Dead Reckoning (16 page)

No one had counted on an obscure nerve disorder stepping in eight months later and turning what was left of his life into a living hell. After four doctors and too many misdiagnoses to count, he was ultimately diagnosed with Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome. A chronic condition characterized by severe burning pain, swelling in the afflicted limb, and extreme sensitivity to touch. A terrible disorder that affected the nerves, skin, muscles, blood vessels, and bones. Frank had been in stage two by the time it was diagnosed. By then the disorder had affected every facet of his life, including his job and his frame of mind.

He spent the night in a hazy world of cold sweats, total physical exhaustion, and pain so horrific at times he could hear his own screams echoing inside his head. It hurt to lie on the sofa. It hurt to lie in bed. He tried elevating his leg, but the pain was so bad he couldn’t lie still. It was too goddamn cold to get into the pool. A warm shower usually helped, but by then he was so fucked up on painkillers he couldn’t stand.

So much for that pain management clinic he’d attended a couple of months back.

Several times he considered calling the emergency room. A couple of times he even reached for the phone. Both times Frank set it back into its cradle. He would never forget the way the paramedics and emergency room personnel had looked at him last time. As if he were some kind of mental case. The doctor had taken one look at his mangled leg and year-old scars and chalked his “discomfort” as psychological in origin. The ordeal had been a humiliation Frank could do without. If it killed him, he was going to wait until his personal physician’s office opened at eight-thirty.

He knew he should call Kate. But he knew from experience that no matter how hard he tried to speak normally, the powerful narcotics invariably affected his speech. He could imagine how the conversation would go down if he called in, slurring his words.

Groaning, he reached for the painkillers on the night table beside his bed. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d taken one, but he didn’t care. If he was lucky, he’d pass out.

An animal sound squeezed from his throat as he twisted the lid off the brown bottle. He could feel his heart pounding madly in his chest, his leg throbbing with every excruciating beat. His hands shook as he tapped out a pill. His fingers were so thick he could barely get the capsule into his mouth. His mouth was so dry he didn’t know how he was going to swallow. Then he remembered the vodka.

He tossed back the pill and took a long pull. Setting down the glass, he fell back onto the pillows. Another hot wave of pain rolled up his leg. His quadriceps cramped. Searing heat spread from calf to thigh to buttock to spine.

“Aw, God.” Frank saw stars. Felt his eyes roll back in their sockets. He heard that terrible sound again and for a moment thought some wild animal was running loose in his house. Then he realized the sound had come from him. He acknowledged that he was in trouble. That he needed help. That he should have done something about this a long time ago.

Another wave of agony struck him like a tidal wave, burning him with heat so intense he clamped his teeth together to keep himself from screaming. But he didn’t have the breath to scream.

Stars exploded black and white in his peripheral vision. The room dipped and spun like a carnival ride. Closing his eyes, Frank cursed and prayed for the darkness to take him.

 
FRIDAY, JANUARY 27, 5:25 P.M.

“Damn you, Matrone.”

Kate set the phone in its cradle and tried hard not to let the anger get the best of her. But she was fuming. It was the third time she’d tried to reach Frank and the third time she’d been forced to leave a message.

He hadn’t shown up for work this morning, didn’t bother to call, and by the end of the day Kate was ready to drive over to his house and strangle him with her bare hands. She’d spent the morning in court, the afternoon had been divided by meetings and a conference call she hadn’t been able to wriggle out of. Every moment in between she’d been unsuccessfully trying to run down her AWOL investigator. Where the hell was he? What was he thinking not showing up for work?

Resigned to picking up the slack herself—at least until she could get the situation resolved—Kate opened the brown expandable file she’d pilfered from Frank’s desk and began to page through it, trying to figure out what he’d been working on.

“You look frazzled.”

She glanced up to see Liz Gordon at her door and managed a weak smile. “You have no idea.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Kate sighed, wanting to unload, knowing she couldn’t. Being an ADA definitely had its advantages. But at times like this—times when she was stressed out and weary to her bones—Kate wished she were one of the girls so she could confide. Maybe even complain a little. “Thanks but I think I’m going to have to deal with this particular problem on my own.”

Liz plopped into the visitor chair opposite her desk. “Matrone?”

If Kate hadn’t been so surprised, she might have laughed. “Does that mean I’m not the only one who’s noticed he doesn’t show up for work half the time?”

“Please tell me you’re not going to fire him.”

Kate didn’t respond.

Liz made a sound of exasperation. “Kate, do you have any idea how many hearts you’ll break?”

“I have no earthly idea what that means.”

“Half the women in this office are in love with him. The other half just wants to sleep with him.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

Leaning back in her chair, Liz smiled. “Don’t tell me you’ve got your head buried so deep in work that you haven’t noticed.”

“The only thing I’ve noticed is that he doesn’t show up for work.”

“Kate, the man is drop-dead gorgeous. We’re talking hot. We’re talking melted Belgian chocolate and Godiva dark rolled into a single, mouthwatering piece of man-flesh.”

Kate stared at her friend, not sure what to say, painfully aware of the heat creeping up her cheeks. She did not want to think of Frank Matrone in terms of man-flesh or chocolate.

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh my God!” The paralegal choked out a laugh. “You
have
noticed! Kate Megason
is
human. Break out the champagne!”

Kate glanced uneasily toward her office door. “Would you keep your voice down? I’m trying to maintain a professional image here.”

“Oh, Kate, I was starting to get
worried
about you. Like maybe you’d been born without ovaries or something.”

“My ovaries are just fine, damn it. Not that it’s anybody’s business.”

“So do you think he’s cute?”

“I think my dad’s pug is cute.”

Liz bit her lip. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“Promise you won’t get mad.”

“The only thing that’s going to make me mad is if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Someone in accounting started a running bet.”

“A bet?”

“You know, like the Super Bowl pool? Everyone puts in five bucks. Winner takes all.”

“I know what a pool is, damn it. What I’m wondering is what it’s got to do with me.”

“The accounting department has you and Frank together by Valentine’s Day.”

“Payroll thinks you’ll sleep with him before then. Well, everyone except for Teresa Berg. She thinks you’ll blow it before it gets that far. There’s almost two hundred and fifty dollars in the pot.”

Kate didn’t know what to say. She felt foolish and embarrassed and utterly certain that she did
not
want to continue this conversation. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You were in on the pot when Steve Wetzel and his admin got together.”

“That was different. They were having an affair. They got married, for God’s sake.” Kate grappled for words. “Don’t you people have work to do?”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun on the job.”

“There’s absolutely nothing going on between Frank Matrone and me. We don’t even like each other. And I would very much appreciate it if you curtailed the juvenile antics.”

Liz only looked at her with mild disbelief. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you.”

“Most of the time he looks at me like he wants to strangle me.” But Kate was not dense; she’d caught Frank’s eyes straying. But he wasn’t the first man who’d looked at her that way, and she hadn’t given it more than a passing thought. She had too much responsibility on her shoulders to put any weight in something as trivial as a lingering look from a male subordinate.

“I don’t think strangling you is what he has in mind,” Liz said. “Unless he’s into that autoerotic asphyxiation.”

“I think this particular conversation has run its course.”

Liz smirked. “Whatever you say.”

Exasperated, Kate looked down at the file in front of her and tried to remember what she’d been doing.

“You know he was hurt overseas, don’t you?”

Kate didn’t look up. “I’m aware of that.”

“Maybe you ought to cut him some slack.”

Kate stopped what she was doing and gave her friend a stern look. “We shouldn’t be discussing this.”

Liz leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I heard from Emily in payroll that he was hurt in a suicide bombing in Israel last year. He was nearly killed.”

Remembering his limp, Kate felt a tinge of guilt for not being more sympathetic. She’d seen the carnage on the news. As an ADA, she’d seen enough violence to know that sometimes people didn’t recover. Even badass ex-cops like Frank Matrone.

“I know,” she admitted, but felt rotten because it hadn’t mattered.

“It might be a good reason to give him another chance.”

“Liz, look, I don’t mean to sound cold, but I need an investigator I can count on.”

The silence that followed smarted more than Kate wanted to admit.

After a moment Liz rose. “A few of us are meeting at Martini’s for drinks later. There’s a standing invitation for you to join us.”

“Thanks, but I’ll probably spend the rest of the evening slogging through this file. I’ll catch you next time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that one of these days,” Liz said and started toward the door.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 27, 5:55 P.M.

Half an hour later Kate left the Frank Crowley Courts Building, her briefcase jammed with files, her shoulders knotted with tension from what had been a very long day. She wanted to blame the tension on the hours she’d been keeping. But as she wove the BMW through rush-hour traffic, it struck her that Frank was the source.

She understood all too well that there were times when personal problems or health problems interfered with life. That sometimes those things took precedence over work. But experience had taught Kate that life didn’t wait for problems to be resolved. The Bruton Ellis case would proceed with or without Frank Matrone.

An investigator played a crucial role in the prosecution of a case. If he were unable to work because of personal or health problems, he needed to be upfront about it and put in for a leave of absence.

“So what the hell am I supposed to do?” she muttered as she sped through the tollbooth at the Wycliffe Plaza. “Let him screw up the case? Not bloody likely.”

The way Kate saw it, there was only one way to handle the situation. The way she always handled problems. Confront it head-on and try like hell to avoid a collision. She didn’t always succeed, but over the years she’d found that forcing an issue, however difficult, invariably opened the channels of communication.

Slowing to the speed limit, she tugged her Palmtop from her briefcase and called up her contact list. Giving her driving only half of her attention, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Frank Matrone’s home number. A busy signal elicited a sigh.

“You can’t even make a simple phone call easy for me, can you, Matrone?”

Realizing it would be more expeditious for her to just swing by his house, she hit a few keys on the Palmtop and called up his address. He lived in an older, middle-class neighborhood in northwest Dallas, just north of Love Field. Five minutes away, she thought, and bit her lip.

The clock on the dash told her it wasn’t too late for a professional call. The worst thing that could happen would be that she would disturb his dinner.

If Matrone were having personal problems or health problems, it would be best for everyone involved—Frank included—if he took a leave of absence until he could resume full duty. At this point she would even agree to let him stay on part-time. As long as Mike Shelley let her hire a third full-time investigator . . .

Feeling better now that she’d made a decision, she exited the tollway and headed west on Walnut Hill Lane.

TEN

FRIDAY, JANUARY 27, 6:00 P.M.

Frank Matrone lived in a small, ranch-style house with a manicured lawn and fenced backyard. Spotting the number painted on the curb, Kate pulled into the driveway and parked next to his truck. The lights were on inside, but the blinds were drawn. From all indications he was home.

She knew it was silly—she had absolutely no reason to be nervous about confronting him—but her palms were wet as she slid from the car and slammed the door. Damn it, Frank was the one who should be sweating this, not her.
He
was the one who hadn’t shown up for work.

But the rationalizations did little to calm her nerves as she took the steps to the front door and rang the bell. A minute ticked by and she rang the bell again. When there was still no answer, she leaned forward and put her ear to the door. She could hear music. Country, if she wasn’t mistaken. But no Frank.

“Terrific,” she muttered and rapped her knuckles hard against the door.

Surprise rippled through her when the door squeaked open. Kate stared at the three-inch gap, wondering why it hadn’t been closed and locked. Dallas had one of the highest crime rates in the nation. Everyone locked their doors.