Public Anatomy (31 page)

Lipsky parked on Adams Street several houses away from Liza’s. He leaned low across the seat to see her house through Eli’s window. A Japanese lantern burned in the uppermost dormer.

“I didn’t know anyone actually lived over here,” Lipsky said. “In all this Victorian crap.” He was still stretched across the seat, too close to Eli. “Used to be a bunch of museums you had to pay to see.”

“I’ll tell you what’s crap,” Eli said, pushing Lipsky back to the driver’s seat. “All that about Liza being involved. If anything, she’s in danger herself. Hell, for all we know, she’s already dead.”

The car was smothering hot. Lipsky opened the door to get out.

“We’re just asking her some questions,” he said. “If I like her answers, I’ll get police protection all over her. I’m sure she’ll like that.”

Layla escorted Liza’s guest up the spiral staircase. He watched her miniskirt climb above him and lagged behind just enough to see that she wasn’t wearing underwear. Halfway up the stairs, he stopped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Where’s—you know?”

Layla smiled at him. “You don’t even know her name, do you?” She continued to climb and didn’t wait for an answer. He followed her without stopping again.

Liza waited for them in her study on the third floor, having climbed the fire escape that zigzagged along the back wall of the house to this room. She took a deep calming breath after scurrying up the three flights of metal stairs. She stood still, admiring all the robotic surgery
equipment she’d accumulated, and thought how this was a perfect room for entertaining. This would be the last escapade. Then she and Layla would stop. She would get her life in order. They would move far away and maybe the investigation wouldn’t follow her. The possibility of freedom excited her. The door to the study opened and Layla escorted the Trans Am man into the room.

Liza took both of his hands and walked backward, pulling him into the study.

“I wondered where you went,” he told her.

“I wanted to get things tidied up for you,” she said.

He looked back at Layla.
Two beautiful women in the same room
. “You’re coming, too, aren’t you?”

Layla stepped closer. “Dr. French and I always work as a team.”

He pulled back against Liza and stopped her. “You’re a doctor?”

“Yes. And I’m going to show you things you never knew about yourself.”

Layla brushed up behind him. He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “Would you like to play doctor with us?”

He looked at the equipment in the room, especially the table, with its sturdy leather straps and steel arms attached like a kind of new-age exercise equipment.

“Are we going to use all this?”

Liza began unbuttoning his shirt. “We just might.”

Layla massaged his neck. When Liza released the last button, she pulled his shirt off, noticed the bulk of muscle around his shoulders. Layla ran her fingers over the tattoos on his arm.

He kept his hands at his side, in submission to whatever they chose to do next.

Layla had reached around his waist and unclasped the top button of his jeans when the doorbell rang.

She stopped and looked at Liza.

Then the doorbell rang again.

“Is there another one of you?” he asked, hopefully.

Neither Liza nor Layla said anything, waiting for whoever was at the door to go away.

“I thought maybe there were three of you.” He flicked his eyebrows. “You know, triplets.”

By the third chime, it was obvious the visitor wasn’t leaving. Liza sent Layla to answer the door and send whoever it was away.

With only the two of them in the room now, the man appeared uncomfortable. “That beer’s catching up with me,” he told Liza. “Where’s your bathroom?”

The bathroom was on the second floor, next to a guest bedroom. Liza pulled him toward the door, still distracted by the interruption. “Come, I’ll show you.”

“No,” he said, stopping her. He ran a finger down the front of Liza’s blouse. “I don’t want you going anywhere.”

What’s keeping Layla?

Liza looked out of her small third-floor window. The black Trans Am was the only car parked on the street.
Whoever came to the door must have walked up. Probably a street person
. Layla had the habit of giving the homeless handouts so they would leave. But she would have sent them away and been back by now. And where was their guest? Men can pee in twenty seconds. They don’t have to wipe or wash or anything. She had not even heard the toilet. Apparently, they don’t flush either.

Liza began to regret bringing this man to her house. The thrill of the chase had faded. What began as a welcome escape from the troubles of the investigation and lawsuit, the loss of her robotic surgery program and her career, now seemed most irresponsible.

That’s what these flings with Layla and the next-available-and-willing male were all about. Total escape. Whenever she and Layla were entertaining, feeling the anticipation in this room and seeing a touch of fear in the eyes of the next conquest made her own problems seem a universe away.

She and Layla did have a great setup, she had to admit. And the game was always the same. Layla would admit their male guest through the front door while Liza waited upstairs. It all fit with the Victorian pattern of secrecy. Layla would lead the man up the stairs to the hidden chamber. There, they would seduce him. It never took much effort, what with Layla dressing and acting like a nymph and Liza controlling the action. Then the surgical equipment came in to play. The table, leather straps, stainless steel.

Tonight, however, her moment of passion had been killed by the
doorbell. This was the last time she would bring a stranger home. And she would tell the medical students, those impressionable young men, that she could no longer serve as their extracurricular advisor. It was all too risky.

Liza heard two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. She tried to feel sexy again. It wasn’t happening. The man opened the door and stood there, smiling.

“Did you miss me?”

Something about him had changed. The way he looked at her. He was no longer wanting her or needy. Not in that way. He was confident, as though
he
was now in charge.

“Look who I found.”

He moved from the doorway so that Layla could enter. Except it wasn’t Layla.

Cate Canavan walked into the room.

Cate’s sudden appearance shocked Liza. She tried to rationalize what was happening. She had invited Cate, as her student, to come to her house and practice on the robotic equipment whenever she wanted. But tonight? At this hour? And where the hell was Layla? Of most concern was the manner in which Cate and this man spoke to each other. It was unmistakable. They knew each other.

“Is it okay if we practice on your equipment?” Cate asked.

The way he and Cate walked slowly toward her made Liza’s skin crawl. Did Cate ask can
we
practice?

“I really appreciate your letting me come over like this,” Cate said. “Opening up your home.”

Liza listened to Cate, but she kept watching this man, who came closer and closer. A few minutes ago she had wanted him. Now, all Liza wanted was for him to get the hell out of her house.

Cate too, for that matter. Something was very different about her. Her language was polite, but her eyes betrayed her. She kept cutting glances at the man, then at Liza, back and forth.

“If you really want me to improve my surgical skills, Dr. French, I need someone to practice on.”

They were both too close.

Liza took a step back, called out for Layla. There was no answer.

“She won’t be of much help to you anymore,” he said.

Liza pointed at him. “Get out of my house.” Then to Cate. “Go call the police.”

Cate laughed. “I don’t think so. We should have called the police six months ago.”

Liza looked only at Cate now. Mentor to student. Woman to woman. Hoping to find some answer of what was happening. Their faces mere inches from each other.

“Six months ago?” Liza asked.

The man stepped close and stared at Liza, waiting for her reaction.

“Yes, six months ago,” Cate said. “When you killed our mother.”

Liza stared at Cate in disbelief. “Your mother?”

“She trusted you.” Cate’s eyes glistened with tears. “Said you were the only doctor who could make her better.”

What at first made no sense now hit Liza like a wall.

The first patient who died was Cate’s mother!

Liza could see the slight resemblance she had not noticed before. How Cate’s fair skin, her high cheek bones, were exactly like the face of the woman who for the last six months haunted Liza’s dreams.

“Why, Cate? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The man stepped in. He pointed a gun at Liza’s face.

“Because we wanted you to pay, bitch.”

Liza stepped back. Cate had not said
my
mother but rather
our
mother. This man she had picked up at the bar had staged the whole thing. He knew she would be at Alex’s Tavern, knew that she was prone to leave with a partner. So he had planted himself next to her at the bar. This man, who was in her face, calling her bitch, was Cate’s brother.

He grabbed both of Liza’s arms, hands wrapping full around her biceps, and lifted her straight in the air. Liza’s feet dangled and she went for his groin with a quick kick, but he anticipated this and blocked her foot with his knee.

Liza could feel his anger building, his fingers tighten even more, pinching her skin. She screamed. Then he slammed her down on the operating table. Her back hit first, then her head whiplashed against the rock-hard surface. She blacked out for a few seconds, enough time for him to bind her to the table. She screamed again when she came to and felt the leather straps pulled tight across her chest.