Fatal Reaction (22 page)

CHAPTER 57

Colby shivered. Freezing, but dripping with sweat, she was lying facedown in a pile of refuse. The wound in her leg throbbed. The IV sheath, disconnected but still embedded in her arm, ached. Blood backed up the severed bit of line and dripped from the gnawed tubing. She felt weak; the effects of the insulin as it continued to metabolize were worsening even though she’d cut off the supply. Her only hope was an open soda can next to the remains of a long-forgotten lunch in the corner.

She considered that getting to the can could expend all of her energy only for it to be empty, but it didn’t matter. She had to try.

With one arm facing up and the other down, there was little chance of the two cooperating. The chair was tipped completely forward, and her pant leg was snagged on the rusty metal can embedded in her skin. She was prone, almost kneeling, and needed to get onto her side if she was going to crawl. With the IV tubing disconnected, she had a bit more leeway. She planted her left foot firmly on the ground and pushed off the heap with her right hand, bracing for the fall. Her foot acted as a pivot point, and rather than tip on its side, the chair spun and Colby landed face-first on the concrete. It happened fast, she was unable to break her fall. Her forehead hit the cement floor. Fireflies sparked in her vision. The dull, insulin-induced headache magnified to an unbearable migraine. She let out a pained shriek and started to cry. The chair clung to her back, and her body sagged awkwardly beneath it. The rusty can let go of her leg, but when she fell, a new pain took hold. A meaty crunch, like ripping tendons in her ankle, accompanied her crash.

She lifted her head and looked through her tears at the can just inches away.

You can do this.

Moving with the chair fastened to her back proved harder than expected. She pressed her right palm to the floor and drew her knees to her chest, collapsing the chair around herself. Her face burned as she tilted her head, using her chin as an anchor point to drag herself along. Blood ran from her forehead and rolled down her eye as she inched toward the can, praying there was still something in it to drink.

Each movement brought new pain. Her knees and wrists stiffened from the cold and awkward positioning. She was spent, and her jaw had started an involuntary clenching motion she feared was an onset of mild seizures.

The next step was unconsciousness, followed by death.

She refused to let that happen.

Unwilling to risk food-borne illness, Colby nudged aside the remains of a moldy sandwich and went straight for the soda. There was no way to drink from her position, so she tipped the can on its side instead of placing her mouth over the opening. Dark slush filled a divot in the floor, and she slurped fast to get what she could before the concrete drank the liquid. There was less than a third of a can left, not as much sugar as she needed, and it had a smoky aftertaste that, only after she’d forced it down did she realize came from a cigarette butt, the filter of which emerged from the opening.

She spat a piece of soggy paper onto the floor and closed her eyes, disgusted with how low she’d sunk to survive. Her stomach growled, and her intestines locked in a vise grip, the radiating pressure of which forced her bladder to empty. The urine warmed her for a second before becoming cold and magnifying the already bone-deep chill. She shuddered, another seizure hitting, worse than the last. The metal chair frame clacked against the cement, and her body jerked violently until she was spent, too tired to fight. Her eyelids closed, and as hard as she tried to, she couldn’t reopen them.

CHAPTER 58

Dorian paced the interrogation room, staring at the two-way mirror and wondering who was behind it. His mind raced with scenarios about how his consensual sex with Noreen had turned into rape. He worried that Noreen had somehow found out about his and Colby’s trip to his cabin, and that the phony rape charge was some grand payback for her unrequited obsession. He was even more concerned that having had sex with her provided the proof.

Sergeant Mike Richardson opened the door and pulled out a chair. “Please, have a seat. Your attorney still hasn’t arrived. Can I get you anything?”

Dorian shook his head. “No, thank you.” He folded his slightly shaking hands on the metal table. “I don’t need a lawyer, you know. I’m innocent.”

“Sure looks like it, too, when the first words out of your mouth are, ‘I want a lawyer.’”

“It was reflex. I didn’t rape Noreen. I have no idea where this is all coming from. I panicked.”

“Then you waive your right to counsel? Otherwise, we can sit here as long as it takes. I have time.”

“I just want this over with.”

“Is that a ‘yes,’ then? You’re waiving counsel?”

“Yes, for now. I can stop and request my lawyer later, right?” Mike nodded. “Then let’s talk.”

Mike clicked his pen. “Where were you Monday?”

Dorian counted back three days and tried to remember his whereabouts. Monday was the day Kristin had given him the envelope. “When Monday?”

“Take me through the day.”

“I made rounds early, around six, and went to the office to see an eight a.m. patient. Noreen didn’t show up for work and hadn’t called in. I asked Kristin, my receptionist, to try to get ahold of her, and when she had no luck, I got worried. I had Kristin cancel my day, and I went to Noreen’s apartment.”

“You knew where she lived.”

“Of course. We’ve driven together to dinners, seminars, that sort of thing.”

“What happened next?”

“I went inside and we talked.”

“You mean, you argued. One of the workers who had been shoveling that day describes you as upset and panicked.”

Dorian recalled the work crew. “I wasn’t either of those things. I was concerned.”

“As her boss.”

Dorian sighed. “As more than her boss, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Noreen has been coming on to me for years. Maybe I flirted, and maybe I liked the attention, but I wasn’t the one initiating things. I turned her down every time, except for that day.”

“Are you saying you slept with her?” Dorian nodded. “Why was that day different?”

No answer to that question was going to make Dorian look innocent, and he debated stopping. “I was being set up.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “For?”

“An envelope showed up at my office that morning.” Dorian lowered his gaze. “Two pathology reports linked my first transplant patient to their donor, a donor I lied to in order to illegally procure a uterus.”

“Sydney Dowling.”

“Yes.” Dorian felt sick admitting it. “The only person who knew was Noreen, and I had sex with her in the hopes that she’d be quiet about it.”

“And when she refused?”

“She
didn’t
refuse. We had sex, I fell asleep, and I woke up to her screaming at me. She found the reports in my coat pocket and was furious that I would think she was the one who left them at the office. She said she never saw them before, and she threw me out of her apartment.”

“Then what?” Mike leaned back in his chair.

“I believed her. She was too angry for me not to. I figured the only other person who could have this kind of information was Marco Prusak. I went to his lab and ended up here, in a holding cell. I was here until bail was posted.”

“And you hadn’t talked to Marco before that? Hadn’t gone to his apartment?”

“I don’t even know where he lives. Ask him yourself.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news in the past couple of days.”

Dorian shrugged. “No, why?”

“Because Marco Prusak was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Dorian moved his sweat-slicked hands to his lap. “When? What happened?”

“Time of death puts his murder prior to your arrest, which, among other things, poses a different set of questions.”

“What other things? What are you talking about?” Dorian panicked, feeling caught in something much worse than the damning rape charge.

“I’m not inclined to divulge specifics. Let’s talk for a minute about bail. I checked your file. Tell me about the woman who posted it.” Mike’s tone was alarmingly similar to the one he used to tell him Marco was dead. “Tell me about your relationship with Colby Monroe.”

A pit of fear worked at Dorian’s insides. “Is Colby all right? Where is she? Is she hurt?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Dorian’s suspicions about Noreen, and what she was capable of, escalated to another level, and he prayed that wherever Colby was, she was all right. A tear rolled down his cheek and he said, “I’ll take that lawyer now.”

CHAPTER 59

Jared’s slow breath was warm on the back of Ana’s neck, and his fingers were intertwined with hers. A flurry of knocks came at her door, and when they didn’t wake him, she tried to slip away before the next round.

“Where are you going?” Jared lifted his head off the pillow and smoothed his dark hair.

“Someone’s at the door,” she whispered, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. “I’ll get rid of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Ana moved the sidelight curtain and gasped.

Mike’s bloodshot eyes held a familiar sadness, and he looked like he hadn’t yet slept that night. She opened the door, and he walked right past her.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Jared sat up and pushed the blanket to the end of the couch, his sleepy eyes a dead giveaway that he’d been there all night. “I’d better go.”

Ana scrunched her face in preparation for the inevitable verbal lashing she knew Mike would wait until Jared left to give her.

Jared collected his things, put on his jacket, and grabbed his keys off the coffee table. “I’ll call you later.” He exited through the door to the garage where Ana had insisted he park, given the likelihood of unwanted attention. The garage door went up, and he backed out.

He was thankful Mike had parked on the street, since it helped avoid the awkwardness of asking him to move his truck.

“I can explain.”

“He’s a married man, Ana. What are you thinking? Do you know what people say about women who do these kinds of things?” She did know because she’d said such things about Misty. “Answer me. What is this, some kind of
fling
? I know you’ve been through a lot lately, but you can’t just throw yourself at anyone willing to give you attention, especially when they’re married.”

“It’s not like that, Mike. For one, he filed for divorce. And two, nothing happened.”

Mike scoffed. “It looked like nothing happened.”

Ana planted her hands firmly on her hips. “I know you didn’t come here just to disapprove of my choice in men. I said nothing happened, and it didn’t. End of story. What do we need to talk about?”

“We have a suspect in custody. After his nurse turned him in, Dorian Carmichael confessed to performing unnecessary surgery on Sydney.”

“Did he also confess to murder?”

“No, but we’re holding him on other charges until we can collect evidence that ties him to Sydney’s case.”

“I want to talk to him. If he was willing to admit what he did to Sydney, whether it was because his nurse called him out on it first or not, maybe I can get him to tell us everything. I need to know
why
he killed her.”

“Ana, that’s not a good idea. Besides, it’s impossible.”

“You’re the sergeant. Make it possible.” She drew a deep breath. “There’s something I never told you, Mike.”

“
What
didn’t you tell me?”

“That day you told me not to go to Sydney’s, when forensics was there searching the house, I had already been there.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know that?”

“I found a card in her desk drawer for a doctor she hadn’t ever mentioned going to, a Dr. Alan Sanders. He told me Sydney most likely didn’t have cancer. Jared helped me figure out what Dorian did.”

“
You’re
the secret he was protecting,” Mike said.

“What do you mean?”

“It seemed more than coincidental that Jared ended up giving not one, but
two
statements, if the cases weren’t related. County Memorial staff said Jared and Marco weren’t what anyone would consider friends, at least not close enough that he’d check on him. It wasn’t coincidence at all that he went to his apartment. He went there for you.”

“I wanted to have proof of what Dorian did before telling you. Jared went to Marco to get it.”

“And did he get it?”

Ana handed the reports to Mike. “Since Dorian confessed, I don’t see why these matter, but here’s the proof that Stephanie Martin’s uterus came from Sydney.” Mike looked over the papers. “And there’s something else. Remember the roses without a card at Sydney’s wake?”

“Yeah.”

“I had the florist look into who sent them.”

“And?”

“It was Dorian Carmichael.”