“Thank you,” James answered for her.
“I’ll get some coffee,” Jacob offered.
Romana sent him a dry look as Shera stumbled against her arm. “You’re a big help, Detective.”
“Coffee’s to keep us awake, Romana.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “Dinner’s on me.” His eyes caught and held hers. “So’s dessert.”
Okay, well now she wanted to hurry Shera up.
Nudging the door open, she pointed her toward an empty stall. But Shera, being Shera, balked at the prospect of throwing up in a public restroom.
“It’s gross in here.” The hand she’d pressed to her mouth fell to her throat in disgust. “The floor’s wet. I can’t go in there.”
“You’re a very picky drunk, Shera.”
“Not picky.” Her eyes filled again. “Don’t want to be here. Wouldn’t be if we hadn’t been having cocktails with James’s friend the mayor. It’s very hush-hush, you know-Critch being shot, Patrick North being captured. Gotta keep it under wraps until all the wrinkles are ironed out. Make sure the city house is in order, then make the grand announcement. It’s all about politics, flash and glitter. Gonna clear a cop’s name-goody for the police department. Not bad for the mayor’s office, either. But it has to be done so the credit for both clearing and capture translates to votes. I repeat, hush-hush. No one here in the hospital but us mice. No Warren Critch, no killer, no comment.”
Romana waited her out, drummed her fingers on the sink. “So are you going to throw up or not? Because I have better things to do, Shera, than stand here and listen to you babble about political secrets, ploys and tactics.”
“He’s coming for Christmas dinner.” Shera stuck out her tongue. “James insisted. We sent the invitations last week, got a flood of cards back saying yes. Mostly from men with ornamental wives.”
Word triggered question and sent Romana’s mind spiraling back to Critch’s final declaration.
“Four cards,” she echoed, and felt a chill crawl down her spine.
Overhead, the lights flickered. Shera clutched Romana’s arm. “What was that?”
“A stutter. Don’t worry, the hospital has backup generators.”
“Do you think James is seeing someone in Cleveland?”
“You need to ask him that question, not me.”
“Did you ask your ex-husband? Is that why he’s your ex?”
“We had other problems, Shera. Every marriage is different.”
“Like Belinda Critch’s marriage?” Shera swayed, gripped the sink. “Why would she want Patrick?”
“I’m not sure she did in the end.” Romana indicated the door. “Can we leave now?”
Shera considered the possibility. “Maybe. Not sure yet. I’ve had four gin fizzes on an empty stomach.”
“That’s more gross than the wet floor.”
The lights flickered again and made Shera groan. “Don’t do this. I hate blackouts. Oh…” She teetered sideways, pressed a hand to her stomach. “Maybe I should check out that other stall before we wind up in the dark.”
Lovely, Romana thought. She had the prospect of hot sex waiting for her right outside the door, plenty to celebrate- minus one disquieting question-and here she was in a hospital washroom with a woman whose stomach was taking exception to an overdose of gin fizzes.
Sometimes a situation just plain sucked.
THE LIGHTS DIMMED TWICE, but stayed on. Sensing that Shera would prolong the drama as long as possible, Jacob drained his coffee and backhanded Barret’s shoulder.
“When Romana comes out, tell her I’m having a chat with Patrick North.”
“If she comes out.” Barret plucked a thread from his coat. “Shera can be difficult.”
“Romana handles difficult better than anyone I know. Give them five minutes.”
Which didn’t give him a lot of time to talk to Patrick, because the moment Romana reappeared he wanted to get the hell out of here. Maybe they’d have dinner in a restaurant, or maybe they’d order in-after he made love to her about five times.
“Evening, Detective Knight.” The guard on Patrick’s door took a huge bite from his take-out burger.
Jacob scanned the corridor as the lights dimmed again. “Where do you put it all, Jefferson?”
“Call me Hollow Man.” He cocked a thumb. “North’s awake and pissed off. If you’re searching for some inventive new ways to swear, he’s your man.”
“Should be interesting.”
Patrick glared when Jacob entered. He wore sterile blue, and his arm was taped to his chest in an immobile sling.
“You know where you can go, Knight.”
“Been there and back.” He halted at the foot of the bed, left his hands in his jacket pockets. “Why did you kill her?”
Patrick’s lip curled. “What, no good cop, bad cop routine?”
Jacob kept his eyes steady on the other man’s face. “Captain says you made a full confession. Anything you tell me won’t make much difference.”
Patrick picked at his bandages. “The cops’ll go through my house, won’t they?”
“From cellar to attic. They’ll talk to your neighbors, too.” He added the soft sting. “And Fitz.”
A disgusted sound emerged. “You knew her. You went out with her.”
“Before she married Critch, yeah.”
“She was a siren.”
Not from Jacob’s perspective, but people saw things differently. “Did you have an affair?”
Patrick launched a visual spear. “Of course we did, for five months. I loved her, and we were hot, like fire. She was going to leave Warren.”
“Did she say that?”
“No, but I can read between the lines.”
“What happened?”
“She didn’t do it. For whatever reason, she came in to work one day and said it was over. We were done. I think he threatened her.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“Well, hardly,” Patrick scoffed. “She claimed she loved him, said she was tired of proving herself to herself. Warren loved her, she loved him, and we were done.”
“So you killed her?”
Disdain twisted his mouth. “Not then, no. I told you, I loved her. I gave her space, let her think. I figured he must have brainwashed her. I thought if I didn’t see her, she’d start to miss me. When she didn’t, I got a little-well, steamed. I confronted her.” The fingers of his good hand curled around his gown. “She laughed at me.” He glowered at the bedsheets. “I don’t like it when people do that. Mortician’s son, mother who works in the morgue-kids figured maybe my name was really Igor.”
“We were talking about you and Belinda, Patrick.”
“It’s my dime, Knight. I’ll say what I want to.”
The room lights went out completely, then snapped back on.
Patrick’s eyes heated up. “Brainwashed or not, she laughed at me. Then she told me to leave.” He smiled. “So I did.”
“Just like that?”
“Exactly like that. I gave her another chance, of course, and another. But she kept saying she loved him. She wouldn’t listen to reason, and it made me mad, so I threatened her.”
“Did you have any idea that she was pregnant?”
“I-no, at least not until I did the autopsy.”
“Which Gorman signed as his own work.”
“He’d sign pretty much anything I gave him at that point. I didn’t forge his signature like Hanson did, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Patrick’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t expect her to be pregnant.”
“Was it your child?”
“No idea. Maybe. She never said and she couldn’t have told her husband because he never mentioned it…” Lost
