William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

“I will be. Honest.”

“Hmmmph.” Christina rearranged her clothes, placed the clipboard under her arm, and began marching down the street.

“Why do I agree to do these things?” Christina muttered to herself as she rode the elevator to the seventh floor. I’m a thirtysomething adult divorcée, not a stupid college kid. I’m too old and too smart to be playing cops and robbers. As if breaking and entering and nearly being caught wasn’t enough. As if I didn’t do him any favors in that sleazoid bar where we both could’ve been killed.

The elevator doors parted. Christina canceled her interior monologue and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. She stared at the door to apartment 701. Well, she thought, I suppose this beats doing document productions in Shreveport.

Almost immediately after she knocked, the door swung open. A short, wide man in a white T-shirt bearing the logo of a domestic beer company stood beyond the portal. He shamelessly surveyed Christina from top to bottom.

“Yeah?” he grunted.

Christina felt a flush of heat rush through her body. “Hello, sir. My name is Christina Crockett and I’m with the City of Commerce taking a survey for the Chamber of Horrors. I mean—” Christina’s hand passed across her forehead. “Oh, God, let me try that again.”

The man in the doorway stared at her. He took one hand off the doorjamb and rubbed his stubbled chin.

“You know it’s always harder to pick up again after lunch,” Christina said. “I’ve got to stop eating Mexican.” She laughed self-consciously. God, what a nightmare.

“I wouldn’t know,” the man said. “I work nights. After work, I usually just grab a coupla beers and crash.”

“Oh, really,” Christina said, scribbling meaningless shapes on her clipboard. “That’s very interesting. What kind of work are you in?”

“Security watchman over at the Williams Center. For now, anyway. It’s not what I really wanna do, but times are kinda tough. What’s it to you?”

Christina smiled reassuringly. “Just something I need to know for this survey. Tell me, do you live alone?”

He snorted. “Don’t I wish. Yeah, other than my wife, three brats, and a brother-in-law—yeah, I live alone.”

“I see, I see.” More furious scribbling on her clipboard.

“I tell you what, Miz Crock, or whatever, none of ’em gonna be home for at least an hour. You wanna step in for a bit?” His eyebrows danced suspiciously. “I got some beer in the fridge.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“I could get some grass, if you’re into that.”

More self-conscious laughter. “Oh, thanks, thanks, but no …” You’ll pay for this, Ben, she swore silently. “Now, I’m going to read you a list of major businesses headquartered in the Tulsa area, and in order to gauge the effectiveness of their promotional campaigns, I’d like you to tell me if you’re familiar with them. All right, how about … uh …” Come on, Christina, she thought, don’t blank out now. “Uh…the Williams Companies?”

“I said, I work at the Williams Center. You think I’m some kinda moron?”

“Oh, no, no. Far be it for me … How about the Bama Pie Company?”

“They make those little bitty pecan pies, right? I like those. Damn wife never brings those home anymore. Moron wife.”

“I see, I see. How about Sanguine Enterprises?”

“Mmm … never heard of it. Any reason why I should?”

“No, not at all.” Somehow, Christina sensed that lying was far beyond this man’s capabilities.

“Look, I’m tireda standin’ in the doorway. You comin’ in or not? I’ll make it worth your while.”

Christina let loose her loudest laugh yet. “Tempting, tempting. But totally against regulations. Thank you for your cooperation. Be seeing you.”

“What are you, some kind of religious freak or something?”

“No … no … but, thanks again. …”

She beat a hasty retreat down the corridor.

34

BY THE TIME CHRISTINA reached apartment 724, she was convinced that the entire Tulsa populace was comprised of fundamentalists, housewives, soap-opera addicts, and the unemployed. The hardest to shake were those determined to see her born again before she finished her survey; the hardest to rouse were those mesmerized by the thrilling exploits of All My Children .

With a weary hand, she knocked on the door of apartment 724.

The woman who opened the door wore the unflattering solid white cotton uniform that unmistakably identified her as a nurse. She was a large woman, though not a fat one; she had an imposing, big-boned figure.

“Are you affiliated with one of the hospitals in the Tulsa area?” Christina asked after running through her preliminary patter.

“I was,” the nurse said emotionlessly. “I’m retired now.” The woman was tight-lipped and uncommunicative. Nothing but the facts.

“I see. Are you now working for a private employer?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been employed in this capacity?”

“Almost two years now.”

“May I ask who your employer is?”

The woman hesitated. “That information is confidential.”

Christina tried to keep the conversation moving. “I see. Well, I don’t think it’s important that I know the name. I think the Chamber of Commerce would, however, appreciate knowing if your employer is affiliated with one of the major corporations in the city, such as … oh, the Memorex/Telex Corporation, or Sanguine Enterprises.”

The woman’s reaction was unmistakable. “Who are you?” she asked. Her face tightened up, as if drawn in by invisible strings.

“As I said, I’m just a surveyor for the Chamber of Commerce. I take it you do not live alone …?”

The woman’s irritation visibly increased. Her eyes fixed upon Christina’s. “My patient lives here, not me. I look after her nine-to-nine each and every day, including holidays. And I should be tending to her now, so, if you’ll excuse me—”

“And what is the patient’s name?” Christina asked, but it was too late. The door closed in her face midsentence.

“She’s the one, Ben, I guarantee it. When I said Sanguine’s name, she looked at me like a trapped Nazi war criminal.”

Ben stroked his steering wheel. The sun was beginning to fade behind the horizon.

“You checked the rest of the apartments in our price slot anyway?”

“Of course. No one else seemed at all suspicious, though at three of the apartments there was nobody home. But she’s the one, Ben. I guarantee it.”

Ben stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, she’s the one—but what is she? I don’t see the connection. An old nurse and her patient. How does that tie in with Sanguine?” He drummed his fingers on the dash. “Do you know what’s wrong with the patient? How old she is?”

“No, Ben. Those questions all came after she slammed the door in my face.”

Ben sighed. “Then we move to Plan B. It’s time for me to follow up.”

“Do it fast, Ben. I think she was suspicious. She might talk to her mysterious employer or someone else. Then who knows what might happen. I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”

Ben saw the genuine concern in Christina’s eyes. Something about the nurse had really spooked her. “I’ll be all right,” he said, trying to sound confident. “I’ll wait a few hours, so she won’t be too suspicious. Besides, before I go in, there’s something I need to see Mike about.”

“Why not get Mike to investigate this? He’s a cop. Cops are supposed to do things like this, not baby lawyers.”

“What grounds would he have for going in mere? How could he establish probable cause? We don’t have anything nearly concrete enough to get a warrant. Well, your honor, that nurse seemed real suspicious. Forget it.” He started the car. “If we get the cops involved in the seizure of illegal evidence, it may become impossible to nail Sanguine.”