No Grace, page 6
"Valerie?" Will asked again.
Valerie tried to center herself. "Sorry, guys. Just a bit overworked and tired."
"Perhaps a break is in order," Will suggested.
"No," Valerie disagreed strongly. "Todd, is the other victim here?"
"Unfortunately, no," he said. "The first victim is over in Tulleyvalley. I tried to get the body transferred here, as we have better facilities, but they've been adamant they can do everything in house. We're still waiting for some test results from them to check against James Asper's."
"That's not far from here," Charlie said. "A couple of towns over, if I remember."
"It would be great if you could persuade them to move the body here," Todd said. "I'm not convinced by them, not the way they handled themselves on the phone this morning."
Great, Valerie thought. It's not just the FBI that eats itself, it’s doctors, too.
"We'll speak with them, Todd," Valerie said.
"What about Mrs. Asper?" Todd asked.
"What about her?" Charlie replied.
"Oh, did your office not get our message?" Todd explained. "She had some sort of breakdown this morning. She's been receiving psychiatric evaluation over at Jackson Creek General. Apparently she hasn’t been willing to speak with anyone. I wondered if you were going to try and question her."
That struck a chord with Valerie. It sounded just like her mother.
"Is Jackson Creek on the way to Tulleyvalley?" she asked, rubbing her temples.
"No," Charlie answered.
Valerie sighed. "Okay, I think I might go and speak with her. You two can head to the morgue at Tulleyvalley. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."
"Is it wise for us to split up at this juncture?" Will asked.
Valerie couldn't be certain, but she suspected that after her outburst, Will was worried about her being on her own.
"It'll be fine, Will," she said, smiling. "I'll be fine."
She thanked Todd and then left the room, glad to be away from their inquisitive gazes.
Valerie moved through the carpeted corridor and then headed out of the building into the late afternoon sun. She headed for her car, hoping that James Asper's wife would have some worthwhile information about who was behind her husband's violent death.
CHAPTER NINE
Dennis Newbury moved through the bleak corridors of Tulleyvalley morgue with the same methodical approach he applied to everything in his life. The sun was still shining outside, but it was a distraction for him. He preferred having the blinds down around the diminutive building.
He had been a pathologist for 33 years. It hadn't been his first profession, either. He had come to it late, but he found the work rewarding. Dennis believed that he was one of the best, and so to have that young upstart, Todd Redding, telling him to move the victim's body over to Williamwood was unacceptable.
That would not do at all.
Apparently, experience accounted for little these days. Todd had feigned care, at least to Dennis's ears. Worse than that, he had feigned admiration, telling Dennis on the phone that he had heard of "all the great work that's been done over at Tulleyvalley."
Dennis grumbled to himself even just thinking about it as he moved into his office.
The office was old fashioned, with wood paneling and a large mahogany desk that had seen better days. On the walls, there were stuffed animals, their glass eyes staring into eternity, and certificates of Dennis's achievements on display. Bookshelves lined the walls of the room, filled with books on medicine and pathology that hadn't been read in years. There was also a small reading chair in one corner that Dennis used to sit in when he wanted some peace and quiet. The carpet was threadbare but comfortable underfoot. It reminded him of his grandfather's study back when he had been a boy - a place where he could go to escape from reality for a short while.
On top of his desk was an old typewriter from the early ‘60s, something that Dennis continued to use when he could. Recently, he had found himself using it more often than not; it had a strange charm about it which inspired him to write down some of his thoughts about medicine and mortality.
His desk was cluttered with papers detailing case files and notes scribbled on post-its or napkins: all evidence of his work and dedication over the years. But it was equally evidence of his scatterbrained approach.
In one corner of the room was an old record player which played jazz music softly throughout the day – something comforting for Dennis to listen to while he worked away at his reports.
Dennis put on the record player and sat in his chair, letting the jazz music wash over him. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but all he could hear in his mind was Todd Redding's smug voice, patronizing him about how their new lab was the best place to process the victim's body.
Dennis felt a boiling anger rise up inside him – an anger that had been simmering since Todd had called earlier that day. He wanted to hit something, but instead he clenched his fist tightly and then looked at the pages in front of him.
He fed some paper into the typewriter and began to type up the report on Annie Farley, the victim Todd had inquired about.
It had been two days since her body had been found, and although he had carried out the autopsy immediately, he hadn't quite found the time to finish the report.
Dennis's fingers moved swiftly on the keyboard as he heard a soft knock from his door.
"Come in," he called out, but there was no answer. "What is it?" He shouted louder this time, but whoever was outside refused to speak. Dennis gritted his teeth and sighed, wishing he could take a break and escape to the beach right now.
Dennis slowly emerged from his desk, and as he opened the door, a gust of stale air washed over him. He blinked his eyes in confusion at the sight that greeted him: an abandoned hallway with not a soul in sight. His heart thumped hard against his chest as he cautiously surveyed his surroundings, searching for any clues to explain the emptiness. That stillness was finally broken by a small object lying on the ground — a black felt hat — which immediately filled Dennis with dread. He stared at it for what felt like minutes, feeling increasingly uneasy and jittery until he mustered up enough courage to pick it up. As soon as his fingers grazed the fabric, a chill ran down his spine.
He felt the gentle material between his fingers, and it was almost as if he had handled that hat before. It was soft to the touch, but also strangely familiar; a feeling of nostalgia rose up within him, like an old memory from his childhood. He felt a lump in his throat as he took in the details of the hat: its stiff brim, its intricate flower pattern embroidered on one side, and its dark midnight blue color.
Dennis stood there for what felt like hours trying to make sense of where this hat had come from, but no answers came to mind. He looked around shakily, wondering if someone was playing a trick on him. But in the deepest recesses of his mind, a memory was stirring.
I know whose hat this is, he thought with apprehension.
Just then, a sound echoed from the end of the corridor and Dennis spun around in shock. He could make out a shadowy figure watching him from afar, and before he had time to shout at the person they disappeared behind a corner. Angered by this strange intruder, Dennis shouted.
"Hey! Come back here! You think this is funny?"
He set off after them, never one to back down. Not when he was young. Not when he was old. His frail frame moved as fast as it could, but his age was beginning to take its toll; with every step he felt an ache in his bones that threatened to slow him down.
But still he pressed on, determined to catch whoever it was that had been watching him so intently. Whoever it was had left that hat. He reached the corner of the hallway just in time to catch a glimpse of their back as they disappeared through two large metal doors.
"They've gone into the morgue," he found himself saying under his breath.
Dennis had always been more stubborn than scared in his life, but now he was worried. He knew that, other than his receptionist, there was no one else in the building. Standing and staring at those doors, he felt quite alone.
Then the thought of how he had been treated by Todd swelled again. And now this intruder playing tricks.
I'll never be the old man the young pick on, he thought defiantly.
He walked towards the metal doors, his heart pounding in anticipation. He thought about confronting the intruder and what might happen if he did. He heard noises from inside, as if someone was rummaging around. It sounded like they were tinkering with the dead bodies that were stored in the morgue.
"What kind of sicko are you?" he said out loud.
Dennis felt a mixture of fear and determination, but a newfound vigor had come into play. He felt alive at knowing he hadn't bent his knee to someone bullying him, someone picking on an old man. Whatever happened, he was proud of that.
"I'm coming in!" he shouted "You better be ready for hell!"
He reached out and grabbed the metal door handle.
Something ran up his arm and stabbed his heart. Sparks flew from the handle. And within a brief moment, Dennis Newbury was no more.
CHAPTER TEN
The doctor looked at Valerie with impatience in his eyes. She hated that. She also hated that, yet again, she was having to justify her presence to a doctor. This time, not Doctor Robertson at her mother's hospital, but at Jackson Creek Hospital where James Asper's wife was now being treated.
"I'm sorry, I have to look after my patient," Doctor Milson said. He was a tall man in his thirties with sharp features and a receding hairline. He wore a checkered shirt and jeans with a stethoscope around his neck and pens in his breast pocket.
"Doctor, you have to understand," Valerie said. "This is an ongoing FBI led investigation. We are trying to catch an active killer, and anything Mrs. Asper can tell us will help stop any more bloodshed."
"I'm sympathetic to that," the doctor said. "But Diane Asper has been in a completely manic state since this morning. She won't speak with anyone."
"Let me try," Valerie said.
"I'm sorry, but you'll need to get a warrant," the doctor said, looking at his watch. "Now, I'm late for my rounds. If you'll excuse me."
The doctor left the room and Valerie was left agitated. She had to get to Tulleyvalley morgue to meet Charlie and Will, so that they could find out more about the first victim. The day was moving on, but Valerie wouldn't leave without a fight.
She could have phoned Heinlein to get him to put pressure on the hospital, but that would take a while as they jumped through loopholes. Doctors protecting patients was a legal gray area when it came to the FBI.
Valerie decided to take matters into her own hands. She looked around and noticed a corridor leading off from the doctor's office. She walked along it, taking in the smell of antiseptic and medicine that filled the air. The walls were white, with different colored doors leading off in all directions.
After a few minutes of searching, she came to a reception area with several chairs and a desk. A woman with red hair and rosy cheeks was sitting there, looking at Valerie with an expression of surprise. Valerie had spoken briefly with her several minutes before.
"Can I help you again?" the woman said. Her face was friendly but guarded as though she had been expecting trouble.
"Yes," Valerie said "I'm looking for the psychiatric ward."
The receptionist glared at Valerie with suspicion. "Are you the agent I spoke to earlier inquiring about Doctor Milson?" she asked gruffly.
Valerie nodded her head, "Yes, that's me."
The receptionist crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, "Do you have permission to go up to the psychiatric ward? Visiting hours ended a while ago."
Valerie smiled and reached into her pocket, pulling out her badge.
"This is my get out of jail free card," she said, placing it on the desk. Trying to keep things light with a joke.
The woman read over it carefully.
"I really think I should contact Doctor Milson..."
“Please,” Valerie tried to remain cool. “I'm trying to do my job here, and I know you're trying to do yours. But lives are at stake. All I need is to go to the psychiatric ward, ask some questions, and then be on my way.”
The receptionist looked at Valerie and then shook her head. “No, I'm sorry. I'll have to clear this. I can't abide law enforcement overstepping their powers. It won't do at all.”
That was it. Valerie felt her tensions boil over. She was about to be uncharacteristically pushy.
"That's fine," Valerie said, taking out her handcuffs from her back pocket. "You do that while I put these on you and get you booked for obstruction of justice."
The receptionist paused for a moment before nodding slowly and gesturing towards a door at the back of the room.
"Take that corridor, two lefts, then a right," she said "It will lead you right there."
"Thank you," Valerie said, putting the cuffs back in her pocket and following the directions.
She felt terrible that she had threatened the receptionist with being arrested. It wasn't like her to pull a stunt like that. She prided herself on always trying to be kind and understanding. Valerie could tell her frustrations were boiling over. She worried that the stress was leading her to make rash, bad mistakes. Valerie hated any hint of losing control, but those hints were becoming daily as she felt the threads in her mind loosening.
The corridors were long and winding and Valerie felt like she had been walking for ages. She finally saw a sign for the psychiatric ward when she reached the end of a corridor and stopped in front of a door which had a pane of glass. Through it, she could see the ward inside. Valerie could also see that Doctor Milson was there talking to a nurse.
Valerie paused and thought about sneaking past him, but then decided against it. She didn't want to risk getting caught in the act; she needed to be professional if she was going to get anywhere with this case.
Patience was key.
But Doctor Milson was taking an age to finish his conversation. Valerie wondered if he was talking over her presence with the nurse. Telling her that the FBI were looking to enter the ward.
Valerie had to figure out some way of getting in there and getting to Diane Asper without being seen.
Valerie leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to think of a plan. She remembered her training, where her instructors taught her to always be prepared and think outside the box.
Then she saw it, a small maintenance room adjacent to the ward. She quickly walked to the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. Perfect.
Valerie slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The room was cramped, filled with cleaning supplies and equipment. Then Valerie saw something that surprised her; there were bags of patient waste left to seep onto the floor. The smell was sharp and acidic. Next to them were boxes of medications, improperly stored. A thought arose in her mind. She quickly pulled out her phone and took some pictures.
Valerie then rummaged around until she found a set of overalls that were obviously meant for the janitor. They smelled, but Valerie put them on anyway and grabbed the blue cap that was sitting on a clothes peg. She quickly placed it on her head and took a cart with a mop from the corner of the room.
Valerie pulled herself together, taking one last deep breath before opening the door and heading back out into the corridor. She pushed the cart forward, trying to walk as quietly as possible while keeping her head down.
She made it to the door of the psychiatric ward without being seen. She looked up at Doctor Milson and the nurse through the pane of glass, who were still talking, and thought: This is crazy, what am I doing?
She was starting to second guess herself when Doctor Milson finally moved away from the nurse and started coming towards the ward door.
Valerie felt panic in the air, but she held firm and acted quickly. She put the cleaning cart to the side, took out a mop, and started mopping the floor with her back to the door.
She heard the door open and bristled at the sound of Doctor Milson's footprints behind her.
"Hello," he said from behind her.
"Hi," Valerie said, not looking up, dipping her head, and keeping most of her face obscured from view.
There was a moment of silence before Doctor Milson then said. "I think you missed a spot; you need to be thorough with the mop."
The doctor then walked away and disappeared around a corner.
"I'll mop you up," she said with a sigh under her breath.
Turning, she looked back into the ward. The nurse was still there overseeing the rooms.
"It's now or never," Valerie said.
She entered the ward with her cart and looked around.
The nurse looked along at her and nodded. Valerie nodded back, confidently this time. She then pushed the cart past the nurse and headed along the main room, looking at the room doors on each side.
Suddenly, a name jumped out at her.
Asper.
Valerie pushed the cart forward, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the nurse starting to move back along the main room towards her.
Valerie started to panic that she had been found out, but she forced herself to remain calm and continued pushing the cart. In front of Diane Asper's door, Valerie pulled out her mop and put down a yellow sign saying, "wet floor." She placed it on the floor and then got to work.
"Excuse me," said the nurse suddenly as she neared.
Valerie didn't respond.
"Excuse me!" the nurse said again, this time more loudly.
Here it comes, Valerie thought. Stay cool.
Valerie turned around and faced the nurse. She was a woman in her mid-forties with her black hair pulled tightly back.
"Yes?" Valerie said.
"You must be new here," the nurse said. "I noticed that room 5 still has that stain on the floor. We asked you two hours ago to fix that."
"That wasn't me," Valerie said. "I just came on, and this is my first shift. But I'll get to that immediately, as soon as I finish this floor."
The nurse raised an eyebrow, turned, and walked away. "All the janitors look the same in here with those blue caps," she said loudly as if to no one, huffing into the air.
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