Page 32 of The Drowned Woman
“Harper’s downstairs working with the cyber guys now trying to track Trudy’s cell. And I just finished with the Orlys’ financials.”
“Anything?”
“Sorry, no.”
“What about those complaints from Risa Saliba?”
“Next on my to-do list. Oh, but the staties called, their lab says our hit and skip vehicle in the Gary Wagner case was a Dodge Ram. 2006 to 2010. They emailed you the full report.”
“Thanks. Ask Harper to—”
“Start compiling a list of registered owners. Already on it.”
Luka reached his car. “I’m heading back, be ready for a debrief in twenty. Hopefully by the time we’re done, we’ll have the warrant.” He got into the car but didn’t turn it on right away.
That niggling feeling that he’d missed something had intensified. He replayed the few coherent parts of Walt’s interview while glancing at the crime scene photos and finally it clicked. Trudy’s keys were still hanging from the door to her apartment. He remembered the childproof guard on the inside doorknob. Maybe Walt wasn’t faking everything, and he really couldn’t open the door without assistance. Had he been waiting for her to unlock it? That would explain why her keys were left in the lock and why she’d abandoned her shopping and went to the railing, trying to corral her wayward husband. But it also meant Walt had to be prepared, waiting and ready to use the stun gun.
He imagined Trudy talking softly, trying to calm her husband, putting a hand on his arm, gently pulling him into a hug, telling him it was okay, everything was okay, and to come with her back into their apartment, back home. And as they embraced, Walt nuzzling her neck, lifting her hair off her collar, and hitting her with the stun gun. Trudy’s body stiffening, electricity sparking down her nerves. The effects would have only lasted a few seconds at most, but during that time she’d have been powerless.
Yet still conscious, still able to watch as her husband pushed her over the railing. Her last image, his face, watching her fall.
Eighteen
When Leah got back to her office, Monique had all the paperwork she’d missed from the morning ready and waiting for her. Monique practically herded Leah into her office, arranging the files in front of her in order of importance.
“Shouldn’t we be doing all this via computer?” Leah protested. “Instead of killing trees?”
“It’s a federal grant. Not sure they even know about computers.”
Ah, so Monique did have a sense of humor. “Sorry it’s so much work for you. But the money—”
“I’m the one who found the grant, told Dr. Toussaint about it. Otherwise he was going to shut us down.” Monique finished rearranging Leah’s desk and stood up straight. “Guess you could say it’s my fault you’re here.” She looked down at Leah with a stern frown. “We need to do this right, or we’ll lose the CIC.”
“I understand. I’ll make these my top priority,” Leah promised. “And I want to see if there’s a way we can chisel out the money to get a psychiatric social worker on the team—someone to do outreach in the field.”
“Build a real crisis response program. Not just someone riding with the cops, but training them and training the 911 dispatchers to triage crisis intervention calls direct to us. Then it would be the cops backing us up, not beckoning for us to come when they’re in too deep,” Monique replied.
“You’ve been thinking about this.”
“I’ve got a plan,” Monique answered. “Grew up in the Kingston Towers, saw how many times the cops made things worse when all people needed was someone to listen, to get them the help they needed.” She shrugged. “Not the fault of the police. They’re trained to use the tools at hand, meet violence with violence. But—”
“It’s not working. Not anymore. You’re right, Monique. We need to start with a fresh idea, focusing on what the people in the community need, then build a system that will really serve and protect them.” How many times had Leah had the same debate with her fellow ER physicians? Violence, drug use, mental health issues, economic inequality—they were all public health problems, not just laws broken.
Monique had her hand on the doorknob, eyes narrowed at Leah as if judging whether Leah would stand by her words. Finally, she nodded. “Once you’re finished with this first round of paperwork, I can take over. And I’ll get as much of it on the computer as possible.”
“Thanks, Monique.” Leah wasn’t sure, but she might be more intimidated by Monique now. Because now she didn’t dare to let her down. “Maybe we could do lunch sometime? Go over your ideas, then create an official proposal, see what everyone else thinks?”
“Sure thing.” Monique stepped over the threshold, then turned back. “Of all the docs they could have stuck us with, guess you’re not so bad.” She closed the door before Leah could reply.
Basking in the glow of Monique’s approval, Leah quickly went through the paperwork. Most of it was authorizations for database collection and other file sharing of grant documents, so Monique was right: in the future they could avoid paperwork. Shaking her head at the irony—paperwork so they wouldn’t need paperwork—Leah signed all the areas Monique had highlighted for her, and began to read the areas where Monique had filled in the grant’s mission statement, purpose, financial plan, workplace safeguards, harassment policy, and quickly felt her eyes glaze over out of sheer boredom. All this tedious minutia had accompanied the original grant application so why were they now making them repeat everything?
She gave the finished stack back to Monique. “Good work.”
Monique simply nodded, busy typing a report from one of the sexual assault nurses. Leah retreated back to her office, but made a note to find a way to give Monique a raise. She opened her laptop, tempted by Risa’s research on her stalker, but instead began sorting through Risa’s medical records. Once she had them in chronological order, she settled in and began reading.
At first, Risa’s physicians seemed confident that they could find a diagnosis. But as test after test came back, each contradicting the last one, their tone grew almost angry, as if Risa were somehow to blame for their inability to find an answer.
Risa’s symptoms were consistent: muscle weakness, diffuse pain, tremors, nausea, vomiting, severe fatigue, headaches, weight loss, a rash that came and went. All symptoms of a myriad of possible diagnoses. But when her physicians tested her, trying to pinpoint the exact cause, the test results were conflicting. First, she’d have an abnormally low sodium along with a metabolic acidosis, then, a few weeks later her sodium would be normal and the acidosis resolved but her liver functions would be elevated.
