Eclipse (31 page)

‘I was,' she said.

Gregory Wendell had moved to Miami and gone through the motions of studying for his CPA exams, happily flunking them, excelling where it mattered, craving reading and learning the way some people needed junk food or drugs. His memory was superior, and he was a strict task master, creating his own exams, passing easily, setting the bar higher.

Wanting at least some of what was on offer to ‘real' medical students, he began strolling into schools, learning their layout, finding out where security was lax, crashing lectures – and committing his first felony by obtaining a fake ID to grant him access where checks were in operation. He spent time at Miller and Dade Medical College, buying campus T-shirts, fitting in, listening but never voluntarily joining conversations, finding it easy to be the kind of guy nobody cared if they talked to or not.

He began collecting medical and surgical instruments at around that time, starting out with a stethoscope. He bought online and traveled to specialist sales, and if the estate trustees noticed what he was spending his money on, they never mentioned it.

What he still lacked was hands-on experience, but inspired by the Spielberg movie about impostor Frank Abagnale, he discovered how comparatively easy it could be to ‘become' a doctor in a busy hospital. White coat, stethoscope, fake ID, pager, keeping moving, always watching, absorbing, copying minor procedures, escaping potentially dangerous encounters by saying he was needed elsewhere, equipped to name any department and even personnel.

He learned, too, when it was time to leave, period. If someone, say, had asked questions about him or looked at him curiously. Or, much worse, when he'd accidentally hurt a patient.

Not badly – he'd rather have died than cause serious harm – but no matter how often you practiced injections on an orange, you could still get it wrong with humans, whose pain thresholds and dispositions were so diverse.

He lost count of the number of unauthorized blood samples or swabs he'd taken. All he had to do was walk into a room and tell a patient what he'd come to do, and they let him. If a doctor came in and asked for a vein, they presented an arm. If he asked them to open their mouths or let him look in their ears, same deal. And sometimes, he just gave his time, listened to a patient, gave them comfort.

They thought he was a doctor, so they respected him.

It was a wonderful feeling.

His new identity as Dr George Wiley set him free.

Ready now, with enough knowledge and forged diplomas to get a genuine position, sure that his work was excellent enough to earn him good enough references to climb to the next rung on the ladder.

It had worked out, because Florida was jammed with nursing homes and small clinics, most well run, personnel hired with care and scrutinized, but some run by the frazzled, idle or downright unscrupulous. In such places, patients were often grateful for extra care, which meant that Dr Wiley could give them the kind of thorough work-up they'd have been unlikely to receive otherwise. And if a senior, say, objected to something, it was easy to put it down to dementia or to note their tendency to be ‘difficult' – and, thereafter, to avoid them.

He was good at his work, made no grievous errors, and his employers were always sorry to lose him when he left to take another step up.

And so, in time, he had worked his way to the Adams Clinic.

He'd found an extra benefit to working there, particularly with patients with bandaged eyes or who were enduring the uncomfortable positioning essential after certain procedures. A patient forced to lie face down after, say, the repair of a macular hole, was in no condition to argue, and the young doctor was careful not to cross the line, especially with the more well-informed individuals.

Dr George Wiley, gentle, approachable, obliging and on the up, thought he had pretty much mastered the art of judging who he could practice on and who it was advisable to leave alone.

Until the Becket woman had ruined everything.

‘We had to work out the kind of person Arlene Silver would allow into her home. Best, we figured, for her to be expecting us.'

Everyone present was now way past tired, all listening intently to Toni Petit because this, to their knowledge, had been the first of the Black Hole killings, which made it the forerunner, in some ways perhaps the most crucial.

Sam's mind was swiftly running through legal ramifications of what she'd been telling them. Under Florida law, the Independent Act Doctrine applied when one co-felon who had previously participated in a common plan, did not participate in all the acts committed by a co-felon which fell outside the original collaboration.

No way now for Petit's lawyer-to-be to take that route.

They had created an invitation in a while-u-wait print shop telling Mrs Silver that she was one of an exclusive selection of women in Orange County being invited to try a special treatment guaranteed to slim and tighten ‘problem areas' after just one treatment or their money back.

Jerry O'Dea made a scoffing sound.

‘I never thought she'd go for it,' Toni agreed.

The invitation stated that a unique combination of recently-discovered essential oils and a specialist massage technique was available in the area for one day only, after which the oils would not be available in the US for six months.

‘We named it PN301, said it was its working name. PN as in
piel nueva
.'

‘New skin,' Gutierrez said softly.

‘We hand-delivered the invitation soon after the husband left next morning, and just after nine we knocked on her door.'

‘And she fell for this?' Martinez was incredulous.

‘She welcomed us, seemed so excited. I thought she might recognize us from the drugstore but we looked different – we'd bought wigs – I was a redhead and Kate was a blonde, and she wasn't carrying her cane.'

Partial affirmation of the Naples sighting, though it seemed improbable that anyone could have thought this slight, slim woman might be a man.

‘She wanted to see the oils before we started, said she couldn't help feeling a little dubious, but then again, she'd try anything once.'

‘You'd brought actual oils with you?' Sam asked.

‘We'd bought some essential oils in tiny bottles from a natural health store and soaked off the labels. Kate let her sniff them while I told her about our special relaxing herb tea, asked if she'd like to try some.'

‘And she'd try anything once,' O'Dea said.

‘Did she?' Duval asked.

Toni nodded. ‘If she hadn't . . .'

‘Yes?' Sam said.

‘I don't know,' Toni said. ‘It didn't happen.'

‘Did you bring any other treatments with you,' Sam asked, ‘as part of your cover story? Anything containing acetone?'

She frowned. ‘No.'

He logged that wrong turn down to experience.

Petit said that she'd made a cup of her ‘special' tea with added Diazepam.

‘What else was in the tea?' Sam asked.

‘Ginger, bergamot, orange, honey.'

‘How much Diazepam did you add?'

‘I'd crushed several ten milligram tablets, more than enough to make her very sleepy, unless she was exceptionally resistant. We told her to keep stirring the honey that settled at the bottom of the cup.'

They'd sat down in Arlene Silver's living room, talking up the marvels of PN301, while the unsuspecting woman had stirred and drunk her tea, remarking on its sweetness and unusual flavor and talking about other treatments she'd tried.

‘It surprised her when she started feeling drowsy. I told her that occasionally prescription medications interacted with the herbs in the tea, and she started to tell us about something she took, but by then she was too sleepy to talk.' Toni looked at Sam. ‘She was never frightened.'

‘Was that why you drugged her?' Still hoping for a trace of humanity.

‘That, and the fact that Kate wanted to move her into her bedroom, which would be easier if she couldn't resist.'

Expediency then.

An almost gentle path up until the point of killing.

But not because of kindness.

Sam was becoming ever more certain that however often she said ‘Kate wanted', Toni had virtually driven every stage, had been the sharp brain behind it.

Behind six horrific deaths.

‘So then what?' Martinez asked.

‘Kate made up the bed the way she wanted it. You've seen it.'

‘Please describe it for the record,' Sam said.

She gave her account, the number of pillows, the sheeting.

And then she described the way they had helped the drugged woman to her bed, resting her head on the stack of pillows. There had been, Toni told them, a few flickers of surprise, perhaps because the bed felt different, but no fear.

And then she had been asleep.

Dr Adams had come in to see Mildred early that morning.

‘You obviously don't need a lot of sleep,' she had remarked, impressed, and then she'd added: ‘Are you sure you're sharp enough for this?'

‘You're certainly sharp enough for us both,' he said.

David had noted what appeared now to be two-way respect. Which boded well, he hoped, for when it came time to attend to Mildred's second cataract.

The ophthalmic surgeon had seemed pleased.

‘I'd say you're good to go, Mrs Becket.'

‘Truly?' she said.

‘Provided you're going to take care of yourself.'

‘You don't need to worry, Doctor,' Mildred said quickly. ‘I won't be doing anything to spoil your work.'

Just papers to be signed after that, and a wheelchair for Mildred, which she did not argue with; which caused David brief concern, being so out of character.

‘You don't need to worry either,' she told him as Benjamin, the orderly who'd taken her to the OR yesterday, wheeled her from the elevator toward the world beyond. ‘I'm just making sure I don't do anything to spoil our bid for freedom.'

David smiled. ‘I guess, in the end, the surgery was the least of our troubles.'

They were almost through the sliding doors.

Mildred shook her head. ‘Hard to know how a man like that gets to be a doctor at all.'

‘Keep your head still, Mildred.'

‘Yes, Doctor,' she said.

The morning air was very warm, but seemed delightfully fresh to her.

‘Free at last,' Benjamin said.

Sam was finally ready to ask the question.

‘Who pulled the trigger?'

‘I did,' Toni said. ‘Kate wanted to do it, but suddenly she changed her mind, said her aim might not be straight enough. She might screw up, and it might not be how she needed it to be. Perfect.'

‘And you accepted that?' Sam asked.

‘I told her no. I told her there was nothing to stop us leaving and going home. Arlene was sleeping. We could have taken our stuff – and her teacup – and we could have left, and all she'd have known was that she might have been doped. Nothing stolen but a teacup. No real harm done.'

‘What did Kate say?' Sam asked.

‘She got upset, said I didn't understand how much she
needed
this. And if I wouldn't do it for her, then she would fire the gun, but if she missed and it was hideous because she was almost
blind
, then she'd have nightmares for the rest of her life, and that would be down to me. The way all the bad things in her life always had been.'

‘So you agreed,' Sam said.

‘No, but I did it anyway,' she said. ‘We'd taken a cushion from the couch to use as a silencer. I positioned the gun against it and aimed as accurately as I could. And I did it.'

‘You shot Arlene Silver,' Sam said.

‘Yes. Twice. One shot through each eye.' Her voice was soft. ‘I remember worrying that the smoke detector might go off because the cushion was burning, but I threw it on the floor and stamped on it, and it was OK.' She paused. ‘But then I had to look at her. At what I'd done.'

They were all silent.

‘I'd never dreamed I could do anything like that. And then Kate said we had to go on, do more, make it look
right
.' She swallowed. ‘We'd brought gauze with us, which I thought would be enough.'

‘You had brought gauze for that purpose,' Sam said.

‘Yes. But Kate started looking around the room and found something, said: “Hey, this is perfect.” It was a sleep mask.'

The one that Arlene Silver had saved from a night flight.

‘I put the gauze into the . . .' Toni's face was suddenly paler. ‘I'm sorry, I can't, not about that. I mean, I did it, but I can't describe it.'

‘Too hard, huh?' O'Dea said.

‘That's OK,' Sam told her.

She nodded. ‘And then Kate handed me the mask, and I put it on her.'

‘You fastened it around her head?' Sam said.

‘Yes,' she said.

‘Were you wearing gloves?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘At what point had you put gloves on?'

‘In the kitchen, when I'd made the tea.' Toni paused. ‘And then I took them off until she got sleepy. And we were both very careful not to touch things.' She stopped again. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.'

‘We'll take a break soon,' Duval said.

‘There isn't much more to say,' she said.

‘You fastened the mask around her head and over her shot-out sockets.' Sam's voice was harder. ‘What did you do then?'

‘We cleaned up,' she said. ‘We were both churned up, but I think we did a good job.'

‘Not that good,' Duval said. ‘You left prints.'

‘Did we?' Toni said. ‘Not so perfect, after all.'

Sam glanced at his watch, saw it was nearly ten, looked at the others, then at Joe Duval, who nodded.

Sam gave thanks.

‘Interview suspended,' he said.

While Duval met with the ASA, Sam called Hallandale General and learned that Billie was well enough to be discharged and had already given a statement to Broward detectives. He also learned that owing to a backed up OR, Chauvin had only recently gone to theater, but that he would still probably be fit to leave that afternoon.