Peter Clement - Mortal Remains

She retreated a few steps, the look of terror in her young eyes horrible to see.

He lunged by her and raced down the hall toward a stand of public phone booths.

His legs nearly went from under him.

“Stop!” he heard Braden yell.

Still brandishing his needles, he ran up, grabbed the nearest receiver, and punched in 0 plus his number.

Immediately he was surrounded by a growing group of orderlies, the two nurses from his room, and Braden. They all shouted instructions at him and each other.

“Put down the needles.”

“Watch it.”

“Who the hell’s he calling?”

The phone chirped through the long-distance dialing and rang Janet’s cellular.

The semicircle closed in.

He made wide sweeping arcs with his weapon, and they shrank away from him. He was bluffing of course, and ready to drop them the instant anyone rushed him, but they didn’t know that.

The yelling continued.

“We got to jump him.”

“You jump him. Those needles could be contaminated.”

“Why not wait and see who he’s calling?”

“I advise you to get him now!” Braden thundered.

The second ring sounded.

Be at home, Janet, and not off in the delivery room.

More orderlies arrived, tie-down straps in hand.

A third nurse appeared with a large syringe.

A shock of red hair made its way through the crowd.

The next ring broke off with a click.

She’d answered. “Janet, help me. Melanie Collins is trying to kill me, and Charles Braden-”

“The person you are calling is not available…”

No!

Over that he heard, “You have a collect call from…”

“Janet! Help-”

“I’m sorry, but your collect call has not been accepted…”

At that second some hero in the crowd dived at his legs. As he tumbled to the ground he dropped his handful of syringes to one side, careful not to jab anyone, and went limp.

His intention was lost on the swarm that grabbed him. They hoisted him on a gurney, held him in place, and tied him down.

The nurse with the syringe approached. The rest hung back, like onlookers at an accident.

Earl seized on an idea. “You can’t give me that,” he said to the one with the needle.

“And why not?” She lifted a flap of his gown and anointed his butt with an alcohol swab.

“Because I’ve a critically low potassium.”

“What!” She pulled up just before the tip of the needle hit skin.

He was thinking clearly now. “Low potassium and major tranquilizers don’t mix,” he told her. “Causes cardiac conduction problems, as if I didn’t already have enough of those already. Ask any doctor.” He hadn’t made it up. And in the time it took her to sort it out, he might convince the other nurses not to give him anything.

“He’s right, ma’am,” said a male voice from somewhere behind her.

Earl recognized Dr. Roy’s voice.

Mrs. White appeared at the side of her colleague who had the needle and showed her Earl’s chart. “Better listen. There was some kind of screwup with his potassium last night. The lab called about it.”

The one with the needle looked disappointed. “Oh, man, I hate it when we have doctors as patients…”

As they second-guessed themselves, a new volley of painful spasms erupted in his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he nevertheless pressed his case. “Nurse, Mrs. White, I don’t need sedation at all-”

“Will someone medicate this man, or should I do it myself?” Charles Braden interrupted. He stepped up to Mrs. White and took the chart from her. “Here, he’s got a standing order for morphine. Give him that.”

Oh, God, not again. I’ll be a sitting duck for Melanie.

As Charles walked away, Mrs. White readily trotted off to the medication cupboard.

“Please! Call my wife! Dr. Janet Graceton. She’s in the case room at St. Paul’s Hospital in Buffalo.”

No one paid him the slightest attention.

The crowd started to thin out. He saw Dr. Roy’s bushy red hair disappearing down the hall. He had another idea. “Dr. Roy. Call Tanya Wozcek. Tell her what’s happened. Then do the DONT.”

The people who had started to wheel the stretcher back to his room looked at him as if he were crazy.

“Who’s Tanya Wozcek?” he heard someone whisper.

“I think she’s a nurse up on geriatric?”

“Sounds like that’s where this guy is headed.”

Twenty minutes later he felt his brain had been packed in a SlushPuppie.

He also didn’t seem to care.

Charles Braden stepped outside the Thirty-third Street entrance of NYCH and dialed Melanie Collins’s number on his cell phone.

“Yes,” she said sleepily.

“Melanie. It’s Charles Braden. I’m sorry to wake you so early, but there’s been a problem with Earl Garnet.”

“Problem?”

“Yes. I blame myself. My son had just received the upsetting news that Garnet was the man in the taxi with Kelly the night before she disappeared. I went to Garnet’s room and confronted him about it. Now I know I shouldn’t have, but-”

“What happened?” Her sudden alertness told him he had all her attention.

“He started going on about how you had been deliberately making patients sick so you could then diagnose bizarre syndromes and act the hero. Even said you killed a few, made one of your former victims slip into a coma to silence her, and, get this, accused you of trying to kill him. Now I think it’s the drugs, but they had to sedate him-”

“I’m on my way-”

“Melanie, that’s not the worst of it. The man has this crazy idea Kelly found out what you were doing, and that you murdered her to keep her quiet.”

“Oh, God.”

“Fortunately just the two of us were in the room. He’s not talking much to anyone right now, but I thought you should know. Even ridiculous rumors like that, once they get rolling, can snowball.”

“I appreciate the heads-up.”

I’ll bet you do, he thought, hanging up.

Now all he had to do was wait. He glanced at his watch and saw it read nearly six. The coffee shop would be open in a few minutes.

He dialed medical records at Lena Downie’s extension. Chaz would be waiting there for his call.

“Dad?”

“So what do you think?”

“You were right. She’s definitely dirty. I can’t believe the woman got away with it for so long.”

“Because no one was looking.”

“But she killed who knows how many over the years.”

“And Kelly, remember.”

The silence on the other end of the phone hung between them, pregnant as a held breath. “I guess I thought I’d feel so different finding her killer,” Chaz finally said, his voice funereal. “Rage, relief, free – something. Instead, I’m just empty inside.”

“That’s to be expected-”

“Expected! My life’s been chained to her fucking corpse. Now she’s turning to dust, and what do I have – closure? What a fucking joke. And you say, ‘That’s to be expected.’ ”

Charles winced at Chaz’s anger.

“Chaz, why don’t you join me in the coffee shop so we can talk. We still have to decide how to proceed-”

“How did Garnet take it when you confronted him?”

“Not well.”

“Did he deny it?”

“He went a little wacko, to tell you the truth.”

“I’d like to wacko him-”

“Now you stay away from him, Chaz. This whole thing has to be done properly, and legally. Then you’ll finally feel free. I promise you.”

He could hear his son breathing at the other end of the line. The seething rage in that sound frightened him. “Chaz, promise me you’ll stay away.”