Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [37]
“Do you need a ride? I have to pick up several charts of patients Damian has agreed to take on.”
“No thanks. I have my car here.” I hesitated then stepped closer to him. “Brian, Claire needs a mental health specialist.”
The overhead lights threw his face into stark relief. Dark shadows deeply underlined his eyes and weariness carved his face. He too was on the brink, I realized.
“We have an appointment tomorrow to see a psychiatrist Damian recommended.”
I lightly touched his arm. “Be sure to take care of yourself as well.”
“Don’t worry. The appointment is for both of us.”
“Good. I’ll call you later this week to go over the defense. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to get the hospital records. I’m going to try to corner either the administrator or the pathologist tonight.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow shot up. “No rest for the defense, huh?” He smiled. “Nicole, I can’t thank you enough for all your support during this tough time.”
“You’re welcome. Just get some rest.”
“Will do.” He got into the driver’s side of the SUV and moments later the taillights glowed red as he sped off.
With my own car keys in hand, I stood considering the stygian darkness. Sam had called earlier to report that he’d retrieved the phone message. He also told me black-and-whites would make frequent patrols of the neighborhood. I had already called the phone company to change our number. While a new number wouldn’t deter someone bent on harassing me and my family, it would buy me time to go on the offensive.
The Oceanview Medical Center was only a short drive away. I remembered seeing the phone message that tied Hassenfeld and Depp together. With the funeral director dead that left only the pathologist to question.
I pulled out my cell and made a quick call. Pretending to be a funeral home needing to pick up a body, I confirmed Dr. Hassenfeld was the pathologist on duty tonight. Satisfaction filled me as I made the next call.
“Hello, Red.” Sam’s voice rumbled in my ear. “I’m having the phone company track all calls made to your house over the past few days.”
Good thing I took most business calls on my cell.
“I thought I’d give you a head’s up that I’m heading over to Oceanview to interview Hassenfeld again.”
“Nicole, you can’t do—”
“This is a courtesy call. Come or don’t come. Bye.” I hung up and slid into the front seat. With any luck, I could be at Hassenfeld’s office before Sam came charging in.
Ten minutes later, after ignoring several calls from Sam, I pulled into the entrance of the hospital parking lot. Red and blue lights flashed on the far side. I found a spot close to the entrance and parked. A police car turned into the lot, its tires squealing, and sped to where the other lights glared.
I crossed the lot and saw a group of people gathered in a semicircle. Oceanview’s administrator Dr. Rosa Cruz stood weeping while one man patted her shoulder. Dread formed a sick ball in my stomach as I approached.
Spotlights threw garish light on the stained sheet covering a body sprawled on the blacktop. The shroud itself was pitched at unnatural angles. A black pool emanated from one end. Silhouetted against the macabre scene, one man stood with his hand on his hip, staring at me. Sam.
He motioned to an officer, ducked under the crime scene tape and then walked toward me. Without breaking pace, he took my arm and propelled me away from the spectators. “Damn it, Nicole. I don’t have time to babysit you right now.”
I dug my heels. “I don’t recall asking for your protection. What’s happening?”
Sam’s jaw turned to granite. “It’s Hassenfeld. A hit-and-run as he was walking to his car.”
As the implications struck me, I wrapped my arms around my middle to stave off a shudder. “Anyone see the vehicle?”
He rocked back on his heels. “We’re interviewing witnesses now but so far nothing. I got the call right after I left your house. Go home. You can’t do any good here and the person you came to see is dead.”
Sam turned and walked back to the taped-off area. I rubbed my arms, aware of the bone-freezing chill of the night.