Shadow of Doubt (17 page)

A
unt Aggie had been sitting in the hospital waiting room when she saw Vern get up restlessly and peer into the room. She had braced herself. She knew what would come next.

And then she'd heard shouting, and security people began running to the room, and then nurses and doctors, like Stan had done one of those Code Blue things. When they had dragged Celia out of the room, crying and screaming, Aunt Aggie had been torn between beating Vern off with her cane, and taking the stairs down as fast as she could. Since Vern had gotten Celia onto the elevator before she'd made up her mind, she'd chosen the stairs.

She was out of breath by the time she got all the way down, and just as he'd promised, David was sitting in his car right beside the exit. He saw the look on her face and leaned over to open the passenger door.

“Aunt Aggie, what's wrong?”

“They got her!” She climbed into the car like a thief escaping a bank robbery. She pulled her wig off and threw it down, leaving her own white hair sticking out all over. “Come in and caught her!”

David cursed. “Where is she?”

“They takin' her to Newpointe, I guess. Maybe Slidell. Hurry 'round and maybe we'll catch up with 'em. We can follow 'em, see where they take her. But what if they see us?”

The sound of sirens began to get closer, and David shook his head. “Aunt Aggie, if they do see us, so what?
We
weren't under a court order. You and I were allowed to come here.” Aunt Aggie saw several police cars pull in front of the building, and the cops got out and hustled in. “What did they do, call out the cavalry? All she did was break a stupid court order.”

“The commotion!” Aunt Aggie said, dropping her head back against the seat. “You shoulda seen it! The screamin' and runnin' and wailin' and doctors and nurses…”

“I should have talked her out of this. Aunt Aggie, they'll put her back in jail.”

“I
shoulda talked her out of it, too. But I didn't think we'd get caught. She didn't hurt nobody.”

They saw Vern leading a crying Celia out the front door and put her roughly into the squad car. Several other cops clustered around the car.

Aunt Aggie started to cry. “I got to help her. I got to go over there and tell 'em to leave her alone, that she didn't do nothin' but visit her husband…Give me that cane back.”

“No, Aunt Aggie. I don't need my sister
and
my aunt in jail. You're not going over there swinging your cane at a bunch of cops. Now, just sit here for a minute. I think we can do more good if we follow her to the police station and try to bail her out.”

“Awright,” Aunt Aggie agreed. But in her heart she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.

 

U
p in the room, Stan felt weak, disoriented, and he was having trouble breathing again, and those stomach cramps were starting. Doctors and nurses poked and prodded him, drawing blood and taking vitals, and he kept muttering, “Orderly. Not Celia. Orderly.”

Someone in a lab coat stood over him, talking to the doctors and cops as if he wasn't in the room. “The IV bag was poisoned with arsenic. It also had a pinprick in it, so she must have injected the arsenic solution into the bag. Either she brought the bag in and switched it, or she injected it right here.”

“No,” he said. “No, you're wrong.” But they weren't listening.

He tried to think what the orderly looked like. He needed to give them a description. But he'd had on that surgical mask…said he had a cold…and the surgical hat, and scrubs, and those glasses. He hadn't looked at him that closely, had only glanced up at him.

“Stan…”

He looked up and saw Sid standing over him. How had he gotten here so fast? He realized vaguely that a lot had happened. Things were fading in and out, and time had slipped by. Had they medicated him? Had the arsenic damaged his brain?

“Stan, tell me what she did when she came in here.”

Yes, he thought. He wanted to tell him. He shored up every ounce of energy he still had. “She told me she was pregnant,” he whispered. He grabbed Sid's shirt and tugged him down. “She didn't do anything to the bag, Sid. It was an orderly. Someone came in before her…changed the bag.”

“Someone? Who?”

“An orderly. Scrubs. Mask.”

Sid looked up at R.J. standing across the bed, and Stan grabbed his shirt, too. “R.J., she didn't do it.”

“What
did
she do, then? What did she say?”

“I told you…that she was pregnant. That she loved me…” He could feel the emotions rushing from his heart straight into his face. “Then Vern came in…”

“Stan, I know you don't think she did anything, but were you awake when she came in?”

“Yes. I was waiting for her to call.”

“Call? Had you been in touch with her?”

“No, but I sent Nick…to tell her to call me.” Tears rolled down his temples.

“Are you sure you weren't asleep when she came in? She might have done something to the bag before she woke you.”

“She
didn't.
Why aren't you looking for that orderly?”

Again, Sid and R.J. exchanged looks. “Stan, I don't blame you for trying to cover for your wife, but one minute you didn't have arsenic in your IV bag, and the next minute you did. She was here, man, and she wasn't supposed to be.” He leaned over him and patted Stan's shoulder. “Man, I know it hurts. I know how awful this must be. But you can't deny what's happenin'. Maybe if she really is pregnant, the hormones have done some kind o' number on her brain cells. Maybe she can't even help herself. But she did it, man. It's so obvious.”

He could feel the heat in his face. “She
didn't.
Where are they taking her?”

“To Newpointe. Stan, we need your help. Did she say anything else? Was she carrying anything? A purse? A bag? Did she bring anything in?”

“No. Find the orderly.” The words came through his teeth, with as much strength as he could muster. “Find him, Sid. Let my wife go. She's innocent.”

Again, the two cops exchanged looks. Finally, Sid nodded to R.J., who then pulled a snapshot out of his pocket.

“What's that?” Stan whispered.

“It's a picture. Evidence that Celia's involved. Stan, you told us to guard her and follow her, so we did. And earlier today, when it was Vern's shift, he followed her to Lee Barnett's place.”

“Who?”

“Lee Barnett. The convict we told you about who was recently released. Her old flame. She went there to see him this afternoon. And Vern got this picture.” He looked sympathetically at Stan before he handed him the snapshot. “I'm sorry, man. I don't want to show you this.”

Stan felt the wallop in his heart, but he forced his hand up and took the picture. He didn't want to see it. Didn't even want to look. But he made himself.

There stood Celia in Lee Barnett's arms, right outside in broad daylight.

His heart crashed. Suddenly, he couldn't find words, couldn't think…

“I'm sorry, man,” Sid said gently. “Stan, I'd rather be tortured than to make you look at that picture. I didn't want to show you. But tonight she came in here and poisoned you for the second time, and I'll be hanged if I'm gonna let her get away with it. And that means that I can't let you keep thinkin' that she's the victim.
You
are, man.
She's
the criminal.”

“There's a reason.” He didn't know how he got the thought to formulate, much less the words, but some nagging voice in the back of his heart told him it was true. “There's a reason…it's not the way it looks…It may not even be her. I can't see her face.”

“It was her, Stan. Vern saw her. He followed her there, watched her go to his door…”

“Did he hear what she said to this…Barnett guy?”

“No, but Marabeth Simmons did. She heard them talkin' about checkin' into a hotel, and about what to tell the cops, and he told her he'd cover for her. Maybe they were plannin' what just happened.”

Stan looked as if he'd just been walloped in the stomach.

“Did she go into his apartment?”

“No.”

“They just stood outside like this, talking about murder in voices loud enough to be heard, in broad daylight?”

“No, of course not. They were talking in low voices, but Marabeth was able to make out some of it.”

“Marabeth Simmons is one of the two biggest busybodies in Newpointe, and you believe
her
over
Celia
?”

“Stan, look at the picture, man. She went there. Ain't what you see there evidence enough?”

Stan stared at the ceiling, unable to speak.

“Stan, you got to listen, man.”

“Get out.”

Sid looked stunned by the words. “What?”

“Get out.”

The nurse in the room came to his bedside, checked his blood pressure reading, then nodded to the two cops. “You'd better go.”

Sid took a step back and nodded to R.J. The other cop walked toward the door, but Sid hung behind.

“Man, I don't want you holdin' this against me.”

“She didn't do it.”

“I think she did. And when I go, and you're layin' in here by yourself, your body tryin' to filter out that arsenic for the second time, I think you'll believe it, too. It ain't a coincidence that her first husband died of the same thing, that she was the suspect, that she was with you the first time you were poisoned
and
the second time. No coincidence, man. But I'm goin”, if you want me to. Take care o' yourself, man. R.J.'s gonna be here for a while, right outside the door. He ain't gon' let nobody in without writin' their name down—doctors and nurses included.”

“How about orderlies?” Stan asked through his anger. “There's one in this hospital that poisoned my bag.”

“Orderlies, too. Don't worry about it, man.”

Stan closed his eyes after Sid left the room, yet he fought the sleep from the drugs they had given him to combat the poison. He thought of that picture again, of his wife in Lee Barnett's arms. Was it true?

No, of course it wasn't. It couldn't be.

But pictures didn't lie. Or did they? Didn't they lie all the time? She hadn't gone into the apartment, after all.

He tried to picture Barnett's face again, and what he could see of the orderly's face. Was it the same face? Had Barnett been working with her? Could it be possible?

Tears filled his eyes as he remembered her announcement to him. A baby. Was there really a baby? What would happen to it now? Was she in jail? Was she guilty, as everyone seemed to think? Or was this all just a terrible mistake?

He didn't know, but he laid his arm over his eyes and began to sob as the confusing torrent of thoughts washed over him. What if it was true? What if his wife really did want him dead?

N
ick hadn't been back home long when the telephone rang. Wearily, he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Nick?” The voice was weak, and he recognized it to be Stan's.

“Stan, is that you?”

“Yeah, it's me. Listen, uh…something happened tonight.”

“Yeah. Celia wasn't at Aunt Aggie's when I went to tell her to call you, and then I went over to Jill's and I was there when she got the call that Celia had been caught in your room.”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked, and Nick could tell that he was struggling with emotion. “Uh…look man. I could use some help tonight.”

Nick swallowed. “Sure. I'll do anything, Stan, just tell me what you need.”

“Do you think you could come over to the hospital? Pay me a little ministerial visit?”

“Of course. I can leave right now.”

“That'd be great.” His voice cracked, and the silence was eloquent. “I'd appreciate that, man.”

“Stan, are you all right?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Is there anything I can bring you?”

Stan was quiet again. When he finally found a word, it was wrought with emotion. “Hope?”

Nick's heart sank. Once again, he was being asked to give something he didn't possess. “I'll do what I can, buddy,” he said. “I'll be right over.”

Stan's parents had come back to the hospital by the time Nick got there at 10:30, and his mother had red patches under her eyes, as if she'd been weeping as hard as she'd ever wept in her life. She clucked over him like a mother hen, arranging his pillows and straightening his covers, while his father paced the room back and forth with simmering anger so intense that Nick could almost see it smoking out his ears.

Stan looked weaker than Nick had expected. Dark shadows lurked under his red-rimmed, puffy eyes, and Nick imagined that he had been weeping, as Nick himself would have done had he been betrayed in such a colossal way.

“How ya doin', man?” he said, shaking his friend's hand.

Stan's eyes immediately filled with tears again. “Mom, Dad, would you mind giving me a few minutes alone with Nick?”

His mother wiped at her own eyes. “Of course. We'll be in the waiting room if you need us.”

He waited as they both left the room. Nick got a chair and pulled it up to the side of the bed, sat down, and leaned forward. “Her visit…was it traumatic for you?”

Again, Stan's eyes filled. “Actually, it was nice. It was right after I'd talked to you on the phone. I hung up and closed my eyes and was waiting to hear back, and there she was, with this silly wig on, and glasses, and a nurse's uniform—” His voice cracked, and he covered his face with both hands.

“What happened?” Nick whispered.

“She got caught,” Stan forced out. “And then they found arsenic in my IV bag.”

“Arsenic?” Nick asked. “There was arsenic in your IV?”

“Somebody put it there,” he said. “And I'd swear to you it was the orderly that came in while I was on the phone with you. Only, I can't identify him. He had a surgical mask over his face, and he had on glasses and a surgical cap. Why would he come in like that, if he wasn't trying to make sure I couldn't ID him? Said he had a cold. But no one believes me. They think I'm covering for her.”

“What do
you
think, Stan?” Nick asked.

Stan looked up at the ceiling. “Nick, I would lay my hand on a Bible and swear to you that my wife did not do this. But—”

That “but” was heavy and set itself down between them like a big lead box. “But?” Nick asked.

“But the picture.” His mouth twisted, and he covered it with the back of his wrist.

“What picture?” Nick asked.

“The picture of her with that man. That Lee Barnett. The convict.”

Nick frowned. “Wait a minute. She was with him?”

“Seems that way,” Stan said. “Vern followed her. Took pictures.”

Nick was stunned, and for a moment he couldn't speak. Finally, he managed to whisper, “I can't believe it.”

“I saw the picture myself.” He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands and balled his fingers into fists. “I don't know what's going on with her, but it's suspicious.”

“But…the orderly. What about the orderly?”

“The hospital staff swears that everyone on shift has been accounted for, and that none of them changed the bag. But I know he was here. I saw him change it. Who
was
that and why does he want me dead?”

Nick searched his heart and all of his wisdom for an answer that would satisfy Stan, but he had too many questions himself. He looked helplessly at his friend, and shook his head. “I don't know what to say, buddy. I don't know what to do for you.”

Stan kept the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. “Tell me that my wife doesn't want me dead,” he said. “Tell me that the baby she's carrying isn't going to suffer.”

“Baby?” Nick sat erect. “Stan, you didn't tell me—”

“She
just told
me
,” he cried.

Nick groped for the right words, but could find none. For the thousandth time since this case had begun, he sought the wisdom of the Holy Spirit, but he still felt inadequate, useless.

“I can pray for you, Stan,” Nick said, wiping his own tears. “That's all I know to do. Just pray.”

“That's enough.”

Nick touched his shoulder and began to pray, for answers to their questions, for peace, for truth, for healing, for restoration, for reconciliation. When the amen came, he saw that Stan was calmer. Stan removed his hands from his face and looked at him.

Nick's heart broke. His own face twisted, and he rubbed at his jaw. “I've got to be honest with you, Stan. I don't know what to do for her…but I know that she is still a member of my flock. Whether she's innocent or guilty, she needs God. And she needs friends.”

“I don't know if there's some dark room in her brain that holds some deadly secret,” Stan said, “but even if she did poison me, Nick, even if she poisoned Nathan…” His voice broke and his face twisted. “Even if she did those things, I still can't stand the thought of her sitting in jail alone…”

Nick nodded, knowing that feeling himself. “I'll go to her tonight, Stan. She may just be a lost sheep in my flock. Jesus would have searched high and low for her…for the one lost sheep. If she did this, there's something wrong here, Stan. Some mental illness, or something that can be explained. Or she could be totally innocent, in which case she really needs a friend.”

“Help her, Nick.”

Nick nodded. “I will. I'll go see her when I leave here, if they'll let me.”

“And keep praying,” Stan said.

“I'll keep praying,” Nick promised. “It's all I can do. It's all I have.” Nick wiped his eyes. “If there were a fire, I'd put it out. If there were a heart attack, I know CPR. If there were a wreck, I'd use the jaws of life. For a thing like this, I just pray.”

“That's better than CPR or the jaws of life. You're doing fine, Nick.”

Nick swallowed back his own emotion as he got to his feet. “Get some rest, okay? Try not to think. I'll talk to you tomorrow and let you know how my visit with Celia went.”

“All right, Nick. Thanks.”

Nick hated to leave him, but Stan's parents returned to the room as soon as he stepped into the hall. He got onto the elevator, let the doors close, and stood there for a long moment before pushing a button. Silently, he prayed for the power and wisdom to do the right thing.

Of its own accord, the elevator began to move, down, down, down, until the doors opened on the lobby, where someone waited to get on. He stepped off, realizing that God was telling him to move, take action, get going…

He headed out to his car to do
something,
hoping that it was the right thing.