Stress Test (6 page)

“I hoped to get a call with a name yesterday.” The phone at Matt’s bedside rang. “Maybe that’s it.”

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Gordon said. “See you later.”

Matt gave a feeble wave and lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Matt, I can’t talk long.” The sounds of traffic in the background told Matt Jennifer wasn’t calling from her office.

“I asked you to call me yesterday. What took so long?”

“I shouldn’t talk with you at all. This could get me in a lot of trouble.”

Matt couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Jennifer, we can argue about this later. Right now, I’m in trouble. Did you find me a lawyer? A good one?”

“Write this down.”

Matt reached for the pad and pencil he’d asked for in anticipation of this call. “Okay.”

“Sandra Murray. Her number is 214-555-7208.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“She’s supposed to be the best criminal defense lawyer in the city.”

“Anything else?”

There was a brief silence, as though Jennifer was choosing her words carefully. “They say she’s not only good . . . she’s good looking.”

“Don’t worry about her looks. I promise I only want to hire her, not date her.”

Jennifer refused to take the bait. “Matt, I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, but I don’t think we should see each other or even talk until it’s cleared up.”

Matt heard a
click
. He rattled the receiver back onto its base and lay back, staring at the ceiling. He’d never felt so alone. The girl he thought he might someday marry had effectively washed her hands of him at a time when he most needed her.

Who else did he have? Parents dead. A few friends, none of them close. Just his brother, and he was thousands of miles away. For two years Matt’s only communication with Joe had been via email and an occasional phone call.

The emails all had the same central message, “Keep the faith. Have faith. God is in control.” Matt wished he could believe that right now, wished he were that strong. But he wasn’t. Maybe he should try to contact Joe, although he wasn’t sure how he’d do it.

The throbbing in Matt’s head intensified. He relaxed back onto the pillow. Too much excitement. He’d try to get in touch with Joe later. Right now, he had to rest.

As sleep began to overtake him, Matt felt like a man trapped in the vortex of a whirlpool, going inexorably down, down, down. As he drifted off, his last thought was that Joe would tell him what to do. He hoped so. Because he didn’t have a clue.

SIX

Lou entered the boss’s office and stopped at his usual spot in front of the desk. “We tracked him down.”

It hadn’t been all that hard. When Lou canvassed the area, he learned that a shopkeeper had gone outside to empty trash and seen a man lying in the alley, unconscious, bleeding from a head wound. The shopkeeper called 911, and the EMTs had come and done their thing.

The man was probably still in the hospital. Since Lou had the victim’s name and address from the wallet in the trunk of the car, he decided to check out his home first. “Edgar and I went over there late last night. Edgar’s pretty good at picking locks—learned about it during his last time at Huntsville. Said his cell mate was a lock man who—”

“Get on with it!” The big man slammed his meaty hand down on the desk.

“Uh, sure. Anyway, we checked out the house. After he goes home from the hospital, we can get to him—easy.”

“And how are you going to get into his house again? Depending on Edgar to exercise his talent?”

Lou felt the grin spreading over his face and made no attempt to stifle it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key suspended on a small loop of wire. “He had this hanging behind the door in his laundry room. I checked, and it fits the front and back doors. If he’s like most folks, he’ll never miss it. And if he does, he’ll probably decide he misplaced it.” He returned the key to his pocket. “We’ve got a free pass anytime we want it.”

The boss nodded. “Very well. Now it’s time to rectify your mistake.”

Lou nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“As soon as the man is back home, I want you to get rid of him. He’s a loose end. Do it in such a way that it looks like suicide. Depressed over the murder he committed, and so forth. That way, the whole thing goes away, and no heat comes down on our little enterprise.”

“I’m on it.” Lou started for the door. He might have failed once, but he’d get this one right. Dr. Matt Newman was as good as dead.

Jennifer dropped her cell phone into her purse and looked through her car windows at the almost-deserted strip shopping center. No familiar faces, no cars she recognized.
Get real, Jennifer
.
Stop looking
for trouble around every corner
. There was no way anyone from her office would come to this area, and if they did, they would have no idea with whom she was talking. True, suddenly finding out she’d been dating an accused murderer might be an excuse for paranoia—but probably not this much.

Jennifer started the car and headed back to her office. This call had used up her lunch hour, but that was okay. Her appetite disappeared
when she learned of Matt’s predicament yesterday. She drove on automatic pilot as her mind churned with the implications of her situation.

At first she’d figured that going out with Matt had no downside. Jennifer liked him—liked him a lot—maybe even started to love him. His good looks reminded her of Richard Gere, dark, wavy hair and all. He had a stable life, was a professional man who made a comfortable living. After the first few dates, the future that lay ahead of them looked as bright as a Hawaiian sunrise. Jennifer looked on the intrusions of his practice into their time together as a speed bump in their road to happiness, one she could eventually change. But linkage to a man targeted by a homicide investigator was a different thing altogether.

Jennifer shook her head. No, she had to listen to her head, not her heart.

Back at the office, she settled in at her desk and tried to put Matt’s predicament out of her mind. She was rummaging in her bottom desk drawer when a voice over her shoulder made her jump.

“Jennifer, are you busy?”

Jennifer swiveled in her chair and saw Frank Everett, one of the assistant DAs, perched with one haunch on her desk. “Uh, I have to finish this project for Mr. Tanner. Why?”

“I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.”

Wow
. She’d never really thought of him that way. But if Matt was on his way out and she wanted to hold on to her position here . . . “I . . . I’m not sure. I’m just out of a relationship, and—”

“It’s only dinner. No pressure. But I hate to eat alone, and I’ll bet you do too.”

Right. It’s only dinner—just two colleagues sharing a meal
. What was the harm?

“Well . . . I guess that would be okay, Mr. Everett.”

He flushed slightly. “Please, it’s Frank.”

Everyone in the office knew Frank Everett was on the rebound from a particularly messy divorce. He was never going to make
D
Magazine
’s list of most eligible bachelors. Everett was a slightly overweight middle-aged man with a receding hairline, stuck in a midlevel job in the DA’s office. But as Jennifer worked to rationalize accepting the invitation, she decided that Frank Everett had three outstanding attributes: he was a professional, he appeared interested in her, and he wasn’t squarely in the sights of a homicide detective.

Was it terrible to accept this invitation when Matt needed her? On the other hand, how would it help Matt if she sat at home in front of the TV? So why not? “Okay, Frank. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Pick you up at your place about seven?” Everett asked.

Jennifer did some rapid calculations. Straighten her apartment, in case they ended up back there after dinner. Do her hair. Squeeze into that slinky black dress she’d bought for the dinner with Matt that he’d canceled. If she sneaked out of the office a bit early, she could make it. “Sure. See you then.”

“Ms. Murray’s office. Can you hold for a moment?”

Matt gave silent thanks that at least the secretary didn’t sound perky. He figured that the phone in the office of a criminal defense attorney should be answered the same way as at a mortuary—with somber tones, reflecting an acknowledgment of, and sympathy for, the caller’s situation.

He glanced at the yellow legal pad on the rolling table at his bedside. It contained the notes he’d made while he waited for the name of an attorney. Unfortunately, since he had no idea what was going on, only a few lines marred the otherwise pristine surface of the first
page. Matt moved the table so it sat across his bed like a writing desk, then picked up his pen, ready for the secretary to return to the line.

“Thank you for waiting. How may I help you?”

Matt took a deep breath and launched into his prepared speech. “My name is Matt Newman. I’m currently a patient in Parkland Hospital’s ICU, recovering from surgery after a head injury. When I regained consciousness, a Dallas homicide detective showed up, but my doctor chased him away. He said he’d be back. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure I need an attorney.”

“And you wish to employ Ms. Murray?”

Did he? He wished to leave the hospital and get on with his life. But under the circumstances . . . “Yes, I do.”

“She’s in court right now, but I expect to be in contact with her. May I have her call you?”

“Sure.” He gave her his room number and the number on his phone. “I’m not going anywhere, but I don’t know when they shut off the phones in the ICU rooms.”

Nothing seemed to faze this secretary. Matt hoped her boss was as efficient. “Very well. If she can’t get through on the phone, Ms. Murray will come to you.”

“I don’t know about visiting hours. I think they’re sort of strict about those in the ICU.”

The secretary’s tone held a smile when she responded. “Ms. Murray seems to have no problem getting around rules and restrictions. In the meantime, if anyone from the police tries to talk with you, say only this: ‘I’ve contacted my attorney and will have nothing to say until she is here.’ Is that clear?”

Matt found that he was writing the words as she dictated them, even though they were easy enough to remember. Just staring at them on the page made him feel calmer. “Got it.”

“Good. And if you have any problems in the meantime, call me. I’m Elaine.”

Matt cradled the phone and thought back over the conversation. Was he overreacting? Couldn’t he simply ask the detective to tell him what was going on? Surely there was no need to engage an attorney. Maybe he’d call Sandra Murray’s office back and cancel the request. After all, criminal defense attorneys charged high fees, and his resources were limited.

“Dr. Newman, I told you I’d be back.” The black detective—Matt couldn’t recall his name—stood in the doorway.

Grimm? No. Grimes? That was it, Grimes. Why was he back? Didn’t Dr. Gordon say he was going to keep the police away for another day? Matt found the buzzer and pushed it.

“Do you need something? I’ll get it for you,” Grimes said.

Matt shook his head, determined to keep silent. Finally a nurse hurried in. “Yes, what do you need?”

Matt was careful to address the nurse directly. “Can you get this man out of here? Call Dr. Gordon.”

The detective shook his head. “This is a police matter. If I have to, I can contact the hospital administrator and get all the access I need.” He eased his bulk into the chair at Matt’s bedside. “But in view of your condition”—he set the word off with air quotes—“I’ll keep it short. Why did you kill Cara Mendiola?”

Matt closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This couldn’t be happening. His mind whirled while the detective droned on.

The man leaned closer to Matt. “Did you hear me?”

Matt bit his lip but said nothing.

“I asked you a question. What can you tell us about the murder of Cara Mendiola?”

The words hadn’t fully registered the first time, but now they
hit home. Matt’s eyes shot open and he sat forward. The pain in his head brought him up short, and he dropped back onto the pillow.
Cara? Dead?