The Clone's Mother (20 page)

Chapter 31

When the phone rang, the man pacing the floor jerked the phone off the table, cursing.

“What took you so long?” he said.

His empty hand clenched and released while he listened and continued to traipse in a tight circle over the carpet in rhythm with his pulsating fist.

“Hey, back off. I had just as much right to be there as you. I’m not going to become a hermit just so some broad doesn’t see me. Besides, she looked me right in the eyes and had no idea I was the guy she saw before.”

He chuckled at the memory of her talking to him at the hospital dinner celebration. Without the wig and beard disguise, he was a different man. Kate Johnston had no clue who he was and it gave him a rush to think of how well he could fool her. The stress that had built while he waited for the phone call was seeping away at the pleasure of remembering how he’d pulled it off so easily. But then the tension spiked again.

“Give me a break, man! I didn’t plan to shoot her. How was I supposed to know she’d have a gun? Her cousin must have spooked her…What? And let her shoot me first?…Yeah, I have the kid.”

He walked over to a bundle of blankets in the corner of the sofa. The quiet baby lay within the layers of quilts he had wrapped around her. He felt her cheek. It was warm, but the color had drained out and she looked like something was really wrong.

“Um, there something you ought to know. This kid’s in bad shape. When the mom went down, the kid went first—right on her head. She seemed okay at first, but then got worse and now I can’t wake her up. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind her not crying.”

While he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, he looked again at the floppy, lethargic baby. She didn’t look good. And she didn’t breathe very often.

“Okay, don’t worry. Stop yelling. I’ll take care of it. We can’t help it. It’s done.”

He put down the phone and rubbed his hand through his cropped hair. This was one complication he hadn’t planned for, but it was nothing that couldn’t be dealt with. He had preferred the other way, when he just returned the babies to a safe place. But, if the kid died, the kid died. What was it to him, anyway?

***

By the time those double doors finally opened for us, it was long past dark. A green-clad surgeon stepped out, his surgical cap darkened with a ring of sweat and his scrub top pitted out. The one other bunch of anxious people still waiting in the room looked up too, hoping their turn had come.

“Mr. McBride?”

Joe jumped up and met him halfway across the room.

“I’m Dr. Preston.” He reached out to shake hands with Joe, and Joe surrendered his hand to him, letting the doctor give it a couple of fast, solid pumps. “Your wife is in post-op now. We evacuated the subdural hematoma satisfactorily. The brain tissue itself, in a case like this, suffers destruction in proportion to the size and kinetic energy of the missile. The damage can extend far beyond the actual missile track. The degree of devastation will only be discovered over the next few hours to several days.”

Joe blinked and continued to stare. He swallowed. “She’s alive then?”

“Most definitely.” He smiled and thumped Joe on the shoulder as if he were an old pal. “I’ll check in with you in a couple of hours and see how it’s going. Meanwhile, hang out a while longer and someone will come get you when she’s transferred to ICU.”

And he turned and sprinted back beyond the double doors.

Joe turned to me, his face limp and helpless, searching mine for any sign of understanding to help him know whether or not Anna was going to be all right.

“That didn’t make any sense, did it?”

He shook his head, his big sad eyes not blinking.

“He said she had a blood clot on her brain. But they got it out. She’ll probably be in a coma,” then I added really fast, “but it might just be temporary,” when I saw the only part he could really understand was
coma
. “They’ll have her on meds that will keep her from waking up for now.”

Joe trembled so hard, I could see it.

“Let’s go up and wait for her in her room. I’ll show you where ICU is. Some privacy might be nice.”

He let me lead him to the elevators and to the intensive care unit. The desk clerk told me where they were going to put Anna and let us wait inside the cubical for her.

Sixty minutes later, a team from the OR rolled in with her. A ventilator was breathing for her. Several lines in and out of her were attached to IV pumps. Her head was wrapped in gauze and a Hemovac drain came out from beneath the dressing.

Joe stood in the corner of the tiny room and watched while the staff rolled her bed into the empty spot and transferred her equipment over to the ICU’s IV poles and the brackets on the walls. His eyes darted from one piece of machinery to another.

Once Anna was settled and the anesthesiologist gave report to her new nurse, the OR crew left. The room went quiet, except for
swish-pah, swish-pah
of the vent and the
bee-bee-bee
of the pulse ox and the
bing-bing-bing
of the cardiac monitor and the low hum of all the IV pumps whirring away as they churned meds into Anna’s veins to keep her alive and stable.

When her nurse stepped out, I went around the room and lowered the volume of all the pings and bings. They just added stress to poor Joe. He looked at me with saucer eyes like I was shutting off her life support.

“Don’t worry. Once the nurse got around to it, she’d turn them down too. The alarms are still on, so if anything changes, they’ll let us know.”

Maybe he breathed a little bit better. Hard to tell. It might have been his first breath since I’d met him in the emergency room.

“Do you want a Coke?” I asked.

“No. Thanks.”

“Okay. I think I’m going to go get me one, and maybe walk around a while. The cafeteria won’t open till two. We can go get something to eat then.”

“I don’t want to eat.”

“I know. But you should. It won’t do Anna any good if you starve. She’ll need you to be here when she wakes up.”

His big lost eyes looked up to me. He had no will to resist me.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be here.”

He scooted closer to the side of her bed and took her limp hand into his own. He was giving her a gentle kiss on her fingertips when I slipped out to go in search of something to help me get through the night.

Chapter 32

Anna stabilized somewhat during the wee hours, her temperature becoming less erratic. Joe swore she squeezed his hand once on his command. I didn’t tell him that was impossible. Anna was on Pavulon. It was a paralytic drug used for patients on the vent. It kept her from fighting against it by paralyzing all of her muscles. She couldn’t have squeezed his hand if her life depended on it. But I couldn’t be the one to steal his hope.

By nine Monday morning, I decided to go home and sleep. But before I did, I wanted to swing by Joe’s parents’ condo. I told Joe I’d check on Snoopy, ask the neighbor to feed him, and pick up Joe’s eyeglasses and electric razor.

I also wondered what kind of mess there was that needed to be cleaned before Joe walked back in.

Outside their place, the daunting yellow tape—which draws the spectators but horrifies the loved-ones—marked the condo as a crime scene. An officer stood guard outside the door. When I told her who I was and why I was there, she opened the door and yelled into the crime scene investigator to tell him she was letting me in.

He looked up at me as I came in. He was doing something over a huge brown stain on the white linoleum where I was trying not to look.

“I’m almost done,” he said. “Then I’ll get out of your way.”

“I’m just going to the bedroom for a minute. Is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” he said as he swished a brush across the floor like he was painting the brown spot on. “Like I said, I’m nearly finished. Somebody can start cleaning up anytime once I’m gone.”

Joe’s glasses and razor were easy to find, of course. A place for everything, and everything in its place. When I came out, the criminalist was loading up his toolbox. I went to the couch to sit a minute while he packed. I didn’t feel so well. I’d been running in nurse-mode, and probably shock too, since sometime in the OR waiting room. Soon everything would have to crash in on me. But I hoped not before I got home.

While I waited, I tried to keep my eyes from the kitchen. I glanced at the end table between the couch and wall. Next to a coffee mug on one of the sandstone coasters Anna had bought for her in-laws last Christmas sat a photograph of Anna and Joe. An eight-by-ten in a silver frame. It was my favorite picture of them, taken about six months ago.

I set down Joe’s stuff and grabbed up the picture frame and held it, gazing at it as memories of times together swam through my exhausted consciousness.

The guy in the kitchen stood up and said, “All done.”

He went out and told the officer she could remove the yellow tape. Before the door closed, Millie the neighbor scooted in. She knew Joe’s parents well, taking care of their condo when they were in Arizona each winter, and came as a frequent guest to family events. Clad in an olive jersey sweat suit, the energetic septuagenarian brought her tall and lanky form toward me with her arms outstretched to enfold me.

“Ah, Kathleen,” she lamented as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I folded into her but didn’t cry. Not yet. Everything hadn’t crashed through yet.

We sat there for a while with my head dropped onto her shoulder.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” she said.

I shrugged. I couldn’t think.

“You on the way to or from the hospital?”

“From. I work tonight. I need to get some sleep sometime. But I need to clean this up first.”

“That’s what I’ll do. Leave it to me.”

“Oh, no. You can’t do that.”

“Why not? Don’t worry. I’ll get Burt to help me.”

A widower who lived two doors down. Sort of her boyfriend.

“I don’t—”

She cut me off. “It’s settled. You go home. We’ll take care of it. And I have Snoopy over at my place. I’ll keep him there until Joe’s folks get back. They’re trying to get a flight a-sap.”

Her offer was too good. “Thanks, Millie. You’re wonderful.” I kissed her on the cheek, gathered the things to take to Joe, and got up to go. When I started to put the picture back down by the coffee mug, I pulled it back against my chest, deciding it would be the perfect thing to put at Anna’s bedside. I wanted everyone to remember her as a person, not the Gun Shot Wound in Bed Three.

Millie walked with me to the door, providing a shield between me and the stain. She still had her arm around me.

“I wish I could have prevented this somehow.”

“Millie, how in the world could you have done that? You might have gotten hurt yourself if you’d been anywhere near here.”

“But I was. I was over here just before it happened.”

“You saw Anna right before? What was she doing? How was she?” I stopped before the door, wanting to picture Anna fine and well before any of this happened.

“She was so happy, taking care of her sweet daughter. She was getting ready to meet your friend, and then you for brunch. She so loved to show off little Charlotte.”

“Meet my friend? Who do you mean?”

She put her hand over her mouth, like she wished she hadn’t let something slip out.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell.”

“Tell what?” I asked.

“I dropped off a plate of Snickerdoodles, at the back door here, that’s when I last saw Anna.”

“What else, Millie? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well,” she said, trying to find words to say something. “I…I know about your problem. Anna mentioned it to me.” She patted me on the arm like she understood all about me.

“What problem? What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to hide it from me. I understand. Things are hard.”

“Millie, would you be clear, please. I’m not following you.”

Her weathered old skin blushed into a pale shade of rose. “Anna had a phone call from a friend of yours. Someone from the hospital who knows about your problem. She was expecting them over any minute to come talk to her about you, to find a way to help.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.
What
problem?”

She covered her mouth and barely let it out, as if by whispering, it’d be all right to say it. “Your drug problem.”

My answer wasn’t in a whisper though. “My
drug
problem? I don’t have a drug problem.”

“The first step to getting help, Kathleen, is admitting you have a problem.” She patted my arm some more.

I rolled my eyes. “But I don’t. I barely drink wine. My worst addiction is chocolate, but surely nobody cares about
that
.”

“Oh, dear. Maybe I misunderstood her.”

I didn’t think she’d misunderstood Anna. Someone was filling Anna’s head with hooey. Someone was trying to make trouble for me. Or get inside to see Anna. And take her baby.

“Don’t worry about it. That’s not what matters right now. Was this friend a man or woman? Did she say?”

“I don’t remember that she did.”

“And you didn’t see anyone? Did the police already ask you? Did you tell them what you’ve told me?”

“Of course not. If you’re misusing drugs, I’m not going to be the one to turn you in. There are treatments available, you know.”

“How long after you saw her was she shot? Do you think there was time for her visitor to come?”

“You don’t think your friend did this, do you?”

“No, Millie. Not my friend. You probably better tell the police what you know. It might help them figure out what happened.”

Her pinched face looked like she might cry.

“Don’t worry. They won’t arrest me for chocolate.”

I needed to get out of there and think. There seemed to be something to what she said, something somewhere in my mind that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“I need to go, Millie. Thanks for taking care of this. If you think of anything else, let me know.”

Poor Millie. “Bye, dear,” she said, clearly emotional.

All the way home, my mind kept turning over. Whatever was in there, it kept slipping away. Just as I thought I was about to grab hold of the idea, it slid deeper under the surface. A detail, some secret. Something I’d heard or seen had meaning.

I called Mack when I got home. He was still home, planning to go into the lab late. The night before, when I’d called him from the OR waiting room, he’d told me he promised Jackie he’d take care of the baby while she was out for the morning and he’d be late to work.

After telling him I’d gone over to Joe’s parents’ condo and everything Millie had said, I told him there was something else. I’d seen or heard something but wasn’t sure what it was, but maybe it was a clue about the crime. When we hung up, I lay on the couch, trying to get a hold of that elusive impression. While I scratched Ollie behind the ears, and he warmed my stomach, my mind kept returning to the condo. I tried to let it wander, and to pick up clues along the way of what it was trying to show me.

I tried not to think too hard so I wouldn’t scare the idea too deeply into hiding. I had to let it rest and come out on its own when it was good and ready.

I did such a good job of leaving it alone, I started to slip into a nap. It was just then that it became so clear, I wondered how I’d managed to miss it before.

Next to the picture of Joe and Anna, on the end table, sitting on the coaster was the clue. A mug of coffee.

If Anna had still been fine when her visitor left, that mug of coffee wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of being left out on the table. That coaster would have been scooped up, wiped off, put back, and the coffee mug bustled into the kitchen and popped into the dishwasher, if not washed by hand and put in the cupboard.

The cup of joe certainly wasn’t a cup of Joe’s. He didn’t drink coffee. And I was certain the coffee hadn’t been Anna’s. She wouldn’t have been sitting there sipping
that
cup when someone came in and shot her. She was lactose intolerant and only took raw sugar in her coffee. The brew I’d seen in that cup had some cream in it. The person posing as my friend, that’s who was the owner of the mysterious java.

Fosdick needed to know this. His forensic guy had missed it. If the scary, hairy guy’s fingerprints were on the cup, or maybe even Carl’s, it would be all Fosdick needed to find the shooter, and maybe even Charlotte.

I pushed Ollie off my stomach and grabbed the phone. Fosdick’s number was in my speed dial now. It rang five times and a recorded woman came on saying “your party—‘Lieutenant Fosdick’ (his voice)—is not available.” Then I tried to get Millie. If she saw that stray cup, she’d swipe it up, wash it, and polish it into a mirror. That’d be the end of my lead.

But she didn’t answer. I tried her own phone, just in case she’d gone home and hadn’t started yet. Maybe she was waiting for Burt to come help. It went to voicemail.

There was no time for this. I needed to go protect the evidence. So with my emergency RedBox Visa, out the door I headed, hailing a cab to make a beeline back to the condo.

Millie was in the kitchen finishing up the floor with a mop when I walked in.

“My, what are you doing here?” She straightened up with her hand on her lower back.

“Forgot something.” I dashed over to the end table. The sandstone coaster was empty.

“Millie,” I said. “Where’s the cup of coffee that was over here earlier?”

“I don’t know, dear. I didn’t do anything with it.”

“No, right here. It was right here when you and I were sitting on the couch.”

“If you want some fresh coffee, I just made a pot at my house. Come on over and you can have some Snickerdoodles. I’m almost done here.”

“Millie, the cup was here. I want that one.”

“Sorry. I don’t know anything about it.”

I stood and frowned a moment.

“Do you think maybe Burt picked it up?” I said.

“He wasn’t here, dear. He feels a cold coming on and I told him to stay in bed.”

“Did the police come by? Anybody? Are Joe’s folks back?”

“I don’t know. I went to get my mop and the phone rang. I was at home for about twenty minutes.”

“And you left the door open?”

“I thought it was okay, Kathleen. What’s wrong?”

“Think, please. You must have picked it up. It was right there when I left. It might help us know who shot Anna.” I pulled down the dishwasher door in search of the mug. The racks were empty.

Millie’s face fell. “I may be old, but I still have a memory. I didn’t do anything with a cup of coffee.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be sharp.” I started pacing and thinking at the same time. “It’s just, it’s very important I get that cup. I think the person who shot Anna had used it.” Anyone could have claimed to be a friend of mine and convinced Anna of it. She wouldn’t recognize any people from the hospital. And she would have been more concerned about me than verifying the source anyway.

“Millie, can you keep your eyes open for me? Just watch and listen, and see if anything unusual happens. Maybe strangers you’ve never seen before. Anything, let me know, okay?”

Her usual chipper spunk wasn’t there. She looked her age right then. “I’ll try. I’m sorry if I messed up. I shouldn’t have left the door unlocked.”