“I’m hurting here, and nobody will help me.”
“We’re going to help you,” Cheryl Beth said softly.
“I want it now!”
“Take it easy. My name is Cheryl Beth Wilson, and I’m a pain management nurse. Your doctor wanted me to see if we could control your pain better.” She read the chart but already knew she was dealing with an addict. Even before his accident, he had likely been on high levels of OxyContin. So his body wasn’t responding to the level of painkillers he was now receiving.
“Tell me what kinds of pain drugs you were on before the accident.”
“Nothin’!” His eyes bulged.
“I’m not the cops. I’m the pain nurse. I need to see what kind of dosage…”
“Fuck you!”
She sighed. “Mr. Baker, tell me about your pain. Tell me how much it hurts, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the…”
“Fuck you!” His head rocked violently around the pillows, his arms waving, tossing IV lines around like so much fishing tackle. The rest of his body lay like concrete.
“Stop!” Cheryl Beth yelled, dropping the chart on the bed and clenching her hands. The man was suddenly silent.
“You want to help us help you? Or you want trouble?” She waved her arm, beckoning him out of the bed. “You think you’re such a bad-ass! Get out of that bed. I’m not afraid of you!”
The man looked at her with wide eyes.
“Come on. Let’s get it on.”
“I… I…”
“Get out of that bed. I’ll fight you.”
“It’s okay, lady,” he said. “Just take it easy.”
The doctor was smiling when Cheryl Beth left, but just beyond the smile stood the black detective, Dodds. He intercepted her and they walked together toward the elevators.
“That’s quite a bedside manner, Cheryl.”
“Cheryl Beth,” she corrected. “That was an exception. I prefer to make people laugh.”
“Mmmm. So why do they call you the pain nurse, Cheryl Beth?”
“I’m the pain in the butt nurse, probably.” She tried a smile, feeling so uncomfortable around him. His face was hard. “It’s pain management nurse. That’s my specialty.”
“So you have easy access to drugs for yourself.”
Cheryl Beth laughed at him. “Alcohol is my drug of choice.”
He steered her into an empty section of the large waiting room. He sat heavily and she followed. “I want to go over your timetable Friday night again.”
“We’ve done this twice before.”
“Humor me,” Dodds said, opening a notebook. “We have a killer at large.” Again Cheryl Beth told how she had returned to the hospital for a patient and had then been summoned to Christine’s office.
“And she called you?”
“She left a message at the nurses’ station.”
“Why do that? Why not page you?”
Cheryl Beth shrugged and shook her head.
“Did you keep the message?”
A flustered sigh escaped her mouth. “No.”
She watched him closely but he said nothing. He regarded her with large brown eyes. Finally, “Why would you go into pain management? Do you have a drug problem? Does this make it easier to score?”
“No.” She tried to keep her face calm. She knew he was trying to rattle her. “I have a great record. I’ve never had drugs go missing. You can check it.”
After a long pause, Dodds said, “I have.” He raised his head and studied her anew. “Why do you wear a lab coat?”
“I get cold, and I need all the pockets.”
He fell silent for what seemed like an hour. Maybe it was five minutes. He just watched her, his eyes not quite kindly, not quite hostile. If he talked again it would seem as surprising and sudden as a stopped heart that suddenly began beating on its own.
Finally: “And it gets you more respect?”
“The coat? Maybe. I guess.”
He made a humming sound, looking at her for a long time before returning to the notebook and leafing through it. She sat back in the seat, then squirmed forward again.
“Were you wearing a lab coat on Friday night?”
She nodded.
“Is this it?”
“No.” She explained that lab coat had been smeared with blood and she threw it away in a hazmat container.
“Why would you do that?” His voice was even, but his eyes were large with suspicion. This was a man who did most of his talking through his eyes.
“It was ruined. What should I have done with it?”
“It was evidence. You should have given it to the police.”
“It would have been nice if the police had told me that.” She heard the defensiveness and stress in her voice.
He made notes-an impossibly long paragraph-and sat back studying her. He spoke after a long pause.
“So how long have you been seeing Dr. Nagle?”
“Damn it.” She spoke quietly but vehemently. “Who told…?” She stopped herself, feeling small and off balance. “We saw each other for about a year.”
“While he was married?”
“He was separated.” She sighed. “Part of that time, but, shit, sure, he was married.”
“Did Dr. Lustig know?”
She became only gradually aware of the avalanche bearing down on her. “Am I a suspect?”
Dodds pursed his lips. “I can declare you a person of interest. That’s not quite a suspect.”
“Holy crap,” Cheryl Beth said. “You can’t think I could…? I found her!”
“Dr. Nagle told us that you and he had an affair.”
“Why isn’t he a suspect? Because he’s a hotshot neurosurgeon?”
“You might both be suspects,” Dodds said.
“Look, Detective.” Cheryl Beth touched his arm and drew back. “This isn’t what you think…Hell, I know you hear that all the time. You’re used to people lying to you. Me, too. It goes with my job. I broke it off with Gary three months ago. Christine probably knew about it for a long time. But we weren’t enemies.”
Dodds again let the conversation fall into another canyon of silence. He hadn’t mentioned that Cheryl Beth and Christine had been at a bar together that night. That meant Gary hadn’t told him, despite the threat he had made at her house. Why? She realized she didn’t know Gary at all. Indeed, she was now afraid of him.
“How would you characterize your relationship with Dr. Lustig?”
Cheryl Beth was aware of how fast her breaths were coming. “Coworkers. Colleagues.” She nervously added, “In another life maybe we could have been friends.”
“Really?” Dodds’ comeback was sudden. “Funny way to treat a friend.”
Chapter Six
Dodds clapped his large hands on the tops of his thighs and stood, leaving the nurse sitting, staring at his back as he did his heavy stomp away. Then she put her head in her hands, just for a few seconds, before sweeping back her light-brown hair, adjusting her white coat, and at a brisk pace joining the flow of people headed into the main part of the hospital. She had large, attractive eyes and moved with an intuitive grace. Will watched from his wheelchair and turned to follow Dodds.
Two tough-looking, muscular black men stood outside one of the rooms, arguing with a uniformed officer. Leaving, they nearly ran into Dodds. They wore hoodies and very baggy pants, the mainstream gang attire that Will’s own son favored. The shorter of the two chewed on a toothpick. They wore blue do-rags, signs that they were Mount Auburn Boyz, friends of the kid shot the night the doctor was murdered. Now he lay in that hospital room, three doors down from Will, unable to move his arms or legs. Dodds knew they were “representing” with hand signals and slang, but merely gave a look of bored contempt. They gave him the typical dead-eyes expression, before sidling down the hall in an oscillating pimp roll, sweeping past Will. “Monkey five-oh,” one of the bangers said to the other.