Marcie's Murder (21 page)

“Billy, no!”
Pricie cried, running across the lawn to get between Askew and the guy, who stood with one hand raised defensively
as he spat blood from his mashed lip
.

Askew brushed her aside and walked up to the guy, who back
ed
away
.

“Whoa, man, easy!”

Askew lunged forward and caught him by the front of the shirt. He pulled him close and stared into his eyes. “Take that piece of shit out of here before it’s too late and I finally kill him this time.”

“All right, man! You got it!”

Askew pushed him away. The guy’s heels caught and he tumbled backwards onto the ground. Askew went back to the truck as Pricie
cried
.
He
leaned over the fender of the truck and grabbed Jimmy by the hair, pulling him up so that he could look into his eyes.

“I told you what would happen if you hit her again,” Askew said, his voice low and deceptively calm.

Tears began to roll down Jimmy’s cheeks. “
Christ, Billy, you’re crazy.
Don’t hit me again.”

“You fucking bastard,” Askew murmur
ed
in
Jimmy’s
ear, “I’m going to fucking kill you with my bare hands.”

“
Just
leave me alone
.
”

“How does it feel, asshole? To have somebody hit you and there’s nothing you can do
about
it? How does it fucking feel? Do you like it?”

“Please, just leave me alone.”

“Answer me!” Askew shouted suddenly. “How does it
feel
?”

Jimmy cringed, crying.

Askew was aware of a car stopping at the curb
behind him
. Doors opened and closed. He began to shake Jimmy like a rag doll. “Answer me! How does it feel?”

“Hands in the air!” a voice shouted. “On top of your head! Right now!”

Askew shook Jimmy again and looked over his shoulder.
He was surprised to see t
wo Bluefield
police
officers
on the sidewalk,
point
ing
their weapons at him, faces grim.
They were men Askew didn’t know
.

“Right now! Hands on top of your head!”

Askew released Jimmy and took a step away from the truck,
raising his
hands slowly to the top of his head. He looked at the
drunk
sitting in the passenger side of the truck. The guy stared back at him over the top of the bag as he took another drink. His eyes were dead, empty.

Askew’s anger drained out of his body as though flushed from a toilet.

T
hey cuffed him and frisked him, remov
ed
his sidearm from the holster on his hip, recited his rights
,
and bundled him down to the cruiser
. As
they
open
ed
the back door of the cruiser
,
Askew
saw his
own
reflection briefly in the
car
window
.

His eyes were as dead as those of the
drunk
in the truck
behind him.

1
7

Hall seemed to be feeling well enough to drive them to the clinic in Tazewell where Marcie’s doctor had her practice, but Karen
guessed
he was feeling beat up over the results of the autopsy and what they implied about Billy Askew. Hall was obviously
loyal to
Askew and was
having difficulty adjusting his sights from tall suspects with a beard to middle-aged suspects who were married to the victim
. He was an odd
duck
who
showed very little that a person would want to like.
He came across as a
n alcoholic
loser
and
u
nlike Branham, who was open, friendly and receptive to others, Hall was a shields-up, photon-torpedoes-armed-and-ready kind of guy
.
As they walked up the wide cement walk to the front doors of the clinic,
Karen
slung her
shoulder bag
to a more comfortable position and turned to look at him.

“You
need
this doctor
to talk about stuff that’s not in the vic’s file
.”

“I know how to do my job.”

“I’m just saying. If she needs her ass kicked and you’re not up to it, I’ll do it for you.”

“I don’t need you to do anything for me.”

They went through a big set of glass doors and found the name of Marcie’s physician, Dr. D
iane
Gervais, on the big board on the wall. There were
six
floors altogether in the building and Gervais was on the fifth floor. They took the elevator and walked down a carpeted hallway to her office.
There were two names on the door,
Dr. D. Gervais
and
Dr. M. Thoney
.
They opened the door and walked into a tidy reception area with new modern furnishings,
plenty of sitting room
,
and four people waiting. There was a wall between the reception area and the rest of the suite, with a counter and two windows. They walked up to the window with the nameplate that read
Dr. D. Gervais
.
Hall leaned forward to speak to the receptionist through the hole in the glass.

“Detectives Hall and Stainer to see Dr. Gervais.”
He held up his badge so that it clacked against the glass.

The
receptionist
looked as though she should have been home baking cookies for her grandchildren.
“She’s with a patient
.
Do you have an appointment?”

“Yeah.”
Hall had telephoned before they’d left Harmony. Probably had talked to this same woman, who now was pretending
it
was all a big surprise.

She looked at her computer. “Oh yes, here you are. It’ll be about ten minutes.”

“
We’ll wait
.”
Hall
sat down and stared at his hands
.
Karen sat down
two chairs away
and watched him
. Maybe he could ask the doctor’s advice on a good hangover treatment. Or better yet, get a referral to
a
n
effective
support group
.

Karen understood that a
lcoholism was an occupational hazard in law enforcement.
She
and Sandy
could name
at least six people
they knew
who’d had good careers ruined by booze. One, Sandy’s former supervisor, ended up committing suicide after losing
both
his family
and an important promotion
to the bottle,
a tragic end to a once-promising FBI career. But surely Hall hadn’t seen anything out here in hillbilly heaven that compared to what law enforcement officers dealt with
on a daily basis
in a l
arge city. What was his excuse?

Karen was
known
for her patience and empathy when dealing with children, a primary asset when she’d worked in Family
-
Related Crime, but when it came to adult males she had the sensitivity of a chain saw. Her position was simple: be a man and own your shit or get
torn to shreds
.
It was one reason why her relationship with Sandy had lasted longer than twenty-four hours
.
Sandy was one of the most stable, even-tempered, self-aware men she’d ever met.

The door opened and a woman
wearing a lab coat
nodded to Hall. “This way, please. The doctor will see you now.”

They followed the woman into an
unoccupied
examination room. Hall sat down in the visitor’s chair
next to the doctor’s desk
,
and Karen hopped up on the side of the
treatment table, the paper crinkl
ing
under her butt. “I hope
you’re
not
going to take our blood pressure first.”

The woman gave her a sour look and closed the door on her way out.

“Just as well,” Karen said, looking at Hall.

It took
another
five minutes for the doctor to make her appearance. She bustled into the room, a short, heavy, middle-aged woman with straight, medium-length black hair shot through with
gray
. She wore a white lab coat over a navy blouse and skirt combination, black flat-soled shoes, no makeup
,
and no jewelry.
The obligatory stethoscope was draped around her neck.

“Detective Hall,” Hall said, holding up his badge, “Harmony Police Department. This is Detective Stainer. Thanks for making time to see us.”

“It’s late in the day,” Dr. Gervais said, sitting down at her desk and crossing her legs.
“I still have several patients to see.” She spoke with a
French
accent.

“This won’t take long.” Hall took out the authorization from Askew and handed it to her. “We’re investigating the murder of one of your patients, Marcie Askew.”

“I saw that in the newspaper
,” Gervais grimaced as she read Askew’s note
.
“
It was a very terrible thing.
Pauvre
Marcie.”

“We have to ask you about her recent medical history, Doct
or
.”

“
Very well
.
This
appears to be in order.
”
She set the authorization aside.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Gervais shrugged. “It’s been a while.”
She
shifted in her chair and tapped on the computer. In a moment she had opened Marcie Askew’s file. “Slightly more than
one
year ago, it looks.”

“We’ll need a copy of her file.”

Gervais looked at Hall. “A copy?”

Hall nodded. Gervais shrugged and worked the mouse. The printer next to the monitor began to whir. “It’ll take
several
moment
s
.”

“That’s all right,” Karen said, “we don’t mind. So how long was Mrs. Askew a patient of yours?”

“Several years. She transferred from a doctor in Bluefield who
has
retired.”

“Been here long?”

Gervais looked at her. “Have
I
been here long?”

Karen smiled, raising her eyebrows.

“It’s been
more than twenty years
that I’
ve
lived
in Tazewell Co
unty
. My husband and I came from Montreal originally to Richmond. He was a physician
also
. We set up a practice there, learned of an opportunity here,
and
moved.
We b
uilt this clinic with our business partners seven years ago. My husband passed away two years ago. Now it’s just m
yself
a
nd my partners.”

“Sorry about your husband,” Karen said.

“
B
rain cancer
.
” She took the printed pages out of the printer and gave them to Hall.

“Thanks,” he said
, s
huffl
ing
through the pages.

Karen leaned forward.
“Ever see any signs of physical abuse on Mrs. Askew?”

“
No
!
Why are you asking this?”

“She ever discuss her fights with her husband?”

Gervais shook her head.

Hall stirred. “Did she talk about other men she might have been involved with?”

“
Mais n
o
n
, not at all.
W
hy
are
you asking me these questions
?
”

Hall rolled the papers containing Marcie’s medical history into a tube and rapped them against the edge of the desk. “Within the last six months she had several injuries that women get when someone’s beating on them. Broken wrist, separated shoulder, cracked jaw, loose teeth. You didn’t treat her for these injuries
and leave them off her record
? Or hear about them
after the fact
?”