver?"
Wesley stared at her impassively. He was a seasoned policeman with years of experience.
Confessions came in all forms. No doubt he thought she was unburdening herself of guilt.
"If that's your allegation, it's too absurd even to deny," she said.
"Then what are you doing here?"
"After Wick spoke Lozada's name, everything became clear. I saw things as you've been seeing them. Lee gets a promotion I wanted. He gets killed. I told Wick I never wanted to see him again. An attempt is made on his life. When it crystallized in my mind, I came straight here, only stopping at home long enough to retrieve that card."
"Why did you save it?"
"I'm not sure. I destroyed the roses.
Maybe I saved the card because I thought I might need ... proof."
"Meaning that from the beginning you suspected Lozada of killing Howell."
"No. It wasn't until a few days after Lee's funeral, after I received the roses, that Lozada called me for the first time. He asked if I had enjoyed them. I didn't know until then who had sent them."
He gave her a retiring look. "Come now, Dr. Newton."
"I swear I didn't."
"You didn't have an inkling?"
"All right, possibly. Subconsciously.
I knew of no one else who could or would have broken into my house."
"Yet when you learned it was Lozada, you still didn't contact me. Why not?"
"Because of the tone of the interrogation you conducted in this room. I was afraid it would confirm your suspicions of my involvement."
"You had information that might have led to Lozada's arrest and you failed to come forward with it."
"Which was a mistake."
"Why didn't you come running to me waving that card and saying "I think I know who murdered my friend and why"?"
"I could have been terribly wrong. I could have impeded your investigation, sent you down the wrong path."
"No, I don't think that's it, Dr.
Newton. I think you hoped that we would solve the mystery of Dr. Howell's murder all by ourselves.
Without your help. Isn't that right?" His eyes probed hers. "You didn't want your name attached to a man's violent death." After a meaningful pause, he added, "A second time."
"Ah." She lowered her head again, but only for an instant, then met his incisive gaze defiantly. "You know about Raymond Collier."
"Some. Want to tell me more about it?"
"You've got your resources, Detective, and I'm sure you'll put them to good use."
"You can count on it." He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. "There is something that puzzles me. I'm wondering how you got seated on that jury. Didn't the lawyers question the prospective jurors, ask if there were any arrest records? Weren't you sworn to tell the truth?"
"Raymond Collier's death was a tragic accident. I don't have a police record. And during voir dire nobody asked if I had been involved in an accidental shooting when I was a minor."
"Well that was convenient, wasn't it?"
She stood up. "I can see you neither value nor want my help."
"On the contrary, Dr. Newton. It's been an enlightening conversation."
"Will you arrest Lozada now?"
"When I get my hands on enough evidence to back up an arrest and indictment."
"What do you mean when? This morning my hands were soaking in all the evidence you need. Wick's blood. And I've handed you the weapon."
"It'll be thoroughly analyzed by the lab, and as we speak detectives are hot on the trail of its origin, but I can tell you what they'll find.
They'll find that it is decades old and that, when new, it could've been bought at any hardware store on the continent and probably beyond. Between then and now, God knows how many hands have come into contact with it. It won't be traced to anybody."
"The girl was shot. What about the gun?"
"Left at the scene and in our possession. But it'll be like the screwdriver. It's cheap and it's old and reliable only at close range. In this case four to six inches. The user knew we couldn't trace it to him. We'll try, but it won't do any good."
"You know it was Lozada," she cried softly.
"Wick can identify him."
"Can he? I don't question that Wick suspects him. He would be the number one suspect on anyone's list. He and Wick are bitter enemies."
Judging by Lozada's tone of voice whenever he spoke Wick's name, she had gathered as much.
"What happened between them?"
"It's a police matter."
A matter he obviously chose not to divulge to her. "Can't you at least take Lozada into custody for questioning?"
He scoffed at that. "With no probable cause?
He'd love that. It would virtually ensure he would never be tried. I'll only arrest him if Wick can positively identify him as his assailant. But I can almost promise you that Wick didn't see him.
"And just as I expected, that motel room is so chock-full of trace evidence it could belong to Lozada or to anyone else who's ever cleared the threshold of that room, me included. Anything we retrieve from there would never hold up in court.
"Even evidence we retrieved off the other victim, the girl, is no good to us. Dozens of people saw her having physical contact with several men in that bar, including Wick. We cleaned her fingernails and got only grit. There was nothing on her that she couldn't have picked up by casual contact."
"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Definitely, but that's not all. She had a connection to Lozada," Wesley said. "Her job was cleaning his penthouse and she bragged to her co-workers that they were intimate."
"Then what more proof do you need?"
"Oh, we've got lots of proof that she came into daily contact with Lozada's clothing, his bed linens, his carpet, his everything. That's more a liability than an advantage. All his defense lawyer would have to argue is that she could have picked up the evidence at any time, and he would be right. So much for our proof."
He gave her a wry look. "Why don't you tell me what kind of proof a jury would need to convict Lozada, Madam Forewoman?"
"What about blood on his clothing?"
"You know better than I do that all the significant bleeding was internal because he didn't withdraw the weapon. If Lozada got any on him, which is doubtful, by the time we got a search warrant he would have destroyed the clothing.
There was blood from the victim's neck in the previous case. Was the prosecution able to produce it on any of Lozada's belongings?"
"No," she replied. "And his defense attorney made certain we jurors knew that."
She was thoughtful for several seconds, then asked,
"What about DNA? That would be virtually indisputable. What about semen? Saliva?"
He shook his head. "He would never be so careless. But even if he were, he and the girl could have been together earlier in the day, not necessarily in that motel room."
He didn't say whether they'd found Wick's DNA on the girl, and Rennie didn't ask.
"It seems I've wasted your time."
She stood and pulled open the door, killing all chatter in the room beyond. Every head turned.
She hesitated, but Wesley nudged her forward.
"Before you go I'd like you to see something."
He directed her back to his desk, where he picked up a photograph. "The girl's name was Sally Horton. She was twenty-three."
She had to ask. "Had Wick known her long? were they friends?"
"For about twenty minutes. The bartender saw her approach him and introduce herself. Wick left the bar with me. I'll have to ask him what happened after that. But whatever went down and regardless of the length of time she spent with Wick, Lozada disapproved." He passed her the photograph.
Rennie witnessed death on a routine basis.
She had seen the havoc that disease or machine or a weapon could wreak on a human body. Often the damage defied belief and looked like something out of a gruesome horror movie made by a producer with a vivid and sick imagination.
She expected a photograph similar to the ones the jury had been shown during the trial. A bloated face, protruding tongue, bulging eyes. But Sally Horton appeared untouched except for two dark spots in her forehead.
Rennie returned the photograph to Wesley's desk. "If I had told you about Lozada earlier, he might have been in jail and she wouldn't have been killed. Is that why you showed me the picture?"
"That, yeah. But also to warn you."
"I already know that Lozada is dangerous."
"So is getting involved with Wick."