“That’s true, but I have connections in Chicago,” Arnie says cryptically. “And those connections told me that Hurley is something of a loose cannon. He’ll pester and annoy people until he gets what he wants from them. He has little respect for authority, doesn’t care whose toes he steps on, and is indefatigable when he’s investigating a case. Apparently he can also be difficult to work with. Down in Chicago he went through partners faster than a legal firm full of hundred-year-old lawyers.”
“Do you know why he left?”
“Yep. He harassed some rich, influential muckety-muck one too many times because he was convinced the guy was a murderer. When he wouldn’t leave the guy alone, he was told he could either quit or be fired.”
“And?”
“And he quit. One month later the muckety-muck was arrested for a double homicide but it came about too late to do Hurley any good. I imagine it must have been a blow to his ego. The guy takes his cases very seriously and he’s competitive as hell. It’s like a game with him. He needs to solve the puzzles, finger the criminals, and get everything tidied up before anyone else can.”
I digest this bit of info and see Phase I of my payback plan falling into place. If Hurley is that competitive, then the task before me is obvious. I need to beat him at his own game by solving Karen’s murder before he can. And I’m highly motivated. Not only do I have a professional interest and a personal stake in the case, I figure besting Hurley will definitely make him sit up and take notice of me.
I thank Arnie for all his tidbits and head back down to the library, where I read up on serial killers and criminal profiling. Izzy comes to get me sometime after one.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Have you ever known me not to be?”
“Point taken. Anything in particular you want to eat?”
“Not really. Though I think I’ve had my quota of garlic for the week.”
“But that’s one of the perks of this job. The clientele aren’t particularly bothered by garlic breath. How does Chinese sound?”
It sounds great and ten minutes later we are seated across from one another in a cracked red leather booth at the Peking House. After perusing menus that are encrusted with dried samples of nearly every item, we order: pork chow mein and a side of fried dumplings for Izzy, sweet and sour chicken and an egg roll for me.
After the waitress leaves our table, I say, “I’m kind of weirded out by this whole Karen Owenby thing. I mean, I worked with her for over six years and never once suspected her of being anything other than what she said she was.” This isn’t altogether true since Karen never said she was a slut, but I figure now is no time to be nitpicky.
“The hospital can’t be too pleased,” Izzy surmises. “It opens them up to all sorts of liability issues. It’s very possible the woman wasn’t even a nurse.”
I think about that. “But her skills were excellent,” I tell him. “I find it hard to believe she could’ve been that good if she wasn’t a nurse.”
“Hard to believe, perhaps,” Izzy says. “But not impossible. There are a number of documented cases where impostors with some sort of minimal medical training have successfully posed as nurses, or even doctors. In fact, in one case I remember, everyone was upset when it was discovered that an ICU nurse was an impostor. And they weren’t upset because he was a fake, but rather because he was the best nurse in the ICU and they didn’t want to lose him.”
“That must have made the rest of the nurses feel good.”
“Speaking of which, did any of the nurses at the hospital have problems with Karen? Other than you, I mean.”
I shoot him a look. “Not that I’m aware of. She could be a bit short at times, but that’s true of anyone, especially when the stress starts to mount. As far as I know, she got along with everyone pretty well.” I let out a little laugh. “She got along with some a little too well.”
Izzy smiles, but it’s a smile of sympathy and understanding, not humor. “Think David was the only one?” he asks me.
The question throws me. The idea that Karen might have slept with some of the other surgeons is one I hadn’t considered before, though given what I know about a few of them, it wouldn’t surprise me.
“I don’t know, Izzy. She was a bit cozier with some docs than others, but it seemed like friendly cozy, not intimate cozy.”
“Did you ever see her act intimate cozy with David?”
“Point taken,” I say with a grimace. “Damn, I almost wish I still worked there so I could poke around a bit among the docs and see what shakes out.”
Izzy stares at me a second, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Well, there is an alternative,” he says. “The hospital is having a public dedication ceremony tomorrow evening to mark the opening of their new wing. They have this big reception planned and afterward they’re having a special invitation-only dinner for the hoity-toity crowd.” He pauses and gives me a “get-it?” smile.
“Yeah? So?”
“So,” he says, rolling his eyes, “it just so happens that I’m considered one of the hoity-toities. I have an invitation.”
“That’s nice. I don’t.”
“Ah, but I can bring a guest. And Dom can’t come. Won’t come, I should say. So why don’t you come with me?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “David will probably be there. And so will everyone else who knows what happened: Molinaro and all the other surgeons and…”
“Okay,” Izzy says with a shrug. “If you don’t think you can hack it, then stay home. I just thought it might be a good opportunity for you to renew some old acquaintances and fish around a little to see what you can find out about Karen.”
I have to admit the idea is appealing, particularly if there is a chance of digging up something that can give me a jump on Hurley. But it also means showing my face to a group of people who have probably been laughing behind my back for the better part of two months.
Izzy must have sensed my hesitation because he leans over, takes my hand, and launches into one of his pep talks. “Mattie, it’s not as if you have anything to be ashamed of. You weren’t the one playing dock the submarine in the OR after hours. Remember, living well is the best revenge. So buy a killer dress, get yourself all dolled up, and show those idiots what you’re really made of.”
He makes me smile. But reality kicks in fast. “I can’t afford a new dress. Money is a bit…tight right now.”
“I can solve that easily enough. I’ll give you an advance on your paycheck. Enough for a dress and to get something done with your hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“For one thing, it’s shaggy looking. You need a trim at the very least, although a whole new do wouldn’t hurt. And you need color, too. Your roots are showing. Really showing.”
That’s one of the things I love about gay men. Ask them for an honest opinion about your appearance and they’ll give it to you. With both barrels. And then they’ll reload in case you’re still standing after the initial barrage.
“It’s not my fault,” I whine. “My regular hairdresser moved a year ago and I haven’t found a new one I like yet. The last one I went to tried to talk me into a pink rinse and corn rows.”
“I know someone who would be perfect.”
I eye his balding head with skepticism.
“Really. She’s very good. And very reasonably priced.”
“Fine. Give me her number.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll drop you there after lunch. Things are quiet in the office. Take the afternoon off.”
“I can’t take the afternoon off, Izzy. It’s not right and I need the money. Besides, won’t I need an appointment? It’s never good to just drop in on these hair salons.”