Chasing Can Be Murder (10 page)

Florence Nightingale, still fussing beside me, brought me back to the present. “You’re one of those greyhound training ladies, aren’t you, dear?”

I nodded. What else could I do with a cylinder of plastic that tasted of disinfectant denting my tongue?

“We had a greyhound training gentleman admitted here last night. Looked like he’d been beaten up,” she went on, puffing my arm up to near-bursting point with the blood-pressure gizmo. “He’s next door, in room 32B. Name’s Barney Thompson. Do you know him?”

The tall string-bean steward who operated the startingboxes at the track?

I spat the thermometer from my mouth. “Barney? Is he okay? What happened to him?”

“No, no, no,” she protested, jamming the hard plastic tube back in place. Assured that the thermometer was cemented between my lips, she shook her head. “Mr. Thompson has a fractured skull, three broken ribs and a broken arm. He told the doctor he fell out of a tree, which doesn’t make sense. I ask you, what tree inflicts bruises to over eighty percent of your body?”

I bit down hard on the plastic. This was getting scarier by the minute. Even stewards weren’t immune. Had Matt’s murderer put Barney Thompson in hospital? Or was the killer only one member of a well-organized gang?

Lots of questions. No answers. But one thing I did know—reclining in a hospital bed dressed in nothing but a starchy white gown with a dirty big slit down the back made me a sitting duck for anyone to walk in and blow me away.

I handed the thermometer to the nurse and swung my feet onto the floor. “Look, I’m fine,” I told her, gritting my teeth against the sudden dizziness. “I’m checking out.”

“The doctor will be doing his rounds in a couple of hours, dear. Let’s see what he says, shall we?” She inspected the thermometer, wrote on her clipboard then placed a cold hand on my arm. “You have visitors waiting to see you, dear, so hop back into bed like a good girl and I’ll let them in.”

“Do my visitors have names?”

“It’s that nice young gentleman who brought you in yesterday and a flashy woman dressed for the beach.”

Tanya must be wearing two handkerchiefs stuck together with chewing gum. “Okay, I’ll see them now, thank you.”

“Back into bed first, Ms. McKinley,” she said in that sickly sweet sing song voice nurses all over the world use on their patients, “or we’ll have to tell your visitors to go away, won’t we?”

I closed my eyes, allowed my imagination to run riot for a moment. Pictured a red-nosed circus clown riding a miniature bike into the room and knocking Florence Nightingale head first into a recently used bedpan.

Okay, bizarre, I know, but at least it stopped me from screaming.

“G’day, mate? Ready to go another three rounds?” I opened my eyes and couldn’t help smiling. It was Ben. He’d brought the scents of the outdoors with him along with my favorite smell of dogs and early morning freshness. His long fingers, calloused but gentle, traced a line down my cheek before tilting my chin upward to get a better view of the damage. “You’d better have a good story ready,” he advised with a wink. “No one’s gonna believe you ran into a door.”

The cool touch of Ben’s fingers on my skin chased tingles up my spine. A sensation I knew I’d play over and over in my head, later tonight. But first, I needed to persuade my friends to help me escape.

“What took you so long?”

“And it’s lovely to see you too,” drawled Tanya who was definitely dressed in her work clothes. Miniscule denim skirt, six inch, knock ’em-dead apple red Fendi stilettos and a matching red halter top no bigger than a birthday card. She thrust a large packet of peanut M&M’s at me, folded her arms and scowled. “What’s with you, Kat? Are you suicidal? Why else would anyone step between two big bruisers intent on killing each other?”

“Cute nurses,” Ben broke in before Tanya could get wound up any further. He tossed his akubra hat onto the bed and parked his butt in a chair. “Especially that nurse in reception. You know, the one with the eyelashes like hairy fish hooks. Tell you what, she could be a twin to—”

“Get me out of here!”

“Eh…hang on, mate.” Ben blinked his confusion. “You have to wait for the doc to discharge you.”

“Not an option.” I swung both feet onto the floor, suddenly remembered the slit at the back of my gown that exposed more skin than I was willing to show in mixed company and dragged the sheet around me. “What if
the doctor’s
the murderer? Everyone knows doctors are experts at using knives.”

Ben and Tanya exchanged a wary, she’s-losing-her-marbles glance then stared blankly back at me.

“I’m not going nuts,” I assured them, dabbing at a layer of sweat dampening my top lip. “But I
have
to get out of here. While I’m in hospital I’m an easy target for both the psycho
and
the police. What’s stopping the killer from sneaking into the room while I’m asleep and smothering me with a pillow? Or Columbo from barging through that door brandishing his handcuffs and reading me my rights? Don’t you see?” My voice rose and I waved my arms in desperation. “I have to be free so I can prove my innocence?”

“Okay. Okay.” There was a note of exasperation in Tanya’s voice as she tried to sit on my bed. Her minuscule skirt prevented this maneuver so she perched on the edge instead. “Maybe you’re not going nuts but you can’t be serious about Dr. Bernard. How could you suspect him of being a murderer? He’s a sweet, grey-haired, family man with eight children and twenty-three grandkids and he’s almost ready to retire.” She shook her head. “The reason I know is because one of his grandkids is a regular at The Luv Bug. Gavin’s always trying out our newest gadgets—especially the male vibrators.”

“Male vibrators?” Ben lifted one eyebrow and leant closer.
All ears,
as Granny McKinley would say. “Anything I might be interested in?”

“Benjamin, you do not need a vibrator
.
Vibrators are for those who
aren’t
getting it. Now, Kat,” she said, dismissing Ben with an eye roll and turning to me, “Dr. Bernard will be doing his rounds soon. Can’t you at least wait until he gives you the all clear?”

I gripped the sheet tighter to stop my hands from shaking. “I’m scared,” I whispered and sucked on my bottom lip. I wanted to go home. I wanted to lock myself in the house with a baseball bat and two dozen guard dogs. “Barney Thompson got beaten up and admitted to hospital last night.”

“Barney? Beaten up?” Ben froze in the act of unfolding his body from the bedside chair.

“He’s in the room next door with a fractured skull, broken ribs and a broken arm.”

Tanya gasped. “Who did that to him?”

“Who do you think?” I chewed on a nail and nodded when Tanya’s eyes widened, evidently on the same page as me. And then I remembered the task I’d set Ben the night before. “Ben, did you ask Peter where he was the night Matt was murdered?”

“We can cross Peter off our list. He was in Melbourne watching Big Mistake win the Puppy Championship at Sandown Park. He spent the night at the trainer’s house and drove back to Adelaide the following morning.” Ben gave a one-shoulder shrug as he straightened up. “He even made me ring the trainer to verify his alibi.”

“Good. And did he accept our apology for doubting him?”

Ben’s lips curled up at the corners. “I’d say he was more worried about you charging him with assault.”

“Hey, it was an accident.”

“Peter will be relieved to hear that,” Ben said and rammed his akubra on his head. “Now, if they’ve attacked Barney, it’s not safe to leave you here. Get your clothes on and we’ll break ya outta the joint.” Indiana Jones in grubby jeans, scuffed R. M. Williams’ boots and a checked flannelette shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. “I’ll stand guard outside the door while you get decent.”

When Ben left, Tanya’s frown deepened. “Why would they do that to Barney?”

Before I could hazard a guess, Ben’s familiar face popped around the doorway.

“If you need any help, give me a yell. You know—zips that won’t zip, buttons you can’t reach. And by the way, I’m a dab hand at hooks.”

“Out!” Tanya growled and made a shooing motion with her hands.

The moment Ben closed the door I let my sheet drop to the floor. “Grab my clothes will you, Tan? They’re in the cupboard.”

While Tanya rescued my crumpled jeans and T-shirt, I shrugged out of the hospital gown and arranged two pillows under the blanket. In case Florence Nightingale paid another visit.

It took no more than three minutes to dress and rejoin Ben. Then, like three characters from a “Carry-on Detective” movie, we flattened our backs against the off-white corridor wall and crept forward. Edging past an X-ray room, I couldn’t help noticing a huge colored poster displayed outside. Painted in glaringly graphic colors, it was the ugliest, sickest, creepiest picture of a clapped-out pair of lungs I’d ever seen. Scary enough to put any sane person off smoking for life.

The corridors at this time of the morning were decidedly empty. We only spotted two people. An old man on a walking frame dragging a beeping machine behind him and a harassed looking doctor, so frazzled, so out of it, he wouldn’t have noticed us if we’d been a bunch of green-skinned aliens with horns.

Almost to the end of the second corridor, with a tantalizing view of the hospital entrance, Ben came to a sudden stop. My face slammed into his back, almost adding a broken nose to my list of injuries.

“Sorry,” he said and grabbed my elbow to keep me upright. “You okay?”

I rubbed my tender nose. “No thanks to you. Why are we stopping?”

“We have to go back. Talk to Barney before we leave.”

“Why?” Remaining in this hospital a minute longer than necessary was way down on my priority list. Even below hammering nails under my finger nails.

“To find out who beat the crap out of him, that’s why.”

Ben had on his mule face. The face he presents to owners who tell him how he should train their dog—just before he asks if they also offer advice to the plumber as he’s shoving an arm down their blocked toilet.

“But—”

“That way we’ll know who to look out for.”

“Who to steer clear of, you mean,” muttered Tanya.

I knew when I was beaten but opted for one more shot at the prize. “But Barney’s room is way back where we started.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“What if Florence Nightingale spots me?”

“McKinley, I’m surprised at you,” Ben chided, shaking his head like a disappointed headmaster. “And here’s me thinking you’d leap at the chance to sharpen your sleuthing skills.”

“I’d rather go home.”

“What if Barney can point us in the killer’s direction?”

That’s what worried me.

Room 32B was a mirror image of 32A, the room I’d recently vacated. Smooth off-white walls, dark grey and white tiled floor, functional cupboard in the far corner, hospital-issue metal bed pushed against the adjoining wall. In fact, Barney and I must have slept head-to-head during the night.

As we entered the silent room I took one look at the man stretched out on the bed and the fear roiling in my stomach became a tidal wave. His face was as white as the mummy-like bandage wrapped around his skull and his long string-bean body hardly made a bulge under the covers. Both eyes were blackened, and judging by the unnatural bend, the swelling around the top, and the dried blood clinging to both nostrils, his nose had obviously been busted. Monitors blinked busily beside the bed while intravenous drips snaked their way purposefully from a tall pedestal stand down to a multitasked needle implanted in his good arm. The other arm was thick with plaster.

“How’s it going, mate?” Ben sat on the metal chair next to the bed, his powerful jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him, his bedside smile warm and comforting. Geez this guy did weird things to my insides when he smiled. Things that left me with an uncontrollable urge to sit on his lap, wrap my legs around his waist and kiss the stuffing out of him.

There was only one catch. I knew if I ever showed my real feelings Ben might instantly back-off, so I had to suffer in silence. At least, as a mate, there was always the chance that one day he’d look at me, suddenly discover a desirable woman under the freckles and messy hair and take me seriously.

Or
un-
seriously.

Or any damn way he liked—

As long as he
took
me.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of my fantasy world and returned to the stark reality of Room 32B, where I had a job to do.

“Barney, tell us who did this to you.”

He opened his eyes, stared up at me, but didn’t answer.

“What did he want you to do?” I gently straightened the sheet under Barney’s chin. “Tamper with the starting boxes? Hide a cyanide cylinder inside the favorite’s box?”

Whatever it was…Barney evidently hadn’t followed orders.

“Kat?” I could read the fear in Barney’s voice and see it in his bloodshot, half-drugged eyes. “Kat,” he croaked again, a dribble of spit forming at the corner of his poor bruised mouth. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I asked you first, Barney. Who did this terrible thing to you?”

His head moved feebly from side to side and when he spoke his throat sounded drier than month-old bread rolls. “No, no,” he protested. “I…fell out of a tree. Stupid thing to do. I was pruning…saw a bird’s nest…baby had fallen out…tried to put it back in.”

Ben lifted a glass of water to Barney’s parched lips. “Come on, mate, you’re among friends here. Tell us who beat the crap out of you and we’ll pay the mongrel a visit. Remember, we’ve got a score to settle too. Turner’s dead and McKinley’s been threatened. We need to stop this scumbag once and for all.” He placed the glass back on the bedside stand, never taking his eyes off the man in the bed. “Did you recognize the guy who beat you up?”

“I-I told you… fell out of a tree.” He closed his eyes, either to sleep or shut out anymore questions.

Tanya, whose job it was to stand guard outside, poked her head into the room. “Let’s go, guys. Nurse approaching from due north.”

Ben unfolded his long frame from the hard metal chair, said goodbye to Barney and strode across to the doorway.