Wick.
"Well?"
"What?"
"She denied it before I accused her of it."
"Come on, Oren. She's got more years of schooling than you, me, and Plum there added up. But she didn't need a medical degree to guess what you were getting at. Driving a herd of longhorns through that room would have been more subtle. She got your point. Any dummy would have. And this lady doesn't strike me as a dummy."
"She and Dr. Howell had a history of quarreling."
"So do we," Wick said, laughing.
Oren stubbornly shook his head. "Not like they did. Everybody I've talked to at the hospital says she and Howell respected each other professionally but did not get along."
"Love affair turned sour?"
"Initially I posed that question to everyone I interviewed. I stopped asking."
"How come?"
"I got tired of being laughed at."
Wick turned and quizzically arched his eyebrow.
"Beats me," Oren replied to the silent question.
"That's the reaction I got every time I asked.
Apparently there were never any romantic fires smoldering between them."
"Just a friendly rivalry."
"I'm not so sure it was all that friendly. On the surface, maybe, but there might have been a lurking animosity that ran deep. They were always at each other's throats for one reason or another. Sometimes over something trivial, sometimes major. Sometimes in jest, and sometimes not. But their disagreements were always lively, often vitriolic, and well known to hospital staff."
As he mentally sorted through this information, Wick absently popped the rubber band against his wrist.
Oren noticed and said, "You were wearing that yesterday. What's it for?"
"What?" Wick looked down at the rubber band circling his wrist as though he'd never seen it before. "Oh, it's ... nothing. Uh, getting back, was Howell's appointment gender based?"
"I don't think so. Two other department heads at Tarrant General are women. Howell got the promotion Newton felt she deserved and probably thought she had sewn up because of her seniority status. She'd been affiliated with the hospital for two years before Howell joined ranks."
"She would resent the hell out of that."
"Only natural that she would."
"But enough to bump him off?" Staring at the static picture on the TV screen, Wick frowned with a mix of skepticism and concentration. He motioned with his chin for Oren to restart the tape.
On it, Oren asked, "Did you go straight home following the party, Dr. Newton?"
She gave a clipped affirmative.
"Can anyone corroborate that?"
"No."
"You didn't go out again that evening?"
"No. And no one can corroborate that either," she added when she saw that he was about to ask. "But it's the truth. I went home and went to bed."
"When did you hear that Dr. Howell had been killed?"
That question caused her to lower her head and speak softly. "The following morning. On television news. No one had notified me. I was stunned, couldn't believe it." She laced her fingers together tightly. "It was horrible to hear about it that way, without any warning that I was about to receive terrible news."
Wick reached for the remote and paused the video. "It appears to me she was really upset about it."
"Yeah, well ..." Oren gave a noncommittal harrumph.
"Have you asked the widow about their relationship?"
"She said what everyone does: mutual respect, but they had their differences. She said Howell actually got a kick out of pestering Dr. Newton. He was a jokester. She's all business. She was a good foil."
"Well there you go."
"Maybe Dr. Newton thought his getting that position was one joke on her too many."
Wick stood up and began to pace.
"Recap the facts for me."
"On the homicide? According to Mrs. Howell, the party broke up about midnight. They were in bed by one. The house phone rang at two-oh-seven.
She's definite on the time because she remembers looking at the clock.
"Dr. Howell answered the phone, talked for several seconds, then hung up and told her he was needed at the hospital, said there'd been a major
"Well?"
"What?"
"She denied it before I accused her of it."
"Come on, Oren. She's got more years of schooling than you, me, and Plum there added up. But she didn't need a medical degree to guess what you were getting at. Driving a herd of longhorns through that room would have been more subtle. She got your point. Any dummy would have. And this lady doesn't strike me as a dummy."
"She and Dr. Howell had a history of quarreling."
"So do we," Wick said, laughing.
Oren stubbornly shook his head. "Not like they did. Everybody I've talked to at the hospital says she and Howell respected each other professionally but did not get along."
"Love affair turned sour?"
"Initially I posed that question to everyone I interviewed. I stopped asking."
"How come?"
"I got tired of being laughed at."
Wick turned and quizzically arched his eyebrow.
"Beats me," Oren replied to the silent question.
"That's the reaction I got every time I asked.
Apparently there were never any romantic fires smoldering between them."
"Just a friendly rivalry."
"I'm not so sure it was all that friendly. On the surface, maybe, but there might have been a lurking animosity that ran deep. They were always at each other's throats for one reason or another. Sometimes over something trivial, sometimes major. Sometimes in jest, and sometimes not. But their disagreements were always lively, often vitriolic, and well known to hospital staff."
As he mentally sorted through this information, Wick absently popped the rubber band against his wrist.
Oren noticed and said, "You were wearing that yesterday. What's it for?"
"What?" Wick looked down at the rubber band circling his wrist as though he'd never seen it before. "Oh, it's ... nothing. Uh, getting back, was Howell's appointment gender based?"
"I don't think so. Two other department heads at Tarrant General are women. Howell got the promotion Newton felt she deserved and probably thought she had sewn up because of her seniority status. She'd been affiliated with the hospital for two years before Howell joined ranks."
"She would resent the hell out of that."
"Only natural that she would."
"But enough to bump him off?" Staring at the static picture on the TV screen, Wick frowned with a mix of skepticism and concentration. He motioned with his chin for Oren to restart the tape.
On it, Oren asked, "Did you go straight home following the party, Dr. Newton?"
She gave a clipped affirmative.
"Can anyone corroborate that?"
"No."
"You didn't go out again that evening?"
"No. And no one can corroborate that either," she added when she saw that he was about to ask. "But it's the truth. I went home and went to bed."
"When did you hear that Dr. Howell had been killed?"
That question caused her to lower her head and speak softly. "The following morning. On television news. No one had notified me. I was stunned, couldn't believe it." She laced her fingers together tightly. "It was horrible to hear about it that way, without any warning that I was about to receive terrible news."
Wick reached for the remote and paused the video. "It appears to me she was really upset about it."
"Yeah, well ..." Oren gave a noncommittal harrumph.
"Have you asked the widow about their relationship?"
"She said what everyone does: mutual respect, but they had their differences. She said Howell actually got a kick out of pestering Dr. Newton. He was a jokester. She's all business. She was a good foil."
"Well there you go."
"Maybe Dr. Newton thought his getting that position was one joke on her too many."
Wick stood up and began to pace.
"Recap the facts for me."
"On the homicide? According to Mrs. Howell, the party broke up about midnight. They were in bed by one. The house phone rang at two-oh-seven.
She's definite on the time because she remembers looking at the clock.
"Dr. Howell answered the phone, talked for several seconds, then hung up and told her he was needed at the hospital, said there'd been a major
Similar Books
Listen
Kate Veitch
Killer Weekend
Ridley Pearson
The Periodic Table
Primo Levi
Frankie and Stankie
Barbara Trapido
Inside
Alix Ohlin
American Prometheus
Kai Bird
The Alpha's Baby
M.E. James
Freakling
Lana Krumwiede
Nomads' Fall: Burning Bastards MC
Ryder Dane