The car was starting to warm up. She unbuttoned her coat. “Judd Mason is another creep. There’s the whole letter thing, and then he cornered me in the ER the other day…”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“There’s been a lot going on. He didn’t really threaten me. Just acted creepy. Said he knew I’d been spying on him. But he said the strangest thing. He said that he knew I’d been told not to talk about the murder, but he said it in exactly the same language as the vice president of nursing had told me just after it happened. Ever have a boss who’s a political weasel and got ahead for just that reason?”

“In the police? Never. All our bosses are selfless visionaries.”

“Ha. Well, this woman jumped down my throat about being involved with Gary, as if that never happens in a hospital. As if I didn’t feel bad about it enough already. Then she says, I am not to discuss Dr. Lustig’s murder with anyone: colleagues, patients, and absolutely not the press. Those are the same words Judd Mason said to me the other day.”

“Like he had some inside pipeline?”

“Exactly.”

Cheryl Beth had been insulted when Stephanie Ott had said it. It impugned her professionalism. But it also probably meant that Stephanie somehow knew about the romance Cheryl Beth had carried on for two years with one of the writers at the Cincinnati Post. It had been the most satisfying relationship since her divorce, and she had secretly indulged in every woman’s hope that it might lead to something—if not marriage, maybe they could live together, really be a couple, something. She had tried to keep the whole biological clock cliché at bay, all the time they saw each other, but keeping hope at bay had been more difficult. He had been smart and funny and worldly. He had been an amazing, giving lover. A real catch. But it was not to be.

He had left town three years ago. She hadn’t hated him—they had too much fun. She did miss his company, miss the hope, stopped listening to any sad songs. She missed him at odd moments, seeing a street they had walked down, a park where they had picnicked. He had introduced her to jazz and wine—we are so much the product of our old lovers. She mis

sed the feel of his breathing on her shoulder as they slept together, and the way he always made love to her in the morning, before he left. Where Andy had lain atop her and humped, he would raise himself on his forearms and look at her with an angelic smile, and he had taught her so many positions. Damn, she hated thinking about it, and yet many days it was a warm, immediate memory. It did not last. Later, she realized how she had been rebound-vulnerable to Gary Nagle. It was her fault. Damn it. She kept all this to herself. Will probably thought she was a floozy already. Her family certainly did. Her mother couldn’t believe she would divorce Andy, but then she couldn’t believe Cheryl Beth didn’t want to live in that little town forever and just have kids.

“…Absolutely not the press.” It was as if they had been researching her life. But why? That was too paranoid.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have an explanation for the letter, either,” Will said. “None of the other victims received letters. We do know that Christine had received threatening phone calls. Did you know that?”

“No.” She didn’t make an effort to drive. They sat stationary in the warm car.

“I’ve done some asking around,” Will said. “Berkowitz used to be on the force, and I convinced him to help me a little. The hospital was very sensitive about the murder. They wanted the publicity shut down, which I can understand. What’s unusual is that they weren’t leaning on the cops to get results, to close this case. They just wanted it to go away. Dodds is working alone; his partner’s on maternity leave. That was fine with them. Now that’s odd. In my experience, the big boss would have been on the phone to the chief demanding that fifty detectives be assigned to the case.”

“They just wanted it to go away,” Cheryl Beth said.

“Berkowitz said something about accreditation?”

“Yes,” she said. “The Joint Commission. They accredit the hospital. We just went through that.”

“Berkowitz said something was wrong. Some major problems, and accreditation might be withheld. Did you know about this?”

“We’ve been waiting for word.”

“They can’t just conceal it?”

“It’s public information,” Cheryl Beth said. “But I guess if nobody asks… I can’t believe they would try to conceal such a thing. You typically have time to lay out a plan to correct the problems. Hospitals can get partial or provisional accreditation. But Cincinnati Memorial? My God, we used to be the gold standard.”

“Maybe the bosses are trying to figure out a way to put a spin on the positive and bury the rest. I guess big money was at stake. Doctor training funds, Medicare, Medicaid. Some big federal grant for a computer upgrade.”

“The digital medicine project. Christine had stopped her practice to work on it.”

“I learned something else about that. She had been reassigned to that basement office a month before. She had been working in the administrative offices. Berkowitz said she was moved. Why? In the police world, it would mean you really pissed off somebody powerful.”

“That’s exactly what Mason told me. She had been moved. He didn’t know why.” Cheryl Beth shook her head, processing all the new information. Then, “It still doesn’t explain the threatening letter. Maybe Dodds found Mason’s fingerprints on it. Are you really so sure your bad cop did this?”

Will was silent as she started the car.

Finally, “If I can’t make the case to you, I sure as hell can’t do it with Dodds. What would it take to convince you?”

“You’re the detective. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?”

He thought about this for a long moment. “Are you willing to try a long shot?”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Tags: Jon Talton Will Borders: Cincinnati Casebook Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net