Blake Pierce - Once Pined

For the first time, Dr. Shankar’s face showed a trace of surprise. Riley, too, was taken aback by the police chief’s audacity in questioning Shankar’s expertise.

“What makes you say that?” Dr. Shankar asked.

“Because we have a surefire suspect for Margaret Jewell’s killing,” he said. “She was married to another woman, name of Barbara Bradley – calls herself Barb. The couple’s friends and neighbors say the two were having problems, loud fights that woke up the neighbors. Bradley actually has a past record for criminal assault. Folks say she has a hair-trigger temper. She did it. We’re all but sure of it.”

“Why haven’t you brought her in?” Agent Sanderson demanded.

Chief McCade’s eyes darted about defensively.

“We’ve questioned her, at home,” he said. “But she’s a sly character, and we still haven’t got enough evidence to bring her in. We’re building a case. It’s taking some time.”

Agent Sanderson smirked and grunted.

He said, “Well, while you’ve been building your case, it seems that your ‘surefire’ suspect has gone right ahead and killed somebody else. You’d better pick up the pace. She might be getting ready to do it again right now.”

Chief McCade’s face was getting red with anger.

“You’re dead wrong,” he said. “I’m telling you, Margaret Jewell’s killing was an isolated incident. Barb Bradley didn’t have any motive to kill Cody Woods, or anybody else as far as we know.”

“As far as you know,” Sanderson added in a scoffing tone.

Riley could feel the underlying tensions coming to the surface. She hoped the meeting would end without a knockdown, drag-out fight.

Meanwhile, her brain was clicking away, trying to make sense of what little she knew so far.

She asked Chief McCade, “How financially well off were Jewell and Bradley?”

“Not well off at all,” he said. “Lower middle-class. In fact, we’re thinking that financial strain might have been part of the motive.”

“What does Barb Bradley do for a living?”

“She makes deliveries for a linen service,” McCade said.

Riley felt a hunch forming in her mind. She thought that a killer who used poison was likely to be a woman. And as a delivery person, this one could have had access to various health facilities. This was definitely someone she’d like to talk to.

“I’d like to have Barb Bradley’s home address,” she said. “Agent Jeffreys and I should go and interview her.”

Chief McCade looked at her as if she were out of her mind.

“I just told you, we’ve done that already,” he said.

Not well enough, apparently, Riley thought.

But she stifled the urge to say so aloud.

Bill put in, “I agree with Agent Paige. We should go check Barb Bradley out for ourselves.”

Chief McCade obviously felt insulted.

“I won’t allow it,” he said.

Riley knew that the FBI team leader, Agent Sanderson, could overrule McCade if he chose to. But when she looked to Sanderson for support, he was staring daggers at her.

Her heart sank. She instantly understood the situation. Although Sanderson and McCade hated each other, they were allies in their resentment of Riley and Bill. As far as both of them were concerned, agents from Quantico had no business being here on their turf. Whether they realized it or not, their egos were more important than the case itself.

How are Bill and I going to get anything done? she wondered.

By contrast, Dr. Shankar seemed as cool and collected as ever.

She said, “I’d like to know why it’s such a bad idea for Jeffreys and Paige to interview Barb Bradley.”

Riley was surprised at Dr. Shankar’s audacity in speaking up. After all, even as the chief medical examiner, she was brazenly overstepping her bounds.

“Because I’ve got my own investigation going!” McCade said, almost shouting now. “They’re liable to make a mess of it!”

Dr. Shankar smiled that inscrutable smile of hers.

“Chief McCade, are you actually questioning the competence of two agents from Quantico?”

Then, turning toward the FBI team leader, she added, “Agent Sanderson, what do you have to say about this?”

McCade and Sanderson both stared at Dr. Shankar in open-mouthed silence.

Riley noticed that Dr. Shankar was smiling at her. Riley couldn’t help smiling back at her in admiration. Here in her own building, Shankar knew how to project an authoritative presence. It didn’t matter who else thought they were in charge. She was one tough customer.

Chief McCade shook his head with resignation.

“OK,” he said. “If you want the address, you’ve got it.”

Agent Sanderson quickly added, “But I want some of my people to go with you.”

“That sounds fair,” Riley said.

McCade scribbled down the address and handed it to Bill.

Sanderson called the meeting to a close.

“Jesus, did you ever see such a pair of arrogant jerks in your life?” Bill asked as Riley walked with him to their car. “How the hell are we going to get anything done?”

Riley didn’t reply. The truth was, she didn’t know. She sensed that this case was going to be tough enough without having to deal with local power politics. She and Bill had to get their job done quickly before anyone else died.

Today her name was Judy Brubaker.

She enjoyed being Judy Brubaker.

People liked Judy Brubaker.

She was moving briskly around the empty bed, straightening sheets and plumping the pillows. As she did so, she smiled at the woman who was sitting in the comfortable armchair.

Judy hadn’t decided whether to kill her or not.

Time’s running out, Judy thought. I’ve got to make up my mind.

The woman’s name was Amanda Somers. Judy found her to be an odd, shy, and mousy little creature. She’d been under Judy’s care since yesterday.

Continuing to make up the bed, Judy began to sing.

Amanda joined in with that small, reedy little voice of hers.

Judy was a bit surprised. Amanda Somers hadn’t shown any real interest in the lullaby until just now.

“You like that song?” Judy Brubaker asked.

“I suppose so,” Amanda said. “It’s sad, and I guess it fits my mood.”

“Why are you sad? Your treatment’s over and you’re going home. Most patients are happy to go home.”

Amanda sighed and said nothing. She put her hands together in a prayer position. Keeping her fingers together, she moved her palms away from each other. She repeated the movement a couple of times. It was an exercise Judy had taught her to help the healing process after Amanda’s carpal tunnel surgery.

“Am I doing this right?” Amanda asked.

“Almost,” Judy said, crouching beside her and touching her hands to correct her movements. “You need to keep the fingers elongated, so they bow outward. Remember, your hands are supposed to look like a spider doing pushups on a mirror.”

Amanda was doing it correctly now. She smiled, looking rather proud of herself.

“I can really feel it helping,” she said. “Thanks.”

Judy watched Amanda continue to do the exercise. Judy really hated the short, ugly scar that extended along the lower part of Amanda’s right hand.

Unnecessary surgery, Judy thought.

The doctors had taken advantage of Amanda’s trust and credulity. She was sure that less drastic treatments would have worked as well or better. A splint maybe, or some corticosteroid injections. Judy had seen too many doctors insist on surgery, whether it was needed or not. It always made her angry.