Day 2 – Saturday noon
Restaurant
Jim sat across the table from Ginny and watched her eat. He’d finished his meal and was sipping coffee, his mind on the murder. He hadn’t seen the body, hadn’t been invited to, but he’d seen cases of strangulation and had a pretty good idea what the victim must have looked like. He ached at the thought that she’d had to face that by herself.
“Nice day.”
Ginny looked up and smiled at him. “Very.”
She had declined the services of the grief counselor at work. Jim wasn’t surprised. The Scots took care of their own and the suggestion had come from one of the outsiders.
“Would you like to go for a drive this afternoon?”
“Can’t. I have to be at the police station at two.”
“What do they want?”
Ginny poked at her salad. “Statements, signatures, DNA samples.”
Not for the first time he wished they were at a point in their relationship where he could insist he go along.
“How about tomorrow, after church? I want to look at sailboats and I’d like your help.”
She looked up in surprise. “Mine? What can I do?”
“If I’m going to teach you how to sail, I need to make sure you can reach everything.”
Their eyes met and Jim got the impression she was wondering if it was safe to go out in a small boat with him.
She nodded slowly. “Okay. Sounds like fun.”
Jim refilled her coffee cup. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
She shrugged, her eyes back on her meal.
“Ginny?”
She looked up, then back down at her plate, then set her fork down and pushed the plate away.
Jim frowned. “Aren’t you going to finish that?”
“I’ve had enough.”
His frown deepened. She had started October in robust health, her curves firm and round, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling. Since then, she’d been steadily losing weight. He made a mental note to keep difficult conversations away from mealtimes. “Well, if you’re not going to eat, let’s talk.”
She crossed her arms on the table and leaned on them. “All right, Jim. Talk.”
He reached over and put a hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry this happened. The last thing you need is another murder. If I had known, I would have come up with a medical excuse and sent you home. That way you would have been out of the worst of it.”
Ginny shook her head. “We were already short-staffed. I couldn’t leave.”
“Or brought you down to the ER and put you to work there.”
“Same comment.”
“Or stayed in the Unit and tried to prevent the murder.”
He saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
“My hero.”
He glowered. “Whoever did this had better hope we don’t meet in a dark alley. I might give him a taste of his own medicine.”
“That would not be a good idea. Leave it to the police.”
He leaned toward her. “It was a cowardly thing to do, kill a woman then leave the body for someone else to find. He doesn’t deserve police protection.”
“Maybe not, but that’s the price we pay for civilization.”
Jim tried to keep his voice steady. “It might have been you.”
Ginny pulled her arm away, shaking her head. “No. The one thing we know for sure is that the murderer meant to kill Phyllis. The room was well lit. He couldn’t have mistaken her for someone else.”
“It might have been a random choice.”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “Much as I hate to admit it, the list of suspects precludes a random attack. It was one of us, Jim. That implies a motive.”
“It wasn’t you.”
He saw her quick smile. “Are you sure? You weren’t there.”
“Ginny, my love, your face gives you away. If you were guilty, you’d be confessing by now.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I didn’t do it.” Her smile faded. “I had no reason to. I liked Phyllis.”
Jim shook his head. “That’s not a barrier to murder. Maybe you were jealous of her. Or she was getting on your last nerve. Or she rebuffed your amorous advances.”
Ginny looked startled. “Where did you get that one? Too much time on the Internet?”
Jim laughed. “Romance novels. People bring books into the exam rooms to read while they’re waiting and leave them behind. We have a collection and sometimes, when there’s a lull in the action, I’ll pick one up and look through it.”
She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I’ll stick to mysteries, thank you.”
He smiled. “They seem to stick to you, too.”
“Very funny.” She made a face.
Jim felt his heart lift at her tone. “Okay. Levity aside, what are we going to do about this?”
“You—nothing. And I will do as little as I can get away with.”
“I want to help.”
“I know.”
“Did you sleep last night, Ginny?”
“You already asked me that.”
“You didn’t answer.” Jim waited, watching a variety of expressions cross her face as she considered what to tell him.
She shrugged. “I had a nightmare, but it didn’t last long. It was just unpleasant.”
He lowered his voice. “Tell me about it.”
“No.”
He dropped the pitch again, using a technique he’d learned in school. He had a warm, rich baritone that he could use to good effect when interviewing nervous patients. “Please?”
She studied him for a moment, her brow furrowed, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I have to go or I’ll be late for my appointment. Take me home, please.”
Jim checked the time. She wasn’t wrong. Even if he could have persuaded her to tell him what was in the nightmare, he didn’t have enough time to follow through on it. He would have to try again later.
* * *
Saturday afternoon
Dallas Police Substation
Ginny presented herself at the police station at two p.m., as instructed. She allowed the technician to collect her DNA and fingerprints, looked over her statement, corrected one or two minor details, signed it and turned it in, then found herself face to face with the investigating officer.
“Detective Tran! Did you draw the short straw on this one?”
Tran Thi Hue—trim, petite, and just shy of forty—shook her head. Her straight black hair, cut to frame her face, swung gently, then settled back into place; very neat, very professional. She had been the officer assigned to investigate the trouble last October and had proved a subtle and tenacious sleuth.
“I requested the assignment.”
Ginny smiled. “I’m happy to hear that.” She took the seat indicated. “So what’s next? Waterboarding? Bamboo under the nails?”
Detective Tran gave her a dry look. “No need. I already know you did not do it.”
Ginny grinned. “Because I’m such a bad liar!”
“Correct.”
“In that case, why did you want to meet with me?”
The older woman leaned forward. “I would like your help in this investigation.”
Ginny raised her eyebrows. “What could I possibly do to help you?”
“I would like to have someone on the inside. Someone who knows how an Intensive Care Unit works. You could spot discrepancies I would likely miss.”
“Are you looking for something in particular?”
“A way to narrow the suspect pool, if that is possible.”
Suspects.
Ginny had heard of the walls closing in but had never experienced it for herself. She did so now. They weren’t very nice walls, either. Painted a dull, industrial green, cracked and peeling, with white scratch marks at chair level, the room contracted around her, pressing on her, making it hard to breathe.
She sat very still. Amateurs were always a nuisance in a police investigation. They tipped off the wicked and messed up the evidence and accused the innocent, to the consternation of all. In literature and movies they were a laughingstock, many of them caricatures, so they wouldn’t be mistaken for genuine detectives.
She had played that role last October and it had almost gotten Jim killed.
But there were times when an expert assisted with an investigation. There was precedent. She drew in breath and the walls retreated.
She rubbed damp palms down her thighs. She could run. She might even be able to hide, but she couldn’t escape. Her cooperation was being requested by the one person with the greatest right to do so, one to whom she owed thanks and a civic duty. Ready or not, she was back in the investigation business.
Ginny forced her smile into place and nodded. “Where would you like to start?”
“Tell me about the victim.”
Ginny spent the next ten minutes describing Phyllis: her work ethic, her personality, her home life.
“Were you friends?”
“School chums. Sometimes we ended up taking a break at the same time and would fall into conversation. Nothing outside of work.”
“Why is that?”
Ginny shrugged. “I’m Homestead. She wasn’t.”
Tran nodded. “Can you think of anything she might have said or done that could make an enemy of someone at the hospital?”
“You think it was one of us.”
“We are not ruling out any possibility, but we are considering the most likely first.” She studied Ginny’s face, her eyes narrowing. “Do you know something?”
Ginny nodded slowly. “I think I might.” She explained about her reception at the Kyle household.
“He mistook you for another woman?”
“A woman from Hillcrest, apparently.”
“Did he mention a theft?”
Ginny blinked. “No. Just that she wasn’t welcome. Why do you ask?”
“Because we have not yet found Mrs. Kyle’s purse.”
“Did you look in her locker?”
Detective Tran flipped through the file on her desk. “The officers on the scene reported they had asked for and received her personal belongings. It does not specify whether that included the contents of a locker. I will follow up on that. See? I knew you would be useful.”
Ginny nodded. “What else can I do for you?”
Detective Tran set the notebook down and fixed Ginny with a steady gaze. “If you can do so discreetly, see if anyone at the hospital knows anything that might have made Mrs. Kyle a target.”
Ginny swallowed. “Wouldn’t it be better to let the police do that? I wouldn’t know the right questions to ask.”
Detective Tran gave her a shrewd look. “I have seen the way your mind works. You will do very well.”
Ginny felt she could have done without the compliment. She had one more card up her sleeve. She played it now. “For me to be of any real use to you, I will need access to the evidence.”
Detective Tran nodded. “So you can look for incongruencies.”
“Yes.”
She smiled, then rose and gestured for Ginny to follow her. “Come with me.”
Two hours later Ginny headed for her car, thinking hard. The crime lab was still processing the scene, still tracking down persons who could assist them in their investigation. What’s more, it seemed doubtful that the biological exemplars they were collecting would help. In a place as public as a bathroom in a hospital, there were thousands of stray bits of DNA.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. If she were planning to murder someone in a hospital bathroom, she’d wear Personal Protective Equipment—the gowns, masks, and gloves that were everywhere. No one would think twice about someone in scrubs grabbing a set and hurrying off to take care of an unspecified patient. The PPE would both disguise the wearer and prevent the transfer of DNA.
Ginny pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Loch Lonach, still thinking.
Scrubs. No help there, since all the staff had to buy their own uniforms. If you weren’t picky, you could buy new scrubs at the grocery store and used ones in second-hand clothing outlets. But even if the murderer had gone to the trouble of buying the professional grade, color matched versions Ginny and the rest of the Hillcrest staff wore, so what? Unless a set of scrubs could be found on a particular person, covered in the victim’s DNA, it wasn’t even circumstantial evidence. What she needed was a motive. Something that made it necessary for Phyllis to die.
She glanced at the lake as she drove by. The sailboats were out. They ran before the brisk Texas wind; full canvas deployed, bows cleaving the green water, heeled over to catch the sky. Jim’s motive for wanting to buy a sailboat was easy to understand. Ginny could almost taste the adrenaline. Too bad she didn’t feel the same way about tracking down Phyllis’ killer. She would do her best, but she wasn’t going to enjoy it.
Organizing what she already knew could be done in private. Asking questions could not. And they weren’t going to be innocuous questions, either. What did you have for dinner last night? Where are you going on your vacation? Did you happen to kill Phyllis?
Nor was there any reason to expect her coworkers to cooperate. It wasn’t as if she had any genuine authority. She was probably going to be told to go to Hell. She pulled the car into her garage, closed the door, and went inside.
Her head was already hurting, the tension starting at the base of her skull, then spreading down her spine and across her shoulders. Was there any way she could fulfill her promise to Detective Tran without actually poking any hornet’s nests? Because she’d learned that lesson the hard way and didn’t want to do it again. Let someone else get stung this time.
Even as the phrase formed in her mind, Ginny knew she couldn’t turn the responsibility over to anyone else. If she ever wanted to be able to look herself in the mirror again, she would have to do it herself. She felt her stomach churn and wondered if she was up to it.
* * *
Saturday afternoon
Forbes residence
Ginny dropped into a kitchen chair, crossed her arms on the table, and put her forehead down on them. “Why is everyone pushing me so hard?” She heard her mother sit down across the table from her.
“Is that a real question?”
Ginny looked up. “Yes. I don’t understand why everyone won’t just leave me alone.”
“Because we care about you.”
“Detective Tran doesn’t. All she cares about is solving this murder.”
“You do her a disservice. I was very impressed with her last October.”
“October! October! Why won’t anyone let me forget about last October?!”
“Because you haven’t gotten over it, yet.”
Ginny sat up, throwing her hand out in exasperation. “Do you know what Caroline did? She suggested I solve their crime for them. Like I was some sort of miracle worker. Wait until she hears that Tran has pressed me into service. She’ll be on my back until everyone is either dead or in jail.”
Ginny put both hands down flat on the table. “I am NOT an investigator!”
Her mother cocked her head to one side. “No?”
“NO! I’m not a private eye, or a police officer, or an assistant district attorney. I’m a nurse.”
Her mother got up, poured a cup of coffee and set it down in front of Ginny, then resumed her seat. “You’re also a genealogist.”
Ginny reached for the sugar and cream. “Yes.”
“And you spend a fair amount of your time at the hospital figuring out what’s going on with your patients, many of whom cannot tell you what they need.”
Ginny wrinkled her nose. “True.”
“In both of those settings you investigate.”
“All right. I’ll give you that, but this—this is not my job.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes! It’s NOT fair! Isn’t it bad enough that Phyllis has been murdered and all of us are suspects? Why is it my responsibility to find out who did it?”
Mrs. Forbes caught Ginny’s eye and held it. “What are you afraid of, Ginny?”
“Nothing!” Ginny set her cup down and rubbed her forehead. “Everything!”
“Tell me.”
Ginny swallowed, then tried to explain. “Can you imagine how hard it will be to work with these people if they think I’m spying on them? Most of them—maybe all of them—are innocent.”
Mrs. Forbes nodded. “I see your point. Is what you can do for Detective Tran valuable enough to outweigh the disapproval?”
Ginny sucked in a breath. “I don’t know. Why did she have to single me out?”
“That’s easy. Because you showed her what you can do.”
“You mean that spreadsheet?”
“I mean you showed her you can think, even under pressure.”
“Most ICU nurses can do that.”
Her mother smiled. “You sank your teeth into the puzzle and didn’t let go.”
Ginny made a face. It was true.
“You’ve been doing that since you were a little girl. Stubborn. Determined. I used to have to pry you away from whatever it was you were doing to get you to eat.”
Ginny felt her mouth twitch. That, also, was true.
“I think, if you asked them, everyone on that suspect list—except the guilty party—will be happy to have this resolved as quickly as possible.”
Ginny sighed. “That doesn’t mean they won’t resent my prying into their private lives.”
Her mother lifted her coffee cup to her lips. “In my experience, if you ask people for their help, they’re happy to cooperate. It’s when someone tries to trick them that they get angry. It seems counter-intuitive when you’re looking for a killer, but what’s needed is transparency.”
Ginny snorted. “That ought to be my middle name. I can’t hide a thing from anyone.”
“Just be yourself.”
Ginny nodded slowly. “So, full steam ahead and hope that whoever killed Phyllis doesn’t do the same to me.”
“I’m betting you’ll get there first.”
Ginny lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Let’s hope you’re right.” She finished her coffee, then rose from the table. “I think I’ll get started on my notes for Detective Tran.” She paused in the doorway, then turned back. “How did you get to be so wise?”
Her mother smiled, a bit crookedly. “I’m afraid it comes with experience.”
Ginny nodded, then sighed. “I seem to be getting quite a lot of experience in murder. Let’s hope I can put it to good use.”
* * *