Stress Test (31 page)

Then there were the gloves found lying with the gun in the same storm drain. Of course, there was gunshot residue on the gloves. That was to be expected. But more important, the gloves matched the size 8 latex surgeon’s gloves found in Newman’s garage, still in their paper wrapper.

Grimes tapped the pages, grinned, and said, “Newman, you’re going down.”

The detective pushed back from his desk, grabbed his coat, and hurried out onto the street. He walked a quick block away and ducked into a coffee shop, where he paid for a cup and took it to a booth in the back. He looked around and made sure there was no one he recognized around him before pulling out his cell phone and punching in a number.

“It’s me. We’re getting close to having something that will tie Newman to the killing at his house.”

“Keep me informed.”

“I will.” He ended the call and blew across the surface of his cup.
Might as well enjoy the coffee before heading back to the squad room
. As he sipped, he hoped this latest turn of events would ease some of the pressure on him. Of course, it was increasing on Newman, but that wasn’t his worry. Right now Grimes’s major concern was himself.
Look out for number one
. And the only way number one could get out of trouble was to make sure Newman was in it—deep.

TWENTY-TWO

Matt scanned the little café and saw no sign that Rick had arrived before him. He checked his watch, discovered he was a couple of minutes early, and took a table that promised a degree of privacy.

A waitress hurried over. She placed a glass of ice water and a napkin-wrapped set of silverware in front of Matt. “Menus are over there.” She pointed to a stack of laminated cards, book-ended on one side by salt and pepper shakers and on the other by bottles of ketchup and hot sauce. “Something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Coke.” Before she could turn away, Matt told her he was expecting someone to join him shortly. She nodded absently and scooted away, returning in less than a minute with Matt’s drink as well as another set of silverware.

While he waited for Rick, Matt freed a menu from the stack and considered his lunch selection. Maybe a ham and cheese, although the tuna melt sounded good too. As Matt thought about it, his mind kept going back to a glass of Kool-Aid and a cold bologna
sandwich on soggy white bread. He heard again the trustee’s words,
“That’s what you’ll get, lunch and supper most days. Get used to it.”

No, he had to put that out of his mind. He was out of jail. He was innocent of any charge the police might bring against him. He had a good lawyer on his side.
Don’t make plans about going back to
jail. Make plans to live your life to the fullest after you’ve been cleared
. Memories of Gordon Seagrave’s captivity and words about freedom flooded Matt’s mind.

Matt turned his attention back to the menu, but looked up when Rick took the seat opposite him. “Sorry, I’m a little late.”

“No problem,” Matt said.

After they ordered, Matt took a deep breath and jumped right into it. “I guess you want to talk about the legal problems I have. Are you under pressure to fire me?”

Rick shrugged. “Some, but until a jury says you’re guilty, I say you’ve got a job.”

Matt took a deep breath, and somehow felt that it contained more oxygen than before. “Thanks. I won’t let you down.” He sipped his Coke. “But if this isn’t about work, what’s the occasion for the meeting?”

Rick seemed to be looking everywhere but into Matt’s eyes. “I guess you know that Judy and I are separated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matt said. “I’d heard rumors but didn’t pay any attention to them.”

“Part of the problem was my hours. That’s why I switched over to emergency medicine. I make a little less money, but the hours are predictable.”

“I was headed in the same direction myself. But I take it that wasn’t enough for Judy,” Matt said.

“It helped, but she said the real sticking point was my refusal to
discuss religion. She’s pretty staunch in her faith, and I’m—well, I’m lukewarm at best. Not an atheist, mind you. I realize there’s a God out there somewhere. I just don’t know how He fits into my plans . . . or I into His, for that matter.”

Uh-oh
. Matt shifted in his seat and stretched his neck. If Joe were here now, he’d be able to jump in with Scripture, quoting chapter and verse from memory. He’d know what to say, how to respond to where Rick was leading. Matt, on the other hand, felt at a loss.

“I . . . I’m not sure what I can do to help,” Matt finally said.

“I’ve paid attention to things you say,” Rick said. “Even last night you said something about God being in control. And with your brother being a missionary and all . . . Anyway, I figured you’d know more about religion than I do.” He spread his hands. “When I was growing up, the only time you’d hear the word ‘God’ around our house was when my father was cussing. Right now I’d like to believe that I can put my problems in His hands, but frankly, I don’t know how.”

“I’m not sure I’m the best authority for you,” Matt said.

“I was hoping you could at least tell me about it. This whole faith thing—what it means to be a Christian.”

The years rolled back and Matt was once again a teenager, sitting on the edge of his bed while his brother explained the same thing Rick was asking. Some of it didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but Joe kept coming back to one central truth—freedom from the consequences of our sins was a free gift, purchased by Christ, and available to everyone. It seemed too easy simply repeating what Joe called “the sinner’s prayer.”

“I prayed that sinner’s prayer with my brother, and honestly, I didn’t feel much different. But he said it was okay. That I’d grow and mature in time.” Matt shrugged. “He said we never reach perfection, but we don’t have to sweat it. Because Christ is. Perfection, I mean.”

Matt pulled into the parking lot at Metropolitan Hospital, still turning over in his mind his time with Rick. He’d already thought of a dozen things he could have said better, a number of Scriptures he could have quoted if he’d had a Bible or, better still, had memorized them. But what was done was done, and he thought the end result was good. At least, he hoped it was.

He killed the engine, unbuckled his seat belt, and was about to open the car door when his cell phone buzzed against his thigh. He dug into his pocket and looked at the display. The call was from Jennifer.

The continued buzz of his phone was a counterpoint to the rapid beat of Matt’s heart. Why was Jennifer calling? Hadn’t she made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him once he’d come under suspicion by the police? Then again, he’d tried to return her last call and hung up without talking with her. Surely she deserved better than that. Besides, was there still a spark of feeling in the relationship? Maybe she wanted to apologize. Maybe she’d changed. Maybe.

What if that were the case? Did Matt want the relationship back? Or was he past her? And could that be because of his feelings toward Sandra?

Answer the call, Matt. Get it over with
. Before the call could roll over to voicemail, he answered. “Hello, Jennifer.”

Her voice—carefully neutral—gave him no clue about her reason for calling. “Matt, I’m glad I finally caught you.”

“I have a few moments now,” Matt said, striving to be equally noncommittal. “What’s on your mind?”

She took a deep breath and let it out in Matt’s ear. “Matt, we had some great times together. I really thought we were going to . . .”

What? Get married? Ride off into the sunset together? Matt
wished she’d get on with it, but he was determined not to help her. He kept silent.

“I don’t know how to put this,” she said.

She wants to get back together. I can feel it
. Now the wrestling match started again. Part of Matt wanted to say, “Yes, yes. Let’s recapture what we had.” But another part, a quieter voice, but one that spoke with the weight of reason behind it, whispered, “Does she really love you? Can you depend on her? Would the two of you really be happy?”

As it turned out, Jennifer’s next words rendered Matt’s internal debate fruitless. “I’ve been seeing someone else. It’s only been a few weeks, but it’s getting serious in a hurry. He’s even hinted there might be a ring in my future. If he asks, I’m going to say yes.” She paused. “I thought you ought to hear it from me,” she said.

Matt was stunned. There were so many things he wanted to say—
You’re rebounding into this relationship . . . Give me one more chance . . .
We can make things work out
. But as each thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. The truth of the matter was that Jennifer wasn’t the woman God had for him. He thought he knew who it was, but it was too soon to pursue her.

“Thanks for letting me know, Jennifer,” Matt managed to say. “I wish you all the best.”

He had the phone a foot away from his ear, his finger poised to end the call, when he realized Jennifer was still talking. “Sorry. Say that again, please.”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think I owe it to you. I hear things here at the DA’s office. You should stay in close touch with your lawyer, especially tomorrow.”

There was a sharp
click
. Jennifer was gone—in more ways than one.

Matt pondered her words, and a chill ran up his spine as he thought about what might be going on now. Was he about to be arrested again?
Should he call Sandra? No, not yet. He was supposed to have a working lunch with her tomorrow. They could discuss it then. For now, it was time to go to work.

There were people in the ER waiting for him to help them, people who were sick, or injured, or in some cases, hovering on the brink of death. If this was to be his last night practicing medicine, he could at least leave behind a legacy of healing.

He stepped out of his car and strode purposefully toward the glass doors into a world where what he did counted.

The infant screamed. The mother sobbed. Matt, with medical student Randy Harrison behind him, worked to project an air of calm in the midst of the sea of emotion that roiled in the small cubicle.

“Tell me again what happened,” Matt said. The noise and activity of the emergency room waxed and waned outside the cubicle’s curtains, but never fully ceased. Matt struggled to keep his voice level, his words reasonable.
Never let parents see you flinch. They’re depending
on you
.

“I was changing her diaper when she . . . she had a fit.” The harried mother swept her hair away from her face with the back of one hand and tightened her grip on the crying baby. “Her eyes rolled back in her head. She shook all over. She tinkled and . . . and then she went limp.”

A faint beep was almost lost in the noise. The ER nurse, tonight a motherly African-American named Ruth, put down the electronic thermometer and said, “Forty-point-five Celsius.” Matt made the automatic conversion to the more conventional Fahrenheit number: one-oh-five.

“Thank you,” Matt said. He turned his attention back to the
mother. “Why don’t you hold Kaylee while I examine her? What you’re describing is what we call a febrile convulsion. I need to find out why she has such a high fever so I can treat the cause.”

“She had a fit. Aren’t you going to give Kaylee something before it happens again?”

As Ruth moved gently to the mother’s side to help hold the struggling infant, Matt rubbed the end of his stethoscope against his palm to warm it, then placed it on the child’s chest. He listened carefully before he replied. “Febrile seizures are a sign, not a disease. Kaylee’s unlikely to have another one, and if she does, we’ll handle it. The main thing now is to see what kind of infection is causing the fever and get her started on treatment for that.”

He flexed the child’s head forward and allowed himself to relax a bit when he felt no resistance, saw no drawing up of the legs.
Good,
not likely to be meningitis
. A few more minutes and Matt was certain of the diagnosis. “Kaylee has a pretty severe ear and throat infection. Has she had a cold recently? Been around any other sick children? Maybe in day care?”

“I have to work—single mom—and I can’t really afford day care. So she stays with my sister, and her kids have bad sore throats. Why? Did they cause this? Is it my fault?”