“It’s called heparin, and no,” Julie answered emphatically. “I cleared Shirley’s central line using a saline flush, and somehow a high quantity of heparin got in her bloodstream.”
“So you had nothing to do with that,” Capshaw said.
“I did not.”
Spence leaned forward and looked Julie in the eyes. “She was going to die, wasn’t she?”
Julie shrugged. “We’re all going to die,” she said.
Spence nodded in agreement. “You know what I mean,” he said, kind of on the sly. “This lady was spitting the last bit of air from her lungs, wasn’t she? So you just pushed her along.”
“We’ve read some of your, well, call them provocative essays on the subject, so we know how you think about these things,” Capshaw said.
“And we don’t disagree with you,” Spence added. “Hell, it’s how I’d want to go.”
Julie pursed her lips and tried to get her pulse to settle. “Detectives, I know what you’re trying to do here and I’m not going to bite, because nothing you said is true. I didn’t intentionally inject Shirley Mitchell with heparin, and it’s a horrible way to die. As someone who has written extensively about death with dignity, I can tell you that suffering a massive bleed through pretty much every orifice, including the rectum, is hardly a dignified way to go.”
Capshaw cleared his throat and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Well, what’s your theory on how she got the drug in her system?”
“I don’t have one, Detective Capshaw,” Julie said. “If I did, I would certainly share it with you.”
Spence gave his partner a nod, and Capshaw took it as his cue to stand. He handed Julie his card.
“Please be kind to Amber,” Julie said. “She’s as innocent as I am.”
“Thanks for the opinion. If you can think of anything, give us a call,” Capshaw said.
“Am I still a suspect?” Julie asked.
“I’ll answer your question this way,” Spence said. “If you’re planning on going out of town in the next couple of days, let us know.”
FROM THE front seat of his white cargo van, Lincoln Cole waited for the call like a fisherman anticipating a tug on a slack line. He had chartered boats in the Caribbean before, glided across pristine blue waters in search of bonefish, wahoo, tuna, but this was a different sort of exhilaration. His employer was undeniably crafty. Lincoln had a good sense of people from his years on the force and it was obvious he was working for a highly intelligent individual, someone who understood human behavior as well as, if not better than, most detectives.
Lincoln had never worked with Spence or Capshaw during his years on the force, but they seemed fairly competent. They had asked Julie the right questions, had pushed her just hard enough. If Lincoln had been in the room he might have told Julie how Amber had flipped, just to gauge the doc’s reaction, but the criticism was a quibble. Those two had nothing and they knew it. At most, Julie would be fired from White, but Lincoln doubted she would be arrested for murder.
Julie still had to be dealt with in a permanent fashion, which Lincoln knew was his employer’s plan all along. Get her out of the hospital first, and then get her dead. But killing her and the diener had to be-Lincoln racked his brain for the right word-organic.
He checked his watch. No way to know when the call would come in, but it would come. He trusted his employer implicitly. The waning sun in a cloudless sky offered only the illusion of warmth. Lincoln used a portable battery-powered heater to keep from shivering while he waited in his van parked at a meter down the street from Julie’s home. On the seat beside him was the uniform for Lincoln’s new job-armed security guard at Suburban West hospital. In the wake of so many mass shootings, armed guards at suburban hospitals were an increasingly common sight, and Lincoln’s background in law enforcement added authenticity to his hire.
It was no surprise to Lincoln that his employer had enough pull to get him the gig, but he was still impressed with how quickly it had come together. If all went according to plan, Julie and Jordan would soon be sneaking into Suburban West.
What would Lincoln do should he stumble upon a pair of armed intruders on his first day on the job? Why, he would have to defend himself. Lincoln would of course be justified in shooting to kill. One victim was a convicted felon and the other a suspected murderer, which would only bolster Lincoln’s self-defense claim.
The sound of ringing jangled in Lincoln’s headphones. His TrueSpy application was picking up a phone call to Julie. Lincoln smiled, imagining this was the first big tug on his fishing line. Would the caller be the person he was expecting? Lincoln listened intently.
“Hello, this is Dr. Devereux.”
Doctor. The word choice was interesting. Was a queen without a court still a queen? Lincoln asked himself.
“We don’t know each other,” a female voice said, “but we may be able to help each other.”
“Who is this?” Julie asked.
Lincoln could not suppress a smile. This was indeed the bite he had been waiting for. Lincoln pantomimed the motion of pulling back on his imaginary rod to set the hook.
“My name is Allyson Brock. I’m the former CEO of Suburban West.”
A pause.
“What can I do for you, Allyson?”
“I received an anonymous note in my mailbox. It came in a blank envelope with my name on the front. No stamp and no return address, and no signature, either. I would like to read it to you, if I may.”
“Yes, of course.”
“‘Dear Ms. Brock. I’m sending you this message because I believe you can help my friend, Julie Devereux, and help yourself at the same time. You lost your job at Suburban West and I want to give you the chance to take revenge on the person responsible for your ouster as CEO-Roman Janowski. I have been asked by my friend to look for a very specific tissue sample. I am being watched too closely to help her. You are not. Call her. She can explain what she’s looking for. You’ll know what to do when you hear what she needs. Believe me when I tell you if she’s successful, it will crush White and do major damage to Roman Janowski. The samples have to be prepared properly, so tell Julie to bring a secret admirer. She’ll know what it means.’ The note had your phone number at the bottom,” Allyson said.
Lincoln gave another hard tug on that imaginary line of his.
“Who sent it to you?” Julie asked.
“I have no idea,” Lincoln heard Allyson say. “It was signed, ‘A Friend.’”
“Lucy,” Julie said in a soft voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. I’ll tell you what I’m looking for. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“I think there’s something very wrong at White. Some combination of drugs, something, I don’t know what, causing an allergic reaction, triggering fatal attacks in patients with relatively healthy hearts. I need tissue samples so we can test for allergy-causing antigens. But the samples can’t just come from anybody. They have to be from people who had healthy hearts, who died suddenly, and who had previously broken out in hives.”
The call went silent. Lincoln mimed the motions of reeling in his catch.
“Let me get this straight: you want access to one of our cadavers?”
“That’s right,” Julie said. “But you’ve been fired from Suburban West. I knew about that even before you read me the note, so I’m not sure how you can help.”
“I’ve been fired, yes, but I still have access to my office-I’m allowed to use it while I’m searching for my next position. That was the deal the lawyers worked out.”
“So you have a badge?”
“A badge that can access all of the facilities, yes. I could get you inside. But tell me, do you really think this would hurt Roman?”
“If you can help me find the right sample, I think White will have to clean house, and Roman Janowski would be the first to go.”