“Not in any way we can use in court,” he counters. He looks at me with a pitiful expression that makes me want to cry. The last thing I want Hurley to feel for me is pity. “Did Carla listen to the tape before she handed it over to you?” he asks.
“She said she didn’t,” I tell him. “But in hindsight . . . well . . .”
There’s no need to complete the thought because the bloody scene in the next room says it all. I hang my head in shame and tears start to burn behind my eyeballs.
“What’s your verdict, Izzy?” Hurley asks.
At first I think he’s asking Izzy to pass judgment on me and my stupidity, and maybe he is. But judging from the answer, it’s obvious Izzy thinks Hurley is asking about Carla.
“Too soon to tell,” he says with a shrug. “The location and angle of the head wound and the stippling around it don’t rule out suicide. I’ll have to take a look at Nelson’s wounds to determine if that part of the story holds up, and of course I’ll know more once I complete my autopsy, but for now Nelson’s version of the events fits the evidence.”
“But there is one part of his story that doesn’t fit,” I say. “If Carla did listen to the tape and came here with a gun, I don’t think it was her marriage she was upset about.”
I take things a few steps further, desperate to redeem myself in any small way. “What if Shannon found out what he was doing? That would give him a motive to kill her. And if he was drugging his patients with something that allowed him to have sex with them without them knowing about it, he could also have left his office during any one of those appointments without the patients knowing. That negates his alibis.”
“What kind of drug would do that?” Hurley asks. “I would assume he’d need something that can be given orally.”
“On the tape I heard him offer Carla a cup of tea and it’s about fifteen minutes after that when her speech starts to slur.”
Izzy jumps in. “There are several hypnotics that are fast-acting and quickly processed that would produce short-term sedation and anterograde amnesia: midazolam, Zaleplon, ketamine, or GHB.”
Hurley considers this. “Can we test for those?”
Izzy grimaces. “You can, but it would have to be shortly after ingestion. Most of these drugs metabolize pretty quickly.” He looks at me. “When was Carla’s appointment?”
“Early this morning.”
“Then we might get lucky.”
“We still have the issue of the gun that killed Shannon,” Hurley says. “We know it belonged to Erik and it was found at the hospital in the department where Erik works.”
“That’s easy,” I tell him. “Nelson was dating Shannon so he would have had access to the gun, which was in Shannon’s house. And as a doctor, he has free rein to go anywhere he wants in the hospital. Nelson could have easily planted that gun where you found it, knowing it would implicate Erik.”
Hurley nods thoughtfully and then says, “I guess I need to have more of a chat with the doctor.” He turns and opens the door to the anteroom, and Izzy and I follow him out. The EMTs are gathering up their supplies and preparing to leave. Nelson is nowhere in sight.
“Where’s your patient?” Hurley asks the EMTs.
“He declined any further treatment,” one of them answers. “So we had him sign a waiver and he lit out of here.”
“You let him leave?” Hurley says, clearly pissed.
The EMT shrugs. “No one said we needed to detain him. Not that that’s our job anyway,” he adds pointedly.
“Damn it!” Hurley mutters. He takes out his cell phone, dials a number, and then starts barking out instructions.
Izzy and I head back into the office area and before I get bloodied up by the body, I decide to have a look around Nelson’s office. I don a pair of gloves and start going through the drawers of his desk. Though I’m still feeling morose and stupid for what I did, I can see a bit of hope on the horizon. Hurley has the tape and even if it isn’t admissible as evidence, it at least validates my suspicions and accusations. If Carla tests positive for some type of sedating drug, that might be evidence we can use legally. And I realize that whatever drug Nelson used on his patients had to come from somewhere, so maybe we can track that and use it as evidence, as well. So all isn’t lost. We might nail the bastard yet.
Assuming, of course, that Hurley can find him.
Chapter 44
While Izzy processes the scene in the consulting room, I opt to remain in the office area. I don’t think I can bring myself to look at Carla’s corpse yet so I continue going through Nelson’s desk, pulling files from his drawers and flipping through them. I’m alone with my thoughts trying unsuccessfully to focus on the files, when Hurley, who disappeared half an hour or so ago, returns with Alison in tow. My mood is dark enough as it is, and Alison’s presence doesn’t help the matter any, especially when she starts rubbing up against Hurley.
“It’s a bit inappropriate for her to be here, isn’t it?” I say to Hurley.
Before he can answer, Alison pipes up with “Oh, I’m not here as a reporter. The police station is a bit short-staffed right now so they hired me on as a freelance photographer to help out for a while.”
I look questioningly at Hurley, who nods and shrugs. I’m not happy with this turn of events and I suspect Alison knows why. Not only don’t I trust her not to use the pictures for the paper, it gives her more excuses to spend time around Hurley.
After flashing me a smug smile, she takes her camera in hand and starts shooting pictures of Nelson’s office. Apparently Hurley has his doubts about her trustworthiness, too, because he warns her, “Remember, Alison, none of the pictures you take here can be used in the paper unless they’re cleared by me first. Understood?”
After Alison nods, Hurley heads for the front of the office, leaving me alone with her while Izzy works on Carla’s body in the next room. I’m sorting through some files in Nelson’s desk drawer when Alison starts snapping pictures of me.
“I can’t believe all the death we’ve had here in town lately,” she says. She pauses and cocks her head at me. “Ever since you took your job at the ME’s office, Mattie, it seems people are dropping like flies.”
I’d like to drop her at the moment, out a twentieth-story window.
“Or maybe,” I counter, “it’s just that you’re more aware of the deaths now that you’re following Hurley around like a bitch in heat.”
She smiles but there’s no warmth to it. “Aw, are you jealous?” she taunts.
“Not at all,” I say, smiling back with matching iciness. I suspect half of Alison’s interest in Hurley is simply her desire to take a jab at me. As a reporter, it’s her job to be provocative and trigger emotional outbursts. It makes for good pictures and good copy. I figure if I feign disinterest, maybe she’ll move on to something, or someone else.
“Are you saying you have no interest in Hurley?” she asks.
I focus on the files I have stacked on the desk, not wanting to meet her gaze when I lie to her. “None at all,” I say with great nonchalance.
“Then you won’t mind if I make a move.”
“Have at it,” I say with a shrug. “Hurley is just a toy to pass the time with. I have no romantic designs on him whatsoever. In fact, I’m dating someone else right now. I’m having dinner with Aaron Heinrich.”
This isn’t altogether true since I haven’t actually accepted Aaron’s invitation, but I’m banking on Alison not knowing that.
I hear someone clear their throat and know from the masculine sound of it that it isn’t Alison. When I look up expecting to see Izzy, I see Hurley instead, standing in the doorway, staring at me with a wounded expression. Panic sets in as I wonder how long he was there and how much he heard.