Cloud of Suspicion
The Sequel To “Watch What You Say”
by
“Come on, Lou,” begged Johnny. “What's Roy 's big news?”
Louisa grinned at him and shook her head. The cousins were sitting on the sofa at Station 51, waiting for the crew to return. Henry, the station's Basset hound mascot, sprawled across the young woman's lap and looked up at her with soulful eyes. “If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?” she asked.
“I guess not,” admitted the paramedic. “All right, I'll wait until he gets back. I'm gonna get some coffee. You want some?”
“No, thanks,” she replied, scratching the dog's belly. “I've got my hands full at the moment.”
“So I see,” laughed Gage. He turned towards the door when the engine and squad entered the bay. “That was fast. Wonder if Mike's with them?”
“I certainly am!” growled the engineer as he limped into the room. “Marco had to carry me to the engine thanks to your little stunt!”
“Aww, poor baby,” teased his sister. “If you hadn't refused to go to Rampart, I wouldn't have had to resort to vicious threats.”
“Vicious threats?” echoed Hank. “What are you talking about? Oh, by the way, welcome home, sweetheart. I missed you.”
“Thanks, honey,” smiled Louisa. “I'll keep quiet to save my brother further embarrassment. He'll tell you when he's ready, but it would be easier to just read McConikee's incident report.”
“No need,” grinned the Captain. “ Roy already filled us in. Brackett told him everything.”
“Great,” muttered Stoker crossly. “Now the entire Department will know.”
“Where is my partner?” asked Johnny. “Yoo hoo, Pally!”
“You mooed?” joked Desoto. He crossed to the stove and poured a cup of coffee. “Mmm, delicious,” he commented. “How was Montana , Junior?”
“Never mind that,” shot back the dark-haired paramedic. “What did you want to tell me?”
“Oh, not too important,” smiled Roy . “Just the usual stuff. You know, the kids missed you at Christmas, Shawn Tyler broke his leg in three places, and Joanne is going to have another man in her life this coming July.”
“How did he do that?” asked Johnny. “Wait a minute; another man? What man?”
“One that wears diapers and drools a lot,” chuckled Marco.
“A baby ? Roy , that's terrific! Congratulations!”
Desoto beamed, but his eyes were sad. “Jo and I have wanted another child ever since we lost Caroline,” he murmured softly.
Louisa reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I can't even imagine how you felt,” she whispered. “I know they say time heals all wounds, but the pain of losing a child never goes away.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
One Week Later
“Uh, Lou, the object of restoring a car is to put it together , not scatter the parts from here to Kingdom Come,” teased Marco, leaning against the barn door with a broad grin on his handsome face.
“Thank you so much for pointing that out,” retorted Louisa sarcastically, looking up from the chunk of metal she was holding. “No wonder that guy wanted to sell this piece of junk,” she grumbled. “The engine and transmission are completely shot. Don't even get me started on the brakes.”
The Latino fireman chuckled and walked over to crouch beside her. “Is the whole engine like that?” he questioned, running his finger through the sludge coating the carburetor.
“Worse,” answered his sister. “It look like someone filled it with blackstrap molasses. Remember when Mami used to make us drink that stuff? Blah!!”
“Yeah, until ‘Suela hid the bottle behind Papa's toolbox,” smiled Marco. “She said it was full of minerals.”
“Why do you think I put in the horse's bran mash?” giggled the young woman. She smiled when Matthew ran into the barn. “What's up, little man?”
“There's a Mr. Frankford on the phone about an engine for you, Mama,” he gasped breathlessly.
“Great, I'll be right back, Marco,” said Louisa. She dashed for the house and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Mr. Frankford. Do you have what I need?”
“That depends, ma'am,” he replied. “What exactly are you looking for? My son mentioned a 1958 Plymouth Fury.”
“I'm restoring one as a gift for a friend,” she said. “It's a 2-door, hardtop sport coupe. According to the owner's manual, the engine is a 350 V-8. I need a transmission, too, if you have one.”
“You're in luck,” laughed Frankford. “I have both in stock. When can you come pick them up?”
“Your ad said you wanted $200 for the engine. How much extra is the transmission?”
“Not a dime. Just let me know what the car is finished, so I can take a peek at it. My Dad owned a '58 Fury when I was a kid.”
“You'll be the first to know,” promised Louisa. “Is Thursday afternoon convenient for you?”
“I'll be here all day,” answered Frankford. “See you then, Mrs. Stanley. Oh, and bring a truck and someone strong to help you load it.”
“You bet. Thanks a million.” The young woman hung up and went back outside, unable to suppress a smile. “I just might get that thing running after all.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Next Day, Near the California/Arizona Border
“Hey, Chet, how'd you like to see London Bridge ?” asked Louisa.
“Sure, but that's in England ,” answered the Irishman. “I thought we were going to New Mexico .”
“Oh, we are,” replied the young woman, “but the bridge was moved to Lake Havasu City a few years ago. Legend has it that it's haunted by Jack the Ripper's ghost. They even made a movie about it, right, Johnny?” she grinned, winking at the paramedic.*
“Yeah, it was really scary,” smiled Gage. “The killer was brought back to life when a drop of blood fell on the stone that housed his spirit.”
“A likely story,” scoffed Kelly, waving a dismissive hand. “Although, after what we saw in Montana , I'm prepared to believe almost anything.”
“”Like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?” chuckled Louisa. “Or little green men from Mars?”
“You left out the Tooth Fairy and the Sock Gremlin,” quipped the paramedic.
“How gullible do you think I am ?” muttered Chet. “Never mind; don't answer that.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thoreau , New Mexico , Two Days Later
“This must be the place,” commented Louisa. She pulled into the driveway and parked beside a gleaming black Corvette. “Wow, a 1964 split-window,” she breathed. “I'd love to have one of these.”
“It's for sale if you're interested,” said a man clad in oil-stained cover-alls. “I'm Peter Frankford. Dad should be back soon. He told me about your Plymouth . Is this the first car you've restored, Mrs. Stanley?”
“No, I did two classic Mustangs and a Volkswagen van before I bought the Fury,” she replied, her eyes settling on a motorcycle leaning against the fence. “Is that a 1949 Indian Scout?” she gasped.
“Sure is!” grinned Peter. “We've been trying to unload for years, but no one seems to want it.”
The young woman shook her head in disbelief. “Some people don't know a classic when they see it. I've always dreamed of owning a bike like this.”
“”You can have it for twenty dollars,” interrupted a gravelly voice. “Mrs. Stanley and friends I presume? Clarence Frankford at your service.”
“Make it fifty and you've got yourself a deal!” exclaimed Louisa. “I'd feel guilty if I took it for any less than that.”
“Sounds fair,” smiled Clarence. “I'll even throw in a box of spare parts. While we're on the subject, I dug up a set of rotors and pads for the Fury.”
“Good, because the old one's are toast. Now I know why I got the car so cheap.”
“If you need any help, I'd be glad to pitch in,” said Peter, flashing a bright smile.
“Thanks, but we can handle it,” interjected Chet.
The young woman raised an eyebrow. “We? Remember what happened last time we teamed up on a project, Kelly? Are you really that hot to bathe in motor oil again?”
The Irishman turned red when Johnny laughed. “I'll drain the pan first this time,” he mumbled. “Come on, you're letting Marco help and it is my car.”
“All right, but you do everything I tell you to, without argument,” said Louisa. “Otherwise, keep your distance.”
“Yes, Mother,” snickered Kelly. “What about the motorcycle? Need help with that beast?”
“Not from you, pal,” she shot back. “Touch it and I'll remove your mustache one hair at a time.”
“Man, how does Cap put up with you?”
“I've often wondered the same about you, Irish. But look at it this way: I can't assign you latrine duty.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Los Angeles , Four Days Later
“I heard you bought an antique motorcycle, Louisa,” said Joe Early. “Planning on forming a biker gang?”
“You think the cops would be upset if I did?” grinned the young woman. “I didn't know you liked motorcycles, Joe.”
The neurosurgeon nodded. “I owned one in high school. Drove my parents crazy. What model is yours?”
“A 1949 Indian Scout,” answered Louisa proudly. “The guy practically gave it away. I'm going to restore it, once I'm done with the Fury. If you're nice to me, I might give you a ride.”
Steve Jacobs, the hospital administrator cleared his throat. “I don't think you will have much time for that, Mrs. Stanley, especially after you hear what Dr. Brady has to say. Go on, Ed; tell her the good news.”
Ed Brady, Louisa's former boss at Mercy General, beamed and held up a thick stack of papers. “I finally heard from the FDA,” he began. “They've finished the clinical trials on the cancer drug we created and were very impressed with the results. Long story short, they want to patent it! We did it, Louisa!”
The young woman's jaw dropped. “Are you serious?!?” she gasped. “If they patent it, does that mean our treatment is going to be used?”
“You bet it does!” laughed Brady. “We're gonna be rich beyond our wildest dreams! Villa in France , here I come!”
“I didn't go into research for the money, Ed!” growled Louisa. “Have you forgotten why you went to medical school in the first place? God, is that all you're thinking about? Lining your pockets?”
Ed's face turned red. “Of course not!” he barked. “I became a doctor to help people. Is it so wrong to make a good living in the process?”
“Everyone just calm down. This isn't about financial success,” put in Joe. “But even you have to see how this can benefit the hospital, Louisa. With the profits from your treatment, we can buy all kinds of new equipment and improve the way we care for patients.”
“I get that,” she replied. “I'm sorry if I lost my temper, but the idea of cashing in one people's suffering turns my stomach.”
“I understand how you feel,” said Dr. Brackett from his seat at the foot of the table. “Some in our profession have are more concerned with the bottom line rather than focusing on their patients.”
Brady glared but refused to get drawn into an argument. “I have some papers for you to sign, Louisa,” he said evenly. “Here, use my pen.”
“Not so fast, Ed,” she retorted. “I'd like my attorney to take a look at it first, if you don't mind.”
“That's not necessary,” objected the doctor. “The contract is pretty straightforward. Don't you trust me?”
“I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm not a fool, either,” answered Louisa. “What does it matter if I sign today or next week? Will a short delay make that much difference?”
“Yes, I think it will!” shouted Brady. “The FDA wants to get our drug on the market as soon as possible!”
“So they can start charging an arm and a leg for the stuff!” the young woman yelled back, her eyes blazing. “Who gives a damn if we save a few more lives? The only thing you care about is getting your slice of the monetary pie! I know all about the deal you have with the drug companies, Doctor! Every time you prescribe one of their products, they pay you a percentage of the net profits! I wonder what the AMA would do if they knew about your little racket?” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Please excuse me, gentlemen. I'm going out for some air.”
“She's lying, Steve,” Ed exclaimed, a note of desperation in his voice. “I swear it's not true.”
“It better not be, or you'll be spending your retirement years in Federal prison,” growled Jacobs.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Do you think Louisa is on to something, Kel?” questioned Joe after the meeting.
“She did work with him for quite a while,” answered Kel. “She might have picked up on his dealings.”
“If he is taking kick-backs, it could get pretty messy,” murmured Early, “especially if she has solid proof.”
“Don't underestimate young Mrs. Stanley,” laughed Kel. “She can handle herself in a tight situation.”
“I hope so,” replied the neurosurgeon. “I'd hate to see her get hurt.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Mrs. Stanley, I'd like to apologize for pressuring you about the contracts,” said Brady as he followed her into the lounge. “Please forgive me.”
“Don't worry about it,” answered Louisa. “I'm sure my lawyer won't have a problem with them. I am just as anxious to get our treatment on the market as you are. It's not every day we come up with a new cancer drug.”
“I wish it had been discovered in time to save Robin Carl,” murmured Ed.
“So do I,” she whispered sadly. “I didn't really mean what I said about the AMA. It just popped out in the heat of the moment.”
“I understand,” smiled Brady. “For the record, I never took any money from the drug companies.”
“For your sake, I certainly hope not.” The young woman glanced at her watch. “If you'll excuse me, I promised to meet Dixie Brackett for lunch.”
“I'll see you later then,” chuckled Ed. The instant the door closed behind her, his cheerful demeanor evaporated. “Better watch your back, sweetheart. Your big mouth could be the death of you.”
Part 2
One Month Later
“I'm leaving now, honey,” called Hank. “How do I look?”
Louisa turned her head and smiled brightly. “Even more handsome than the day I married you,” she answered. “I'd kiss you but I'm all greasy. Have fun at your meeting.”
“Thanks a lot,” muttered the Captain. “Two hours or more of listening to McConikee outline new procedures. It'll be just like Disneyland .”
“Right now, you're acting like Grumpy,” teased his wife. “Just think, hose jockey. Now you'll have more ways to torture a certain member of your crew.”
“Who just pulled in the driveway,” snickered Hank. “Hey, Kelly. I'll leave you mechanics alone. Play nice and don't fight.”
“Yes, dear. See you later. Ready to get to work, Chet?”
The Irishman grinned and held up a pair of heavy gloves. “What's on the agenda for today, Boss?” he joked.
“Grab a screwdriver and put these license plates on,” replied the young woman. “After that, we'll take the clunker for a spin and test the alignment.”
“Her name is Christine,” muttered Kelly. “Like in the Stephen King novel.”
“Then we better have her blessed by a priest,” giggled Louisa, rolling her eyes. “I read that book, pal, and I'm not taking any chances!”
“We'll stop by the church just to be safe,” smirked Chet. “That about does it. Fire her up, Mrs. Cap!”
The young woman climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key. The motor whined for a few seconds then rumbled to life. “Sounds pretty good, huh?” she asked. “Well, don't stand there looking foolish! Get in and buckle your seatbelt, Irish. Let's see what this baby can do!” She put the car into gear and roared out of the barn.
“Yee haw!” yelled Kelly. “Man, talk about power! How fast do you think it will go?”
“One way to find out,” grinned Louisa, pushing the accelerator to the floor. The engine screamed like an angry she-cat and the Plymouth shot down the canyon road, leaving a plume of dust in its wake. A small herd of deer grazing near the shoulder bounded for cover, frightened by the noise. “Let's go visit Johnny!”
Gage was outside replacing a broken fence rail when the Fury sped down the lane, tires squealing as it rounded a curve. He jumped back when the car screeched to a stop in front of the corral. “I could hear you coming a mile away,” he said, leaning down to peer in the open driver's side window.
“Wanna go cruising, Daddy-o?” quipped the young woman, her eyes sparkling with delight. “We're gonna motorvate down the Strip and show everybody our nifty bent eight.”
“Man, that's Squaresville,” laughed the paramedic. “You should find a dude with a cherry rod and go for pinks. That would be, like crazy, baby.”
“Nah, the heat busted me last time,” giggled Louisa. “And I ain't cruisin' for a bruisin'.”
“Will you guys speak English?” complained Chet. “I didn't understand a word you just said.”
“Why doesn't that surprise me, Kelly?” said Johnny. “It was 1950's slang. Should we translate for the square, Lou?”
“Are you buggin'? He's not hip to the jive. He listen to Pat Boone. Like, gag me with an entire place setting!”
“I do not!” protested the Irish fireman. “I just bough a Coasters record, just to hear the real version of that song you did at my wedding. How could you compare me with Charlie Brown? I don't have a round head or a dog named Snoopy.”
“No, but you do have a thing for little red-haired girls,” snickered Gage.
“Don't tell my wife,” laughed Chet. “What am I saying? She's a redhead!”
“Very observant,” muttered Louisa. She looked up when a police cruiser pulled into view. “Here comes the fuzz. What did you do this time, cousin?”
Vince Howard and his partner, David Brooks got out of their car and walked over. “We got a call about a couple of kids racing up the canyon in an old Plymouth . I should have known it was you, Mrs. Stanley.”
“Uh, Chet and I were just testing the alignment, Vince,” replied the young woman.
“At 70 miles per hour?” asked the African-American officer, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “What's next? Dragging racing on the Sunset Strip?”
“Now would I do something that foolish?” questioned Louisa. “No one around here could catch me.”
Brooks shook his head and laughed. “How should we deal with this dangerous criminal, partner?” he teased. “Lock her up and impound her hot-rod?”
“I suppose we could let her off with a warning this time,” grinned Vince. “I heard you bought a '49 Scout, Louisa. Mind if I drop by and check it out sometime?”
“You're always welcome in my home,” she smiled. “We're headed back there now if you want to follow us.”
“Sounds good, but no speeding,” chuckled Vince. “I have a feeling you're be getting enough tickets with that thing as it is.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two Weeks Later
“You're all set, Mr. Clark,” said Louisa as she finished wrapping the man's hands with gauze. “Come back in a day or two and I'll change the dressings for you.”
“I will,” smiled Clark . “And thanks for not laughing at me. I should have known the kettle was hot before I picked it up.”
The young woman chuckled. “Don't feel bad,” she replied. “I've done the same thing more times than I can count.” She left the treatment room and headed for the nurse's station. “Can I buy a cup of coffee, Mrs. Brackett?”
“I thought you'd never ask,” grinned Dixie . “This place has been a zoo all day.”
“It happens every full moon, Dix,” answered Louisa. “People lose what little sanity they have left and go completely bananas.”
“Including a certain Irish fireman we know and love,” commented the nurse. “He's been on a real tear lately, according to Johnny and Roy.”
“Yeah, but this time, Kelly is messing with the wrong person,” the young woman laughed. “Did the boys tell you about the Phantom's latest prank? He replaced my brother's toothpaste with a tube of wasabi horseradish. Mike went to brush his teeth and almost set his tongue on fire! If Chet isn't careful, he could find himself hanging from the flag pole wearing nothing but his leopard print underwear!”
“That would make an interesting news headline,” snickered the blonde nurse. “'Suspended Public Servant is the Cat's Meow'. Film at eleven!”
“Or ‘New Jungle Movie Being Shot at Carson Fire Station'!” snorted Louisa. “'Local Fireman's Comment: Me Tarzan, Who Jane?'”
“I think we found two escaped mental patients, Joe,” grinned Dr. Brackett from the doorway. “Either that, or someone spiked the coffee again. What are you ladies giggling about?”
“We can't say,” laughed Dixie . “It would be a violation of national security.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed Dr. Early. “They are working for the CIA! Come on, what's so funny?”
“Chet Kelly's latest prank,” smiled Louisa. “He decided to pick on Mike Stoker instead of Johnny this time.”
“We better stock up on bandages then,” chuckled Kel. “The repercussions could be very messy. What did he do?”
“Horseradish toothpaste,” she replied, her eyes filled with glee.
“Ouch,” winced the neurosurgeon. Before he could comment further, the hospital administrator entered. “Hi, Steve. Something wrong?”
“You bet there is!” he grumbled. “Mrs. Stanley, could I speak to you privately?”
“Certainly. Excuse me, Dix, doctors.” She followed the administrator to his office. “Have I done something wrong, sir?”
“No, it concerns the funds you agreed to donate to the hospital. Dr. Brady is handling the transfer, is that correct?”
“He practically insisted,” answered Louisa. “The checks were supposed to be drawn from his bank once a month. You should have received the first payment by now.”
Steve nodded, his mouth twisting sourly. “Exactly what I figured. I called our attorneys this morning, Louisa,” he said. “According to them, Ed never authorized the transfer. Instead, the money earmarked for the hospital went directly to a bank account in Switzerland .”
“Under his name, right? I should have known he would pull something like this! I swear, Mr. Jacobs, I will make sure you get every penny, if it has to come out of my own pocket!” The young woman jumped out of her chair and sped from the room, colliding with Brady himself as he rounded the corner, escorted by two police officers. “You thieving son-of-a-bitch!” she screamed, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. “How dare you steal money meant for Rampart! I could kill you!”
Kel and Joe came running when they heard the commotion and pulled her off the surprised man. “Louisa, stop it right now!” shouted Brackett. “Let the courts handle this!”
Louisa yanked away from the doctors and glared. “I can't believe I was stupid enough to trust you,” she hissed, her blazing eyes focused on Ed's face. “You'll pay for this, you bastard, I swear, with God as my witness.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
One Week Later
“”Here's the first installment,” said Louisa, handing the hospital administrator a thick packet of bills. “You'll have the rest as soon as the Swiss bank transfers the money into my account. I wish it was more, but that's all I could come up with on such short notice.”
“Anything you can give us is appreciated,” smiled Jacobs. “How much is here?”
“Fifteen thousand,” answered the young woman. “If you need help deciding how to spend it, I'm sure Dr. Brackett has a few ideas.”
The administrator laughed. “Kel already gave me a six-page report detailing what he needs.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she grinned. “And new paramedic training manuals are at the top of that list, right?”
“See for yourself,” replied Jacobs, handing her a sheaf of papers. “Maybe you can tell me what some of those things are.”
Louisa took the report and flipped through it. A giggle bubbled up in her throat as she read the notation near the bottom of the third page. “Thirty cases of tongue depressors?” she asked. “What's he doing, building an ark?”
“Maybe he just wants to look at a lot of sore throats,” quipped the administrator. “Wait until you see page four.”
“A gross of straight-jackets, fifty ball gags, and a dozen riding crops?!? Why not fishnet stockings and stiletto heels for the nurses?” An image of Dixie in dominatrix gear and brandishing a whip formed in her mind and she burst out laughing. “Our cardiac cases would go through the roof!” she howled, tears racing down her cheeks.
Jacobs stared at her curiously and rolled his eyes. “Someone needs to switch to decaf,” he joked.
“Sorry about that, Steve,” gasped Louisa, wiping her eyes. “A temporary lapse of sanity. If Brackett comes up with more oddball requests, let me know. That was the best laugh I've had in months .”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“There you are,” said Brackett when the young woman returned to the ER. “I thought maybe Jacobs was keeping you after school.”
“Not exactly,” answered Louisa, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “We were talking about horses, specifically riding crops.”
“I take it he showed you my list?” asked Kel. “I put those things in as a joke.”
The young woman's face fell. “Darn, I was looking forward to testing the straight jackets on some of our less cooperative patients,” she pouted. “I guess we'll have to make do with threats and intimidation.”
“There's still duct tape and handcuffs,” grinned Dixie . “Speaking of which, here comes one of our best customers,” she added, pointing a slender finger towards the entrance.
“Sedative, Vulcan neck pinch, or frying pan?” snickered Brackett, making his wife laugh. “They all have the same effect.”
“Non-stick or cast iron?” questioned Louisa, covering her mouth to muffle her giggles.
“Have you been sniffing nitrous again, Cousin?” teased Johnny. “Can we get some supplies? We need two arm splints, a box of four-by-fours, and half a dozen Diazepam syringes.” His jaw dropped when the women burst into peals of hysterical laughter. “What did I say?” he wondered, turning to look at his partner.
“Search me,” shrugged Desoto. “Maybe the pressure finally got to them.”
“Well, whatever it is, I certainly hope it isn't contagious,” said Gage. “Never mind, Dix; just sign the form. I'll get the supplies myself.” He handed the box to Roy and walked away. “Must be a full moon,” he muttered under his breath.
Part 3
Mercy General Hospital
Dr. Ed Brady glanced at the clock on his desk and sighed wearily. “Almost midnight . Guess I should head on home. Might as well enjoy it while I can.” He gathered up the papers he was working on and put them in his briefcase. A noise out in the darkened lab made him jump. “Who's there?” he called. “Probably just the cleaning crew.”
“Try again, Doctor,” said a cold voice. A cloaked human shape stood in the office doorway. “Did I startle you, Ed?”
“What do you want?” snarled Brady. “Haven't you already done enough to destroy my life?!?”
“Not quite,” said the figure, stepping forward until the light from the desk lamp revealed its face. “Did you really think I was going to let the courts handle your punishment? You're screwed with the wrong people, Brady, and now you have to pay the price.”
The doctor swallowed hard when the figure pointed a gun fitted with a silencer at his head. “Please don't,” he begged. “I'll give you anything you want. Just don't kill me.”
“No deal,” answered the figure. A muffled shot rang out and the bullet tore into Ed's brain. He fell to the floor, a perfectly round hole in the center of his forehead. “Game over, Dr. Brady. You lose.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Next Morning
Millie Foster hummed a tune as she pushed her cart out of the elevator. She had spent most of her adult life as a cleaning lady, the last twenty at Mercy General. Now in her mid-sixties, she was looking forward to retiring. The only bad thing was that her beloved husband wasn't around to share it with her. Alfred had died the year before after a long, courageous battle with cancer.
As she entered the research lab, Millie noticed that the office door was standing ajar. “Tony must have come in early and forgotten to close it again,” she said to herself. “That boy is so absent-minded sometimes. Might as well start in there.” The elderly woman's foot struck something solid and she gasped. “My goodness! Dr. Brady, what are you doing on the floor?” Even as she asked the question, Millie knew the man would never reply. She backed out of the room and ran to the nurse's station. “Call the police! Dr. Brady's been shot!”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Detective Crockett watched as the doctor's corpse was wheeled out on a gurney. “Any doubt as to the cause of death?” he asked.
Patrick Darby, the County Coroner , snorted. “Are you kidding? Half his skull was blown away. He was probably dead before he even hit the floor.”
“Just thought I'd ask,” muttered Crockett. “Let me know when you have the ballistics report.” He took the elevator to the fifth floor and entered a conference room. Half a dozen people were gathered around the table, talking softly. “Mrs. Foster, I was told that you were the one who found the body. Are you up to answering some questions?”
Millie nodded and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “I don't understand,” she sniffled. “Who would do such a thing?”
“That's what I'm going to find out, ma'am,” replied the detective. “When you came into the lab, did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“The office door was ajar,” she answered. “I didn't think much about it because Dr. Brady spends the night here if he's too tired to drive home.”
Tony Seneca, one of the lab assistants, spoke up. “Dr. Brady's killer must have known how to disarm the lab's security system,” he said, pointing to a small box mounted on the wall.
“He's right,” put in Tommy Ingalls, Mercy General's Head of Security. “Once someone comes into the lab, he or she has thirty seconds to enter a special code into the keypad. If they take too long or type in an outdated or incorrect number, an alarm goes off in the Control Room. We notify the staff before we change the code on the first of the month, but sometimes they forget and use the wrong one.”
“I want the names of the people who had access to that code,” demanded Crockett. “Including yourselves and the cleaning staff. Until further notice, everyone on that list is a suspect.”
“I can tell you without even looking it up,” answered Tony. “From Mercy, Dr. Brady, Millie Foster, our cleaning lady, myself, Melissa Crawford, and Tommy, of course. Oh, I almost forgot; Louisa Stanley still has lab priviledges, even though she works at Rampart. She comes over and helps us out once in a while, but I haven't seen her since she accused Dr. Brady of stealing from our joint account.”
“I know all about that,” replied the detective. He called out to another officer. “ Montgomery , when the forensics team is finished in here, I want this area sealed off. No one gets in without my permission.
As soon as Crockett was gone, Tony made a beeline for the pay phone near the elevators and dialed a number. When the person on the other end of the line picked up, he said, “It's me; the cop just left. Yeah, it went down exactly as planned. What did you do with the stuff? And no one saw you? Great; no, I'll take care of that. Just lie low for now.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two Weeks Later
Crockett and his assistant, Jon Wilcox, were watching the last surveillance video when they saw it. “Wait, go back about a dozen frames!” exclaimed the detective. “Can you enhance this shot? I'll be damned. I think we just found our killer!”
Wilcox stared the figure on the screen intently. “Maybe, but who is it?” he questioned.
“Judging by the height and build, I'd say it's a woman,” replied Crockett. “That leaves us with three possible suspects: Millie Foster, Melissa Crawford, and Louisa Stanley.”
“Scratch the cleaning lady,” argued Jon. “I already checked her alibi and it's air-tight. She was having dinner in Santa Monica with her husband and another couple when Brady was iced.” He turned when the door opened. “What is it, O'Malley?”
“The Coroner's Office just faxed over the autopsy report, sir,” answered the sergeant.
Crockett snatched the paper out of his hand and skimmed it quickly. “Just as I thought,” he grinned. “The murder weapon was a .357 Magnum. That narrows it down. According to her statement, Ms. Crawford doesn't know how to load a gun, let alone shoot one.”
“She could be lying,” said Wilcox.
“Maybe, but I happen to know that Louisa Stanley is an experienced marksman who owns several handguns,” answered the detective. “Plus, she had the code to the security system and a reason to want Brady dead. Come on; with a little luck, we can catch Judge Clark before he goes to lunch.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That Afternoon
“You're out of your mind,” scoffed Vince Howard when Detective Crockett showed him the search warrant. “I've known Louisa Stanley for years and she's no murderer.”
“The evidence says otherwise,” retorted Crockett. “Are you forgetting that she shot Tom Parker in the back?”
“Because he was threatening to kill her mother and infant son!” shouted Vince. “It was a clear-cut case of self-defense!”
“We can discuss the logistics later,” interjected Wilcox. “Your Captain has ordered you and your partner to assist with this warrant.” He sighed heavily and folded his hands on the table. “I don't like this any more than you do, Howard, but if Mrs. Stanley did kill Dr. Brady, she has to be punished for her crime. We asked for you and Brooks because you are her friends.”
The African-American police officer bit his lip. “All right, we'll do it,” he said after a minute. “I just have one request. If her children are present when we arrive, get them out of there before we search the house.”
“Sounds fair to me,” smiled Jon. “Let's get it over with.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Louisa was riding her new filly in the corral when the police cars pulled up. The animal neighed and tossed her head, frightened by the flashing red lights. “Easy, girl,” soothed the young woman. “Hey, can you turn those off?” she called. “You're scaring my horse! What are you doing out this way?”
Crockett approached the fence, his face set in grim lines. “We have a warrant to search your home, vehicles, and out-buildings, Mrs. Stanley,” he said formally. “It would be in your best interest to cooperate.”
“Let me see that,” she demanded, snatching the paper from him. She read the document quickly and handed it back. “Give me a few minutes to put Shantih back in her stall and I'll do whatever you want me to.”
The detective waved Vince and David forward. “Start in the barn, then move on to the house, and search the cars last,” he ordered. “Are your children home, Mrs. Stanley?”
“No, they're spending the weekend with my mother,” answered Louisa. She looked up when Hank came into the barn and asked her what was going on. “These yahoos think I killed Dr. Brady,” she grumbled.
Half an hour later, Brooks and Howard were going through the young woman's closet when David found a small box hidden under a pile of old shoes. He pulled it into the light and removed the cover. “I've got something, Detective!” He wrapped a handkerchief around his hand and lifted a gun from its nest of tissue paper. “A .357 Magnum,” he said, raising the weapon to his nose. “It's been fired recently, too.”
Vince tagged the handgun and slid it into a plastic evidence bag. He glanced at Louisa, his eyes dark with mingled sorrow and disappointment. “I think now might be a good time to call your lawyer,” he murmured sadly.
“Why? I haven't done anything!” she retorted sharply. “Fine, have it your way. Hank, will you call Toby and tell him what's happening? His number is in my day planner.” The Captain squeezed her hand and went downstairs.
Wilcox bounded into the room wearing a smug grin. “Look what I found in the hall closet,” he said, holding up a black, hooded cape. “It was right in plain sight, just waiting for someone to come along and see it.”
Louisa's jaw dropped and her cheeks turned white. “I've never seen that before in my life!” she protested hotly.
“Save it for the jury, sweetheart,” snapped Wilcox. “Officer Howard, you know the drill.”
“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” said the cop. “Louisa Stanley, you're under arrest for the murder of Dr. Edward Brady.” He read the young woman her rights, snapping the cuffs on her slender wrists. “Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?” he finished. She nodded dumbly, tears running down her face.
Crockett took Louisa's arm and steered her out of the house. He opened the rear door of his unmarked car and pointed. “Watch your head,” he whispered softly. “Wilcox, ride with Howard. Let's go, Brooks.”
Johnny arrived just as the cruisers were leaving. He met Hank coming out of the house and knew by the man's expression that something terrible had happened. “Cap, what's going on?” he croaked.
“Lou's been arrested for Dr. Brady's murder,” answered the Captain in a raw voice. “The police searched the house and found evidence linking her to the crime.”
“That's impossible!” gasped the paramedic. “There has to be some mistake!”
“Crockett's partner doesn't seem to think so,” growled Hank. “He's acting like she's already been convicted! I have to get down to the police station. Are you coming with me?”
“You damn well better believe it!” spat Gage. “I want to give Crockett a piece of my mind!”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Police Headquarters
Louisa flinched when the cell door clanged shut behind her. “I'll be back when your lawyer gets here,” said Vince. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Yeah, it's just like the Ritz Carlton,” she muttered sarcastically. “Remind me to call Room Service and have them send up some caviar. Get out of here, Vince. I don't want your sympathy.” The young woman sat on the edge of one of the bunks and glanced at her cell-mate. “What time do we check out?”
The older woman laughed rustily, her dark skin pitted with acne scars. “Vice cop nabbed me down on the Strip. Said I was carrying an illegal weapon. Damn pigs wouldn't last ten minutes in my neighborhood. What're you in for, honey?”
“First-degree murder,” answered Louisa. “It doesn't matter to them that I didn't do it, either.”
“We're all innocent, ain't we?” snickered the woman. “My friends call me Wanda Mae. What's your name, sweetie?”
“Louisa Stanley. Have you been in here before?”
“Hell, I've been in and out of the joint since I was sixteen,” cackled Wanda Mae. “Hey, I read about you in the paper. You and some Brady dude came up with some new cancer drug, right? My Mama died from it long time ago. Stupid doctors refused to treat her cuz we was broke.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” murmured Louisa. “I lost a friend to cancer not long ago. That's what motivated me to work with Dr. Brady.”
“A real-high class dame, huh? I always wanted to get schooling, but I didn't have nobody to help me. No money, neither, so I ended up doing the only thing I could.”
The young woman's jaw set. “My life wasn't always perfect, you know,” she retorted. “My mother dumped me in an orphanage when I was three years old. I spent most my childhood fighting to survive. If I hadn't been adopted by a loving family, I probably would have ended up….” She broke off, her face turning red.
“Like me?” questioned Wanda Mae. “It's all right, honey. I won't hold it against ya. Them's the breaks.” She was quiet for a moment. “You married?”
Louisa's eyes lit up and she nodded. “My husband works for the fire department. We have a small ranch in Topanga Canyon .”
“Can't resist a man in uniform myself,” giggled the black woman. “Must be all the shiny buttons. Any kids?”
“Four, two girls and two boys,” whispered the young woman. “Lord, how am I going to explain this to them?”
“The County took my babies away after I got kicked out of my apartment,” Wanda Mae murmured sadly. “My man got me hooked on coke and before long I was up to a gram a day. I started turning tricks to support my habit.”
Louisa bit her lip, unable to speak. Instead, she reached out and squeezed the older woman's shoulder. Wanda gazed her silently, her eyes filling with tears.
Part 4
Two Days Later
“What do you mean they denied me bail?!?” exclaimed the young woman, pounding the table with her fist. “Isn't there something you can do?”
Toby Wilder sighed and shook his head. Several years before, he and Louisa had played in Mute Nostril Agony, a locally successful rock and roll band. Now, he was one of the best criminal defense lawyers in California . “No, the Judge thinks you're a flight risk,” he answered softly. “I'm sorry, Lou, but you'll have to stay in the County lock-up until the trial.”
“It's not your fault,” she replied. “I'm sure you did everything you could.” She paused to chew on a fingernail. “What are my chances of beating the charges?”
“It could go either way,” said Wilder. “The D.A.'s case is mostly circumstantial, but I know he's going to use the fact that you shot Tom Parker in the back to make the jury believe that you have the capacity to kill.”
“In other words, I'm screwed, right?” Louisa shouted. “I'll be damned if I'm going to spend the rest of my life in prison for a crime I didn't commit!”
The guard stepped forward, a deep frown on his face. “Lower your voice down or I'll send your other visitors home!” he barked.
“Other visitors? Who's out there, Toby?”
“Hank, your mother, and most of the Chiefs in the entire County Fire Department ,” chuckled the lawyer. “You sure know how to draw a crowd, kiddo.”
“Being popular is a bitch, but I'm so good at it,” joked the young woman. “Seriously, I appreciate everything you're doing for me, Tobe.”
“It's the least I can do for someone who knows all my dirty little secrets, but is sweet enough to keep her mouth shut,” he teased, patting her hand affectionately. “I'll be back tomorrow, if I can get past Godzilla over there.”
Louisa watched him leave, smiling when her husband entered and took the chair across from her. “Before you ask, hose jockey, I'm fine,” she whispered. “How are the kids?”
“Worried about their mother,” answered the Captain. “I told them it was all a misunderstanding and that you would be home before they knew it. Don't worry, sweetheart. This will be over soon.”
“Don't bet the farm just yet, honey,” replied his wife. “Someone did a very good job of setting me up.”
“I know that, babe, but we'll find a way to prove your innocence,” said Hank. “Maria is anxious to see you, so I won't stay long. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah, tell Chet not to send me a cake with a file in it,” giggled the young woman. “The last thing I need is the Phantom for a cell mate.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Three Weeks Later
“Before we go in, let me give you a few pointers,” said Toby. “No matter what the D.A. says, don't get mad.”
Louisa rolled her eyes. “I have been in this situation a couple times, pal,” she muttered. “Just concentrate on my defense; I'll handle the rest. Don't forget that I'm familiar with Mr. Hendrix and know how his mind works. He may come across as a real tough customer, but deep down, he's a pussycat.”
“Thanks for the tip, Oh Wise One,” chuckled Wilder. “Ready to put your life in my capable hands?”
“Wouldn't be the first time,” the young woman grinned. “Remember when Paul dared me to car surf?”
“Yeah, I recall tying your feet the luggage rack,” Toby snickered gleefully. “I'll never forget the look on that cop's face when we passed him on the 405 with you yelling ‘Cowabunga!' at the top of your lungs! He was laughing too hard to give you a ticket!”
“I think it was the grass skirt and coconut-shell bra I was wearing that set him off,” deadpanned Louisa. “He would have let us go if Rick hadn't oinked and made a crack about bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.”
The bailiff stuck his head in the door. “Excuse me, Counselor,” he said. “We're about to begin.”
“Thank you,” replied Wilder. “Ready, Lou?”
“Not really, but I don't have much choice,” the young woman said. The instant she stepped into the short corridor leading from the holding cells, a crowd of reporters rushed forward, shoving their micro-cassette recorders in her face and shouting questions.
Louisa held her head high and kept her lips pressed tightly together. When they reached the courtroom, she was surprised to that most of the benches were empty. “I thought there would be more people here,” she commented.
“The Judge ordered your trial closed to the public, and D.A. Hendrix and Mr. Wilder agreed,” answered the bailiff, flashing a rare smile. “No one gets in without Stein's permission. The media, especially that pretty boy from Channel 4, were fit to be tied when they found out.”
“I can imagine,” she replied. “I've tangled with Grant Saxon a few times and he's not exactly my favorite person.”
“Mine neither.” He bent forward to whisper in her ear. “If it means anything, Mrs. Stanley, I don't think you're guilty. Just thought you'd like to know.”
“Well, I'll be damned,” chuckled Louisa, poking Toby with her elbow. She glanced over her shoulder to wink at her husband and his crew.
“What was that all about?” Marco said to Chet. The Irishman grinned smugly. “The bailiff thinks she's innocent,” he gloated. “That's a good omen, amigo .”
“Will you twits shut up?” hissed Captain Stanley. “The Judge just came in.”
Judge Gerald Stein took his seat behind the bench and let his gaze sweep over the courtroom. “Louisa Stanley, you are charged with the murder of Dr. Edward Brady,” he intoned. “How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor,” stated the young woman proudly, looking him square in the eye.
“Your response has been noted. Mr. Hendrix, are you ready to make your opening statement?”
The District Attorney, Paul Hendrix, rose from his chair and approached the jury, his expression grim. “Ladies and gentlemen, I'll keep it brief. It's no secret that Mrs. Stanley had a grudge against her victim, Dr. Edward Brady. After all, he stole money from her and isn't that what fuels our deepest passions?” He droned on for several minutes, finally ending with, “I'm sure that once you hear all the evidence, you will find the defendant guilty on all charges.”
Toby was out of his seat before the Judge asked for his rebuttal. “Mr. Hendrix claims that my client was motivated by greed,” he began. “That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Anyone who knows Mrs. Stanley can tell you that she doesn't care about money. It's true that Louisa stood to make a small fortune form the cancer treatment she and Dr. Brady developed, but she felt it was wrong to benefit from the suffering of others. Instead, she made arrangements to donate every cent of her share of the profits to Rampart General Hospital . In fact, over the years, Mrs. Stanley has donated almost a quarter of a million dollars to various causes. Are those the actions of a greedy woman? I think not. If my client is guilty of anything, ladies and gentlemen, it is wanting to help the less fortunate of our society in any way she can. If that is a crime, the country better start building more prisons to house these people.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilder,” said the Judge. “Since it is almost noon , I suggest that we break for lunch and reconvene at two o'clock . Mr. Hendrix, be prepared to call your first witness at that time. This Court is now in recess.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Somewhere in Mexico
“Here's the Los Angeles paper you asked for, boss. What's so important in the States?”
The dark-skinned man glared at his employee. “Let me worry about that, Felipe,” he growled. “Tell Juan to wash and wax the Mercedes before he drives Rosa into the village.” He snatched up the paper, ignoring the boy's sour expression. The lead story caught his eye and he gasped. “¡Aye carumba! I won't stand for this!” He grabbed the telephone and dialed a number. “Get my private jet ready! We're going to Los Angeles !”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Brooklyn , New York
At the same moment, Alberto Delvecchio was standing at a news stand a few blocks from his home. “Morning, Paddy,” he said to the owner. “The L.A. Times come in yet?”
Paddy grinned, revealing a set of tobacco-stained dentures. “You ask me that every morning,” he cackled. “What's so important out in California ?”
“My daughter's brother and sister live out there,” answered Delvecchio, handing the man a crisp bill. “Keep the change.” He unfolded the newspaper and skimmed it idly. “Sweet Jesus, this can't be right!” He raced for his car and roared away from the curb.”
“Good heavens, Alberto!” exclaimed his wife. “What's wrong?” She picked up the newspaper he had dropped and looked at it. There on the front page was a photograph of Louisa Stanley being led into the police station in handcuffs. “ 'Trial of local nurse accused of murdering colleague begins today' ,” she read aloud. “ 'Motive was profits from new medical treatment, reveals District Attorney Paul Hendrix' . Is this some kind of joke? Louisa isn't a killer!”
“Those jackasses obviously think she is,” growled Alberto. “I'm flying out there to set them straight!” He grabbed his car phone and dialed a number. Lester, it's Alberto Delvecchio. I'm cashing in that favor you owe me. Call the airline and book two first-class seats on the next flight to L.A. ”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Los Angeles , The Next Day
Louisa sat in an empty interrogation room, waiting for her visitor too appear. Because it was Saturday, her trial wasn't in session. “I don't know why they don't start these damn things on Mondays in stead of Fridays,” she grumbled to herself. The door creaked open and a tall, expensively-dressed man walked in. “My Lord!” she breathed. “ Santos Garcia! You're the last person I expected to see!”
Garcia smiled and sat down. “You must be wondering why I'm here,” he said. “I heard you were in a jam and came to offer my assistance and support.”
The young woman stared at him in surprise. “How can even look at me after what I did to your brother?”
“Carlos was an evil man who got exactly what he deserved,” replied Santos calmly. “It was only a matter of time before his sins caught up with him. Now, I'd like to hear your version of what happened. Did you murder Dr. Brady?”
Louisa shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not,” she declared. “I'm being set up to take the fall, but by who, and why?”
“ That , my dear, is what I'm going to find out. According to the story I read, the police found what they believe is the murder weapon in your house. Tell me about that.”
“It was a .357 Magnum handgun,” she answered. “Wait a second! My gun couldn't have been used to shoot Dr. Brady! I lent it to Phillip Johnson when I was in Montana right after Christmas. I'm positive he still has it!”
“Do you have any papers for the gun?” asked Garcia, his black eyes gleaming. “Anything that would list the serial number?”
Louisa nodded. “At home in the safe, unless the police confiscated them.” She looked up when Toby came in, followed by the guard. “Toby Wilder, I'd like you to meet Santos Garcia. He's, uh, an old friend, I guess you could say.”
“I know who he is,” spat the lawyer. “Question is, what is he doing here?”
The young woman ignored her attorney's warning glare. “Do you know if the cops went through my safe?”
“What difference does that make?” growled Wilder.
“Because the papers for my gun were in there,” she told him. “Which, by the way, was not even in the state when Ed Brady was murdered. Call Phillip Johnson; he can confirm that he had it the whole time.”
“No, honey, he can't,” answered Toby soberly. “I already spoke to Mr. Johnson. Someone broke into his home right after New Year's. The thief knew exactly what he or she was looking for.”
Louisa's face fell. “My gun,” she whispered, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. “I'm in real trouble this time, aren't I?”
“Don't lose hope,” encouraged Santos . “I'll do everything I can to prove your innocence. Mr. Wilder, could I speak to you in private?”
The attorney shrugged. “We'll go back to my office,” he said. “Lou, I'll see you on Monday.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That Afternoon
Hank looked out the window when he heard a car pull into the driveway. His eyes widened when Alberto and Sofia Delvecchio got out. The Captain rushed to open the front door and welcome his guests.
“I demand an explanation!” growled Alberto, thrusting a newspaper in Stanley 's face. “Why didn't you let us know what was going on?!?”
“Louisa asked me not to,” answered Hank. “She didn't want to worry you.”
“Of course I'm worried!” shouted Delvecchio, a vein standing out on his forehead. “That girl is like a daughter to me! Do you seriously think she could do something like this?!?”
“My Mama wouldn't hurt anyone !” snarled Emma, drawn by the shouting. “She's a good person!”
Alberto knelt down and embraced her. “I know she is, baby,” he soothed. “Your Mama is the sweetest, kindest soul I've ever known. Someone wants the police to believe that she killed Dr. Brady and I won't rest until I find out who and why.”
“They should be spanked for telling lies,” said the little girl, her mouth twisting sourly.
“With a really big paddle,” added Sofia , trying to suppress her laughter. She glanced at Hank, who was having trouble containing his own mirth. “Or better yet, a piece of cactus with a lot of long, sharp thorns.”
Emma nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, so Uncle Kel has to pull them out with pliers,” she giggled. “He had to do that for Uncle Johnny when he sat on a pricker bush.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Monday Morning
“This court is now in session,” intoned the bailiff. “The People of the State of California versus Louisa Nicole Stanley. The Honorable Gerald K. Stein presiding. All rise.”
The Judge took his seat behind the bench. “Be seated. Mr. Hendrix, call your first witness.”
The District Attorney rose and straightened his suit jacket. “The People call Detective Ronald Crockett to the stand.” After the man was swore in, he began, asking the usual questions regarding his witness's name and profession. “Detective, could you tell us about the night of February 13 th ?”
“My partner, Jon Wilcox, and I received a call about a possible homicide at Mercy General Hospital ,” said Crockett. “We arrived on the scene to find Dr. Edward Brady lying on his office floor in the prone position. Patrick Darby, the County Coroner , arrived shortly thereafter and pronounced him dead.”
“And what was the cause of death?” asked Hendrix.
“A single gunshot wound to the head. It was later determined that the killer used a .357 Magnum.”
The District Attorney held up a sealed plastic bag. “Your Honor, I enter this as People's Exhibit A. Is this the weapon that ended the victim's life?”
“Yes, sir, it is,” answered the detective. “The bullets match the one removed from Dr. Brady during the autopsy.”
“Where was the murder weapon found?”
“In Louisa Stanley's closet. A background check revealed that it was registered in her name,” said Crockett.
A smile flitted across the D.A.'s face. “One more question,” he smirked. “Did the defendant know how to use a gun?”
The African-America detective flashed Louisa an apologetic look before replying. “Yes, she is a better shot than most veteran police officers,” he muttered.
“Thank you, Detective Crockett,” answered Hendrix smugly. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
The young woman felt the jury's eyes on her and bowed her head in a futile attempt to avoid their hostile stares. “It will take a miracle now,” she whispered.