Fatal Reaction (21 page)

CHAPTER 54

Mike stood across the interrogation room from Noreen and did his best not to intimidate her further. She avoided eye contact and chewed her fingernails between crying jags. Mike quietly instructed everyone, except for Coop, who had a way of putting people at ease, and Maria, the on-staff victim’s advocate, to leave the room.

Noreen’s hands shook, and when Mike pulled out the chair next to him for Coop to have a seat, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She kept her cheek turned, but Mike could see the bruises emerging from beneath her makeup. Her nails had been chewed back past the skin and the cuticle of her right thumb was bleeding.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to go to the hospital?”

“No.” Noreen shook her head. “I have to do this now, or I might never.”

“Please, take your time.”

Noreen lowered her head, and an expression of pained sadness washed over her face. Her shoulders rounded forward, and her tear-filled eyes glistened under the fluorescent light. “I was attacked last night, raped.” The second word, she said more quietly. “I had gone to talk to the doctor I work for about something we had done.”

Mike, who knew from Jared that Noreen worked for Dorian Carmichael, tilted his head. “Something you had done?”

“Something Dorian made me do. He ordered all of the tests, and he did the surgeries. All I did was stay quiet about it.”

“Who are we talking about?” Coop said, less versed in the case than Mike was.

“Dorian Carmichael.”

Mike turned his attention back to Noreen. “What did you keep quiet about?”

“Four months ago, Dorian performed a uterine transplant on a patient named Stephanie Martin. I’m sure you’ve seen it on the news.” Everyone in the room nodded. It had been a headline for weeks. “At the time, there was a shortage of donors, and Dorian came up with the idea that we could test some of our patients, under the guise of other illnesses, to find a match.”

“Other illnesses?” Mike said. “As in, fake diagnoses?”

“There were so many people coming in for the surgery, Dorian said no one would catch on to the extra tests being ordered. I hoped we’d get a cadaver donor before any of this happened.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. And the money Dorian was being offered to do the procedure was too much for him to refuse. He convinced a patient of his, Sydney Dowling, that she needed a hysterectomy for cancer because she was a match to Stephanie Martin.”

Mike held up his hand for Coop, who was clearly beside himself, to be quiet. “But she didn’t have cancer, did she?” He struggled to suppress his extreme emotions.

Noreen shook her head. “And then Stephanie Martin got sick. The transplant failed, and Dorian had to reverse the procedure. Marco figured out what Dorian had done, and he had proof.”

“Marco Prusak, the pathologist at County Memorial?” Noreen nodded. All of the cases, except for Colby Monroe’s disappearance, were starting to come together. “And Marco went to the hospital board?”

“No. He put a copy of the reports matching Sydney to Stephanie through the office mail slot. Dorian thought it was me. He came to my house, and he lost it. He was screaming and shaking. He said he was going to
take care of it
.” She paused for a minute, and Maria handed her a tissue. “Thank you.” She was shaking again. “I didn’t think he would kill him. I tried to get Dorian to turn himself in and”—she raised her hand to her blackened eye—“I could see how angry he was. I should’ve never let him in. I begged him to stop, but he was crazy.” Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Don’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault.” Maria held her hand out, and Noreen took it. “The hospital will do a rape kit. They’ll take photos and collect evidence. I hate to ask, but did he wear a condom?”

“It all happened so fast.”

Mike had never been comfortable with sex crimes, and discussing the particulars made him less so. “Maria will go with you to the hospital and will stay there for as long as you need her to. As for Marco, you’re implicating Dorian in a possible homicide. Do you have any proof that he was involved with the murder?”

Noreen wiped the tip of her thin nose with the tissue. “Isn’t what I told you enough?”

Maria looked at Mike out of the corner of her eyes, her lips pursed, and her expression annoyed that he was further upsetting a victim.

“I’m afraid not, no.”

“Then what if I told you I know something else.”

Mike waited through a long pause before saying, “What else?”

“I saw a news report before coming here that said Colby Monroe was missing. Dorian
dated
Colby, until recently. I overheard them fighting over the phone, at the office, the night before last. He’s obsessed with her, Sergeant Richardson, lovesick, and when he was on top of me, he called me ‘Colby,’ said he was going to ‘miss me.’ What do you think he meant by that?”

CHAPTER 55

Ana sat on the couch across from Jared, not even bothering to ask why he hadn’t returned her phone calls, because she could see something was wrong.

“How did things go with Marco?”

Jared ran his hands down his stubbled face, the shadow of a dark beard coming in along his firm jawline.

“Marco’s dead,” he said matter-of-factly. “And you were right about Sydney and Stephanie Martin.” He handed her two pieces of paper, lab reports confirming their suspicion. “Whoever killed Marco tossed his apartment, my guess, looking for those. There wasn’t much more than information worth taking.”

“Is that where you’ve been all this time? Did you call the police?”

Jared tucked a pillow under his arm, an easy normalcy replacing the awkward tension between them. “I’d have thought you would have heard by now.”

“Heard what?”

“I’ve been with Mike all day.”

“Mike who?”

“Mike Richardson.”

Ana huffed out a breath, wondering why Mike hadn’t called her. “Did you tell him about the reports, about Sydney?”

“No,” Jared said, “but I don’t think I have to. On top of everything else, Colby is missing. I went to the house to get some things, and she was gone.”

“Maybe the divorce papers were enough to make her just leave? This is a good thing, right?”

“Wrong. There were signs of a struggle—blood and a vial of succinylcholine.”

Ana pulled a face. “Succinylcholine? Who could get their hands on something like that?”

“Other than doctors, paramedics, and pretty much anyone who works at any hospital and has an access code, I don’t know.”

“You don’t think someone killed Colby, do you?”

“After what happened to Marco, I don’t know what to think. Noreen, Dorian’s nurse, showed up at the police station, roughed up and crying. She looked like she’d been attacked, and whatever she said to the police was enough for them to finally let me go.”

“Do you think she turned Dorian in?”

“I’d say so.”

“Do you think he killed Marco and Sydney?”

Jared shook his head. “I don’t know what to think, but why the hell would he hurt Colby? Something doesn’t make sense, and Mike acts like he’s onto me, as if I know something I’m not saying, or worse.”

“He didn’t really think
you
had something to do with all of this, did he?”

“Even I would think someone reporting a homicide and a disappearance in one day was suspicious.”

“Are you worried about Colby?” Ana couldn’t help feeling like the whole thing was some kind of setup. “I mean, what if she wants it to look like something happened that didn’t? Maybe she and Dorian are planning to run off together or something.”

“She’s not like that, Ana, and after almost two decades of marriage, of course I’m worried. Mike said he had a lead, and that he’d call me as soon as he knew anything. I get the impression he doesn’t like me much.”

“He’d like you a lot less if he knew you were spending time with me. Still, I don’t know why he didn’t call me. He told me he’d be in touch as soon as there was a break in Sydney’s case.”

“It’s not like you can call him. How would you say you got all of this information without mentioning me?”

It was a path she wasn’t ready to go down. “I have no idea.”

Ana’s phone rang, and she held up a finger for him to be quiet before answering it.

“Hello?”

“May I speak with Anneliese Ashmore, please?”

“This is Ana.” She didn’t immediately recognize the heavily accented, male voice on the line.

“This is Gino from Matrazzo’s Florist calling. You asked our delivery driver to look into an arrangement of roses delivered to Parker and Sons Funeral Home, no?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I had to go back through quite a few credit card receipts.”

“Were you able to figure out who sent them?”

“The flowers were ordered by a gentleman named Dorian Carmichael.”

Ana’s mouth fell open. “Did you say Dorian Carmichael?”

Jared stared at her with interest.

“Yes, miss. That’s the name on the receipt. I hope that helps.”

“Yes, thank you so much.” Ana hung up the phone and blew out a breath. “I think I found a way to break the ice with Mike.”

CHAPTER 56

Dorian lived in a modern colonial about a mile off Pine Grove Drive where the former woodlands had been developed into an affluent haven for the upper class.

Three squad cars rolled down the freshly plowed driveway.

Coop and Mike parked, blocking both sides of an end-loading,
two-car garage. Ronald sealed off the driveway.

Coop, who was in the best physical condition and had three inches of height advantage over Dorian, was assigned the role of arresting officer, partly because of his stature, but also because Mike knew, given his relationship to Sydney, that he was too close for his motives to go unquestioned.

The three formed a triangle as they approached the front door, Mike and Ronald with their service pistols drawn.

Coop readied his handcuffs before knocking. “Police, open up.”

“Can I help you?” Dorian cowered, his fearful expression having the questioning undertone of someone unsure of what came next.

Coop puffed out his chest. “Dorian Carmichael?”

“Yes.”

“You’re under arrest for the rape of Noreen Pafford. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Coop stepped inside and grabbed Dorian’s right wrist. He closed the metal cuffs down with a series of clicks and turned Dorian away from him, raising his hands high enough behind his back to be uncomfortable, before securing the left.

“Wait, what?” Dorian’s eyes went wide. “There’s been a mistake.”

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you free of charge . . .”

Mike presented the search warrant for Dorian’s review. “Is there anything you want to tell me about what you did, or what I might find in your home? Are there any weapons in the house?”

“No, of course not.”

Mike waved dismissively. “Take him to the car, Coop. Ron, start upstairs.”

“Please, wait.” Dorian pulled against the cuffs, and Coop tightened them another click. “I didn’t do anything.”

Coop pushed Dorian toward the sneakers at the door. “Slip them on, or you can walk to the car in your socks.”

“Let me just talk to Noreen. We can call her. This is a misunderstanding. She’ll tell you.”

“Shoes,” Coop insisted.

Dorian stepped into the untied sneakers, and Coop ushered him outside.

Mike pulled on a pair of gloves and booties, and did a sweep of the first floor, checking for medical equipment, needles and vials, anything to tie him to Marco or Sydney, as well as searching for clues as to Colby’s whereabouts.

“Any luck?” Ronald leaned over the second-floor railing, his cheeks flush and his hairline glistening with sweat.

“No, nothing. If he has Colby, he’s not holding her here. You?”

“Oh yeah. Come take a look at this.”

Mike took the stairs two at a time and followed Ron to the office at the end of the hall. An L-shaped desk wrapped around the far wall. One of its drawers hung open.

Ron turned the label on a clear glass vial and showed it to Mike. “Succinylcholine”—he opened the drawer above it—“and insulin. Does this guy have an MO, or what?”

Mike sighed, frustrated that he couldn’t skip trial and lock Dorian away for good for what he did to Sydney. It was his emotions talking and he couldn’t afford to be emotional. “Leave everything exactly as you found it. Julian will document and collect the evidence as soon as he gets here.”

Ronald snapped several photos of the open drawer, the click of the camera app making it hard for Mike to hear the noise in the background.

“
Shh
. Stop that a minute, would you?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Do you hear that?” Mike took a few steps closer.

“Hear what?”

“Listen. It sounds like buzzing, or vibrating.”

“Like a cell phone?”

“I don’t think so.” Mike followed the sound to the adjoining bathroom and turned his ear toward the cabinet under the sink. “It sounds like it’s coming from in there.” He opened the door and jumped back when a swarm of blue-and-green blowflies with orangish eyes flew out at him. “Jesus.”

“What is that smell?” Ronald coughed and swatted the fly circling his head.

“You have your camera app up still?”

“Yeah.”

“Give me your phone.” Mike took a couple of shots of the shoe box, its lid askew, before knocking it the rest of the way off.

Inside, was a bundle of tissue paper coated in yellow larvae.

Beneath it was a decomposing tongue.