The Perfect Game (5 page)

Chapter Nine

(Friday, August 5)

Lauren was removing a piece of metal from a patient's eye. The sliver looked like a toothpick under the magnification of the scope she was using, but to the naked eye, it was the size of an eyelash.

“There's your suspect,” Lauren told the relieved man after removing it.

“That's it? It felt like barbed wire,”

“Things in your eye always do,” Lauren said. “Next time you decide to do home improvement with a power tool, I recommend…”

“That I keep my eyes closed?”

“That you wear safety goggles.” The patient thanked her and she headed out, looking forward to getting some food. She ran into Stone in the hallway.

“Jake Wakefield is here to see you,” Stone told her excitedly. Stone must follow baseball.

Lauren rushed out to the waiting area, which was nearly empty for once. “Jake, is there news about the investigation?”

“Unfortunately no. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd check in on you. I haven't seen you in awhile. Do you have a minute?”

“Your timing is good. I was just going to grab some lunch. Are you hungry? The hospital cafeteria offers five-star fine dining.”

He laughed. “I can't pass up an offer like that.”

They made small talk as they proceeded down the cafeteria line and picked out their food: pizza and Diet Coke for her, grilled chicken and apple juice for him. They took seats at a small table in the back corner.

“Have you heard anything from the detectives?” she asked.

“Crickets.”

“I should've guessed,” she said. “I call every day. Whenever I get Wallace, he says, ‘These things take time.' If it's Boyd, I get ‘we're making excellent progress.' Are those guys even on the same team?”

“No kidding. Are they even in the same league?”

“Do they even play the same sport?” They both laughed, Jake attracting admiring glances from other diners.

“How's your job going?” Jake asked.

“Frustrating. Rewarding. Crazy. The usual. We had a guy come in yesterday complaining of breathing problems. We ran some scans and discovered a growth in his lung.”

“Cancer?”

“That's what I thought, too, but get this…it was a strawberry plant.”

Jake choked on his juice. “You're kidding, right?”

“Nope. He somehow had inhaled a strawberry seed. It got embedded in his lung lining, which was moist and warm enough for it to sprout.”

“Did you have to operate with pruning shears?”

“Something like that.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Wakefield.” A young boy was approaching their table. “May I have your autograph?” He held out a paper napkin and a blue crayon.

“Of course you can, but not in Dodger colors,” Jake smiled. He pulled out a wallet-sized photograph of himself in uniform and a red pen. “What's your name?”

Jake personalized the photo and chatted with the boy about his Little League team where young Mitchell played shortstop. He sprinted back to a nearby table to show the signed photo to his beaming mother.

“Wow. You always travel with photos?”

“I've learned to. It saves me from having to sign disgusting napkins or, worse, body parts. Always be prepared. I was a Boy Scout, you know.” He held up two fingers in the scout pledge.

“I'm sure you were.” Sitting in the cafeteria, she was reminded of something. “Jake, I don't mean to pry, but was Liz pregnant?”

“What? No. Where'd you get that?
The National Enquirer
?”

She shook her head. “Just another rumor.” As she polished off her pizza, she said, “I guess I should get back to work. And we better get you out of here so I don't have to spend the rest of the afternoon treating multiple victims trampled in a quest for your autograph.”

The hospital corridors resembled a maze so she showed him back to the ER waiting room. “Thank you so much for checking on me.”

He hugged her tight. “Liz worried about you being alone if anything ever happened to her and I swore I wouldn't let that happen. It was a promise that I hoped never to have to act on, but now I plan to keep it. Call me if you need anything. I'll see you soon.”

Lauren did feel less alone in the world as she watched him walk away.

Chapter Ten

(Friday, August 12)

Nearly three weeks after Liz's murder, Lauren finally received a call from the police.

“Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?” Detective Wallace asked.

All of the frustration that had been simmering below the surface boiled over. “Why are you wasting your time investigating me? You have some crazed murderer running around the streets, waiting to strike again. And your grand plan after three weeks of ‘tireless investigation' is to give me a lie detector test? Me, who was waist-deep in ER cases that night at a hospital fifteen miles away, with a dozen witnesses to account for my whereabouts? Me, whose only friend in this entire city was Liz? Me, who had no motive whatsoever to kill her? A polygraph test, which any Psych 101 student could tell you is not even admissible in court? If I'm your best suspect and a polygraph is your best investigative tool, you have a fucking problem!”

“Okay, I'll note that you refused the polygraph,” Wallace said coldly.

“Wait a minute. I didn't say I wouldn't take…” but Lauren was talking to dead air. Wallace had already hung up.

Lauren was dialing Wallace back to inform him that she would take the lie detector test when she received an urgent page.
I'll let him cool down and call him back later,
she decided as she sprinted to trauma Bay Three.

Lauren spent the next hour pumping a fifth of vodka out of the stomach of a teenager. Afterward, Ritesh caught up with her in the hallway. “Your order has arrived.”

“What order?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I wouldn't get between me and the Diet Coke machine if I were you,” she said.

“You must secretly find me attractive,” Ritesh said, “because you immediately assume I am referring to myself, but there's a cop here to see you. He's down by the nurses' station.”

Lauren recognized Detective Boyd from a distance. She invited him into the doctors' lounge, which was empty. Despite all the jokes about golfing, ER doctors didn't have much time to lounge.

“Lauren, did you really refuse to take the polygraph?”

Feeling defensive and guilty at the same time, Lauren responded, “No, that's not what I said. Or at least that's not what I meant. Of course I'll take the polygraph, even though I don't believe in them. They're based on physiological measurements that can be affected by so many extraneous variables, like anxiety or medications or feeling guilty about something else. But I'll happily take it if it will help get the investigation going.”

Detective Boyd let out a long sigh. His aqua eyes focused on her green ones. “I know this must be frustrating for you, especially since we can't tell you much. But you have to believe me when I tell you that this investigation remains in full-gear. One great thing about all the media coverage is that the brass responds to that type of pressure. We
will
solve this case. It's only a matter of time. Don't overthink this polygraph request. It just allows us to check you off the suspect list.”

“But why me? Any more time you spend looking at me is time wasted.”

Detective Boyd paused for a moment. “So, did you really take Wallace to task about the reliability of polygraphs?”

“I didn't mean to. He caught me off guard and—”

Lauren was interrupted by Detective Boyd's laughter. He began shaking at the waist and his eyes teared up, accentuating their vivid color. He was laughing so hard that she was having trouble understanding what was saying. “What I wouldn't have given to see the expression on his face when you told him that even intro psych students know that lie detector tests aren't admissible. Classic!”

Lauren was sucked into the infectiousness of his laughter and they shared a good, long laugh. She felt both relieved and ashamed as she enjoyed the momentary respite from her grief.

Chapter Eleven

(Saturday, August 13)

Lauren drummed her fingers, waiting for her patient's lab results to come in. Mr. Hanson was either high on drugs or acutely psychotic. Only the toxicology findings would tell. While she waited, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She dug into her scrubs pocket to answer it.

“Hey, Jake. How's everything?”

“Painful. How are you?”

“Surviving.”

“Listen, I'm sorry for the late notice, but I'm calling to invite you to a charity event tonight. Liz is going to be honored by MADD.”

“Tonight?”

“I know. I'm sorry. This was scheduled before Liz died, but with everything going on, I let the whole thing slip my mind. It's bound to be rough. Please come with me.”

“What time is it? I don't get off until six.”

“That's perfect. It doesn't start until seven. And it's okay if you're not there right on the button. These things usually don't start on time anyway.”

Lauren was exhausted and had been looking forward to crawling into bed, but she didn't hesitate. An early bedtime would do nothing for her persistent insomnia. “Sure. I'll go with you.”

“Great. I appreciate it. I should be there when it starts, but you just come when you can. I'll save you a seat.” He gave her the address to the downtown hotel and she jotted it down on the back of a prescription slip.

As they said their good-byes, the computer screen blinked in front of her and she entered her password to learn that Mr. Hanson had no drugs on board.
Shoot
, she thought,
meth would have been easier to treat.

Hours later, intern LaRhonda Jackson strolled in to relieve Lauren at 6:10, casually eating a bean burrito from Taco Bell. LaRhonda referred to herself as a triple threat; big, black, and beautiful. She was also bold and didn't worry about being chastised for tardiness.

Lauren provided the patient report as concisely as she could. “Back spasms in Bay One, slip and fall in Two, high as a kite in Four, broken arm in Six, drunk and belligerent in Seven. Have fun.”

“Why you in such a hurry tonight?”

“I have someplace I need to be by seven.”

“Mmmm hmmmm,” LaRhonda said knowingly.

Lauren didn't pause to elaborate. Her naturally leaden foot allowed her to reach her apartment by 6:25, where she hurriedly changed into a little black dress, applied eyeliner and lipstick in a matter of seconds, and tried unsuccessfully to smooth the ponytail bump from her hair. She tottered back out to her car in uncomfortably high heels moments later.

She was glad to be going against traffic on the city streets, driving back into the city as most others were headed for the suburbs. She made her final turn at 6:50, relieved that she would arrive in the nick of time. However, traffic slowed significantly as cars in front of her merged into a single lane to avoid an accident in the right lanes. Like everybody else, Lauren could not resist looking to see what had happened. Apparently, a green light anticipator had slammed into a yellow light accelerator, a Corolla T-boned by a Mercedes. The Mercedes driver paced around his car as he assessed the front-end damage, talking animatedly into his cell phone. The Corolla driver, a young woman, sat in her car, door open, crying. Emergency personnel had not yet arrived.

Lauren fought an internal battle; most of her wanting to arrive on time to the charity event, some small portion feeling obligated to render assistance. She stopped. The Mercedes driver appeared more angry than hurt. Lauren approached the crying woman, “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” the woman wailed, “but I'm worried about the baby.”

Lauren scanned the car, spotting no child safety seat. She imagined an unrestrained infant thrown from the car in a bloody heap. “The baby?”

“I'm five months pregnant.”

“The human uterus is well-insulated. I'm sure your baby is fine,” Lauren reassured.

“I haven't felt her move since the accident,” the woman sobbed.

Lauren's pulse quickened. She hurried back to her own car, grabbing her spare stethoscope from the trunk. Returning to the woman's side, she knelt on the ground next to her, placing the stethoscope on the woman's lower abdomen. Fetal heartbeats were difficult enough to find in a quiet office with a sophisticated heart monitor. It was going to be damned near impossible on the side of a busy road with only a stethoscope. Still she tried, moving the scope here and there. Each time she moved the scope, the pregnant woman became more panicked. Lauren began to wish she hadn't attempted this in the first place. In fact, she was regretting stopping at all. But then she located the sound that always reminded her of a racing train.

“I hear the heartbeat,” she said, looking at the second hand of her watch. “Strong and healthy at 150 beats per minute.”

The woman threw her arms around Lauren. “Thank you!”

When the paramedics arrived, Lauren issued a brief verbal report before rushing back to her own car.

Lauren arrived at the award venue forty minutes late, with untamed hair and dirty knees. A tall woman in a red dress was speaking on the stage. Lauren ducked down as she wound her way through the round tables looking for Jake. Naturally, his table was front and center, maximizing Lauren's embarrassment as she slid into the empty seat next to him.

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, whispering, “You look fantastic.” The woman seated next to him glared at Lauren. Jake made a face as soon as the woman turned back to the speaker. Lauren suppressed a giggle.

“Elizabeth Wakefield was an extraordinary humanitarian,” the woman in red was saying, “but Liz was also my friend. She was approachable, down to earth, and funny as hell. In her fundraising role, she hobnobbed with high society, pulling in big donations. But behind the scenes, she offered real and meaningful comfort to victims of drunk driving.”

In her haste, Lauren had forgotten to bring Kleenex. She discreetly used her linen napkin to dab her eyes.

“Those of us who had the privilege to know Liz will miss her dearly. She was taken from us too soon. In honor of her generous nature, sense of purpose, and fierce determination, we would like to award this year's Spirit of MADD award to Elizabeth Rose Wakefield.”

The crowd erupted in applause and Jake ascended the stage to accept the award.

“Thank you so much for recognizing Liz for her contributions. I've been thinking a lot about what Liz would have said if she had been here to accept this award.” He began to choke up, but regained his composure. “And she wouldn't have focused on herself. She would have used this opportunity to urge us all to do more. More activism, more awareness, and more fund-raising. In her memory, I would like to jumpstart that effort with a twenty-five thousand-dollar pledge. Open your hearts and your checkbooks. Let's make Liz proud tonight.”

The ballroom rustled as at least two hundred people dug into their wallets. Lauren pulled out her own checkbook and assessed her balance. She wrote a check for one thousand dollars, reminding herself to transfer some money from savings to cover it.

People swarmed Jake as he descended the stage. Lauren made awkward small talk with others as the guests milled about greeting one another.

“Lauren?”

She turned to see the woman in red. “I'm Kathryn Montgomery. I was a friend of Liz's.”

“Yes, thank you so much for your kind words. You seemed to really know her.”

“Yes,” Kathryn said, “and I absolutely adored her. She talked about you often. She was looking forward to spending more time with you.”

Lauren's eyes filled with tears and she could only nod. Kathryn continued, “I wanted to let you know that…”

“Take a look!” Jake burst through the crowd, holding the award aloft. It was a round crystalline circle etched with a martini glass and car key. A dramatic diagonal line crossed through the image. Liz's name was engraved in the base.

“Jake, do you know Kathryn?” Lauren asked.

Jake stuck out his hand. “Thanks for your warm sentiments about Liz.”

Kathryn hesitated before she reached out to shake Jake's hand. “Yes, of course. It's nice to finally meet you.”

To Lauren, Jake said, “We ought to get you home. Aren't you going to turn into a pumpkin soon?”

“Something like that.”

They said good night to Kathryn and several others who mobbed Jake as they wove their way to the nearest exit.

“Sorry I was late.” Lauren started to explain.

“Don't be sorry. Be grateful. You missed a lot of boring talk about fundraising goals and arrived just in time for the good part. You did, however, miss a mediocre meal. Are you hungry?” Lauren realized she was.

Jake drove her to a nearby coffeehouse, which was virtually empty at this hour. Lauren explained about the car accident that she had encountered earlier.

“How great that you know enough to be able to help,” Jake said. “And what a pain that you feel like you have to.”

“The detectives contacted me yesterday. They asked me to take a polygraph.”

“Those dipshits. They asked me to take one last week.”

“They did? What was it like?”

“I didn't take it. I told Boyd he could shove that machine up his ass since polygraphs measure bullshit anyways.”

Lauren's lower jaw dropped. “You did not.”

“Like hell I didn't. You should refuse too, Lauren. The sooner they stop focusing on us, the sooner they can start paying attention to who really did this.”

They chatted more about the investigation, her work at the hospital, and his baseball season. The Diamondbacks had beaten the Phillies earlier that day and would be playing them again tomorrow. “You should come to the game,” Jake said.

“I wish I could, but I have to work.”

He looked disappointed.

“Another time.”

“Any time you can make it, let me know.”

Lauren's heart quickened as he leaned toward her and touched her face. He used one finger to wipe away a dab of cream cheese.

Internally, Lauren chastised herself. What had she thought he was going to do?