Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy (32 page)

The head officer jerked his head in Shirley’s direction. “She with you?” he asked Randall.

“Yes.”

The cop whispered something to his other officers, who began nosing around the house without actually doing any real searching. After a few minutes of that, they came back and shrugged. “Don’t look like anything’s here,” one of them said.

“Don’t look like
what’s
here?” Randall snapped, impatient. His charm was already starting to evaporate. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but if you don’t start giving me some answers about what’s really going on here, I’m afraid I’ll have to call my lawyer.”

More whispering among the cops. “Look folks, I think there’s been some sorta mistake,” the head officer said. “Neither of you are under arrest, and what we came here to find ain’t here. But if the two of you wouldn’t mind, we’d appreciate it if you came down to the station so we could ask you both some questions.”

Shirley and Randall exchanged looks. “I don’t see the harm in that,” he said with a shrug. “Shirley, what about you?”

“I guess that’s fine,” she stammered. “Though I really don’t have any idea what this is about.” Which wasn’t exactly true—of course she had
some
idea. What she didn’t know was what she had to do with it.

“Let’s go then,” the officer barked. “You can both ride in the back of the squad car.” He put his meaty hands on their shoulders and not-too-politely urged them outside.

As they climbed into the back of the squad car, Shirley felt the bottom fall out of her stomach. Maybe they weren’t
technically
getting arrested—at least, not yet. But something sinister was definitely going on. And whether she liked it or not, Shirley was mixed up in it.

Fifteen

Shirley sat alone in a cold, sterile interrogation room at police headquarters. She wasn’t handcuffed, but the duty officer had locked her into the room “as a precaution,” he said. She’d asked for something to drink, and was provided with cold, acid-tasting coffee in a soggy paper cup. Her requests to go to the bathroom had been ignored.

If this is what it was like to be interviewed at the police station voluntarily, Shirley shuddered at the thought of what actual jail was like.

She heard muffled shouts coming from the next room, followed by something that sounded like furniture being thrown. She knew that Randall was being held in one of the other interrogation rooms—and hoped against hope it wasn’t
him
who just threw a chair or table. (Or that he hadn’t had something hurled at him.)

Shirley had often heard that big-city police departments were corrupt, and wondered if maybe she was witnessing that kind of corruption now. As if in answer to that silent question, a heavyset plainclothes detective lumbered into the interrogation room, lugging a cup of coffee and a huge strawberry Danish in each meaty hand. “Evenin’,” he said in a thick Carolina drawl. “Ye must be that gal from up Statesville way. Ye know you’re in the federal database?”

Shirley blushed to her temples. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly. “I pleaded guilty in a federal case not too long ago. A misdemeanor, not a felony.”

“Hmph. Database says ye were mixed up in all that Covington Community Hospital nonsense that was all over the news,” the detective snarled. “So why weren’t
you
on the news?”

“That was part of the terms of the plea bargain,” she explained, blushing even deeper. God, this was humiliating. Next thing she knew, she’d probably be strip-searched. “So, umm, officer, what exactly is all of this about?”

“What’s all of what about?”

“Why did you want my—ahem—friend and I to come down to the station today?”

The detective’s thick gray eyebrows raised, and he snickered around a mouthful of Danish. “I was thinkin’ you could tell me that yerself, missy.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The fat detective polished off his Danish, then licked the icing and grease from his fingers. He plopped down on one of the hard plastic interrogation chairs, cupped his hands around his steaming coffee. “Look, lady. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. An’ the hard way ain’t pretty. So I suggest you start talkin.’”

“But I don’t know anything! I don’t even know what this is about!”

That didn’t seem to impress the cop. “Oh, I think you do, missy. ‘Specially considerin’ you’re already purty well acquainted with our criminal justice system.”

Shirley stamped her foot. “This is ridiculous! This is an outrage! I demand a lawyer!”

The cop smiled, admired his ragged fingernails for a moment, then finally spoke. “You ain’t entitled to a lawyer yet, missy. Ye ain’t even been charged with anything. But if ye want a lawyer, I’ll be more’n happy to charge ye with somethin’ and order up a two-bit flunky from the public defender’s office for ye.”

Shirley’s heart skipped a beat as the full realization of what was going on began to sink in. She was here because she was a murder suspect. That was the only explanation for what was happening. And she had no idea what to do next. She was innocent as innocent could be—and yet, she didn’t believe for a minute that the fat, drooling cop sitting across from her would believe a word she said.

Still, the truth was the truth. And deep down, she knew it could set her free. “I know what this is about,” she admitted. “I’m here because of what happened to Enola Higginbottom, right?”

The cop laughed and rubbed his pudgy hands together. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere, missy.”

“Well sir, not really, because I don’t know anything, other than the fact the woman died. I have no idea why, or who may be responsible. Or
if
anyone’s responsible, for that matter. Sometimes people just die in the OR for no reason.”

The cop leaned closer. Shirley could smell salami on his breath, along with raging body odor. “Is that an admission of guilt?” he oozed.

“Of course not! What reason would I have to kill a woman I’d never even met?”

This seemed to subdue the cop a bit. “So you didn’t know her?”

“No. I barely know anybody in Raleigh. I just moved to town a little over a week ago.”

The cop pursed his thick lips and twiddled his thumbs. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. “So you don’t know anybody in Raleigh, huh? What about the guy you came here with? Seems you know him
real
well.”

“So what if I do?”

He laughed. “Well, if he’s the only man in town you know, missy, ye sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He templed his fingers under his chin and eyed her balefully. “Ya know missy, ye can make this a lot easier for yerself if you just tell us what you know ‘bout Dr. Randall Hamm.”

At this, Shirley had to laugh. “You know, here’s the thing. I know next to
nothing
about Dr. Randall Hamm.” Except how he was in bed, of course. And that he was very easy on the eyes, and had a good sense of humor. Other than that—nada.

“Lyin’ to me ain’t gonna help ya, missy.”

“I’m not lying,” she said. “I admit to having an—ahem—
intimate
relationship with Dr. Hamm, but that’s pretty much the extent of it. I know almost nothing about him as a person. And that’s God’s honest truth. Hook me up to a polygraph if you don’t believe me.”

The cop seemed puzzled, and didn’t say anything for several minutes. Shirley scanned him up and down, searching for a badge, a nametag—anything that would indicate the guy was legit. “You know, you’ve never told me your name, Officer. Or your badge number. And I’m beginning to think that I’m being held here without probable cause. I’m also thinking it might be a good idea if I knew who you were, so I can make a complaint about how you’re treating me here.”

The cop hemmed and hawed, and dark circles of sweat appeared at his armpits. “’Scuse me,” he muttered, and left the room.

Shirley shifted back and forth in her seat. She really needed to find a bathroom. And then to get the hell out of there. Neither of which was likely to happen anytime soon. She twiddled her thumbs and counted the cracks in the ceiling, then the stains on the cheap industrial carpet—anything to keep her mind off of things.

About fifteen minutes later, a stout gray-haired woman entered the room, followed by a youngish man with a crewcut and goatee. Both of them wore crisp white shirts and sported leather-mounted police badges that hung from lanyards around their necks. “I’m Officer Reynolds,” the stout woman said, “and this is Officer Doyle. First accept my apologies for the ahhh, treatment you got from our colleague, Officer McIntosh. He always likes to play the bad-cop routine, even when he shouldn’t.”

Shirley shrugged. “Whatever. Right now I really need to visit the ladies’ room, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, no problem,” Officer Reynolds said. “I’ll walk you there myself. Doyle, do me a favor and get the lady something cold to drink. See if you can drum up some sandwiches, too. I think once we get things going we’ll be here for awhile.”

Shirley breathed a sigh of relief as she followed the stout woman down the hall. That relief was short lived, however. Because just as she was about to duck inside the ladies’ room, she saw Dr. Randall Hamm being led down the hall in handcuffs.

She started to cry out, but he shook his head at her as he passed. “Don’t worry,” he mouthed silently at her.

Then he was gone.

Sixteen

Officers Reynolds and Doyle were friendly and polite, had even brought her a turkey sandwich on rye and a bottle of ice-cold Diet Coke. But after seeing Randall carted off in handcuffs, Shirley had lost all desire to cooperate with the police. “I want a lawyer,” she growled.

The two cops exchanged looks. “You aren’t going to be charged with anything, ma’am. We just want to ask you a few questions.”

“I still want a lawyer.”

Officer Reynolds sighed and shook her head. She handed Shirley her cell phone. “Well, go ahead and call your lawyer, then, if you have one. We can’t get you a public defender, though, because you’re not being charged with anything.”

Shirley’s heart sank. That meant she could only have a private attorney. And she couldn’t exactly afford to hire a private attorney. The last one she’d hired had eaten up every cent she had to her name. “Never mind,” she said with a sigh. “I guess we need to get this over with. Start asking your questions.”

Reynolds and Doyle conferred for a moment in the far corner of the room, then returned to Shirley’s side. Reynolds smiled, even patted the back of Shirley’s hand. She seemed to be taking on the mother hen role, while Doyle just hung back silently and took notes. “Now Shirley,” she said, her voice soft and gravelly like a grandmother’s, “I know you’re new here in Raleigh. And I also know that you came here to Raleigh to get away from your past. I know you’ve made some mistakes in your personal life, mistakes you’re not proud of. But that’s all in the past, and we’re not here to punish you for what happened back in Statesville. What we do need to do is ask you some questions about what you’ve been doing in your job at University Hospital here in town.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Shirley said. “I’ve barely been on the job for a week. I don’t even know most of my coworkers’ names. And I’ve only assisted on one operation so far.”

“Yes ma’am,” Reynolds said, patting Shirley’s hand again. “And I understand that patient died on the operating table.”

“That’s correct. Though I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why. Except maybe just for the fact that she was old.”

Reynolds and Doyle exchanged looks again, and Doyle took prodigious notes, scratching hard on his pencil with his notepad. “Are you absolutely certain about that, Ms. Daniels?” Reynolds said, leaning in close enough for Shirley to smell her cheap perfume.

“I’m afraid so. The woman was elderly, and her blood pressure dropped immediately after the surgery as she was about to come out from the anesthesia. There were no other warning signs to indicate why that might have happened, at least not that I was aware of. The surgeon had already closed the wound, which makes it unlikely that he nicked an artery or something that would cause her to bleed internally.”

Doyle perked right up at that comment. He leaned over and whispered something to Reynolds, then took more notes. “Are you absolutely sure about that?” Reynolds asked.

“No, not
absolutely
sure,” Shirley admitted. “I suppose when you have an elderly patient on the table like that, anything’s possible.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Sometimes people die on the operating table for no reason whatsoever. At least not a reason that can be easily determined. Especially if they are older.” Suddenly Shirley felt as if she were back in nursing school, quoting from one of her textbooks. “A lot of people don’t realize that going under anesthesia can sometimes kill otherwise healthy people without explanation. It’s just the risk you take whenever you go under the knife. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything suspicious is going on.”

“But something suspicious
did
happen, didn’t it, Shirley?” Reynolds said. Her tone had gone from gentle mother hen to shrill and accusatory. “Something happened in that OR that wasn’t at all routine, right?”

“Well—“

Officer Reynolds pounded on the tabletop. So much for the mother-hen routine. “Look, Shirley, we already know what happened in there. So don’t try to hide things from us. And
don’t
try to protect anyone. We just want to hear your side of the story.”

“
My
side of the story? I don’t know what you mean—“

“Stop stalling and get on with it, goddamn it.” Doyle’s deep, gruff baritone reverberated off the soundproofed walls of the interrogation room, sending Shirley’s head and stomach reeling. Even with the scrawny body and the geeky crewcut, with a voice that intimidating it was easy to see why the man had become a cop.

“All right, fine,” Shirley said, holding up her hands. “But honestly, I don’t know if what I’m about to say means anything at all.”

Officer Doyle’s eyes narrowed. “Tell us anyway.”

Shirley sighed. “Well, here goes. Instead of supervising the end-of-operation anesthesia shutdown procedures as he should have, Dr. Hamm left the OR and left me in charge. Which even though it’s a little unorthodox, it actually isn’t
technically
a problem, since I am more than capable of supervising anesthesia myself, without a physician’s help. I did most of my operations solo back in Statesville, since we were always short of anesthesiologists, and—“

Shirley’s voice trailed off as she realized that her excuses and explanations for Dr. Hamm’s odd behavior just weren’t going to cut it. The two officers were obviously unimpressed. They stared her down, brows furrowed, jaws tensing. They looked seconds away from popping her with the Tasers they both kept in their belts.

Shirley gave up. “You’ve charged Dr. Hamm with murder, haven’t you?”

Officer Reynolds blinked. “Actually, no. We’ve charged him with obstruction.”

“Obstruction?”

“Obstruction of justice,” Officer Doyle explained. “We know he knows something about Enola Higginbottom’s death that he’s not telling us. We were hoping you could help explain it to us.”

“What? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Which was true. She was in way over her head here. What she wouldn’t give to be able to afford her old bloodsucking lawyer again!

The two officers got up and conferred on the other side of the room again. After a few minutes of harried whispering, they came back and sat down. “We have it on good authority that you had a clandestine meeting with Dr. Reginald Chalmers, the president of University Hospital, the other day. We also have it on good authority that Dr. Chalmers charged you with gathering information on Dr. Randall Hamm, and that you were to keep this fact a secret.”

Wheels began to turn inside Shirley’s head. “On
whose
authority do you know this?” Although she already had a pretty good idea.

“I’m afraid we can’t divulge that information.”

“Marla Crabtree told you, didn’t she?” Shirley hissed. “Damn it, I knew that woman was too good to be true.”

Officer Reynolds flushed red, hemmed and hawed just like her bad-cop colleague Officer McIntosh had an hour or so earlier. “Uhhhhh—“

“It’s all right, you can admit it. I’ve already figured it out anyway.” Her cheeks burned and her eyes smarted. She’d poured her guts out to Marla Crabtree, had even looked past her own nagging suspicions and considered the older woman a friend. And in return the woman had gone and ratted her out to the police.

Goddamn the big city. You just couldn’t trust anybody here. Least of all crotchety old ladies who talked about banging Tae Bo instructors in public like they were discussing the weather. “So what else did she tell you?” Shirley sputtered.

“Not much. She said that you’d know what Dr. Hamm was really up to, though.”

“Well, she lied to you. Because I have absolutely no idea.”

The two cops conferred some more. Shirley struggled to eavesdrop, but the soundproofing tiles on the ceiling and walls absorbed every shred of their whispered conversation. After several minutes, they returned to her side, looking nervous. “We’ve decided to rethink our investigative strategy,” Officer Doyle said in his booming baritone. “We’d like for you to use your assignment from President Chalmers as a means to investigate
him
. We have a strong suspicion that he may be involved in Enola Higginbottom’s death. It seems that he’s taken a liking to you, maybe even trusts you enough to share information with you that he won’t share with anyone else.”

Shirley sighed. This was just getting more and more complicated by the second. And the cops’ theory that she could solve a murder mystery based on her one and only meeting with President Chalmers seemed more than a little far-fetched. Still, she was willing to give it a shot—under certain conditions. “And if I do that for you, what do I get in return?”

Officer Reynolds flinched. “Ummm, nothing? Other than the fact that you’d be doing a service to the citizens of Raleigh and the state of North Carolina.”

“No deal. If I lose my job because of this, I’m screwed. I’m still broke and in debt from all the legal bills I racked up back in Statesville. If you want me to take a risk like this, I need some kind of financial protection.”

More conferring. “I’m sure we could arrange something with the State Witness Assistance program if need be,” Doyle muttered. “They can offer financial assistance and job placement when needed. But only if you lose your job as a result of helping us.”

“That’s more like it,” Shirley said, suddenly feeling very confident. “Now what exactly am I supposed to be finding out for you?”

The two cops looked sheepish. “We don’t exactly know,” Reynolds admitted. “But we do know that at one point in time, Dr. Chalmers was heavily invested in one of Enola Higginbottom’s companies—a company that eventually tanked and he lost his entire investment. We think that might be a potential motive for him to have been involved in her death—or perhaps, just to be covering up what really caused her death.”

Knowing what had happened with Joe Middleton’s role in the patent-royalties scam back in Statesville, Shirley could already see plenty of potential angles for Dr. Chalmers to work in this case. As odd as it may seem, there were plenty of ways a hospital could profit from a suspicious death—from insurance claims to lucrative lawsuits against the presiding doctors. Maybe what the two cops were suggesting wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

And maybe it was her chance to atone for what she’d done back in Statesville. She still carried around a tremendous amount of guilt from her deeds. Using what she’d learned from that very negative situation by helping solve a potential crime just might set her karma and life back on the right track.

And maybe, just maybe, doing some digging of her own just might help her discover the key to what kind of man Dr. Randall Hamm really was.