Suture Self (26 page)

Sister Jacqueline looked startled. “That would be a breach of patient confidentiality,” she said. “Why on earth do you want this answered in the first place?”

“Sister,” Judith said earnestly, “would you believe me if I told you it was a matter of life and death?”

 

It hadn't been easy, but Judith had finally convinced Sister Jacqueline that it was imperative to provide the information. Mike returned shortly after the nun left.

“Did you know the elevator's broken?” he said upon entering the room.

“Yes,” Judith retorted, “we know. We tried to get up to the fourth floor to see Joe. How is he?”

“Good,” Mike replied, taking the chair that Sister Jacqueline had just vacated. “He seemed better than when I saw him earlier. Woody Price is with him. Gosh, it was great to see Woody after all this time.”

“Did Joe see who stabbed him?” Judith asked anxiously.

“That's what Woody was asking,” Mike replied. “Joe told him that he thinks he saw the attacker before it happened. At least he saw some guy who was acting suspicious. Joe has an instinct for that sort of thing, being a cop for so many years.”

Judith could barely contain her excitement. “Who was it?”

Mike gave his mother and his aunt an ironic smile.
“That's the weird thing. He didn't look like most of the homeless types.”

Judith nodded. “I'm not surprised.”

“Huh?” Mike looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Maybe, Judith thought, it was only fair to enlighten her son. But before she could say anything, Bill Jones came through the door, panting mightily.

“Bill!” Renie cried. “You're alive!”

Bill leaned one thermal-gloved hand against the door frame and panted some more. “Huhuhuhuhuhu,” he uttered.

“Did you bring me some snacks?” Renie asked, smiling widely.

Bill, his tongue hanging out, shook his head. “Uhuhuh.”

Renie's face fell. “Oooh…”

“Why don't you smack her, Uncle Bill?” Mike asked, half serious.

Bill finally caught his breath. “The crowns in heaven that await me…,” he murmured, coming all the way into the room and kissing his wife.

Renie appeared contrite. “Are you all right? Are you cold? Are you tired?”

Bill nodded emphatically at each question, then slumped into Renie's visitor's chair and removed his snap-brim cap. “I came to find out how Joe was doing, but the elevator's broken. I couldn't make it all the way to the fourth floor on the stairs. What's happening?”

“Joe's much better,” Judith said happily. “Mike's seen him, but I haven't yet. Because of the elevator.”

Bill nodded again. “You two seem to be doing okay.”

“We are,” Renie replied, patting Bill's arm. “Are you sure you don't have frostbite?”

This time, Bill shook his head. “It's actually beautiful out there, with the sun shining and all the snow that's still left. I didn't mind the walk at all.”

“Good,” Renie said, then turned serious. “Tell me, what on earth are you doing with those blasted Chihuahuas? I was beginning to think you'd gone over the edge.”

“Oh.” Bill chuckled. “This may sound whimsical, but an occasional nonscientific experiment can prove interesting, if not entirely valid. This was one I'd had in mind for a long time. I became curious about animal versus human behavior several years ago and—”

“Bill,” Renie interrupted, “spare us the background, okay?”

“What?” Bill frowned at his wife. “Okay, okay. Anyway, you must realize that this wasn't a controlled situation. But recently I'd read an abstract in one of my psychology journals by Dr. Friedbert Von Schimmelheimer in Vienna, who had some fascinating ideas on the subject, though his experiments involved—”

“Bill…” Renie broke in.

“What? Oh, all right, never mind. If you understand the problems with replication, then you'll appreciate how—”

“Bill!” Renie looked fierce. “Layman's language,
please
.”

Bill glared at his wife. “
Okay, I'll cut to the chase.
I would have preferred to do it with monkey siblings, but then we found the dogs. Anyway, you know how Oscar is about experimenting with apes.”

Renie nodded while Judith gazed at the ceiling and Mike looked puzzled. Oscar was the Joneses' stuffed ape and was treated like a member of the family.

“So how did it turn out?” Renie asked, her patience restored.

“Fascinating,” Bill replied. “I called them John and Paul. For the pope. John's the one wearing Archie's tuxedo.” He paused to look at the doll on his wife's nightstand. “Hi, Archie. How are you doing? You look really cheerful.” Judith and Mike exchanged amused glances. “Anyway,” Bill continued, “Paul has on those Wisconsin sweats, the ones that Clarence ate most of the badger symbol off. John got the expensive dog food, Paul got the cheaper kind. I made a bed for John in the bottom drawer of my desk. I put Paul in a cardboard box. John drank Evian water; Paul had to make do with water from the tap. Sure enough, after twenty-four hours, John started to become spoiled, while Paul sulked. Then, this morning, when I gave John a leftover rib-steak bone, Paul pounced on him. The experiment proved what I thought would be true. Even nonhuman siblings can suffer resentment and lack of self-esteem when one of them gets preferred treatment over the other. They can also exhibit hostility and aggression.”

Judith stared at Renie. “What do you think?”

Renie glanced at Bill. “I think my husband's right. As usual.”

Judith turned to Mike. “Go upstairs and get Woody. The time has come to call in a consulting police detective.”

 

Sister Jacqueline telephoned a few minutes later. The nun still sounded dubious about revealing the information Judith had requested, but when she finally did, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Feeling as if she had a solid grip on the solution to the murders, Judith smiled grimly.

Mike and Woody had their own way of making Ju
dith smile. When they entered the ward fifteen minutes later, they were pushing a wheelchair. Joe Flynn offered his wife a feeble, though fond, grin.

“Joe!” Judith cried. In her excitement, she instinctively leaned forward to touch him, then screamed and doubled over in pain. “Oh, my God!” she cried through her misery. “I think I've dislocated my hip!”

J
UDITH LET OUT
a terrible cry of anguish. Joe tried to reach out to help his wife, but weakness overcame him. It was Mike who rushed to his mother's side as she moaned in pain.

“Mom!” He attempted to move her into a sitting position, but she resisted.

“I can't move!” she gasped through tears. “Get a nurse! A doctor!”

Corinne Appleby and Heather Chinn both showed up almost immediately. Then, in a haze of agony, Judith saw Pearson, the orderly, arrive with a gurney. Though the slightest movement was agonizing, she endured being moved onto the gurney, rushed down the hall and into the elevator, which obviously had been repaired, and hustled to a room with bright lights. Staff members she'd never seen before were at the ready.

Despite a fresh dose of painkillers, the next half hour was a nightmare. At last, after X rays had been taken and Dr. Alfonso had arrived, her self-diagnosis was confirmed: She had indeed dislocated the new hip. It would take only a couple of minutes to put it back, but Judith would have to be virtually unconscious during the procedure. She welcomed the oblivion.

An hour later, Judith awoke in her own bed on the third floor. Through a haze, she saw the same people who had been there when disaster had struck.

“Joe…” she murmured.

“I'm here, Jude-girl,” he said, taking her hand.

“So cunning, so cruel…” she mumbled.

Joe looked at Renie, who was sitting in Judith's visitor's chair. “Does that mean
me?
” he asked with a worried expression.

Renie, however, shook her head.

“Threes…” Judith murmured, squeezing her eyes shut against the bright, setting sun. “Everything in threes…Three lives saved…three patients dead…three homeless men stabbed…three inedible salads…”

“Salads?” Joe looked at Bill.

Bill shrugged.

“Is she delirious?” Woody whispered.

“Must be,” Joe muttered. “My poor little girl.”

“Planned in advance…Surgical instruments stolen…Should have guessed…to kill homeless…Poor souls, set up with bribes to provide iron-clad alibis and drive car…Bill and Renie's car…stolen because the snow starting, couldn't get to usual vehicle…”

Renie glanced at Bill. “Poor Cammy,” she sighed.

Joe shot both the Joneses a quizzical look. “Your Toyota?”

Bill nodded.

“Who's Cammy?” Woody asked.

“Uncle Bill and Aunt Renie's car,” Mike said under his breath.

Woody looked befuddled.

“So sad, those homeless men…” Judith made a fee
ble attempt to squeeze Joe's hand. He made a feeble attempt to squeeze back. “Had to die, couldn't be trusted not to tell…Only organ donors need apply…”

“What?” Joe leaned closer to his wife. “Jude-girl, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Definitely delirious,” Woody murmured. “Maybe I should come back later.”

“No, please…” Judith opened her eyes and gazed compellingly at Woody.

Woody stayed.

“So many odd little things…” Judith tried to sit up, failed, and pointed to the water container on the nightstand. Mike filled a glass and handed it to her. “Thirsty,” she said with a small smile of thanks. “After surgery, fluids so important…Everybody must drink, drink, drink…Why not put street drugs into IVs? Simple, if you know how…not so simple if you don't…Everybody must drink, any fluids, all fluids…exotic juice, Italian sodas, booze…Just keep pouring it down…” She paused to take another sip of water. “The Chihuahuas, one in a tuxedo, one in a sweatsuit…They clinched it.”

“I'm afraid,” Joe said, a note of alarm in his voice, “that whatever they gave her when they put her hip back in has fried her brain. Do you think we should send for a psychologist?”

“I
am
a psychologist,” Bill reminded Joe. “She's not crazy. I think I know what she's trying to say.”

Joe glanced at Archie, cheerfully smiling on Renie's nightstand, then gave both the Joneses a look that indicated he wasn't convinced of their sanity, either. “O-o-o-kay,” he said under his breath.

“All those years of being the opposite,” Judith said, her eyes wide open and almost in focus, “of feeling in
ferior, of being a mirror twin, of suffering near blindness…That's why Jim Randall killed his brother, and several innocent victims along the way.”

 

The golden light from the fading winter sun bathed the room in a tattered antique splendor. With the dark wood, the wavery window glass, and the religious statues, Judith could almost believe she was in a nineteenth-century hospital, where only gaslights and candles provided illumination. The Demerol was working, and so was her brain. A wondrous calm came over her as she saw some of the people she loved most standing or sitting around her bed. Then her gaze traveled from Joe to Mike, and a surge of panic filled her. But she had made her resolution to tell the truth. Not quite yet, but later, maybe when she was home again.

“Jim Randall!” Woody exclaimed, his usual quiet demeanor shattered. “You mean Bob's brother?”

“His mirror twin,” Judith replied after drinking more water. “They faced each other in the womb, they're exactly opposite. Bob once saved Jim's life, and I'm not entirely sure Jim was grateful. Even as a child, he must have sensed his physical inferiority. Then, when Jim started to lose his sight—or maybe he never had full vision—he brooded. Finally he got on a list for cornea recipients. Even there, he knew that he probably wasn't high on the list, and in some twisted, deranged way, decided to speed up the process. He found out—probably from Margie, his sister-in-law—where he stood on that list and which patients were organ donors at Good Cheer. Obsessed with the concept of finally being able to see clearly, he began to eliminate patients. Not just any patients, but successful ones, the type of person he could never be. Yes, those victims
were all organ donors, though he didn't necessarily expect to get their corneas.”

Judith paused to pick up the notes she'd taken down from Sister Jacqueline. “On each of the dates that Somosa and Fremont died, Jim had scheduled medical tests, right up to Tuesday when Bob Randall had his surgery. Jim didn't strike me as a healthy person, though he may also have been a hypochondriac. I suspect he faked that faint to allay suspicion. Anyway, he talked his doctors into a CAT scan, an ultrasound, and an MRI. But he never took those tests, he had a homeless person do it for him. Renie told me after she had her MRI for her shoulder that all she had to do when she went to the place where they did the test was hand them some information in a folder she'd gotten from the reception desk.”

“Judith's right,” Renie chimed in. “I thought it was odd at the time, and even asked the people giving the test how they knew it was really me. They said they didn't, I could be anybody as long as I was female and of a certain age.”

“This deception not only gave Jim an alibi,” Judith went on, “but allowed him to get the homeless men to drop off the special treats for his victims. Jim couldn't risk doing it himself, and he certainly never could have put the drugs into the IVs. He couldn't see well enough.”

“Hold on,” Woody interrupted. “How could Jim know what special drinks Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont wanted?”

“Margie,” Judith said simply. “She'd hardly be suspicious of such an innocent question. Even though she may have delivered the drinks—though not her husband's booze—it wouldn't dawn on her that Jim had purchased the stuff.”

“Still,” Renie put in, “it must have occurred to Margie that the lethal drugs were in those drinks. That's why she referred to herself as ‘the vessel.'”

Joe was still looking skeptical. “How,” he asked, “could Jim ensure that he'd actually get corneas if he wasn't at the top of the list?”

“He couldn't,” Judith said. “First of all, he may not have been down as far as you'd think. Even if the medical tests showed that something was wrong, it wasn't really him undergoing the tests. If one of the homeless men turned up with a problem, Jim could simply ask to retake the test and claim a medical mistake. But another key was the weather. Organs are flown in from all over the country. When we first met Jim, he mentioned that he knew there was a big storm coming in. That usually means the airport is closed—and it was—so that if a local donor died, the corneas could only be delivered by helicopter. And, having maneuvered himself to the top of the city's list, he knew he'd be here to receive them. Even if he wasn't number one, he was at the hospital. Another recipient might not have been able to reach a hospital in this weather.”

“Taylor,” Renie murmured. “I overheard Bob Randall talking to someone named Taylor. Addison Kirby said that was the name of his wife's eye doctor. Maybe he was Jim's doctor, too, and Bob was thanking him for good news, like Jim being near the top of the recipient list.”

“That would make sense,” Judith said.

Joe sucked in his breath, an effort that obviously cost him pain. “So a cold-blooded killer with new eyes is lying across the hall from us?”

Judith nodded. “I'm afraid he is.”

Woody shook his head. “I've never heard of such a strange homicide case. All those innocent victims.”

“Three in the hospital,” Judith said. “The number three was symbolic to Jim. His brother had saved three lives—Jim's, and two children who were rescued by Bob from a house fire. It was as if Jim had to do just the opposite—take three successful lives, including that of the mirror twin who had saved him from drowning. The three homeless men may have—perhaps subconsciously—symbolized his own inferiority. Jim felt like them—a loser.”

“I wonder,” Renie said, “if Bob was really as big a jerk as Jim and the rest of the family indicated.”

“I'll bet he was,” Judith replied. “Big sports stars can be very hard to live with.”

“What,” Joe inquired, “about Addison Kirby getting run down? Was that an accident or something Jim cooked up?”

“I'm not sure,” Judith admitted. “I'm not even certain who was driving. It might have been Jim after he got the homeless man to steal the Camry from the dealership. He might have told the guy to run over Addison, or at that point Jim himself may have been driving. If so, he may not even have seen Addison Kirby. We'll know when Woody checks for hairs and fibers.”

“Good Lord!” Renie cried. “Jim may have driven our car? It's a wonder we didn't find it in pieces!”

“He wouldn't have driven it far,” Judith said dryly. “Jim had used the homeless to help him get around, no doubt stealing cars and returning them, perhaps before the owners knew they were gone. This time, he had to leave Bill and Renie's Camry because of the bad weather. Plus, the last homeless victim was staying
closer to the hospital because the camp had been moved from under the freeway. The snowstorm worked both for and against Jim Randall. And of course he couldn't take a chance of being seen with his stooge.”

“Say,” Renie put in, “was Jim Randall the one who got into my suitcase? And who was it you glimpsed in the ICU?”

“I still don't know who was in the ICU,” Judith replied, “but I'm sure it wasn't Jim. It was dark, he couldn't see well, and I can't think of any reason why he'd be interested in us.” She gave Woody a shrewd look. “Why don't you tell us who the intruder in our room was? Could it be the same person I saw in the ICU?”

“Ah…” Woody looked embarrassed. “I'm not supposed to say…”

“Come on, Woody,” Judith coaxed. “Tell us.”

Woody glanced at Joe. “She exerts a certain irresistible power, doesn't she?”

“In more ways than one,” Joe murmured, the gold flecks flashing in his green eyes.

“I guess it's all right to reveal the truth,” Woody said, though he cast a wary gaze on the closed door. “The intruder in your room was Harold Abernethy.”

“Who?”
Judith and Renie chorused.

Woody bestowed his engaging grin on the cousins. “I knew you wouldn't know who he was. Well,” he amended with a quick glance at Judith, “I sort of thought you
might
have found out his real name.”

“Mr. Mummy!” Judith exclaimed. “His name wasn't really Mumford Needles?”

“No,” Woody replied, looking faintly amused. “That was his working alias. Blanche Van Boeck hired him to
try to solve the murders before Restoration Heartware changed its mind and decided to withdraw its takeover attempt.”

“But,” Renie put in, “I thought Blanche actually sounded sincere when she expressed regret about the takeover.”

“She probably was,” Woody responded. “But it was the only way Good Cheer could survive. It was either that, or turn the place into condominiums. Dr. Garnett blamed Dr. Van Boeck for the hospital's problems. That was probably professional jealousy. Sister Jacqueline and Van Boeck were fighting an uphill battle, like so many other chiefs of staff and administrators.”

“So,” Renie murmured, “that's why Mr. Mummy—I mean, Harold Abernethy—checked out last night. The takeover had happened, his job was ended. No wonder he was so snoopy. But why was he interested in us?”

“Harold was interested in everybody,” Woody said. “He probably went through your things to make sure you were what you appeared to be. Of course we knew about his investigation, which was why we agreed, along with county law enforcement, to keep the lid on everything, including the media. Blanche, Dr. Van Boeck, Sister Jacqueline, even Dr. Garnett all agreed that it was the best way to handle the situation. Given that Good Cheer is the only orthopedic hospital inside the city, they felt that publicity should be kept to a minimum. The main fear, aside from the damage to Good Cheer's reputation, was that people who really needed surgery would be put off and possibly cause themselves serious harm.”