Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

“He paid you for the information?”

Her eyes were closed, as if she couldn’t bear to see what was in front of her. She nodded. “A lot. For every name, I got a lump sum. Each patient I could think of that had anything even resembling a heart condition, he’d take. And each time I got paid. And for a while I could breathe again.”

“I’m sure you know this, but it’s highly unethical for lawyers to pay doctors for referrals or for that kind of information.”

She gave me a withering look. “Are you kidding me? It’s highly unethical for me to give that kind of information. I violated physician-patient privilege. I went against everything I’ve been taught, everything I believe in. Like I said before, I could lose my license.”

“And yet you told Jane all this?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Because the more money I took from Prince, the guiltier I felt. If I thought I was an emotional wreck before, it got even worse. And it took its toll on my marriage. My husband cheated on me.” She scoffed. “He left me for some girl who lives in Pittsburgh!” She pointed at the ceiling. “I’m left here to raise my kids on my own. And I keep thinking, God, what kind of an example am I?”

Dr. Hamilton stopped and looked at me, her eyes beseeching, as if I could answer the question. When I said nothing, she slumped a little in her chair. “When Jane called me, saying she was doing a story on Prince, it was like a sign. It was like someone saying, ‘Stop this madness. Admit what you did and move on.’ And I trusted Jane, because she had done so much to find who killed my brother. She said she would keep my name out of it. So I told her.”

She sat up again and pushed her shoulders back. “And now Jane is gone. And if Jackson Prince did anything to her, I could never live with myself. I’m having a hard enough time living with myself anyway.”

The suffering in her eyes was painful. “Now that Jane has been killed,” I said, “would you be willing to tell the cops what you’ve told me?”

She nodded. A small, rueful smile broke through the gloom of her expression. “Yeah. Yeah, I would. Because I’m coming clean. I’m starting over.” She lifted her shoulders then let them fall again. “Whatever happens, from now on, I’m going to be the person my kids think I am.”

D etective Vaughn wasn’t at the station when I called. I knew Maggie would tell me to never contact him but I didn’t care. I got his voice mail as I whizzed down Lake Shore Drive in Grady’s car, speeding past the skyline, the city lights blurring in crazy streaks in the car window. I left a message, summarizing in a rush what I learned from Dr. Hamilton. Then I called Mayburn and told him the long version.

“I can’t believe this,” I said when I came to the end of the story. “Jackson Prince is one of the most respected trial lawyers in the city. In the country, even.”

“Respect doesn’t buy them anything. And class actions? Hell, I knew a P.I. who worked on a class action case. He got paid $150 an hour, which seems good, right? But those lawyers? Even after the plaintiffs got paid, they got fifty, maybe sixty million.”

“I know. Wait until Vaughn hears this.”

Mayburn grunted. “Don’t expect him to change his mind. When these cops get it in their head you did something, it’s hard as hell to get them off it. They’re dogs with a bone. And for some reason, from what you’ve told me, you’re looking like a damn good one right now.”

Anxiety hit my stomach. “Did you find the contact information for those doctors that were on that list? Like phone numbers and e-mails?”

“Yeah. What do you want them for?”

“I’m going to rattle their cages. See if I can get them to say anything about Prince and whether he had the same arrangement with them that he had with Dr. Hamilton.”

“I think you’re going to have to talk to Prince, too. You’re good at reading people. See what his reaction is.”

“But if he killed Jane because she knew this, or he had someone kill her, would he do the same to me?”

“What are you more scared of? That he’s going to come after you? Or that you could spend your life in prison?”

I drove fast down Sedgwick, speeding by Eugenie to see if the media was still on my front lawn. Not as many as before, but a few were camped out.

I turned around before they saw me and drove to my mom’s house on State Street. She’d been calling all day since the police press conference.

When I got there, the lights of her house were on, thank God.

“Oh, honey,” my mom said when she opened the door. She stepped outside and gripped me in a tight hug. This was unlike my mother-open and fierce displays of affection. But then again, having a daughter named a person of interest in a murder case would probably bring out the affection in any parent.

“The media is at my place,” I said, my words muffled by her shoulder, which was cloaked in a pale green blouse. “I’ve been gone all day, but I don’t want to go home.”

“This is your home, too, Izzy. C’mon.” My mother led me inside and upstairs to her bedroom. It was a serene place decorated with pale silk walls and a white chaise lounge in the corner. She pulled me into her closet. It had once been the maid’s quarters in this house, but now it held my mother’s expansive and expensive wardrobe. “We have to get you out of that suit.” She poked through her shelves, rifled through hangers. “Let’s see…”

Finally she placed a light pink sweater on the center dresser. “I know you don’t like pink, but I promise you this sweater is the most comfortable one I own.” She flipped through a few more hangers, pulling out a pair of ivory trousers.

“Mom, you’re thinner than me. Those will never fit.”

“Of course they will. They’re a size larger than I normally wear because I got them to wear on the flight to South Africa.” Mom and Spence had recently taken a trip to Capetown. My mother still believed that one should dress up for a flight. The fact that people wore sweats, or even pajamas, on a flight horrified her.

“We’ll be downstairs,” she said. “Charlie brought over some wine.”

We looked at each other and, without saying anything, laughed. Charlie was always bringing over wine.

She left the closet, and as I started to strip off my suit, I thought about the fact that Charlie spent so much time here. He was a regular in this house, while I was only an occasional visitor.

After I changed into my mother’s clothes, the difference in my mood was palpable. Baby-pink and ivory were my mother’s colors, not mine. The trousers, lined with heavy silk, were wide legged, made for the very tall and the very thin, not the style I would usually wear. I had to cuff the bottoms. Yet it was nice, for a moment, to not only slip out of my suit but out of myself.

When I got downstairs, Spence, Charlie and my mom were tucked into the table by the kitchen bay window. Charlie lifted his chin in greeting. Spence jumped up to hug me.

I looked around. A few bottles of wine sat on the counter, along with wedges of cheese wrapped in red-and-white paper.

I slid into the banquette next to Charlie.

“You all right?” he said.

“No.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He nodded then shifted around in the booth, wincing a bit.

“Is your back still bothering you?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“See the doctor lately?”

“Can’t afford it,” he said in a low voice. “The settlement money is almost gone.”

I looked at my mom and Spence. They were arguing about how much cheese to put on a plate. “Ask Mom and Spence. They’ll help you.”