19

It was ten o’clock the following morning. Slivers of hesitant sunlight poked around the edges of the clouds as I inhaled a deep breath of cool air, held it for ten, and then blew the air in Ben’s direction. Together, we stood, hovering, outside the Port Augusta hospital, rested and changed—but with no viable plan of action.

“You know, I still think my idea of offering the guard a chocolate, laced with sleeping pills, would work.”

“Yep. Probably would,” Ben replied reaching out with one large hand to gently push hair from my eyes, “but jail time is not featured in our plans for the future, babe.”

Our and future.

Warm prickles scurried across my skin and I had a sudden urge to slip both hands under Ben’s chocolate brown polo shirt, the one that mirrored the color of his eyes, and show him exactly what I thought of those two lovely words together in one sentence.

Down girl! I gulped another deep fortifying breath of cold air and stared at the plain brickwork of the hospital, silently counting windows in an attempt to distract my wanton thoughts. “Well, it’s better than your wacky idea,” I growled. “You know, the one where I do a strip-tease in the passageway while you sneak past the cop on duty into Scott Brady’s room.”

Ben quirked one eyebrow, a cheeky grin crinkling his lips. “You’re probably right. I’d want to stay and watch the show too—see how far you’d go to distract the guard.”

“Duh. As if I’d even start.”

On our approach, the automatic glass doors whirred open allowing a gang of leather clad bikers, most with blackened eyes or white bandages wrapped around their skull, to exit. After sucking one last gasp of fresh air, I followed Ben inside. As soon as the glass doors closed, my irrational fear of hospitals took over—artificial air, sick people, and the chilling smell of strong disinfectant and pain. An ice cold lump settled in my stomach and instant sweat blossomed under my armpits.

Not so Ben. He strode purposely toward the enquiry desk. To keep up with him I had to push my fears aside and lengthen my stride, our footsteps echoing on the hospital issue gray tiled floor as we walked.

“This is madness. Like reporting for an exam on molecular structure without knowing the first thing about physics,” I said. “Ben, we have no plan to get past the uniform on duty outside Scott’s door. We need one.”

“What say we try the legitimate way first? Ask if Scott’s allowed visitors. If not, we’ll play up the fact that you’re the lovely lady who rescued him and you just have to see if the poor man is okay.”

“Hmmm…worth a try,” I agreed. The sooner I spoke to Scott the sooner I’d find Liz.

We followed more signs on walls, and traipsed along what felt like several hundred passageways until we came to the Psychiatric ward.

Now came the tricky part.

“Good morning, I’m Kat McKinley,” I told a stressed looking nurse sitting behind the front desk. “I’ve come to visit Scott Brady.”

“Sorry,” she said, a frown creasing her forehead. “No-one’s allowed in with Mr. Brady. He’s under police guard and suicide watch.”

“Been a hectic morning, has it?” said Ben leaning his frame against the counter and aiming his hundred watt smile at the nurse. “Not that you look flustered. You look cool headed and serene. Like that movie star in Sabrina.”

She didn’t even glance up, just continued pecking away on the computer keyboard.

Ben’s smile fizzled to a lowly 25 watts while I couldn’t prevent a muffled giggle. Benjamin Taylor considered himself the ultimate lady’s man and was always surprised when his obvious flirting didn’t hit pay dirt. However, as his girlfriend, I found his failures quite satisfying to witness.

The other nurse at the desk glanced up from writing a report, caught Ben’s dimming smile and immediately blotted her lipstick between her full lips. “Yes, it has been chaotic this morning—but all part of a day’s work. What can I do for you, sir?”

Ben’s smile lifted its game and zoomed in on nurse number two who was definitely more receptive to his charms. “I’m Ben Taylor and this is Kat McKinley and you’re—” he paused, eyeing the name tag pinned to her starched uniform. “—Belinda Tanner. Well, Belinda, we were hoping to see a patient. Scott Brady.”

With another blot of her lipstick and a large smile for Ben, she turned to me. “Kat McKinley? Aren’t you the lady who pulled Mr. Brady from his car yesterday?”

“Yes, that’s the reason I want to see him,” I said, putting on a long face together with big puppy dog eyes. “I’ve been thinking of the poor man all night.”

“Actually, Mr. Brady’s been asking to see you. We’ve been worried about his recovery because he’s upset and won’t settle down. Says he needs to thank you.”

“He does?”

“Yes.” Once again the nurse’s eyes settled on Ben and she slipped him a wink. Damn hussy. Still, if it got us through Scott’s door, I guess I could refrain from strangling the woman with a dog lead—this time. “If you’d like to wait here, I’ll have a word with the cop on duty,” she said. “Officer Joel Patterson and I were in the same class at primary school, so maybe I can talk him into letting you in to see our patient.” She paused for effect, this time with a roll of her eyes. “Especially if I emphasize the fact that I spotted him cuddling a blonde bird, dressed in little more than a brightly colored scarf, deep in a dark corner of the Sunset Lagoon nightclub last weekend. And the woman he was cuddling was not raven-haired, Suzy, his current girlfriend.”

With another wink at Ben, the nurse set off down the passageway, emphasizing the kaboom-kaboom of her booty with every measured step.

“Earth to Ben,” I said and dug a well sharpened elbow into his ribs. “By the drool running down your chin, you’re enjoying that display far too much.”

Nurse Belinda spoke to the policeman on duty and within a couple of minutes she looked back at us and waved. “He says it’s okay, you can go in for a few minutes, Kat—but your friend will have to wait outside.”

“Go on,” said Ben, pushing me forward. “I’ll keep my ear to the door, in case you need a distraction.”

“As long as that’s all you do while I’m otherwise engaged,” I warned.

Officer Patterson stood up from his sentry’s chair as I approached. “I’m going against direct orders here,” he said. “But I saw you at the greyhound track yesterday struggling to keep the guy in there alive. I’ll give you three minutes to talk to him but you can’t talk about the case and I’ll be standing beside the suspect’s bed the whole time. Orders you know.”

“Thank you, Officer.” Damn. How could I grill Scott with a uniform hanging on every word I spoke? Shrugging my shoulders at Ben, I followed Officer Patterson through the doorway into a single hospital room and looked around. The patient was propped up in bed and although he’d lost his scary pink coloring and seemed to be breathing a little easier, he certainly didn’t look ready for a night on the town yet.

“Hi Scott,” I said, smiling as I approached the bed. “I’m Kat McKinley. How are you feeling today?”

He didn’t return the smile. “I feel like someone who’s woken up after being given a drink laced with drugs only to find they’ve been bundled into their own car and they’re the victim of an attempted murder.”

My ears almost stood up and wiggled. “Yeah? Is that what happened?”

Officer Patterson grunted. “Mr. Brady, please restrict your conversation to the weather or other neutral topics or Ms. McKinley will have to leave.”

Crap.

Scott lifted his chin at me and sniffed. “’Spose I’ve got you to thank for me being alive.”
What a sweetheart. Not. “’Spose you do.” I twisted a strand of my hair and glanced across at the policeman on the other side of the bed. The uniform stood soldier straight, arms crossed, face impassive.

“So…Scott…has your girlfriend been in to see you yet?”

“Haven’t got a girlfriend.”

So that’s how he was going to play it. Like a clam. I should have left the little toad to turn into a pink Popsicle. “Come on, a good looking guy like you must have a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend’s indisposed.”

“Why’s that? Where is she?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. McKinley, I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m under strict orders not to let the patient speak to anyone until he’s been questioned by the top brass. So, if you’re satisfied Mr. Brady has recovered from his ordeal it’s time to—”

At that moment, a white coated doctor, clipboard in hand, pushed through the door of the room and strode briskly toward Scott’s bed. I blinked. Did a double-take.

Ben?

“And how is our patient feeling this morning?” he boomed.

“Amazing,” snarled Scott. “You try vomiting for a six hour stretch and see how you feel.”

Ben poked him none too gently in the chest with his clipboard. “If this young lady hadn’t been close by yesterday you wouldn’t be feeling anything now—you’d be dead.”

Scott had the good grace to look apologetic. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m not my usual cheerful self at the moment.” He stretched one hand out to me. “Thank you.”

I shook his hand and felt a slip of paper transfer from his hand to mine. I slipped it into my pocket.

“That’s it. Definitely no touching,” spluttered Officer Patterson, his face turning pink. “Your time’s up, Ms. McKinley. I want you to leave.”

“Excuse me, Officer,” said Doctor Ben stepping between the policeman and me. “Is your face usually pink?”

The policeman blinked, then transferred his gaze to the doctor. “Pink?”

“Yes. Pink.”

“Um…no. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm…” Ben peered more closely at the man’s face. “You haven’t been near our patient without wearing a mask have you?”

The policeman, eyes bugging, mouth slack, nodded.

“Oh dear. That means you may have inhaled deadly carbon monoxide.” Ben, face grim, shook his head slowly from side to side. “That could cause all sorts of unpleasant side effects unless treated immediately.”

“What do you mean? What…what sort of problems?”

“Oh, research is presently being conducted on the effects of carbon monoxide poisoning on rats. Let’s see…labored breathing, dizziness, flu-like symptoms, spots on the tongue and oh yes…several male rats in the program have become impotent.”

My mouth opened. Closed. Then shot open again.

Scott went a funny shade of green.

The young policeman grabbed at his essentials and went an identical color.

After sending me a surreptitious wink, Doctor Ben reached for his new patient’s wrist. “Here, let me take your pulse, Officer—see if you’re showing any signs of agitation.”

My back to Doctor Ben and his patient, I perched on the side of Scott’s bed. “I have two questions for you,” I whispered to Scott. “Did you kill Jack Lantana? And where is my sister?”

One hand partly covering his mouth, Scott pretended to wipe at his lips. “No, to the first—and I’m not sure to the second. Kat, I didn’t write that suicide note and wasn’t trying to commit suicide. Some asshole must have drugged my drink at the track, ’cos when I woke up I was inhaling pure poison and was too weak to do shit-all about it.”

“Good.”

“Good? What part of my horrific experience do you define as good?”

“The part that says you’re not the bad guy.” I smiled at him. “If you were—it would mean Liz’s choice in men was down there with her wacky lifestyle.”

“Thank you. I think.”

Before continuing, I glanced over my shoulder at Officer Patterson. The poor man was perched on the edge of a chair, tongue protruding, while Doctor Ben examined said appendage for little white spots. White spots—according to the sage doctorly advice being given—was a very bad sign.

“You said in your text that Liz was in trouble. What sort of trouble?”

“She overheard someone talking about how the slow dogs were winning races. Wouldn’t tell me, but she planned to confront Bob Germaine, the acting-secretary of the greyhound club. I told her to go to the police, but she doesn’t trust the cops. Said they’d laugh at her because the victims were only dogs. Anyway, when I rung Liz an hour later, her phone was switched off. That was Friday morning and I haven’t been able to contact her since. I thought if I met you, told you about it, you could talk to Bob Germaine.”

“Why didn’t you talk to him yourself?”

“Tried to. He said I was delusional. Said he hadn’t set eyes on my idiot girlfriend and ordered me off the track.”

I could hear Officer Patterson becoming loud and stroppy behind me. Probably due to the fact that Ben had requested he drop his pants in readiness for a rectal examination.

“Scott,” I said, leaning forward, “first you tell me Liz is missing from a rabbiter’s hut and now you say she’s missing after fronting the stand-in secretary of the local greyhound racing club. Which story is true? And how can I believe a word you say?”

Scott, suddenly looking exhausted, ran a hand across his forehead and leant back against the pillows. “Seems Liz met up with some guys protesting about mining in Arkaroola the first time and went off with them for a few days without letting me know.”

“And the blood in the shack?”

“Cut her finger while making bamboo baskets for homeless dogs.”

“So now you want me to—”

“Outside! Both of you!” Officer Patterson, face now a very unhealthy shade of puce stormed across to the bed and pointed a stiff finger at the door.

“Well, if you’re sure—” Ben began.

“Sure? Sure?” Officer Patterson spluttered, dancing on the spot. For a moment I thought he was going to explode into thousands of messy pink pieces right there on the sterile gray hospital floor. “The only thing I’m sure of is that something fishy is going on here.” He glared at Doctor Ben whose stethoscope dangled precariously from around his left ear. “What I’m not sure of is that you’re a real doctor.” He rested one hand on his gun and his glare intensified. “So, if this room isn’t cleared of all but the patient by the time I count to five, I’ll arrest you both, call for backup and you can prove your credentials down at the station.”

I scrambled to my feet, Ben rescued his borrowed stethoscope before it hit the ground and by the time the irate policeman got to three we were gone.