Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [22]
It was better to keep him out of my life. Fewer witnesses if I failed again.
Chapter Six
Gone the next morning was the headache. Slithering into its place was guilt. As I gave Sophie an update on Mom’s condition, it coiled and contracted until I could scarcely breathe.
I grabbed my bag and keys and went out to the car. Carling had left earlier. Catching a glimpse of my mother’s silhouette in the window, I raised a hand even though I knew this was a morning where she was lost in a shadowy world.
Icy pellets of recrimination struck me. Mom was slipping away and here I was going off to work. And for what? I hadn’t kept the last monster I had tried off the streets. Pressure began to build in my chest.
With a sharp twist of the wheel I pulled the BMW over to the side of the street and squealed to a halt. Stop it, I ordered myself. No panic attacks allowed. Not today. Not ever again.
My hands fisted on top of the steering wheel. Maybe Sam had been right last night. Maybe I should remember the criminals I had taken off the street. While I couldn’t stop Alzheimer’s from taking my mother, I could prevent Claire Whitman from being falsely accused of murdering her baby. That I could control.
Expelling a breath, I flexed my fingers. I had a plan. After checking the mirrors, I pulled back into the street. Within minutes I was northbound on I-95.
Think about the case. What kind of deviant would steal a dead infant’s organs? I hadn’t forgotten the fact that Sam had also been at the hospital for the baby’s records. Were the police trying to tie the mutilation to Claire? She was an EMT with medical know-how. As a prosecutor, she would have been high on my list of suspects.
I took one of the exits into West Palm Beach and headed east. From the time Claire’s baby had been rushed to the hospital, the child’s body had been in three known locations: the ambulance, the hospital and the funeral home. Logically, the mutilation either occurred in transit or at one of the three places. Although the funeral director, Colin Depp, claimed the surgical scars were already there when the body was delivered, the guy had a major creep factor going on.
Besides I had another legitimate reason to speak with him. Brian Whitman had left a message. After his wife opened the coffin, they had also noticed a silver rattle placed in the casket was missing.
My cell rang. I slid on my earpiece. “Nicole Sterling.”
“Nicole, this is Damian Quint.”
Damian who? I frowned as I concentrated on changing lanes. “Hello.”
His chuckle was low and rich. “I’m sure you’re wondering how I got your number. Brian Whitman gave it to me. I hope you don’t mind.”
Oh, the Whitmans’ friend. “Not at all. Is everything all right with them?”
“As much as can be expected with the strain they’re under. I’ve offered to help with Brian’s practice until this is all over.”
“That’s nice of you. I’m sure they appreciate the gesture.” Wishing he would get to the purpose of his call, I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel.
“I know you must be busy so I’ll cut to the chase. I’d like to see you again.”
That came out of left field. “Excuse me? The connection isn’t great.”
A cautious note crept into his voice. “I was clumsily asking you out on a date. My impression was that you’re not involved with anyone, was I wrong?”
I hadn’t dated since Sam—and for good reason. I took a breath and released it. “No, I’m not seeing anyone, but Damian, now’s not a good time for me.”
There was a long pause. I wrinkled my nose. Way to go, Nicole. Piss off every interested man that comes along.
“I understand. Maybe we can take it in smaller steps. How about a drink next week?”
I opened my mouth to say no and then clamped it shut. A drink wasn’t a lifetime commitment. Plus I could learn more about the Whitmans. They didn’t seem to have an extensive network of family or friends. “I would like that, but I need to check my calendar.