The sound of ripping tape cut her off. She turned to see Earl holding up the tubing that had been attached to his arm. He’d wound it into a loop. “You won’t be laying charges, calling any code forty-fours, or doing much of anything once we analyze what you injected in here.”
Her mouth went dry, and her insides felt trapped in ice. The coiled green plastic caught the light like an emerald ring. She fought the urge to make a grab for it. “I’m sorry, Earl. You leave me no choice but to get the orderlies.” She spun on her heel and walked out of the room.
She heard Tanya and Dr. Roy offer to stop her.
“Don’t bother,” Earl said. “She’s finished, and knows it.”
The day before Nixon left the White House and Kelly gave her the ultimatum leapt to her mind.
Go to the dean and confess what you’ve done within twenty-four hours, or I’ll do it for you.
At Kelly’s insistence they’d met around noon by the southeast entrance to Central Park – the place across from the Plaza where horse-drawn carriages waited for tourists. Melanie had felt as helpless to save herself then as she did now.
The fear had only worsened as the deadline expired and she waited for the police to knock on her door. Just as the fear would build and eat into her now. Except this time there would be no reprieve.
She walked briskly toward the nursing station, and right on by to the exit.
Thirty minutes later Melanie sat in her penthouse sipping coffee. It had turned out to be a pleasant day after all. The sunlight crept across the white birch floors on schedule, illuminating her trophies one by one. The designer kitchen, the living room ensemble, the four-poster bed.
She watched the edge of its shadow reach the glass-topped table in front of her and slowly pass by the items laid out on it. She adjusted her gaze to the southwest, looking out the windows toward the Statue of Liberty and to the sparkling water beyond. A cruise ship glided by the lady, bound for who knows where. She’d known the excitement of that moment, embarking on a Saturday morning, leaving New York and work behind, anticipating what adventures lay ahead.
Those trips didn’t hold a candle to where she’d be going now.
There would be plenty of time. At least an hour. Probably double that. No one would believe Earl at first.
“The drugs – they’ve made him hallucinate,” everyone would say.
Testing for insulin would also take a while.
He wouldn’t have the cops at her door anytime soon.
And she’d be long gone when they did arrive. But then he’d probably known that, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let her go.
Another sip, and she savored its bittersweet bite, tempered as it was by cream and sugar. Normally she used skim milk and sweetener, but what the hell. Today was special.
She downed the remnants and poured herself a second cup.
What would her patients think when they found out? Her colleagues? The residents? She couldn’t stand the thought of being ousted as a fraud, exposed as something less than the smart, quick, concerned physician she’d craved to be seen as. Now, instead, she’d be made legend, right up there with other doctors who killed, like Cream, Swango, Shipman. They’d have experts on Larry King, Connie Chung, and Barbara Walters dissecting her place in that particular constellation of the murder universe. But she wasn’t like those creeps. She hadn’t set out to kill anyone. She’d tried her hardest to save them.
One thing she felt in her bones. There were others out there making themselves shine as physicians the same way she had. It was too tempting a scam for there not to be.
She poured herself a third cup.
By now the departing ship was but a dot on the horizon.
She began to feel sleepy.
Good.
The first of the several vials that now lay empty on the table had started to kick in. She wanted to be out cold when the other ingredients took effect. Seizures, arrhythmias, and cardiovascular shock – the symptoms wouldn’t be pleasant once they began. And there would be no remedy. She’d chosen the makings of her drug cocktail too well for that. No one, not even a bright boy like Earl Garnet, would ever be able to resuscitate her.
Denouement
That same morning, Saturday, November 24, 9:05 A.M.
Earl Garnet’s Room, Fifteen East, New York City Hospital
Mark looked up from the flowchart Earl had handed to him. “So Melanie intended to kill you and set you up as Kelly’s murderer, all to stop you from finding out what she’d done.”
Earl nodded, but said nothing.
From his grimace and the sheen of perspiration on his face, Mark knew he was in pain. “But Braden, starting with the M and M reports from Kelly’s file, had followed the same paper trail you were on, reached the same conclusion you did, and realized he had his own scapegoat. He spurred Melanie on to kill you even sooner, intending to set her up as Kelly’s murderer, all part of his master plan to wipe out anyone who could expose him.” Mark glanced up from the flowchart and regarded its author. “Is that it?”
“That’s it,” said Earl.
Mark considered the idea. It seemed straightforward enough, but something niggled at him. “Wouldn’t it have been safer for Braden to just stand back – let Melanie carry out her plan to finish you off and make you the fall guy? Kelly’s murder would still be closed, unofficially maybe, but no one would be looking anymore.”
Earl smiled at him. It seemed forced. “Because serving up a proven serial killer as Kelly’s murderer would be a lot more convincing than leaving people shocked and incredulous that I’d done it. Hell, over the years I’ve even heard rumors that some people call me Goody Two-shoes Garnet behind my back.”
In spite of everything, Mark chuckled.
“He needed a definitive scapegoat,” Earl continued, “and he needed it now, the more sensational the better. Otherwise, he couldn’t hope to pawn off what he’d set up for you and Lucy as the freak accident he intended everyone to take it as. The same went for the explosion at Nell’s. Even then some people would still be suspicious, but there’d be no proof of foul play, and the flaming fact of Melanie Collins being in all the headlines, murderess extraordinaire that Charles Braden had helped bring to justice, would blunt whatever a few naysayers might mutter to each other. Hell, if you hadn’t played it smart and resisted going body-hunting last night, he might have gotten away with it.”
Mark’s face went warm.
Instantly Earl’s expression changed. “Sorry, Mark. I never meant to imply Lucy-”
“It’s all right,” Mark said. “If you hadn’t told me to play it smart, I might have gone out there with her. I owe you my life for that, and whatever chance Lucy has.” But if he hadn’t let what Earl said stir up his own suspicions about her, Lucy might not have gone at all. Instead, she’d probably sensed those doubts, and felt the need to prove herself trustworthy to him. Mark’s instincts knew this about her as surely as she now lay on total life support twelve floors below with a coma score of three, equal to Bessie McDonald’s.
“Get back to Lucy, Mark,” Earl said. “Above all, don’t lose hope. The recoveries from hypothermia these days can be nothing short of miraculous.”
He tried not to show that he knew Earl had half-lied to him. Mark had already gone on MedLine, as soon as he’d gotten Lucy settled in ICU, and checked the literature, confirming what he’d already known. Success stories about hypothermia were based on single best cases. The over-all statistics were grim, especially for adults. He nodded, and turned to leave.
“And talk to her, Mark,” Earl called after him. “Leave tinkering with her biochemistry to others. Every minute you’re at her side, talk to her.”