Dr. Newton's lawyer was standard issue.
Height, average. Weight, average. Hair, white. Suit, gray pinstripe. Eyes, wary and cunning. It took only one glance for Wick to assess him.
He then directed his attention to Dr. Rennie Newton, who didn't come even close to standard issue. In fact if someone had ordered him to conjure a mental picture of a surgeon, the woman on the tape would not have been it. Not in a million years.
Nor was she typical of someone being questioned about a felony offense. She wasn't sweating, nervously jiggling her legs, drumming her fingers, biting her nails, or fidgeting in her seat.
Instead she sat perfectly still, her legs decorously crossed, arms folded at her waist, eyes straight ahead and steady, a portrait of composure.
She was dressed in a cream-colored two-piece suit with slacks, high heels in a tan reptile skin, matching handbag. She wore no jewelry except for a pair of stud earrings and a large, no-nonsense wristwatch. No rings on either hand. Her long hair was pulled into a neat ponytail. He knew from the surveillance photos that when it was down, it reached the middle of her back. Pale blond, which looked as genuine as the diamonds in her earlobes.
Oren stopped the tape. "What do you think so far? As a connoisseur of the fairer sex, your first impression."
Wick shrugged and took a sip of tea.
"Dresses well. Good skin. You couldn't melt an ice cube on her ass."
"Cool."
"We're talking frostbite. But she's a surgeon. She's supposed to be cool under pressure, isn't she?"
"I guess."
Oren restarted the tape and they heard his voice identifying everyone present, including Detective Plum, the second plainclothesman in the room. He provided the date and the case number, and then, for the benefit of the tape, asked Dr. Newton if she had agreed to the interview.
"Yes."
Oren plunged right in. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about the murder of your colleague Dr.
Lee Howell."
"I've already told you everything I know, Detective Wesley."
"Well, it never hurts to go over it again, does it?"
"I suppose not. If you've got a lot of spare time on your hands."
Oren stopped the tape. "See? There. That's what I'm talking about. Polite, but with a definite attitude."
"I'd say so, yeah. But that's in character too.
She's a doctor. A surgeon. The god complex and all that. She speaks and folks sit up and take notice. She isn't accustomed to being questioned or second-guessed."
"She had better get accustomed to it," Oren mumbled. "I think there's something going on with this lady."
He rewound the tape to listen again to her saying,
"If you've got a lot of spare time on your hands."
On the tape, Oren gave Plum a significant glance. Plum raised his eyebrows. Oren continued. "On the night Dr.
Howell was murdered, you were at his house, correct?"
"Along with two dozen other people," the attorney chimed in. "Have you questioned them to this extent?"
Ignoring him, Oren asked, "Did you know everyone at the party that night, Dr. Newton?"
"Yes. I've known Lee's wife for almost as long as I've known him. The guests were other doctors with whom I'm acquainted. I'd met their spouses at previous social gatherings."
"You attended the party alone?"
"That's right."
"You were the only single there."
The lawyer leaned forward. "Is that relevant, Detective?"
"Maybe."
"I don't see how. Dr. Newton went to the party alone. Can we move on? She has a busy schedule."
"I'm sure." With a noticeable lack of haste, Oren shuffled through his notes and took his time before asking the next question. "I understand it was a cookout."
"On the Howells' terrace."
"And Dr. Howell manned the grill."
"Do you want the menu, too?" the attorney asked sarcastically.
Oren continued looking hard at Rennie Newton. She said, "Lee fancied himself a gourmet on the charcoal grill. Actually he was a dreadful cook, but nobody had the heart to tell him." She looked down into her lap, smiling sadly. "It was a standing joke among his friends."
"What was the reason for the party?"
"Reason?"
"Was it an ordinary Friday night cookout or a special occasion?"
She shifted slightly in her chair, recrossed her legs. "We were celebrating Lee's promotion to chief of surgery."
"Right, his promotion to head of the department. What did you think of that?"
"I was pleased for him, of course."
Oren tapped a pencil on the tabletop for a full fifteen seconds. Her gaze remained locked with his, never wavering.
"You were also under consideration for that position, weren't you, Dr. Newton?"
"Yes. And I deserved to get it."
Her attorney held up a cautionary hand.
"More than Dr. Howell did?" Oren asked.
"In my opinion, yes," she replied calmly.
"Dr. Newton, I--"
She forestalled her lawyer. "I'm only telling the truth. Besides, Detective Wesley has already guessed how I felt about losing the position to Lee. I'm sure he regards that as a motive for murder." Turning back to Oren, she said, "But I didn't kill him."
"Detectives, may I have a private word with my client?" the lawyer asked stiffly.
Unmindful of the request, Oren said,
"I don't believe you killed anyone, Dr.Newton."
"Then what am I doing here wasting my time and yours? Why did you request this"--she gave the walls of the small room a scornful glance--"this interview?"
Oren stopped the tape there and consulted Wick.
"Well?"
"What?"
"She denied it before I accused her of it."
"Come on, Oren. She's got more years of schooling than you, me, and Plum there added up. But she didn't need a medical degree to guess what you were getting at. Driving a herd of longhorns through that room would have been more subtle. She got your point. Any dummy would have. And this lady doesn't strike me as a dummy."
"She and Dr. Howell had a history of quarreling."
"So do we," Wick said, laughing.
Oren stubbornly shook his head. "Not like they did. Everybody I've talked to at the hospital says she and Howell respected each other professionally but did not get along."
"Love affair turned sour?"
"Initially I posed that question to everyone I interviewed. I stopped asking."
"How come?"
"I got tired of being laughed at."
Wick turned and quizzically arched his eyebrow.
"Beats me," Oren replied to the silent question.
"That's the reaction I got every time I asked.
Apparently there were never any romantic fires smoldering between them."
"Just a friendly rivalry."
"I'm not so sure it was all that friendly. On the surface, maybe, but there might have been a lurking animosity that ran deep. They were always at each other's throats for one reason or another. Sometimes over something trivial, sometimes major. Sometimes in jest, and sometimes not. But their disagreements were always lively, often vitriolic, and well known to hospital staff."
As he mentally sorted through this information, Wick absently popped the rubber band against his wrist.
Oren noticed and said, "You were wearing that yesterday. What's it for?"
"What?" Wick looked down at the rubber band circling his wrist as though he'd never seen it before. "Oh, it's ... nothing. Uh, getting back, was Howell's appointment gender based?"
"I don't think so. Two other department heads at Tarrant General are women. Howell got the promotion Newton felt she deserved and probably thought she had sewn up because of her seniority status. She'd been affiliated with the hospital for two years before Howell joined ranks."
"She would resent the hell out of that."
"Only natural that she would."
"But enough to bump him off?" Staring at the static picture on the TV screen, Wick frowned with a mix of skepticism and concentration. He motioned with his chin for Oren to restart the tape.
On it, Oren asked, "Did you go straight home following the party, Dr. Newton?"
She gave a clipped affirmative.
"Can anyone corroborate that?"
"No."
"You didn't go out again that evening?"
"No. And no one can corroborate that either," she added when she saw that he was about to ask. "But it's the truth. I went home and went to bed."
"When did you hear that Dr. Howell had been killed?"
That question caused her to lower her head and speak softly. "The following morning. On television news. No one had notified me. I was stunned, couldn't believe it." She laced her fingers together tightly. "It was horrible to hear about it that way, without any warning that I was about to receive terrible news."
Wick reached for the remote and paused the video. "It appears to me she was really upset about it."
"Yeah, well ..." Oren gave a noncommittal harrumph.
"Have you asked the widow about their relationship?"
"She said what everyone does: mutual respect, but they had their differences. She said Howell actually got a kick out of pestering Dr. Newton. He was a jokester. She's all business. She was a good foil."
"Well there you go."
"Maybe Dr. Newton thought his getting that position was one joke on her too many."
Wick stood up and began to pace.
"Recap the facts for me."
"On the homicide? According to Mrs. Howell, the party broke up about midnight. They were in bed by one. The house phone rang at two-oh-seven.
She's definite on the time because she remembers looking at the clock.
"Dr. Howell answered the phone, talked for several seconds, then hung up and told her he was needed at the hospital, said there'd been a major freeway accident with multiple casualties.
"He dressed and left. His body was found beside his car in the doctors' parking lot at two-twenty-eight. That's when the nine-one-one came in. Which was just long enough for him to make the drive from home. The security guard had seen Howell drive in minutes earlier, so he was popped the moment he got out of his car. His wallet was intact. Nothing taken from or off his car.
"Cause of death was massive hemorrhaging from a stab wound beneath his left arm. The murder weapon was left in the wound. Your average filleting knife. The manufacturer says they haven't produced wood hilts in twelve years, so this knife could've come from anywhere. Grandma's kitchen, flea market, you name it. No prints, of course.
"The blade went through Howell's ribs clean as a whistle and burst his heart like a balloon.
Best guess is that he was attacked from behind, probably around the neck. Reflexively he reached up, the assailant stabbed him with his left hand. It happened like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "Whoever did him knew what he was doing."
"Like another doctor?"
Oren shrugged.
"Yesterday you mentioned a potential eyewitness."
"The parking-lot security guard. One ..."
Oren opened the binder and scanned a typed form until he located the name. "Malcomb R.
Lutey. Age twenty-seven."
"Did you check him out?"
"Considered and eliminated as a suspect. He called in the nine-one-one. Scared shitless, and he wasn't faking it. Threw up four times while the first officers on the scene were trying to get information out of him.
"Hasn't missed a day of work since he's had the job. Works holidays. Has never caused anybody any trouble. Not even a traffic ticket on record. Yes-sirred and no-sirred everybody. Kind of a geek. Take that back. He's a full-fledged geek."
"He didn't see or hear anything?"
"Like I told you, Wick, nothing. Once this kid stopped hurling chow, he cooperated fully.
Nervous as hell, but Mom was responsible for that.
Scary old bat. She made me nervous too.
Believe me, he's not our man."
"And the freeway accident?"
"No such accident occurred. Everyone on the hospital staff denies calling Howell.
Telephone records indicate that the call originated from a cell phone."
"Let me guess. Untraceable."
"You got it."
"Male or female?"
"The caller? We don't know. Dr. Howell was the only one who spoke to him. Or her."
"What does the wife get by way of an estate?"
"Plenty. Howell was insured to the hilt, but the missus came into the marriage with money of her own and stands to inherit more when her daddy passes."
"Good marriage?"
"By all accounts. They were trying to have another kid. There's one seven-year-old boy. Ideal American family. Churchgoers, flag-wavers. No drug abuse or alcoholism. He made small wagers on his golf games and that was the extent of his gambling.
Not even a hint of marital infidelity, and especially not with his colleague Rennie Newton."
Oren rattled the ice in his glass, shook a cube into his mouth, chomped on it noisily.
"The doc never had a malpractice suit filed against him. No outstanding debts. No known enemies. Except Rennie Newton. And I've just got a gut feeling about her, Wick."
Wick stopped pacing and looked at Oren, inviting him to elaborate.
"Don't you think it's a bit tidy and damn convenient that her rival gets popped within days after he's appointed to a position she wanted?"
"Wild coincidence?" Wick ventured.
"I could concede that except for the phone call that put Howell in that parking lot in the middle of the night. Besides, I don't believe in coincidences that wild."
"Me neither. I was playing devil's advocate." He sank back into the cushions of the sofa and placed his hands behind his head. He stared into the TV at the surgeon's calm face, which was freeze-framed on the screen. "Stabbing?
True, she'd know right where to stick you to make it fatal, but I dunno." He frowned. "Just doesn't seem like something this lady would do."
"I don't think she did it herself. Somebody did it for her."
Wick turned and looked hard at his former partner. "Lozada is into knives."
"On occasion."
"But he once used a flare gun."
Oren made a face. "Jesus, was that a mess."
Body parts of that victim had been discovered floating over several acres of Eagle Mountain Lake. Lozada had also used a tire tool once to bash in a skull. That hadn't been a contract kill, as were most of his murders. That poor bastard had just pissed him off. Of course they could never prove that he had committed any of these crimes. They just knew it.
Wick came off the sofa again and moved to the fireplace. He looked at the pictures of Stephanie and Laura on the mantel. Then he went to the window and peered through the blinds. He ambled back to the mantel before returning to the sofa. "You think this Dr. Newton hired Lozada to eliminate her competition? Or had Lozada kill him out of spite? Is that basically it?"
"It's his kind of kill. Silent. Quick.
Leaving the weapon."
"I'm not disputing that, Oren. It's her involvement I have a problem with." He gestured toward the TV. "She's a surgeon with a good reputation and no doubt a six-figure income.
She seeks out a scumbag--that we all know Lozada to be no matter how fancy he dresses himself up--and hires him to kill her colleague? No way. Sorry, but I ain't buying it."
"What? She's too educated? Too well dressed? Too clean?"
"No, she's too ... dispassionate. I don't know," Wick said impatiently.
"Is there any evidence of a connection between her and Lozada?"
"We're looking."
"That means no."
"That means we're looking," Oren stressed.
Wick expelled a deep breath. "Right.
Lozada could be having meetings with the pope and we'd be the last to know. He's slippery as owl shit."
"The doctor could be just as slippery, just as deceptive. She spends the majority of her time at the hospital, but nobody--and I mean no one--seems to know much about her personal life.
They say she keeps to herself, keeps her private life private.
"That's why everyone laughed at my question about hanky-panky between her and Howell. If she dates at all, nobody knows about it. She's a loner. An excellent surgeon," he stipulated. "On that everybody agrees.
Generally she's very well liked. She's friendly enough. Kindhearted. But she's aloof. Aloof.
That's a word I heard a lot."
"You need more," Wick said.
"I agree."
Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, Oren withdrew a slip of paper and laid it on the sofa cushion that separated him and Wick.
"What's that?"
"Her address."
Wick knew what that implied, what Oren was asking of him. He shook his head. "Sorry, Oren, but you haven't convinced me. What you've got on her is thin. Way too thin.
Speculation at best, and nothing substantive.
Certainly nothing concrete. There's no just cause for--"
"You heard about Lozada's most recent trial, right? Or is your head buried too deep in Galveston sand?"
"Sure I heard. Capital murder.
Another acquittal," Wick said bitterly.
"Same song, tenth verse. What of it?"
Oren leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper. "The jury that acquitted him ...?"
"Yeah?"
"Guess who was forewoman."