Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [38]
“Dr. Cruz, I don’t know if you remember me—”
“You’re that attorney.” Her lip curled in a sneer.
“Yes, Doctor. I represent the Whitmans.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” The man in the white lab coat who had been patting her shoulder glared at me. There was always more than one way to get information so I switched tactics.
“I totally understand, Dr. Cruz. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Dr. Hassenfeld. I really enjoyed meeting him that one time. He had a larger than life personality.”
Another round of tears welled in her eyes. I groped about in my bag for the travel package of tissues I always carried and offered it to her.
“Thank you.” The woman took a moment to blot her face and blow her nose.
“In fact I was meeting with him tonight.” Nicely done, I thought. I didn’t say whether the pathologist had been expecting me.
“Oh.” She crumpled the tissue in her hands. “David didn’t mention it to me.”
“What a shame. I was hoping he’d located Rebecca Whitman’s records.”
“Those records?” Dr. Cruz shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t have anything to do with them. Besides, they haven’t been found.”
Another dead end. I tried another angle. “I’d asked him for information about OraGen. My firm has a client who has expressed interest in donating her organs.”
The other woman gave me a mournful smile. “That well may be David’s lasting tribute to the hospital.”
“He was instrumental in getting the grant?”
“Oh yes. He met the CEO at some seminar and one thing led to another through the connection.”
Were there other connections? Had the pathologist been involved in the organ pipeline? He’d once been a heart surgeon, after all. However, I didn’t think I would learn anything more tonight.
“Perhaps OraGen would consider putting Dr. Hassenfeld’s name on the new division?”
“Perhaps. An excellent suggestion, Ms. Sterling.” She took one last look at the tarp and said under her breath, “Now that bitch ex-wife will no longer be able to hound him about money.”
“That bad a separation? He mentioned he was divorced.”
She shook her head. “The worst. But if you will excuse me, I need to call his family.”
“Of course.”
Dr. Cruz turned and walked toward the nearest hospital entrance. I had a case with no clear direction. It was as if all the play’s actors had scattered off the stage with only an invisible director to script the next scene. That disembodied voice that had terrified my mother.
Dread slithered around my chest and squeezed. Where could I turn now for information?
Chaos still reigned as the curious onlookers stood in pockets talking and gesturing around the taped-off area. Flashes of light exploded as a photographer recorded every detail. One tech placed markers while another made measurements. In the center of the storm, Sam stood still, his hands planted on his hips as he studied the scene.
Like an artist he would be absorbing every nuance the crime scene painted, processing the information. Then as a hunter he would pursue every clue, every twist and turn the evidence would take him.
Nature might churn out those who preyed on the innocent, but it also produced those who served to protect. The band of pressure eased. Sam would never give up, nor should I.
He turned his head and zeroed in on me immediately. A slow wink sent a shimmer of electricity racing through me. Then he jerked his head in a signal for me to go. Smartly, I snapped a salute but instead of smiling, Sam pulled out his phone. Moments later mine rang.
“Yes?” Oh man, my voice sounded breathless.
“You owe me that long, slow kiss, Red. Prepare to ante up tonight.”
As I watched, my knees too weak to risk my taking a step, he blew me a kiss, hung up and then turned back to the crime scene. Damn. All I could think about was his clever mouth feasting on mine.
Or vice versa.
I knew he would come. Wearing a silk nightie under a thick, white terry cloth robe, I sat curled up on the sofa in the dark. Mom and Melissa had gone