Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

Eric dropped his head. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“In the meantime, you can help me go though Ellen Bain’s papers. It’ll take some of the stress off the others-we’re way overscheduled as it is right now. If the case is still open three days from now, you’ll take lead.”

Eric stared for a moment, as if trying to gauge Russ’s sincerity. Finally, he said, “Thanks.”

“Don’t make me regret giving you a second chance.” They got out of the squad car. Russ was halfway across the lot, headed for the squat cement building, when he realized he was alone.

“Eric?”

His sergeant held up a hand and half turned away. “Can you spare me for a minute, Chief?” His voice was clotted. “I gotta call my wife.”

Russ found Clare at the Orthopedic Associates door. “Eric’s having a moment,” he said.

She bit her lip. “Is he all right? You didn’t jump down his throat because of this, did you?”

“Yes, he is, and no, I didn’t.” He opened the door and let her precede him into the check-in area. The receptionist glanced up as they approached her. Her professional smile fell away and her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God.” She clutched at her chest. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened.” Russ realized they must look like some sort of death notification team: the cop and the minister. “I need to ask Dr. Stillman a few questions. Is he available?”

The receptionist pointed at Clare. “Then what’s she doing here?”

“Good question,” Russ said. The woman who had been sitting behind the SCHEDULING sign a few desks down wandered over to see what all the fuss was about.

Clare shot him a glare before giving the woman her most reassuring smile. “I’m Clare Fergusson. I know Dr. Stillman socially.”

Socially? Clare’s reverence for confidentiality was reaching new heights.

The scheduling secretary perked up. “Clare Fergusson? You’re in the wrong building. Dr. Stillman’s scheduled your blood test at the outpatient clinic at the hospital. You don’t need a referral slip from us.”

“Blood test?” Russ frowned. “Why is Trip Stillman sending you for a blood test?”

“I’m sorry,” the scheduling secretary said. “Are you two together?”

“Ah,” Clare said. “Um.” She blinked several times. “We’re engaged.”

“You don’t need a blood test to get married in New York,” Russ snapped. “I know you don’t like doctors and hospitals, Clare, but if something’s wrong, you’ve got to tell me-” He faltered. He knew one reason she might need a blood test. His stomach sank. “You’re pregnant.”

“What? No! For God’s sake, I’m not pregnant.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw interested faces turning toward them in the nearby waiting room.

“We don’t do any pregnancy testing here.” The receptionist sounded worried, as if this were a failing for an orthopedist. “If you think you might be pregnant, and you’re due for X-rays, you should get confirmation first.”

“I don’t need a pregnancy test,” Clare hissed.

“Would you please page Dr. Stillman for me?” Russ said. If he could just get these women out of his and Clare’s faces for five seconds-

The scheduling clerk leaned against the counter. “Sir, engaged or no, you still don’t have the right to patient information from one of our doctors.”

“I’m here on police business,” Russ said, at the same time Clare said, “I’m not a patient. Trip is just doing me a favor.”

The receptionist put down her receiver. “He’s on his way.”

Russ wrapped a hand around Clare’s arm and dragged her to the middle of the lobby entrance, as far from the waiting patients and the staring staff members as possible. “Okay. You’re not pregnant. What’s going on?” Every other reason he could think of for a blood test was worse than pregnancy. “Are you getting screened for cancer?”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Because your sister died of colorectal cancer.” Fear made his voice harsher than he intended. “That increases your risk of breast and ovarian cancer. And you hate seeing doctors. It would be just like you to hit up a friend for a favor if you were worried, instead of getting it checked out properly.”

“No. Oh, love, no. Honestly.”

“What is it, then?”

“Look.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to get into it right now, but I promise you, I’m not going to die, I’m not pregnant, and I’m not-” She paused.

“Not what?”

She jerked her head. Trip Stillman was crossing the waiting room toward them. “Chief Van Alstyne.” The doctor shook his hand. “Good to see you again. My receptionist said you have some questions for me?”

Russ gave Clare a look that said, We’re not done with this . “Yeah. I’m afraid we’re reopening the investigation into your sister’s death. New evidence has come to light-” He broke off at the sight of Trip Stillman’s face.

“My sister?”

Russ frowned. “Ellen Bain. I was told she was your sister.” Oh, hell. If Roxanne Lunt was wrong, he was going to look a complete fool. “If there’s been some mistake-”

“Yes. Yes. Ellen.” Stillman took several shaky breaths. His skin looked waxy.

“Trip? Are you all right?” Clare glanced toward the reception desk. “Do you need help?”

“No.” He cut her off with a sharp wave. “No. My sister is dead. She died this summer in a car accident.”

“That’s what we originally thought.” But we screwed up. Russ gritted his teeth and went on. “Evidence has been uncovered that strongly suggests her death wasn’t accidental, and there seems to be a tenuous connection to Tally McNabb’s theft of army property.”

“Wait-what?” Stillman lost his Madame Tussaud’s look. “Tally McNabb? From my therapy group?”

“That’s right.” Russ glanced around. They were out of earshot, but well within everyone’s line of vision. “Are you sure you don’t want to move this to your office?”

Stillman made an impatient gesture. “Tell me what the connection is.”

“Your sister’s car was sabotaged,” Clare said. “Both brake calipers were cut, which meant once she started down the mountain, she had no way to stop other than crashing her car.”

Russ nodded. If the MacVanes were right, it must have been done by somebody at the resort. Somebody good with engines. He pictured Lyle complaining about Wyler McNabb. Spent the afternoon working on his ATV. Kevin said he was trying to boost the performance so’s he could drive it faster.

Clare went on. “Three days after your sister died, Tally stepped into her job, giving her the ability to move or launder the large amounts of cash she and her husband stole in Iraq.”

Stillman blinked several times but didn’t comment.

“It’s possible-in theory-that the McNabbs may have gotten your sister to help them before she died,” Russ said. “Did Ms. Bain ever mention them?”

“I don’t”-Stillman swallowed-“remember.”

“Did she have any unaccounted-for funds when you settled her estate?”

Stillman spread his hands. “I don’t remember.”

Russ tried to tamp down his impatience. “I understand you’re holding her paperwork and records. I’d like your permission to take a look at them.”

“At Ellen’s paperwork.”

Russ glanced at Clare. “Yeah. Stuff Ellen Bain left behind that’s stored at your house.”

“All right. Let’s go.” Stillman dug into his pants pocket and came up with a business card and pen. He jotted down his address and handed it to Russ. “My address. I’ll meet you at my house.” Stillman pivoted and strode away without further farewell.