Witness in Death by J. D. Robb
She smoothed his sheets, satisfied when he settled, closed his eyes. “I’ll go see about your nutrition requirements.”
She notated his chart and slipped out. She paused by the uniformed guard at the door. “He’s awake.”
From her uniform pocket, she took out her memo pad and informed Nutrition that Patient K. Stiles, Room 6503, required his midday meal. When the guard started to speak, the nurse held up a hand.
“Just a minute. I want to get this in so they get it up here before midnight. Nutrition’s been running behind all week.” Since the patient had neglected to fill in his lunch choices from the authorized menu, she ordered him a grilled chicken breast, mixed rice with steamed broccoli, a whole wheat roll with one pat of butter substitute, skim milk, and blueberry Jell-O.
“That should be up within the hour.”
“Whoever brings it has to be cleared,” the guard told her.
She gave a little huff of annoyance, took the memo out again, and made the necessary notation. “Oh, Patient Stiles was asking for someone named Dallas. Does that mean anything?”
The guard nodded, pulled out his communicator.
• • •
“He’s got cop juice for blood,” Peabody commented as they walked down the corridor.
“The juice is still green, but it’ll ripen.” When her communicator beeped, she dug it out of her pocket. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant. Officer Clark on guard duty, Kenneth Stiles. The suspect is awake and asking for you.”
“I’m one level up and on my way.”
“That’s good timing.” Peabody punched for the elevator, then sighed and followed Eve to the exit door. “I guess we’re walking.”
“It’s one patient level.”
“One level equals three flights.”
“You’ll work off the cookies.”
“They’re only a fond memory. You figure Stiles is ready to give us some straight talk?”
“I figure he’s ready for something.” She pushed through the doors to the next level, headed left. “He doesn’t know we found Carvell or that we’ve identified Draco as Carly’s father. We’ll see how he plays it before we clue him in.”
She stopped at the door. “Clark.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He have any visitors?”
“Not a soul. He was sleeping it off until a few minutes ago. The nurse reported he was awake and asking for you.”
“Okay, take a fifteen-minute break.”
“Thanks. I can use it.”
Eve reached for the door, pushed it open. Then, with a curse, leaped inside. She grabbed Stiles’s legs, hauled up and took his weight. “Get him down!”
Peabody was already scrambling onto the bed, fighting with the knot. Clark pounded in behind her.
“I’ve got him, Lieutenant.” He moved in with his wide shoulders and took Stiles’s dangling body up another three inches.
He’d hanged himself with a noose fashioned from his own bedsheets.
“He’s not breathing,” Clark announced when the body collapsed on him. “I don’t think he’s breathing.”
“Get a doctor.” Face fierce, Eve straddled Stiles, pressed the heels of her hands to his heart and began to pump. “Come on, you son of a bitch. You will breathe.” She lowered her mouth to his, forced in air. Pumped.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Kenneth!” At the doorway, Areena Mansfield scattered the armload of flowers she carried at her feet.
“Keep back! Come on, come on.” Sweat began to pour down Eve’s face. She heard the sound of running feet, of alarms shrilling.
“Move aside. Move aside please.”
She slid away, pushed to her feet, and watched the medical team work on him.
No pulse. Flat line.
Come back, Eve ordered. Goddamn you, come back.
She watched the slim pressure hypo of adrenaline jab against his chest.
No response.
Small disks were slicked with gel. There were orders to set, to clear, then Stiles’s body bucked when the discs shocked his system. The heart line on the monitor stayed blue and blank.
For a second time the disks slapped against him, a second time his body jerked, fell. And now a low beep sounded, and the blue line wavered and went red.
Sinus rhythm. We have a pulse.
At the door, Areena covered her face with her hands.
• • •
“Give me his condition.”
“He’s alive.” The doctor, a cool-eyed man with saffron skin, continued to make notes. “There was oxygen deprivation, and some minimal brain damage as a result. If we keep him alive, it’s correctable.”
“Are you going to keep him alive?”
“That’s why we’re here.” He slipped his memo pad back into the pocket of his lab coat. “His chances are good. Another few minutes dangling there, he wouldn’t have had any chance. We’ve come a long way in medical science, but bringing the dead back to life still eludes us.”
“When can I talk to him?”
“I can’t say.”
“Hazard a guess.”
“He may be functional by tomorrow, but until we complete the tests, I can’t gauge the exact extent of the brain damage. It may be several days, or weeks, before he’s capable of answering any but the most basic of questions. The brain finds ways to bypass damage, to reroute if you will, and we can help that process along. But it takes time.”
“I want to know the minute he can talk.”
“I’ll make sure you’re informed. Now, I have patients to see.”
“Lieutenant.” Clark stepped up. “This is the nurse you wanted to see.”
“Ormand,” Eve said, reading the ID badge. “Talk to me.”
“I had no idea he meant to try self-termination. I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of it, physically I mean. He was weak as a baby.”
“A man wants to do himself, he finds a way. Nobody’s blaming you.”
She nodded, relaxed her defensive stance. “I was in there for a routine check of his vitals. He was conscious, and he told me he wanted to confess. I thought he meant to a priest. We get a lot of that, even from patients who aren’t Catholic or Egatarian. But he became agitated, and asked for you by name. Said I was to tell you he wanted to confess.”
“To what?”
“He didn’t say. I thought he killed that other actor. Richard Draco.” When Eve didn’t respond, the nurse shrugged. “I calmed him down, promised to find you. Then I told the guard after I arranged for the patient’s afternoon nutrition. I don’t know anything else.”
“All right.” She dismissed the nurse, turned back to Clark. “I need you to stand by up in the ICU. I’ll arrange for a relief in an hour. If there’s any change in Stiles’s condition before that, I want to know.”
“Yes, sir. His own sheets,” Clark murmured. “That takes balls.”
“It takes something.” Eve turned on her heel and strode to the waiting area where Peabody had taken Areena.
“Kenneth?” Areena got shakily to her feet.
“They’re moving him to Intensive Care.”
“I thought he was…when I saw him, I thought…” She sank to her chair again. “Oh, how much more can happen?”
“Eliza Rothchild said tragedies happen in threes.”
“Superstition. I’ve never been overly superstitious, but now…He’ll be all right?”
“The doctor seemed optimistic. How did you know Kenneth Stiles was here?”
“How? Why, I heard it on the news just this morning. They’re saying he was injured while trying to leave the city. That he’s the prime suspect in Richard’s death. I don’t believe that. Not for a moment. I wanted to see him, to tell him that.”
“Why don’t you believe it?”
“Because Kenneth’s not capable of murder. It’s coldblooded and calculating. He’s neither.”
“Sometimes murder’s hot-blooded and impulsive.”
“You’d know more about that than
“Do you know a woman named Anja Carvell?”
“Carvell? I don’t think so. Should I? Will they let me see Kenneth?”
“I don’t know.”
“I should try.”
Eve got to her feet as Areena rose. “You realize, don’t you, that if Kenneth Stiles did plan the murder of Richard Draco, he’s the one who put the knife in your hand.”
Areena shivered, and the faint color in her cheeks faded. “That’s only one more reason I know it couldn’t have been Kenneth.”
“Why is that?”
“He’s too much of a gentleman. May I go, Lieutenant?”
“Yeah, you can go.”
Areena paused at the doorway. “You fought to save his life. I watched you. You believe he’s a murderer, yet you fought to save his life. Why?”
“Maybe I didn’t want him to escape justice.”
“I think it’s more than that. But I’m not sure what.”
“Hell of a day so far,” Peabody said when they were alone.
“We’re just getting started. Up and at ‘em, Peabody. We’ve got places to go.”
She turned out of the room and nearly walked into Nadine.
“Ambulance chasing?” Eve said mildly. “I thought you were too important for that routine.”
“You’re never too important for that routine. What’s the status on Kenneth Stiles?”
“No comment.”
“Come on, Dallas. I have a source in the hospital. I heard he tried to hang himself. Did he kill Richard Draco?”
“Which part didn’t you get, the no or the comment?”
Nadine’s fashionable heels made the rapid stride down the corridor tricky, but she managed to keep up with Eve. “Are you charging him with murder? Are there any other suspects? Will you confirm Stiles was injured during flight?”
“The media’s already broadcasting that one.”
“Sure, with allegedly and believed to be sprinkled all through the reports. I need confirmation.”
“I need a vacation. Neither of us look to be getting our wish anytime soon.”
“Dallas.” Giving up, Nadine took Eve’s arm, tugged her aside out of the way of Peabody and her own long-suffering camera operator. “I have to know something. I can’t sleep. Give me something, make it off the record. I need to close this circle before I can move on.”
“You shouldn’t be on this story.”
“I know it, and if it comes out that Richard and I were involved, I’ll take a lot of heat for that, personally and professionally. But if I just sit around and wait, I’ll go crazy. With those options, I’ll risk the heat.”
“How much did he mean to you?”
“Entirely too much. That’s been dead a lot longer than he has. That doesn’t mean I don’t need to close the circle.”
“Meet me at Central, an hour. I’ll give you what I can.”
“Thanks. If you could just tell me if Kenneth—”
“An hour, Nadine.” Eve skirted around her. “Don’t push your luck.”
In twenty minutes, they were inside Anja Carvell’s suite. There wasn’t a trace of her.
“She jumped.” Peabody hissed at the empty closet. Then she frowned and turned to stare at Eve. “You knew she wouldn’t be here.”
“I didn’t expect to find her. She’s smart. Smart enough to know I’d be back.”
“She killed Draco?”
“She’s part of it.” Eve wandered into the bath. Anja’s scent was still there, coolly female.
“Should I contact the authorities in Montreal? Start arranging for extradition?”
“Don’t bother. She’d be expecting that. If she ever lived in Montreal, she wouldn’t go back there now. She’s gone under,” Eve murmured, “but she won’t go far. So we play it out. Call for the sweepers.”
“No warrant?”
“My husband owns the joint. Take care of it. I’m going down to security.”
• • •
By the time Eve had finished at The Palace Hotel, returned to Central, and made her case to Whitney, she was late for her appointment with Nadine.
It irritated her, as it always did, to find Nadine already in her office.
“Why do they let you in here?”
“Because I bring donuts. Cops have been weak for them for generations.”
“Where’s mine?”
“Sorry, the squad descended on them like rats. I think Baxter licked up the crumbs.”
“He would.” She settled at her desk. “Where’s your camera?”
“She’s outside.”
“Well, get her in here. I haven’t got all damn day.”
“But I thought—”
“Look, do you want a one-on-one or not?”
“You bet I do.” She grabbed her palm-link and called her camera. “You could use a few layers of concealer on those tote bags under your eyes.” She dug into the hefty and well-packed makeup kit in her purse. “Try this.”
“Keep that crap away from me.”
“Suit yourself, but you look like you haven’t slept in days.” Nadine flipped open a mirror, began to enhance her own face. “Still, it makes you look fierce and dedicated.”
“I am fierce and dedicated.”
“And it never fails to look good on-screen. Great sweater, by the way. Cashmere?”
Baffled, Eve looked down at her navy turtleneck. “I don’t know. It’s blue. Will this air tonight?”
“Bet your ass.”
“Good.” Someone, Eve thought, wasn’t going to get a good night’s sleep. And this time, it wouldn’t be her.
• • •
Nadine fussed with the camera angles, looked in the monitor, and ordered a light adjustment.
“It’s not a damn beauty contest, Nadine.”
“Shows what you know about on-air reporting. There, that looks good. Can you cut out some of that air traffic, Lucy? It’s like sitting in a transpo center.”
“I’m filtering out most of it.” The operator fiddled another moment, then nodded. “Ready when you are.”
“We’ll do the bumper back at the shop. Start record. This is Nadine Furst for Channel 75,” she began, her eyes on the pinpoint lens. “Reporting from Cop Central and the office of Lieutenant Eve Dallas, the primary investigator in the murder of actor Richard Draco. Lieutenant.” Nadine shifted, faced Eve. “Can you give us an update on your investigation?”
“The investigation is ongoing. The department is following a number of leads.”
“Mr. Draco was killed onstage, in front of a packed house. You yourself were a witness.”
“That’s correct. The nature of the crime, its location, and execution have resulted in literally thousands of interviews and witness statements.”
And because it was always best to pay your debts, Eve tagged on an addendum. “Detective Baxter of this division has reviewed the bulk of those statements and taken on the arduous task of elimination and corroboration.”
“It’s true, isn’t it, that people often see the same event, but see it differently?”
“It’s often true of civilians. Police officers are trained to see.”
“Does that make you your own best witness?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Is it true that Kenneth Stiles, a colleague and acquaintance of Draco’s who was in the cast of the play, is your lead suspect?”
“That individual has been questioned, as have all members of the cast. As I stated, we are following a number of leads, and as the focus of the investigation has narrowed, we expect to make an arrest within twenty-four hours.”
“An arrest.” It threw Nadine off stride, but only for one beat. “Can you give us the name of your primary suspect?”
“I’m not free to give that information at this time. I can tell you that the person who killed Richard Draco, who killed Linus Quim, will be in custody within twenty-four hours.”
“Who—”
&
Nadine might have argued, but Eve was already getting to her feet. “Shut it down, Lucy. That was a hell of a bombshell, Dallas. If you’d given me a head’s up, we could’ve gone live.”
“Tonight’s soon enough. You got your story, Nadine. You’ll hit with it first.”
“Can’t argue with that. Can you give me any more, just some filler for the follow-up? Procedural details, some of the hard data. The exact number of interviews, number of man-hours, that kind of thing.”
“You can get that from media relations.” Eve glanced at the camera operator, pointed a finger, then jerked a thumb at the door.
With a look at Nadine for confirmation, Lucy hauled the equipment out.
“Off the record, Dallas—”
“You’ll know everything you need to know tomorrow. I have a question for you. You didn’t mention Roarke in your report, his connection to the theater, to the play, to me. Why?”
“It’s been done. Overdone. I want the meat.”
“Doesn’t fly, Nadine. Roarke’s name boosts ratings.”
“Okay, consider it payback.” She shrugged and hauled up her purse. “For the girl night.”
“Okay.” Eve reached into her back pocket, drew out a sealed disc. “Here.”
“What’s this?” But the minute it was in her hand, Nadine understood. Her fingers closed tightly around it. “It’s the recording Richard did. Of me.”
“It’s been removed from the evidence log. It’s the only copy. I figure it should close that circle.”
As her throat filled with conflicting emotions, Nadine stared down at the disc. “Yes. Yes, it does. Better, it breaks it.” Using both hands she snapped the disc in two.
Eve nodded with approval. “Some women wouldn’t have been able to resist watching it. I figured you were smarter than that.”
“I am now. Thanks, Dallas. I don’t know how to—”
Eve took a deliberate step back. “Don’t even think about kissing me.”
With a shaky laugh, Nadine stuffed the broken disc in her bag. It would go into the first recyler she came across. “Okay, no sloppy stuff. But I owe you, Dallas.”
“Damn right you do. So next time, save me a donut.”
*** CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ***