Richard Mabry: Diagnosis Death

The afternoon went by quickly. Some patients presented with problems that were simple, some with problems that were challenging. When she finished with the last patient on her list, it was almost six o'clock. She looked into the waiting room, expecting it to be empty. Instead, she saw a middle-aged Hispanic man in the far corner thumbing through a magazine. He wore a dark blue uniform of some kind. Maybe this was a mechanic, here to see her about an injury.

Jane was still checking out the last patient, so Elena approached the man and said, "I'm Dr. Gardner. Are you here to see me?"

The man put down his magazine and stood up. Elena got a closer look at his uniform, and his solemn expression confirmed her fear. "I'm Jesus Hernandez, Dainger Police Department. I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time, Doctor?"

He retrieved a worn leather briefcase from near his feet and followed Elena into her office. She eased into the chair behind her desk and waved him to a seat opposite her. It took everything she could muster not to show the panic she felt. "How can I help you, Officer?"

"Doctor, we're working a case that involves a patient of yours, Charles Lambert. To assist us in our efforts, I'd like you to allow me to take your fingerprints."

So that was it. No questions. No Miranda warning. Just a request for fingerprints. Elena had never been printed before. No military service. No fingerprinting when she began her residency. The police couldn't say the prints on the Anectine bottle were hers unless she gave them this sample.

Should she call Will? Surely they had to have some sort of warrant to do this. Wasn't there something in the Constitution about unreasonable search and seizure? She might be able to delay the process for days, maybe even weeks. But what would that gain her?

She pushed back the sleeves of her coat and held out her hands. "Certainly."

As the man went through the process, Elena had a thought. "Tell me, did the police chief send you to do this because you're Hispanic? Did he think that would make me more cooperative?"

A ghost of a smile flittered across Officer Hernandez's face. "No, ma'am. I'm a second-generation Texan. I can't do much more in Spanish than order in a Mexican restaurant." He handed her a moist towelette to clean her fingers. "The chief sent me because I'm the best one on the force at taking fingerprints."

Will stopped his client in mid-sentence with an upraised index finger and reached to punch the flashing button on his private line. Only a few people had this number, and he didn't want to miss a call from any of them. "Yes?"

"Will, it's Elena. Can you talk?"

"Let me call you back in five minutes."

It was actually ten minutes before Will shook hands with his client and showed him out of the office. The incorporation of a small business for the man was a simple matter. Will had a hunch that Elena's call didn't signal anything simple. Five minutes later, he knew he'd been right.

"The police came for your fingerprints? Did they read you your rights?"

"No," Elena said. "No questions. Not even any pressure to cooperate. He just said, 'I'd like you to allow me to take your fingerprints.' I started to tell him I'd need to call my lawyer, but then I decided there was really no benefit to refusing."

"You could have made them come back with a warrant, but you're right. This way, you paint yourself as a cooperative citizen with nothing to hide."

"How long do I have before they show up with handcuffs, though? If Godwin gave them the Anectine bottle, they're bound to identify my fingerprints on it."

Will pulled a legal pad toward him and scribbled a few words. "First they'll take a statement from you and ask you a bunch of questions. How do you explain the fingerprints on the bottle? Can you account for your whereabouts during the time of Lambert's death? By the way, where were you then?"

"I was in medical records, signing charts. And, before you ask, there was no one else around. The place was empty."

"Not good," Will said.

"But I have a little time. Right?"

"Some. Let me call my source at the police department and see what he knows." Will scribbled a note on his pad. "Can you come by this evening to talk about this?"

"Ummm… I'm supposed to have dinner with David tonight. There are some things we need to discuss. Can this wait until tomorrow?"

Will wondered what could be more important than avoiding an arrest for murder. "I suppose so. Meet me in my office at noon tomorrow. If you hear from the police before then, call me immediately."

"It seems to me that the only way I can be cleared is-"

The silence stretched on. "Elena, are you still there?"

"Let me think about this."

Will heard a click, and realized he was holding a dead phone. He wasn't sure what Elena had in mind, but he was willing to bet it involved thinking outside the box. Way outside.

David paused with a bite of enchilada halfway to his mouth. He'd hoped this would be a quiet dinner, one when he could convey to Elena how he felt about her. But she'd led with startling news, and that had been the topic of their conversation since. "She didn't know about Mark?" All around them, the little Tex-Mex restaurant buzzed with conversations, but David kept his attention riveted on Elena. "What an amazing story."

Elena dipped a chip into the salsa. "Her mother had effectively disinherited her, cut off all communication. She knew we were married because a high school friend tracked down Natalie's address and sent her a copy of the story. She recognized me from the picture. We're still not sure how her name ended up in the list of survivors in Lillian's obituary. Probably one of Lillian's acquaintances mentioned her."

David chewed and swallowed. "Wow. Sort of like the line from Casablanca. 'Of all the hospitals in all the states, you had to come to the one where she works.' "

"I don't think that's what Bogart said, but I get the picture. And I'm glad I found her. I think there's a connection there that will be good for both of us. I really need a friend right now."

"Excuse me, but what am I?" David's words were light, his tone serious.

"I'm sorry. Of course you're a friend. A good one, too."

David forced a smile. Tell her now. She knows it, but she just won't let herself admit it. "Elena, let's not ignore it. You know how I feel about you. Mark's been gone for more than half a year. Isn't it time you began thinking about the rest of your life?"

He saw her open her mouth, then close it again. Maybe his words had hit home this time. Finally, she shook her head. "There's just too much uncertainty in my life right now. Maybe, when I get out from under this cloud-"

David nodded. At least it wasn't a "no." Just a "maybe later." He could live with that.

Elena bit into a chip, then licked a bit of salsa off her fingertips. "Tell me, how's Mrs. Gomez?"

"Good news there. Today she roused when her husband called her name. She's still in and out of consciousness, but she's breathing on her own. I think she's going to make it."

"Still in ICU?"

"Yeah. I figure I've got at least another day's grace before Godwin really pushes me to transfer her to a postpartum room."

As David watched, Elena seemed to retreat deep inside herself. "Penny for your thoughts."

She shook her head and pushed away her plate. "Would you mind if we cut this short?" Elena dipped into her purse and dropped some bills on the check. "I hate to hurry off, but I was thinking about something I have to do, and it looks like I don't have much time."

Darkness was descending on the city, but still Elena sat in her office, her fingertips pressed to her temples. The lamp on her desk provided the only illumination of the yellow legal pad before her. Random thoughts flew through her head, while she did her best to capture them and arrange them to make some sort of sense. Who would want to kill Charlie Lambert? And why?