The Crush Part 4

up because of her seniority status. She'd been affiliated with the hospital for two years before Howell joined ranks."

"She would resent the h.e.l.l out of that."

"Only natural that she would."

"But enough to b.u.mp him off?" Staring at the static picture on the TV screen, Wick frowned with a mix of skepticism and concentration. He motioned with his chin for Oren to restart the tape.

On it, Oren asked, "Did you go straight home following the party, Dr. Newton?"

She gave a clipped affirmative.

"Can anyone corroborate that?"

"No."

"You didn't go out again that evening?"

"No. And no one can corroborate that either," she added when she saw that he was about to ask. "But it's the truth. I went home and went to bed."

"When did you hear that Dr. Howell had been killed?"

That question caused her to lower her head and speak softly. "The following morning. On television news. No one had notified me. I was stunned, couldn't believe it."

She laced her fingers together tightly. "It was horrible to hear about it that way, without any warning that I was

about to receive terrible news."

Wick reached for the remote and paused the video. "It appears to me she was really upset about it."

"Yeah, well. . ." Oren gave a noncommittal harrumph.

"Have you asked the widow about their relationship?"

"She said what everyone does: mutual respect, but they had their differences. She said Howell actually got a kick out of pestering Dr.

Newton. He was a jokester. She's all business. She was a good foil."

"Well there you go."

"Maybe Dr. Newton thought his getting that position was one joke on her too many."

Wick stood up and began to pace. "Recap the facts for me."

"On the homicide? According to Mrs. Howell, the party broke up about midnight. They were in bed by one. The house phone rang at two-oh-seven. She's definite on the time because she remembers looking at the clock.

"Dr. Howell answered the phone, talked for several seconds, then hung up and told her he was needed at the hospital, said there'd been a major freeway accident with multiple casualties.

"He dressed and left. His body was found beside his car in the doctors' parking lot at two-twenty-eight. That's when the nine-one-one came in. Which was just long enough for him to make the drive from home. The security guard had seen Howell drive in minutes earlier, so he was popped the moment he got out of his car. His wallet was intact. Nothing taken from or off his car.

"Cause of death was ma.s.sive hemorrhaging from a stab wound beneath his left arm. The murder weapon was left in the wound. Your average filleting knife. The manufacturer says they haven't produced wood hilts in twelve years, so this knife could've come from anywhere. Grandma's kitchen, flea market, you name it. No prints, of course.

"The blade went through Howell's ribs clean as a whistle and burst his heart like a balloon. Best guess is that he was attacked from behind, probably around the neck. Reflexively he reached up, the a.s.sailant stabbed him with his left hand. It happened like that," he said, snapping his fingers.

"Whoever did him knew what he was doing."

"Like another doctor?"

Oren shrugged.

"Yesterday you mentioned a potential eyewitness."

"The parking-lot security guard. One ..." Oren opened the binder and scanned a typed form until he located

the name. "Malcomb R. Lutey. Age twenty-seven."

"Did you check him out?"

"Considered and eliminated as a suspect. He called in the nine-one-one. Scared s.h.i.tless, and he wasn't faking it.

Threw up four times while the first officers on the scene were trying to get information out of him.

"Hasn't missed a day of work since he's had the job.

Works holidays. Has never caused anybody any trouble.

Not even a traffic ticket on record. Yes-sirred and no-sirred everybody. Kind of a geek. Take that back. He's a full-fledged geek."

"He didn't see or hear anything?"

"Like I told you, Wick, nothing. Once this kid stopped hurling chow, he cooperated fully. Nervous as h.e.l.l, but Mom was responsible for that. Scary old bat. She made me nervous too. Believe me, he's not our man."

"And the freeway accident?"

"No such accident occurred. Everyone on the hospital staff denies calling Howell. Telephone records indicate that the call originated from a cell phone."

"Let me guess. Untraceable."

"You got it."

"Male or female?"

"The caller? We don't know. Dr. Howell was the only one who spoke to him. Or her."

"What does the wife get by way of an estate?"

"Plenty. Howell was insured to the hilt, but the missus

came into the marriage with money of her own and stands to inherit more when her daddy pa.s.ses."

"Good marriage?"

"By all accounts. They were trying to have another kid.

There's one seven-year-old boy. Ideal American family.

Churchgoers, flag-wavers. No drug abuse or alcoholism.

He made small wagers on his golf games and that was the extent of his gambling. Not even a hint of marital infidelity, and especially not with his colleague Rennie Newton."

Oren rattled the ice in his gla.s.s, shook a cube into his mouth, chomped on it noisily. "The doc never had a malpractice suit filed against him. No outstanding debts. No known enemies. Except Rennie Newton. And I've just got a gut feeling about her, Wick."

Wick stopped pacing and looked at Oren, inviting him to elaborate.

"Don't you think it's a bit tidy and d.a.m.n convenient that her rival gets popped within days after he's appointed to a position she wanted?"

"Wild coincidence?" Wick ventured.

"I could concede that except for the phone call that put Howell in that parking lot in the middle of the night.

Besides, I don't believe in coincidences that wild."

"Me neither. I was playing devil's advocate." He sank back into the cushions of the sofa and placed his hands behind his head. He stared into the TV at the surgeon's calm face, which was freeze-framed on the screen. "Stabbing?

True, she'd know right where to stick you to make it fatal, but I dunno." He frowned. "Just doesn't seem like something this lady would do."

"I don't think she did it herself. Somebody did it for her."

Wick turned and looked hard at his former partner.

"Lozada is into knives."

"On occasion."

"But he once used a flare gun."

Oren made a face. 'Jesus, was that a mess."

Body parts of that victim had been discovered floating over several acres of Eagle Mountain Lake. Lozada had also used a tire tool once to bash in a skull. That hadn't been a contract kill, as were most of his murders. That poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d had just p.i.s.sed him off. Of course they could never prove that he had committed any of these crimes.

They just knew it.

Wick came off the sofa again and moved to the fireplace.

He looked at the pictures of Stephanie and Laura on the mantel. Then he went to the window and peered through the blinds. He ambled back to the mantel before returning to the sofa. "You think this Dr. Newton hired Lozada to eliminate her compet.i.tion? Or had Lozada kill him out of spite? Is that basically it?"

"It's his kind of kill. Silent. Quick. Leaving the weapon."

"I'm not disputing that, Oren. It's her involvement I have a problem with." He gestured toward the TV. "She's a surgeon with a good reputation and no doubt a six-figure income. She seeks out a sc.u.mbag--that we all know Lozada to be no matter how fancy he dresses himself up-- and hires him to kill her colleague? No way. Sorry, but I ain't buying it."

"What? She's too educated? Too well dressed? Too clean?"

"No, she's too . . . dispa.s.sionate. I don't know," Wick said impatiently. "Is there any evidence of a connection between her and Lozada?"

"We're looking."

"That means no."

"That means we're looking," Oren stressed.

Wick expelled a deep breath. "Right. Lozada could be

having meetings with the pope and we'd be the last to know. He's slippery as owl s.h.i.t."

"The doctor could be just as slippery, just as deceptive.

She spends the majority of her time at the hospital, but n.o.body --and I mean no one--seems to know much about her personal life. They say she keeps to herself, keeps her private life private.

"That's why everyone laughed at my question about hanky-panky between her and Howell. If she dates at all, n.o.body knows about it. She's a loner. An excellent surgeon,"

he stipulated. "On that everybody agrees. Generally she's very well liked. She's friendly enough. Kindhearted.

But she's aloof. Aloof. That's a word I heard a lot."

"You need more," Wick said.

"I agree."

Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, Oren withdrew a slip of paper and laid it on the sofa cushion that separated him and Wick.