Sins of the Flesh (12 page)

“Detective Ramirez,” Mick said, tucking the badge back into his jacket pocket.

“I thought you guys were done already,” the guard asked as he pushed forward the log book for Mick to sign.

Mick scrawled a name in the book and answered, “State lab boys needed another sample. Asked me to come down and get it so they can finish up their investigation and release the crime scene.” He held up a briefcase as if to confirm that he intended to put the evidence within it.

The security guard nodded and handed over a visitor’s badge. “Third door on the right. Then go through the breezeway into the next wing and follow the hall to the very end. You’ll need the badge to open all the doors.”

Mick shot him a quick salute and did as the man said, swiping the badge at the door to access the breezeway before he walked down to the end of the hall. Even if there hadn’t been crime scene tape everywhere, a quick peek through the glass panel in the door would have confirmed that something major had gone on in the room.

Blood spatter marred the walls and a larger splotch stained a spot in the center of the floor. Pieces of lab
furniture, shattered beakers, microscopes, and other equipment littered the room. Across the room, large pieces of plywood closed off what had once been a large plate glass window.

Mick slipped beneath the crime scene tape, swiped the card to open the door, and entered the laboratory, where he took photos with a camera and made mental notes of everything in the room, including the destruction in various areas. Then he strode to the lateral file cabinets along the far wall. The doors of the cabinets were dented and blood-splattered.

He cracked open the first drawer. Lots of files, but with very few papers. The second drawer held more of the same.

The next lateral file was locked.

He removed a locksmith’s pick from his suit jacket pocket and slipped it into the opening. A few pokes and twists and the lock on the cabinet popped out with a
ka-thunk
.

Patient files filled the top drawer. Files with red labels that read
TERMINATED
took up the bulk of the space. The name on the last file in the cabinet was Jenkins.

He closed the drawer and opened up the second one.

Bingo. Shaw’s file was smack in the middle. He removed it and for good measure grabbed two of the nearby files labeled with the troublesome
TERMINATED
stickers.

He tucked the files into the briefcase and locked the cabinet, returning it to its original state. He hurried back out into the hallway and as he did so, a woman in scrubs turned the corner and headed toward him.

When she realized he was by the door to the lab, she paused, clearly uncertain.

“Detective Ramirez,” he said, as he reached into his jacket and extracted the badge.

She nodded and he said, “Do you work here? In the lab?”

“I did until Dr. Wells was murdered. They’ve closed up the facility for now,” the woman said, fingering the hem of her shirt nervously. She motioned to another door farther up the hall. “I was just going to pick up some samples in there.”

“Where are the patients?” he asked.

The woman shrugged. “Gone. Dr. Edwards thought it would be better to move them away from the violence.”

And away from anyone who could question them about what really went on the night Wells was murdered, Mick thought. Edwards was certainly trying to cover up the incident. He wondered why his client hadn’t already called him about the progress he was making on the case.

“Thank you for your time,” Mick said, and with a polite nod of his head he exited the Wardwell facilities.

Outside the building, he hurried around the exterior of the structure to the spot where Shaw had supposedly made her escape by tossing a heavy piece of lab equipment through the glass. Several large pieces of plywood sealed off the damage.

He bent down and examined the base of the makeshift plywood barrier and bits of broken
window glass glinted in the sunlight.

Very little glass
.

Someone might have cleaned up, but if the glass had shattered as badly as indicated in the police reports, he would have expected a fairly large area where bits of the window glass would have been broadcast by the force of the blow.

He stood and surveyed the area in a six-foot-or-so radius from the window.

Nothing, which didn’t seem possible to him even if someone had cleaned up. Human nature being what it was, they would have focused on the area close to the window and likely missed the pieces scattered farthest by the impact.

The lack of glass raised another possibility in his mind—that the window had been broken from the outside, spewing bits of window glass inward.

He made a note to review the police reports again when he returned home.

The files in the briefcase were heavy, dragging at his arm as he rushed back to his car. Dragging on his conscience as he recalled how many red terminated labels there had been in the two drawers.

If either he or Franklin had completed their mission, would Shaw have been the next patient with the Terminated designation?

He intended to find out just what that status meant and who was responsible for the deaths of so many.

Later, Mick paced the length of the living room in his home, his booted feet sounding loudly on the polished wood floors, making him wish for once that he had put carpet down. The carpet would have muffled his sounds, but then again, it would also provide stealth to an intruder.

Not that he had ever meant for his chosen profession
to intrude in this place, even though he had secured this home as thoroughly as he had his apartment/office.

A car door slammed outside and he went to the door and peered out the spyglass.

Liliana was hurrying up the walk, medical bag in one hand and a white paper bag with the familiar logo of his family’s Mexican restaurant in the other. His stomach growled in anticipation of what was in the bag.

At the door he disarmed the security system and admitted his sister. Re-armed the system once she was safely inside.

“You’ve got news—”

“And nachos in addition to some other goodies,” Liliana said, holding up the bag. Inclining her head in the direction of the stairs, she said, “How’s the patient?”

Mick shook his head. “Determined to get free, and luckily more coherent than yesterday.”

“Considering the dissociative properties of some of the drugs she’s received, that’s surprising.”

Liliana walked down the hall toward the kitchen and Mick followed. She placed her medical bag on a kitchen chair and went to the oven. After she turned it on, she placed the contents of the bag inside.

It occurred to Mick as he watched her that his baby sister had the mom act down pat.

“We can eat and talk about the test results after I check out… You said her name was Cat? Any last name?”

He hesitated, unsure of just how deeply to involve his sister.

“Let’s leave it at just Cat.”

“Justcat? An unusual surname, wouldn’t you say,
hermano
? But it seems appropriate for such an unusual woman.” She grabbed her doctor’s bag and brushed past
Mick on her way to the guest room, stopping short at the foot of the stairs.

“Has she had a chance to relieve herself? Or to move about to avoid the risk of DVT?”

“About an hour ago, she relieved herself and took a shower, although she was none too pleased with my company in the john. Also gave her some of my sweats to wear.”

Seemingly satisfied, his sister went to check on her patient.

At the door to the room, Liliana stopped, surprised by the sight of the cello in the corner and the sound of the softly playing music. “Is that—”

“Tony’s old cello,” Mick called as he climbed the stairs to follow his sister. “I snuck by the house and borrowed it. Left him a note that I needed it for a friend.”

“I can’t remember the last time our baby brother played it,” Liliana said.

“That’s why I figured it wouldn’t bother him. Thought it was worth getting the cello, since Cat responded favorably to the music.”

Liliana nodded, proud of her brother for making such a kind, albeit surprising, gesture. She went in and walked to the bed. As she had the night before, Caterina grew fretful at the sight of her.

Placing her medical bag on the ottoman by the chair where Mick had slept the night before, Liliana sat down and laid her hand on Caterina’s pale blue forearm. In her best bedside manner, her voice soothing, she said, “How are you feeling today, Cat? How is your arm?”

Caterina eyed Liliana up and down before her movements quieted and, as they did, the camouflage staining her skin receded like the wash of a wave along the shore.

“Please let me go,” she said.

Mick muttered a curse under his breath.

His sister glared at him. “Why don’t you go get some dinner for Cat?”

Caterina looked from the young woman sitting beside her to Mick. Her captor, since she recognized now that she had escaped one prison merely to end up in another.

Mick shot an annoyed look at them, but did as his sister asked.

Liliana scooted to the edge of the chair and patted Caterina’s arm reassuringly. “Don’t mind my brother. He means well.”

Caterina examined the doctor more carefully. She and the man shared the same dark brown hair and eyes, but Mick’s skin was a darker color, like the burnished wood of her cello.

Yes, her cello. She had remembered that during the many hours that she had lain in the bed, listening to the music that continued to play softly. Recalling how her fingers would shift along the strings while her bow worked against them to bring forth the strains of a symphony.

When Mick had brought in the beat-up old instrument, she had known it wasn’t hers, but despite that had twisted on the bed until she could touch the wood, feel the cool of the varnish beneath her fingers, pluck a string or two only to wince at its out-of-tune sounds.

“My name is…” she started to say, but then her mind processed another thought that yanked a wide grin to her face. “Caterina. Caterina Shaw.”

“
C
aterina Shaw, the cellist?” Liliana was taken aback by the revelation.

Caterina nodded. “I play the cello. I’m a musician.”

“Dios mio,”
Liliana whispered before recovering her poise. “I’m Liliana. Mick’s sister and a doctor. May I look at your arm?”

Caterina moved her wounded arm and experienced a slight pull, but little pain. Feeling an unexpected sense of security with the other woman, she nodded and permitted her to check the wound.

“It’s knitted closed and almost completely healed,” Liliana said with some surprise in her voice. “I’m going to take the stitches out, so it may feel a little weird.”

As Liliana cut the stitches and pulled them out, Caterina felt like someone was tracking a thin string over her flesh, but there was no pain. When she finished, Liliana placed a fresh bandage on Cat’s arm and returned to her seat.

“Are you feeling better? You seem more alert.”

Amazingly Caterina was feeling almost… human. The long periods of rest had allowed her to focus, and with that focus had come more and more memories. Despite that,
there were still some ideas that failed her, and she was frustrated that communicating her thoughts remained difficult.

“I feel… well, but… confused at times.”

Liliana nodded and grasped her hand, the gesture comforting. “Someone has drugged—”

“You did. And Dr. Wells. Edwards,” Cat offered, remembering that they, too, had regularly injected her during her stay in their lab.

“Did Dr. Wells and Edwards hurt you?” Liliana asked even as her brother walked back into the room with a tray.

“Dr. Wells was my… friend.”

“We’re your friends also, Caterina,” Liliana said.

“Caterina?” Mick immediately chimed in.

Liliana shot him a sisterly look filled with condemnation. “Caterina Shaw. The world-famous cellist. She seems to finally have remembered who she is.”

As Caterina glanced at Mick, she caught part of a look between the two siblings, but like so many things, she had trouble understanding the meaning of it.

Mick stood by his sister, holding the tray of food, but he shifted his attention to her. “If I undo the ties so you can eat, do you promise not to put up a fight?”

The idea of being free, if only for a short moment, firmly pushed away any ideas she might have been having about how to get away from this place.

“Promise,” she said and held up her bound wrists.

With an annoyed exhalation, he handed his sister the tray. “Hold this.”

He went to the legs of the bed and one ankle at a time, untied the restraints. Then he shifted to her arms, removing those ties as well.

“Thank you,” she said, relieved at even the smallest liberties he had provided.

A second later, he placed the tray over her lap and the aromatic smells teased her nostrils, creating a deep loud rumble in her stomach.

The scents kindled memories from the deepest recesses of her brain. Suddenly she was a child again, her mother beside her.

Mick sat on the edge of the bed, examining her as she contemplated the food. “You remember something.”