Sleight of Hand (44 page)

The man was hysterical.  Cassie could understand why as she surveyed the blood-bathed room.  A crash C-section was no pretty sight even when the outcome was good.  And Sterling was probably just now realizing how wrong he had been in supporting Virginia Ulrich.

"There's a police officer outside.  I'm asking him to take you into custody until we get to the bottom of this," Sterling continued, tugging on Cassie's arm to pull her with him.

She batted away his hand.  The entire OR crew was staring at her.  She didn't want to disrupt the neonatology team's efforts, so she turned and left the room.

Outside the doorway she stopped.  Paul Ulrich was there, staring into the OR at his wife's body.  His face was ashen, but there was little emotion on it.  

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ulrich," Cassie said. Ulrich looked at Cassie and she was chilled by the blankness in his face.  She tried to reassure the man.  "We did everything we could–"

He turned to her with uncomprehending eyes.  It was his assistant who finally spoke. 

"You're her," Thayer whispered in a venom-filled voice.  "You're the cause of all of this."  

Cassie ignored him, more concerned with Ulrich.  The man appeared ready to pass out.  She reached out a hand to lead him away.  

A low snarl came from Thayer's throat.  Cassie turned in surprise just as he launched himself at her. "You killed Virginia and my baby!"

His weight propelled them both to the floor.  His hands were around her throat, trying to choke the life from her, his eyes blazing down at her.  

"I should have killed you when I had the chance!  Run you down like the bitch you are," he screamed.  "You took Virginia from me!"

Cassie rammed her knee into Thayer's groin.  He jerked back, allowing her enough space to wrench one of his thumbs back.  He howled in pain as the joint dislocated and she broke free.  Johnson rushed in, gun drawn.  He realized the weapon's futility in the crowded room, re-holstered it and grabbed Thayer, quickly handcuffing his hands behind him.

She caught her breath and climbed to her feet.  Drake ran in, brushing past the nurse who tried to stop him.

"Get him out of here," he told Johnson.  Sterling tried to protest, but Drake quieted him with a glare, taking Cassie's arm and escorting her from the room.

Johnson read Thayer his rights as other police officers arrived.  "I heard him," he told Drake.  "He confessed to trying to kill Hart."  He shook his head, turned to Cassie.  "That was the craziest thing I ever saw–that lady and what she did to her own children.  Do you understand it?"

Cassie shook her head.  "No, I don't."

Drake jerked his head at the younger officer.  "They can take him in, I want a statement from you while everything's fresh.  And get someone here to stand guard, this is a crime scene."

He ushered Cassie through the crowd of medical personnel, security and police to a quiet corner beside the vending machines.  "How'd it go in there?"

"We lost Virginia," Cassie said.  "I don't know about the baby.  Is your mother all right?"

"She's fine–Ulrich never touched her.  She only said that to separate us."

He pulled her into his arms for a long moment.  Cassie reveled in his warmth, allowed the ebb tide of adrenalin and failure to rage through her.  Finally, once she could control her breathing again, she looked up.

"Thank you."

He frowned, obviously upset by the events of the morning.  "For what?  I couldn't do anything."  He sighed.  "I felt so helpless–that poor kid."

"For just being here.  For believing in me."

"You don't have to thank me for that.  I'll always be here for you."  He held her tight again.  "You gonna be okay if I go take care of business?"

"I guess Virginia saved the taxpayers the expense of a trial," Cassie said, startling herself with the bitterness in her voice.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk like that–"

Drake looked down at her, one hand brushing her hair away from her face.  "You're tired.  We all are."   He started to leave, then turned back.  "You know, you did the right thing, made the right choice."

"I wish I could feel like that.  I can't help thinking, she's dead, her baby's probably dead, and it's my fault."

"Ulrich made her own choice.  You can't allow her to manipulate you now that she's gone.  It's just as bad as the way she manipulated Sterling while she was alive."

Cassie thought about that.  Typical of Drake to cut straight to the heart of the matter–no philosophical or ethical tightrope for him.

"You saved her son's life not once, but twice," he continued.  "You got involved and risked everything to help that boy when no one else cared.  You tried to save her and her baby's life.  You did the right thing.  I'm proud of you."  

He kissed her on the top of her head and gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze before leaving.

Trading one life for three, counting Sheila Kaminsky.  Could it have been the right thing?

Most frightening of all was the fact that she wasn't sorry Virginia was dead.  Only that the baby and Sheila had died.

She wasn't the person that she'd thought she was, perhaps she never had been.   But she knew the truth now–she could kill, she had killed, she might very well kill again. 

She remembered Rachel Lloyd's accusations after she'd dealt with Morris.  The nurse had been right, too right.  Her oath to first do no harm, words she'd pledged her life to, now seemed distant and meaningless.

As usual the universe frustrated her attempts to understand it.  It wasn't the first time. Cassie was certain that it wouldn't be the last.  Life would go on and she would learn to live with the consequences of her actions.  But it was difficult to accept that so many people had been harmed by her desire to help one little boy.

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Drake returned to where Ulrich's body lay in the operating room.  He looked in through the windows.  In the corner a large blue sheet shrouded the warmer where the baby's body lay.  Johnson and another patrolman stood guard outside the door, waiting for the coroner's unit to arrive. 

Virginia Ulrich appeared less peaceful in death than she had in life.  Her body was surrounded by blood-splattered drapes, there was a tube down her throat and a mass of IV lines hanging from her arms.  Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling.

Johnson stood with his back to the woman, hunched over his notebook.  The patrol officer looked a little pale.  Drake understood why.  Even a veteran of street violence would have a difficult time accepting what Ulrich had done this evening.  Or its aftermath.  And he knew Johnson had a daughter almost Charlie's age.

"Need a minute?" Drake asked in a low voice.  

The younger man shook his head, but there was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip.  He sighed and straightened up.  "No thanks, I think I've got everything straight."

"Let's go somewhere and talk.  You okay in here, Rankin?" Drake asked over his shoulder as he led Johnson from the room.

Thank God, the press hadn't arrived yet.  He'd told security not to allow them access to either the pediatric or OB floor, but in a building this size that wouldn't last long before someone found a way in.  Miller should be here soon, then it'd all be her headache.

He and Johnson returned downstairs to room 303.  Another uniformed officer stood outside the closed door, but waved them through.  

Drake shut the door behind them and surveyed the room.  It wasn't very large, space enough for a single bed, a rocking chair and a fold out recliner.  There was a large window opposite and a sink beside the door.  A closet and the door into the bathroom lined the other wall.  

No get well cards or balloons, no toys.  A lonely place for a little kid.  The bed was gone now, leaving a clear space amid the medical debris that cluttered the room.  The crash cart stood to one side, its drawers open, syringes and vials of medicine littering its surface.  Empty paper wrappings, boxes and EKG paper were strewn across the floor like remnants of a New Year's celebration.

Except this had been no party.

"Do you have the video?" Drake asked.

"Rankin has it," Johnson answered. 

"Okay, walk me through it."

"I was patrolling the floor and received a call at," Johnson glanced at his notes, "1118.  I arrived to find Ulrich at her son's bedside, holding a syringe containing an unknown substance at his IV.  Dr. Hart was inside the room, attempting to calm Ulrich.  Ulrich saw me and told me to stay outside the door, and given the imminent threat to her son, I remained where I was."

"You had a good view inside the room and could hear everything?"

"Yes sir.  Ulrich was upset, saying Dr. Hart was trying to take her son away and that she would never let that happen.  Then," he frowned, "she took the syringe from her son's arm and put it into her own." 

Drake nodded, wished he could have just shot Ulrich, instead of letting her play head games with Hart.  

"Then the monitor alarms started to go crazy and Dr. Hart realized that Ulrich had poisoned the boy.   Ulrich screamed something about Dr. Hart killing her, but the doctor ignored her and went to help the boy.  Then you–" The patrol officer stumbled.

"Go ahead," Drake told him, bracing himself for the worse.  He wasn't sure–had Ulrich pushed the plunger herself?  Or had he done it when he rushed her?  Had he killed that little baby? 

Johnson cleared his throat.   "Then you moved toward Ulrich.  But before you could grab the syringe, she injected herself."

Drake stared at the officer.  "You certain about that?  Absolutely certain?"

"Yes sir," Johnson asserted.  "The camera caught it clear as day."  He shook his head.  "I'll never forget it to the day I die.  Her son's dying, Hart goes to save him and she has this look of," he searched for a word, "triumph.  That smile–I don't ever want to see nothing like it again."

"She injected the drug?  Before I touched her?"

"Oh yeah.  No doubt about it."

"I see."  Drake blew out his breath and his fists relaxed.

"Believe me, if I had known she had poisoned the boy, I would have taken her down right away.  The syringe looked almost full.  I don't think Dr. Hart realized what had happened either, not until the monitors started to alarm."

"Okay.  You head back to the House and write it up."  Drake looked around the room once more, then turned to leave.

Johnson remained in the center of the room, where Charlie's bed would have been.  "I never would have dreamed–what would make a mother do that to her own son?" he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and disgust.  "I mean, I've never seen anything like that."

Drake shook his head.  "Me neither.  Let's just hope that there's not many more like her out there."

CHAPTER 35

Drake knocked on the open door to White's office.  The psychiatrist glanced up from the file he was dictating, waved Drake inside.  He couldn't help but notice the latest addition to White's decor: a framed Nate Trevasian original.  Much nicer than the one Nate had drawn of Mendelsohn's hand over his face, stealing his words, his will.  

This one was done with pastels–maybe from the set Drake had given Nate?–and depicted White as a roly-poly Santa Claus watching a boy play with his new puppy.  

"Miller told me to report to you, even though you already cleared me," Drake said, lounging against the wall of windows beside the desk.  He eyed the patient chair warily.

"That was before you killed a man," White reminded him.  But his smile was warm as he swiveled his chair to face Drake, pulling back from his desk and forsaking his notepad and pen.  "So, how've you been?"

"Great," Drake said.  Then remembered the reason he was here and wiped the grin from his face.  It was hard, though.  

The last three days with Hart had been the best three days he could remember.  Waking in her bed, working side by side with her in her garden, sketching–he'd even begun to paint again–making love to her, it was as if they'd been granted a vacation from the real world and its problems.  For the first time since February, he and Hart had talked, really, truly talked.  About things he'd never expected to ever voice to another living soul.

"Hate to tell you, doc," he said, "but I think I've found another therapist.  And she's a whole lot prettier than you."

White nodded thoughtfully, his shrink face back on.  "No aftereffects from shooting Mendelsohn?  Sleepless nights?  Panic attacks?"

"Not about him.  Face it, some creeps deserve what they get."  Drake didn't mention the few bad dreams about what could have happened to Hart if he'd missed that shot, dreams that were quickly erased by her warm caress and soothing words.

White seemed to follow his thoughts effortlessly.  "Dr. Hart is good for you.  But I have one observation, Detective."

Drake resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  He could afford to humor the man–after all, this was only a formality.  IAD and the Officer Involved team had already cleared him, he had his gun and was scheduled to return to active duty tomorrow.  "What's that?"

"I've been through your records and noted a pattern of behavior.  Although you test very high, you were always a mediocre student.  Never went out for competitive sports, only intramurals.  And as a police officer, despite an excellent closure record and some fine work undercover, you've shown no interest in promotion and seem to almost invite a reputation as a screw-up."

Drake winced at that.  "Don't sugar coat it, doc.  Tell me what you really think, why don't you?"

"I am," White said in a serious tone.  

Like he was Drake's father or something.  Forget that, his dad would never be talking to him like this.  "Go on."

"You barely even qualify on your weapons re-certification.  Yet, the shot you made when you killed Mendelsohn was spectacular.  I asked one of the Emergency Response snipers, he said he would have thought twice about it."

"I guess even screw-ups get lucky sometimes."  Drake tried hard not to imagine what could have happened if he'd missed Mendelsohn, given the killer time to shoot Hart–or worse yet, what if he'd hit Hart by accident?