Everywhere She Turns (18 page)

With the push of a button, he returned the missed call.

“Good evening, Mr. Abbott.”

Edward frowned. The voice was male but certainly not one he recognized. There was a surliness about the tone. Quite distasteful.

“Who is this?” Edward inquired. Few people knew his cell phone number.

“This is your worst nightmare, Edward old boy,” the voice taunted. “I’m starting a new game. Are you ready to play?”

“I’m certain you have the wrong number.” The man had used his name, but Edward clearly did not know him. The very idea was ludicrous.

“Oh, no, Eddy boy. I have the right number. Now . . .” He paused for effect. “You ready to play?”

A new kind of uneasiness took root deep in Edward’s stomach. “Who is this?” he repeated.

“I already answered that question. Try to keep up.”

Enough of this folly. “What is it you want?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the overbearing voice said. “What I want . . . well, I haven’t made up my mind. This call isn’t about what I want. It’s about making the first move.”

“I believe I’ll hang up now.” Edward didn’t play games. He made it a point not to involve himself with those who did. This man was obviously some sort of con artist.

“I don’t think you want to hang up,
Professor
Abbott.”

“Make your point, sir.” Edward doubted the caller deserved such a designation.

“Sir.” He laughed. “I like that.”

Fury ignited, burning away a little of the uneasiness.

“My point is, Edward Abbott, that I know what you did
that
night.”

The fury vanished, giving the unease a new boost. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that poor bitch Shelley Patterson. I know all about you and what you did. The tragic ending to the sick story is right there on video. I bet you didn’t know that ho was recording your ass.”

“Whatever you think you know,” Edward challenged, “you are very wrong. If you harass me again—”

“You’ll what?” the man interrupted. “Go to the police? I don’t think so. Here’s the lowdown, old man, I want something from you. As soon as I make up my mind what, I’ll let you know. Until then, you think about what you did. What you said. You think it all over. I’ll call again in a few days and give you my decision. Until then, you just need to remember one thing.”

Edward didn’t bother with a response.

“I own your ass, motherfucker. And it’s for sale. You be prepared to pay the price and life will be good again.”

Dead air rang in Edward’s ear. He stared at the phone. He didn’t have to wonder who the caller was.

He knew.

As an educated professor of mathematics, he knew something else: that for every equation there was a solution. Sometimes the equations were complicated, sometimes simple. But always utterly solvable.

9:30
PM

Carter Cost sat in the darkness of his BMW. He’d been watching CJ since they left Applebee’s. She’d driven straight to the shack her crazy sister had called home. Once inside, she had turned on all the lights. Then she’d walked to the neighbors and borrowed what appeared to be a hammer. After that, she’d lurked around in the garage using a flashlight. Eventually she’d emerged with an armload of boards or something along those lines and gone back into the house.

For the next half hour he’d heard banging.

What the hell was she doing?

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

The better question was, what was he going to do?

She knew
.

Fear crept up his spine, took root at the base of his skull.

With Shelley dead, he’d thought this was over.

Why didn’t CJ go back to Baltimore? What resident in her right mind would risk such a prestigious position? She’d gotten her attending on board with the idea of filling elective hours. Carter couldn’t exactly deny the request. That would look suspicious. But this ridiculous plan could very well backfire on her. A residency position at Johns Hopkins came with certain expectations, complete focus being first and foremost.

He shook his head. Some people just didn’t appreciate the gifts life gave them. His residency at the Mayo Clinic had been such a gift. His grandfather had reminded him of that every day since Carter had returned to join the family practice.

Carter wasn’t allowed to deviate from the plan that had been in place well before his birth. When he finally married, that too would be part of the plan, the nuptials a well-thought-out business negotiation. Just another reason Carter was in no hurry. He enjoyed his freedom far too much.

What little he had.

His family couldn’t control what he did between the hours of 11:00
PM
and 6:00
AM
, but only by virtue of the fact that every single one of them insisted that seven hours’ sleep each night was not only beneficial but essential.

If his family learned of his latest indiscretion, he would be eviscerated. Disowned. Left in the cold to survive on his own.

That was unacceptable.

He liked his life. Huntsville’s medical community had no choice but to look up to him; he was, after all, a Cost.

Fury tightened his jaw. He had worked hard to rise to the family’s endless list of standards. His reputation in the cardiovascular field was growing. His personal client list had exceeded expectations for the length of time in practice.

He couldn’t let this happen.

The police couldn’t care less about another prostitute ending up dead. Particularly one from the west side. That she was pregnant would be considered a consequence of the job.

Except that CJ was presenting the pregnancy as motive. Insisting the pregnancy made the murder a homicide with special circumstances.

A capital offense in the state of Alabama.

He understood full well how this, like all else in life, worked. The squeaky wheel got the grease. If she cried foul long and loudly enough, someone would pay attention just to shut her up.

Then he would be screwed.

He had to find a way to stop this.

Any one of Shelley’s sleazy associates from the village could serve as suspect or perpetrator. There wasn’t a single one of
them above killing out of necessity or for sheer sport. And every one of them was expendable.

Yes, he decided. That would be the quickest, most painless way out of this mess. All he needed was a dead body and evidence that pointed to the victim’s guilt in Shelley’s murder.

He would never get so lucky.

Sometimes a person had to make his own luck.

Sweat dampened his palms. A shudder quaked through him. The stress sharpened his needs. A call to his supplier might be in order a little early.

Just as he reached for his cell, it chirped. If it was his father again, Carter was going to ignore the call. His father was suspicious of Carter’s late-night activities. He’d started calling each night and morning to ensure his only son was following the rules. He, of course, didn’t say as much, but Carter knew what the calls were about.

He wouldn’t put it past his father to have him watched.

Carter longed for a call from his mother saying his father had suffered a sudden heart attack or stroke. He didn’t wish his father dead, just out of commission on some level.

Maybe then he could live his life rather than the family plan.

A third chirp nudged Carter to check the screen. A local number, but not one he recognized.

He started to ignore it but at the last moment answered. “Cost.”

“It’s not nice to stalk the pretty doctor.”

Carter twisted in his seat, scanned the darkness for whoever was watching him. “Who is this?”

“The better question is, who do you think you are? You don’t belong here, boy. You shoulda realized that a couple months ago and maybe your balls wouldn’t be in a vise right now.”

Shit
. Carter swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. “What do you want?”

“Why don’t you name the price, Dr. Cost? You’d have a better idea what your future is worth than I would.”

Fear ignited in his gut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I got you on video, pretty boy. Pushing that bitch around. Telling her she better get rid of that fucking baby. Threatening her if she didn’t. Yeah, I got it all.”

Carter went numb. “You’re . . .” He tried to swallow but his throat had gone bone dry. “You’re bluffing.” Those words—
his words
—echoed in his brain.

The bastard laughed. “You need to wake up, cracker. I don’t fucking bluff nobody. Your ass is punked, motherfucker. Now, you think on it awhile. I’ll get back to you.”

Carter couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe while his entire life flashed before his eyes.

For the first time he realized he had underestimated the importance of a plan.

He needed one.

Fast.

His hands shook. He reached into his console, popped a couple of pills.

A sense of calm rushed over him.

He could figure this out.

He knew people . . . people who could make things go away.

Village Clinic

Wednesday, August 4, 11:30
AM

CJ scanned the chart of her next patient. Follow-up. She’d had a series of STD tests on Friday. The same day as Shelley.

Pushing open the door to the lobby, CJ called the patient’s name. “Celeste Martin.” Eight patients still waited and she’d seen twenty already. No wonder Lusk was overwhelmed.

A young white woman, twenty according to her chart, pushed out of the molded plastic chair and slinked toward CJ. Fiery red hair, a color nature hadn’t intended. Puffy blue eyes accentuated with far too much eyeliner and mascara. Judging by her acute thinness and her too-pale skin, she didn’t eat right and rarely stepped out in the daylight.

“Good morning, Ms. Martin.”

Celeste gave CJ a long, cautious look. “Where’s Lusk?”

“She’ll be back on Friday. I’m Dr. CJ Patterson.” CJ held the door open for her patient. “Room two.”

The woman walked with a bit of a hitch in her stride. CJ wasn’t sure if that was her usual gait or if she was reacting to pain. Judging by the stilettos she wore, she could have twisted her ankle. If so, she’d climbed right back into the saddle again, so to speak.

Celeste slouched against the exam table. “How’d my tests come out?”

“They were all negative.” CJ flashed a smile. “Nothing to worry about there.”

Celeste grimaced as she straightened away from the table. “I’ll just come back Friday to see Lusk ’bout the rest.”

“Come on.” CJ patted the table. “Scoot up here and let me have a quick look and listen.” When the woman didn’t oblige her, CJ added, “You’re here. Might as well.”

Celeste hesitated, doubt lingering in her eyes. “Lusk knows me. I like talking to her.”

Chalk one up for Lusk. She’d built quite a patient-physician relationship. This wasn’t the first patient today who wanted to come back on Friday.

“I understand.” CJ closed the chart. “But I couldn’t help noticing you’re in pain. I can help you now; why suffer until Friday?”

The woman’s hand went to her right side. “It hurts bad.” Her face scrunched with the pain she’d obviously been trying to hide. “I got real scared last night. I couldn’t sleep, it hurt so bad.”

“Why don’t you take off your blouse and let me have that look?” The spaghetti-strap camisole and mini miniskirt didn’t cover that much, anyway.

Celeste hesitated another moment but then grabbed the hem of her cami and peeled it over her head. CJ clamped her mouth shut to prevent the gasp.

Angry red marks, recent, and purple and yellow bruising, several days old, colored her torso. Her bare breasts were covered in the same.

“Come on.” CJ patted the exam table. “Ease up here and lie back, please.”

Celeste grunted with the effort. She tugged her short skirt which had slid upward, back over her hips. No panties. Not surprising. The bruising extended to her hips as well.

Not wanting to put her off until she’d completed her exam, CJ kept the questions related to any symptoms the patient had experienced. Grimaces and soft groans came whenever she touched the fresher injuries.

“Let’s get an X-ray. Make sure this is all soft tissue damage. Then maybe an ultrasound.”

“I could use some Vicodin.”

“We’ll talk about that after we see what’s going on.”

Since there was no nurse or medical assistant, CJ searched for a gown, got the patient into it, and escorted her to the last exam room on the right. It was the largest, and that was where the X-ray machine was. She’d volunteered in enough free clinics to know her way around an X-ray machine.