LA,” she yelled. “I didn’t even know Ed had been shot until I saw it on TV. . . . Jesus.” Her voice wobbled as realization hit her. “You can’t think
I
did it.”
“We just want to question you, Miss Zelda.” Camelia was calm, matter-of-fact. “Maybe the first thing you can tell us is your full name.”
Her eyes swiveled between the ICU door and the long corridor. Figuring she might make a run for it, Brotski stepped between her and the elevator.
“Melba Eloise Merrydew,” she said finally in a voice like a sigh, and Brotski could almost see “Camille’s” heart hit his boots as he registered the fact that he might have the wrong woman after all.
But Camelia was remembering that huge transfer of shares. “I thought you said your name was Zelda,” he snapped.
Tears filled her eyes again, and she let them run, unmopped, down her face. “It’s Ed’s name for me. It’s what he called me.”
“Sort of a pet name,” Brotski added helpfully, then shut his mouth firmly at Camelia’s glare.
Camelia knew he had the right woman, he was sure of it. The motive was there somewhere—if only he could figure it out. That huge transfer of shares . . . Money had to be at the bottom of it. Money and sex—that’s usually what it turned out to be, and he was sure this was no different.
“Miss Merrydew, why don’t you just come along with me and we’ll talk about this. You understand I’m not accusing you of anything. We just need to have you fill us in on a few details of Mr. Vincent’s private life.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
She wasn’t as dumb as Brotski had expected from her odd appearance.
“If you wish one to be present, certainly.”
“But I
want
to help you. I’ll do everything I can. I’ve nothing to hide. . . .” She threw an imploring glance at the closed ICU door. “Just let me see him one more time, say good-bye. . . .”
Her voice broke and for a split second Camelia’s implacable surface cracked. She looked so distraught, so vulnerable, that he wondered how he could suspect her of such a heinous crime. But he knew from experience that the guilty could be as charming and persuasive as the innocent, and much more cunning.
“I’m afraid the doctor won’t allow that, Miss Merrydew. Maybe later. . . .”
He took her by the elbow, guided her to the elevator, but she swung around, suddenly. “Good-bye, Ed,” she yelled, loud enough to wake the dead. “Good-bye, honey. I’ll be back. Wait for me.”
Inside the ICU, the doctor and the nurse both witnessed the slight lift at the corners of Ed Vincent’s mouth as her final words reverberated through the room. The zigs and zags on the monitor were big as pyramids, jolting rapidly across the screen.
“You might almost have thought that was a smile,” the doctor said, awed.
He checked the patient’s vital signs, lifted his eyelids, searched with a tiny light into his pupils. Everything was still the same. Ed Vincent was still in a coma. The facial twitch had been a mere coincidence.
You found me, Zelda. You got here in time.
Don’t go away, baby,
he wanted to yell after her.
I
might not last until you get back again. . . . Stay,
Zelda. Please stay. Talk to me about what you’ve
been doing, tell me about Riley and the dog,
about Moving On . . . tell me again how we first
met. . . .
11
Dr. Art Jacobs was at a charity dinner at the Waldorf in aid of Cardiac Awareness. He knew Alberto Ricci to say hello to, they were passing acquaintances at these charity events. Their wives had served on some of the same committees— that sort of thing. But tonight, when Ricci came over to him and said, “How are you, Art?” Art was surprised.
“Good, Alberto. Everything okay with you?” Usually when people sought him out at parties it was because they wanted a bit of free medical advice.
“Fit as a fiddle, thanks, Art. I see you have an important patient now. Ed Vincent?”
“Yeah. Poor Ed. He’s a good friend of
I
did it.”
“We just want to question you, Miss Zelda.” Camelia was calm, matter-of-fact. “Maybe the first thing you can tell us is your full name.”
Her eyes swiveled between the ICU door and the long corridor. Figuring she might make a run for it, Brotski stepped between her and the elevator.
“Melba Eloise Merrydew,” she said finally in a voice like a sigh, and Brotski could almost see “Camille’s” heart hit his boots as he registered the fact that he might have the wrong woman after all.
But Camelia was remembering that huge transfer of shares. “I thought you said your name was Zelda,” he snapped.
Tears filled her eyes again, and she let them run, unmopped, down her face. “It’s Ed’s name for me. It’s what he called me.”
“Sort of a pet name,” Brotski added helpfully, then shut his mouth firmly at Camelia’s glare.
Camelia knew he had the right woman, he was sure of it. The motive was there somewhere—if only he could figure it out. That huge transfer of shares . . . Money had to be at the bottom of it. Money and sex—that’s usually what it turned out to be, and he was sure this was no different.
“Miss Merrydew, why don’t you just come along with me and we’ll talk about this. You understand I’m not accusing you of anything. We just need to have you fill us in on a few details of Mr. Vincent’s private life.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
She wasn’t as dumb as Brotski had expected from her odd appearance.
“If you wish one to be present, certainly.”
“But I
want
to help you. I’ll do everything I can. I’ve nothing to hide. . . .” She threw an imploring glance at the closed ICU door. “Just let me see him one more time, say good-bye. . . .”
Her voice broke and for a split second Camelia’s implacable surface cracked. She looked so distraught, so vulnerable, that he wondered how he could suspect her of such a heinous crime. But he knew from experience that the guilty could be as charming and persuasive as the innocent, and much more cunning.
“I’m afraid the doctor won’t allow that, Miss Merrydew. Maybe later. . . .”
He took her by the elbow, guided her to the elevator, but she swung around, suddenly. “Good-bye, Ed,” she yelled, loud enough to wake the dead. “Good-bye, honey. I’ll be back. Wait for me.”
Inside the ICU, the doctor and the nurse both witnessed the slight lift at the corners of Ed Vincent’s mouth as her final words reverberated through the room. The zigs and zags on the monitor were big as pyramids, jolting rapidly across the screen.
“You might almost have thought that was a smile,” the doctor said, awed.
He checked the patient’s vital signs, lifted his eyelids, searched with a tiny light into his pupils. Everything was still the same. Ed Vincent was still in a coma. The facial twitch had been a mere coincidence.
You found me, Zelda. You got here in time.
Don’t go away, baby,
he wanted to yell after her.
I
might not last until you get back again. . . . Stay,
Zelda. Please stay. Talk to me about what you’ve
been doing, tell me about Riley and the dog,
about Moving On . . . tell me again how we first
met. . . .
11
Dr. Art Jacobs was at a charity dinner at the Waldorf in aid of Cardiac Awareness. He knew Alberto Ricci to say hello to, they were passing acquaintances at these charity events. Their wives had served on some of the same committees— that sort of thing. But tonight, when Ricci came over to him and said, “How are you, Art?” Art was surprised.
“Good, Alberto. Everything okay with you?” Usually when people sought him out at parties it was because they wanted a bit of free medical advice.
“Fit as a fiddle, thanks, Art. I see you have an important patient now. Ed Vincent?”
“Yeah. Poor Ed. He’s a good friend of
Similar Books
Rise of a Merchant Prince
Raymond E. Feist
Dark Light
Randy Wayne White
Balm
Dolen Perkins-Valdez
Death Among Rubies
R. J. Koreto
Dangerous Magic
Sullivan Clarke
Alicia Jones 3: New Frontier
D. L. Harrison
Tyler's Dream
Matthew Butler
The Guardian
Connie Hall
Rough Diamonds (A Spider Shepherd short story)
Stephen Leather
Women with Men
Richard Ford