Wild Spring Page 9

  "Who would have access to that?"

  “A doctor, a nurse, a pharmacist, someone in the medical supply chain…"

  "Nice work. I’ve got another DNA sample to analyze.”

  “The lab is working on the sample Denise collected from Jeremy. I’ll keep you updated.”

  I ended the call and told JD, "I think we need to pay Audrey Davis a visit."

  24

  Audrey and her husband lived in the Delphin, an upscale apartment complex. We dialed the unit from the call box, and her husband buzzed us in.

  We took the elevator up to the third floor and banged on the apartment door.

  Connor pulled it open a few moments later.

  “I need to speak with Audrey,” I said.

  "Audrey's not here right now, but I’m more than happy to speak to you."

  "Where is she?” I asked.

  "She went to run a few errands before work. She's got a shift at the hospital."

  “What unit?” I asked.

  “Pulmonary care.”

  Connor invited us in, and we followed him into the living room. We’d been in the apartment complex before, investigating another case. This unit was much like the others. It was a two-bedroom with a large living area and a balcony that offered a view of the ocean in the distance—a nice place for a young professional couple. It was furnished well and meticulously clean.

  There was a flatscreen TV, new Swedish furniture, and a full bookcase. There were various knickknacks throughout the apartment. It was cozy.

  The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together in my mind. I had a hunch, and I just threw it out there. "How long have you been having an affair with Vivian?"

  Connor’s face drained of color, and he swallowed hard. "I wasn't having an affair,” he stammered. “I don't know what you're talking about."

  “When we spoke the other day, every time Audrey mentioned Jeremy's name, a look of disgust twisted on your face."

  "He's a disgusting guy. He killed Vivian. I know it."

  "There were three sets of DNA found in Vivian's bedsheets,” I said.

  Connor stiffened.

  "You know what I think happened?” I said. "I think Vivian told you she was pregnant."

  His eyes went wide. "She was pregnant?"

  It seemed like a genuine response, but I pressed on with my theory. "Yeah. I think she told you that you were the father, and it freaked you out. You thought it was going to destroy your marriage, so you killed her."

  "What!? I didn't kill Vivian. That’s ridiculous.” He hesitated for a long moment. "I loved Vivian.”

  "How long had you been having the affair?"

  "Six months, I guess," he said with a sigh, finally coming clean.

  “Did Audrey know?”

  "I don't know.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it?"

  “It's complicated. I love Audrey, but… things haven't been great." His body slumped, and a solemn look washed over his face. "We wanted to start a family. I wanted to start a family,” he clarified. “But Audrey found out that she couldn't."

  It all fell into place. I exchanged a glance with JD.

  "And Vivian never told you that she was pregnant?”

  He shook his head. "Do you think it was…?"

  "We don't know who the father is yet,” I said. “Do you mind if we look around the apartment?"

  Connor shrugged, still dazed. "Sure. Why not?"

  "Does Audrey keep medications or syringes around the house?”

  "Yeah. She takes allergy shots."

  Connor led us to the master bathroom and opened a cabinet door. Inside, there were boxes of medications and syringes, along with alcohol swabs. We sifted through the box of pills, but I didn't find anything labeled succinylcholine. I asked Connor if he’d ever seen the medication in the apartment.

  “No. Not that I remember. What is it?”

  I didn’t answer directly. “The night of Vivian's death, were you with Audrey all evening?"

  He thought about it for a moment. “She ran to the store to get ice cream. But she couldn’t find the flavor she wanted.” He paused. “Do you think she had something to do with Vivian’s death?”

  “What time was that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe 10 or 10:30 PM.”

  “Do you know anything about Audrey’s administering Propofol to Vivian to help her sleep?”

  He hesitated. “Yeah, she would do that on occasion.”

  “Would you be willing to come down to the station and make a statement?”

  Connor was silent for a moment. “I need to think about that.”

  “It’s possible that she killed Vivian,” I said.

  He went silent again. “I want to speak with a lawyer first.”

  I frowned. “Vivian could have been carrying your child.”

  I let that hang there.

  Connor looked tortured but kept his mouth shut. He was silent for a long moment.

  “You know how to get in touch with us if you want to talk,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to Audrey about this until we’ve had a chance to speak with her.”

  A grim look washed over his face.

  “You have a difficult decision to make,” I said. “Where do your loyalties lie? To your wife, or to the truth?”

  25

  Denise called as we drove to the hospital. Wind swirled around the cabin, and I turned down the stereo so I could hear the lovely redhead speak.

  "The lab ran ballistics on the bullet used to kill Chuck Kennedy. It didn't match anything in the database."

  My face crinkled with disappointment.

  "On the positive side, the shoe print left at the liquor store was a size 10 1/2 Aaron Jackson signature model sneaker.”

  Aaron Jackson was an upcoming basketball superstar with his own footwear and clothing line. He endorsed everything from cologne to expensive wristwatches. Every kid wanted a pair of Aaron Jackson sneakers, and people would stand in line for days to get the latest release. At $250 a pop, people would snatch them up, then turn around and sell them on the Internet for twice what they paid for them.

  Denise texted me a picture of the shoes after she hung up. It was just like the shoes Luis was wearing when we saw him at his mother's house.

  We pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and managed to grab a spot upfront. We hopped out, pushed into the lobby, and made our way to the pulmonary care unit. We walked through seafoam-green hallways, past the pastel seascapes and vibrant ferns. Ventilators wheezed, and heart monitors beeped.

  I flashed my badge at the nurses’ station and asked the charge nurse if Audrey was available.

  "She's not in yet," the charge nurse said. She looked at the clock. "She should be here in the next half hour."

  The nurse was a no bullshit kind of woman. She’d seen just about everything and had such a high tolerance to BS that nothing seemed to surprise her. She wasn’t about to suffer any nonsense.

  "You have an automated medication distribution cabinet in the hospital, correct?"

  She nodded. “MEDSPENSE. ”

  "There is a record of all medications that are dispensed to nurses, right?"

  "Every nurse has a unique identifier that must be punched into the system to get medications. It's computer-controlled, logged, and tracked. The pharmacy is in charge of the dispensers, and we have multiple ADCs (automated dispensing cabinets) throughout the hospital.”

  "Can I take a look at the logs?"

  She chuckled. "Not without a warrant, honey. What's going on?"

  “How well do you know Audrey Davis?"

  "Well enough. She's been working here a little over a year and a half. Good nurse. Gets along with the rest of the staff for the most part."

  “She ever talk to you about her personal life?" I asked.

  “I try not to get involved in other people's personal drama.”

  “I’m sure you hear things.�
�

  She paused. “You might want to talk to Caitlin. If you're looking for dirt, she's got it. She knows everything about everyone.”

  She pointed down the hall to a nurse entering data into a rolling computer terminal.

  The charge nurse shouted to her. "Caitlin, these gentlemen would like to talk to you."

  Caitlin was rail thin and had her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore royal blue scrubs and had the figure of a yoga instructor.

  I flashed my badge as she arrived.

  "What can I do for you?"

  The charge nurse stepped away. “I don't need to hear any of this."

  A curious look twisted on Caitlin's face.

  “Tell me about your interaction with Audrey Davis,” I said.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “She ever talk to you about her marriage?”

  She looked around, making sure no one was in earshot. “I don’t know why, but people feel like they can talk to me. They come to me and drop all their problems. Maybe I have a trustworthy face. Maybe I should have been a therapist.”

  “You look honest,” I encouraged.

  “What did Audrey do?”

  “I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

  “Okay, but you can’t say I told you. I’d lose my reputation as a vault.”

  “Mum’s the word,” I promised.

  “One day, a few weeks ago, Audrey looked really distressed. She broke down into tears, and I asked her what's wrong. She confided in me that she thought her husband was having an affair, and she was worried that he was going to leave her.”

  I knew exactly where this was going, and I was glad to get confirmation.

  “I felt bad for her,” Caitlin continued. “I know she desperately wanted kids but couldn't have them, and I think that was the source of conflict.”

  "Did she mention to you who her husband was having an affair with?"

  "Her best friend, if I recall correctly. Really heartbreaking story.”

  "Did she indicate a desire to harm her best friend?”

  Caitlin thought about it for a moment. “She made an offhanded comment, but I didn’t think anything of it. Did something happen?” She paused, and a wave of realization washed over her. “Wait, we’re not talking about the swimsuit model who died, are we?”

  I nodded.

  Caitlin’s jaw dropped.

  “We think she was poisoned with succinylcholine.”

  Her eyes rounded. “That would do it. I mean, they don't typically screen for that, and it disappears within minutes. You want to kill somebody and not get caught, that's the way to do it."

  Caitlin's eyes flicked down the hallway behind us and saw something that made her end the conversation. "I should be getting back to work,” she stammered.

  Caitlin spun around and slinked away, trying to act inconspicuous.

  I craned my neck over my shoulder to see Audrey approach.

  When she saw us, a look of concern twisted on her face. She covered with a smile. "Deputy Wild, Deputy Donovan… I'm surprised to see you here. Have you found any new information?"

  Her voice was hollow and insincere.

  "I believe we have."

  26

  We pulled Audrey into a nearby conference room. She fidgeted, and her eyes darted between the two of us. "You caught the guy who did it, right? You got Jeremy in custody. Don't tell me you can't prove it?"

  "We can prove it," I said ominously. "We know about the succinylcholine."

  Her eyes blinked furiously. Her face twitched. “What!?”

  “Vivian confided in you that she was pregnant. But she didn't tell you who the father was. That didn’t matter because you already knew.”

  She balked. "What!? That’s crazy."

  "Yeah, it is."

  "You seriously think that I killed Vivian?"

  "We know you did," I said. I couldn't quite prove it yet, but I made her think I could. “It’s time to come clean.”

  Audrey stared at us blankly for a moment, then her eyes filled, and she burst into sobs. "She was destroying my marriage. She was going to take everything away from me."

  We let her cry for a moment.

  JD slapped the cuffs around her wrists, and we escorted her out of the conference room. The nurses gawked as we took her away.

  I called for a patrol car, and we stuffed her in the back seat. She was taken to the station, processed, and printed. With her confession, we got a warrant to search her vehicle and found a syringe and an empty vial of succinylcholine in the glove box.

  It was an open and shut case, but the DA offered her a plea bargain. She was looking at 1st Degree Murder—a capital felony—life in prison without the possibility of parole or the death penalty. She took the deal and pleaded to 2nd Degree Murder and a sentence of 20 years. She’d get out in her mid 40s. Maybe sooner with good behavior.

  Somehow it didn't seem like quite enough.

  JD and I were feeling rather proud of ourselves and decided it was a cause for celebration. We’d taken down a murderer without a shot fired. All in all, not a bad day.

  We filled out after-action reports in the conference room. Daniels poked his head in. “Mario Rivera, that punk that robbed the liquor store, is out. Prosecutors dropped the case.”

  “We knew that was coming,” I said.

  “Are you making any headway?” Daniels asked.

  “A few persons of interest, that’s it,” I said.

  “Stick with it.”

  “I need to search their mother’s home. But I’m sure any trace evidence has been destroyed by now. Luis was wearing the same brand of shoes. How much more probable cause do we need?” I said, my voice growling with frustration.

  “Those gangbangers won’t stay clean for long,” Daniels assured. “When they screw up, I want you two there to catch them.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” JD said with a mischievous grin.

  “Is it legal?” Daniels asked.

  JD shrugged. “Sort of, I think.”

  I was anxious to hear the scheme Jack was cooking up.

  “I don’t want to know,” Daniels said before leaving the room.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked when the door was closed.

  JD smiled. “I’ll tell you later. It’s going to require a zero-dark-thirty mission.”

  As we were leaving the station, Tom Janik burst in with a proud smile on his face. He had a box of cigars and passed one out to everyone in the office. He announced to all of his colleagues, “I am now the proud father of two beautiful baby girls.”

  The announcement was met with resounding cheers and a few playful taunts.

  “Are you sure they’re yours?” Erickson asked.

  Janik sneered at him. “Unlike your kids, mine will grow up knowing who their father is.”

  The comeback was met with oohs and ahhs.

  We stepped outside and shared a cigar with the new father before heading to Oyster Avenue.

  The traffic was insane, and we had to park several blocks away. We hopped out of the car, and JD clicked his alarm. It chirped, and the lights flashed as we walked away.

  The strip was packed, and music filled the air. Lights from signage bathed the drunken revelers in a variety of colors. Street vendors hustled pizza by the slice, hot dogs, and fajitas. The air was filled with the smell of grilled goodies mixed with the scent of beer, whiskey, and the occasional whiffs of perfume.

  We grabbed a few slices of pizza, overindulging in the cheesy goodness. It was hot, stringy, and filled with zesty red sauce. Good New York style pizza. We chowed down on the sidewalk, taking in the atmosphere.

  The pizza hit the spot. With our bellies full, we made our way down the block, weaving through the party monsters.

  Tide Pool was a madhouse. There were so many people crammed into the indoor pool, it was practically overflowing. Music pumped, and drinks flowed. We pushed through the crowd and stepped to the patio, then fought the hordes for a place at the tiki
bar.

  Jack ordered a round of drinks. Then we escaped the masses and grabbed a patio table just as someone left.

  Perfect timing.

  We toasted to a job well done and sipped our whiskey, watching the pretty people frolic in the outdoor pool.

  “What’s this covert operation of yours?” I asked.

  “You’ll see.” He looked at his watch. “It’s not time yet. So, pace yourself.”

  JD telling anyone to pace themselves was laughable.

  27

  My phone buzzed with a text from Caprice. [You busy tonight?]

  [We’re at Tide Pool.]

  [You know, if anyone wanted to assassinate you, you wouldn’t be hard to find.]

  [Who would want to assassinate me?] I texted in jest.

  [I’m sure you have your share of enemies.]

  [That would be an understatement.]

  Both JD and I had done a pretty good job of pissing off the cartels on numerous occasions. We’d put away our share of bad guys and left numerous disgruntled criminal associates in our wake. I always kept a wary eye.

  [Why don't you join us?]

  [I can't. I'm working. But I might be able to sneak out after we close up. That is, if you haven't found a better option.]

  I smirked. [Well, we do have a covert mission planned for the wee hours of the morning.]

  [Is that code for a redhead or a blonde?]

  I laughed. [Neither. An actual mission.]

  [Ooh. Top secret. I’m intrigued.]

  I asked JD what time he planned on commencing his little operation.

  "I'm thinking around 4 AM," he said.

  I texted Caprice back. [I have a window between 2:30 and 4 AM.]

  [Do you think that's enough time?]

  I smirked again. [I’m sure we can accomplish what we need to in the time allotted.]

  [I’m glad you're not needy or clingy. You're all business. I like it.]

  [You usually leave by 4 or 5 AM anyway.]

  [True. I'll see you on the boat. If something changes, or I can't get away, I'll text you.]

  [Sounds good.]