The Cutting Edge Page 7

  “But I need cash now,” the heavyset member of the gang argued. “And that was an easy target.”

  Jake reached into his pocket and yanked out a wad of bills. He tossed them on top of the man he’d just knocked out and smiled. “Split this up. It’ll last for a while. I’ve been putting stuff back for a rainy day.” Turning he glared at the others, “You need to learn that practice as well.”

  Jake moved toward the door of the small apartment. As he twisted the knob, he looked back over his shoulder and issued a warning, “Don’t panic. This is under control. Just do your day jobs and let me decide when it’s the time and place to pull our next gig. And please put yourself on a budget! Quit blowing the spoils the day after you get them.”

  The confident man walked out of the apartment into a yard filled with broken bottles, empty cans, and fast-food sacks. He studied the scene for a moment and shrugged. He was sure glad he didn’t live here, but it was a great place to have his office.

  21

  Meg watched from across the hospital hall as Dr. Parks listened to the policeman’s request for the third time in as many days. It had been an animated conversation, almost a chess match between two seasoned players who were not ready to give an inch. Finally, the cop took over. With flailing arms and rapid-fire dialogue he laid out what he needed. Nodding his head at one point then shaking his head at another, Parks waited until the officer was completely finished with his high-powered speech before checking the chart one additional time. Smiling, he closed the report and leaned against the hallway wall.

  “OK,” the surgeon agreed, “I’ll let you see her.”

  “Well it is about time,” the plain-clothes policeman replied. “I’ve got to know what she knows so that I can get this slimeball off the streets. We’ve already wasted days just waiting for her to snap out of the coma. We’ve got nothing and we need something. Darn rain pretty much washed away all our clues.”

  “I said I’d let you see her, not grill her,” Parks fired back. The smile was gone as he pointed a finger at the man’s chest. “You play this by my rules or you don’t play it at all. If you get in there and try to pitch hardball, you could set this woman’s progress back months—maybe even forever. I want you to put on your kid gloves and be real careful. Understand?”

  Nodding, the cop started across the hall.

  “Not so fast,” Parks caught the investigator with both his words and his hand. Glancing over his shoulder, the surgeon then summoned the nurse, “Richards, will you come over here? I want you to take note of everything I tell this man and then I want you to go in with him and make sure that he follows my advice.”

  Placing a clipboard on the station desk, Meg crossed the hall and followed the two men into a supply room. After the door had been securely closed the doctor began to speak to the policeman.

  “I know that you have a job to do and I know that Ms. Rhoads is the one person who might be able to help you. So, I’ll let you see her, if you don’t go over certain boundaries. If you do, I’ll see to it that you never visit anyone in this hospital again.”

  After looking the taller man in the eye, the doctor seemed satisfied he had made his point. Smoothing what little hair he had with his right hand, he continued, “We have Ms. Rhoads wrapped up like a mummy. I assume that in your line of work and with all the time you’ve spent questioning victims you have seen people that have had facial injuries before, and I also assume that you know this isn’t the normal procedure. If you didn’t know this, you do now, but I don’t want my patient to know this. We have her wrapped to keep her from seeing herself until we think that she’s ready to accept what has happened. Remember, this girl was a model—someone whose whole life was based on appearance—so don’t dare do anything that will create more fear about her looks than she already feels. Remember, it has only been five days since the attack.”

  “Fine,” the cop replied. “I’m not an insensitive jerk.”

  Parks nodded and then went back to his lecture, “Next, please remember that as fragile as our faces are our minds are much more fragile. While she wasn’t raped, she was physically attacked and violated like no one else I have ever examined. This does things to the brain that we may or may not be able to change. One wrong word could be the key that warps this woman’s mind forever, so watch it.

  “Finally, at this point Ms. Rhoads is probably more frightened of what her injuries are like than she is the fact that her attacker is still running loose. I don’t think that reality has really hit her yet, and when it does, it may shake her up a great deal. So please be as gentle as you can.

  “If you understand all of this, and will live by it, you can go in now.”

  Captain Brian Rosatelli nodded his head before shooting back. “I have been on the force for more than two decades. I am fully aware of the fragile nature of the human spirit. I have been forced to interview men and women at moments when I would have rather left them alone with their pain or grief. Still, getting the truth is my job. So, rather than hold back, I had to push forward. And let me assure you this, I have usually gotten the information I needed without coming across as coarse or uncaring.”

  Parks nodded.

  “And,” Rosatelli continued, “I have a teenage daughter who is a cheerleader and honor student. Ever since this attack, I’ve had nightmares the woman attacked was my Jenny. I can’t change what has happened to Leslie Rhoads, but I might be able to save someone else, maybe even my own daughter, from going through what she has been put through. Finding the man who did this is the most important thing on my mind and right now I don’t have a clue. While I will try to be tactful and comforting, I will also do everything in my power to get a new angle that might solve this bizarre crime.”

  “Captain,” Meg interjected as she stepped between the two men. “I think the ground rules have been established. Would you like to come with me?”

  Nodding his head, he followed Meg and walked with her halfway up the hall to room 213. Pausing a moment at the door, Meg looked up at the officer and spoke, “I’ll introduce you to Leslie. She’s my cousin, and she and I are close. If I show some faith in you, I think it’ll make what you have to do a little easier. She doesn’t remember much—not yet anyway—but I sense by her reactions that more is coming back all the time. So, be patient. If you don’t get what you need today, maybe you will tomorrow or the next day.”

  After taking a deep breath and smoothing her uniform, Meg pushed the room door open and sang out, “You’ve got a visitor!”

  Looking up, Leslie first noted her cousin and then the man in the blue suit. Grabbing the remote and switching off the television, she waited for the introduction.

  “Les,” Meg said from across the room, “this is Mr. Rosatelli and he is a police officer who has been put in charge of finding out just what happened to you. You know he’s got to be a great guy or I wouldn’t let him come in here and bother you. So try to make his job as easy as you can. What I mean by that is don’t flirt like you do with all the cute doctors. This guy’s married.”

  Evaluating Leslie’s response as positive and calm, Meg turned back to the officer and announced, “She’s all yours.”

  “Hi,” Rosatelli began crossing the room to sit in a chair beside the bed. “I’m sorry to have to bother you, but that seems to be a part of my job. First of all, I’m glad that you’re feeling better.”

  “Thanks, and it’s not that much of a bother,” Leslie answered, “but I don’t think I can help you much. I can’t remember anything. I sure wish I could.”

  Taking out a pad and pen, the captain started his questioning. He began at the beginning with her leaving New York. Then he patiently built her story in a slow step-by-step process. Everything went well until they got to the part where she arrived in Springfield. Then it stalled at about the same place as when Meg had first listened to the story. Trying several different ploys, the officer simply couldn’t prod his subject into remembering any more than arriving at the airport. Sensing she might be getting edgy, he cut off his visit rather than frustrate his witness. Meg could tell Rosatelli wasn’t satisfied, but she was glad he had the sense to know when to call it quits. The man did have tact.

  “Ms. Rhoads,” the policeman said while placing his notepad and pen back in his coat pocket. “I really appreciate your time. I’m going to leave my card here on this table and if you should think of anything else, please call me. I hope you won’t mind if I look in on you again.”

  “No, come back anytime,” Leslie apologetically responded. “I’m just sorry that I don’t know any more.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rosatelli shrugged, “It’ll come with time.”

  “I’ll be back in a second,” Meg told Leslie. She then followed Rosatelli out of the room.

  Once in the hall, Meg said, “I appreciate you not upsetting her.”

  “No reason to,” the man answered, “and thanks for your help.” Grinning he added, “Give Dr. Parks a good report on me.” Then he walked off.

  Looking up, Rosatelli recognized an old friend coming up the hall. “Mary Ann,” he hollered, catching the woman’s attention.

  The attractive brunette smiled and then answered, “Well, Brian, did someone shoot you again?”

  “No,” he laughed as he extended his hand, “not recently anyway.”

  Setting her briefcase on the floor, the psychologist, a woman Meg knew well, firmly grabbed the man’s hand, shook it once, and laughed, “Then why are you here? I thought you didn’t like anything or any place concerned with doctors or medicine.”

  “You’re right,” he grinned, “I don’t. But this trip was business. As a matter of fact, I was seeing one of your patients.”

  The smile evaporating, the woman protectively responded, “If it is who I know it has to be, you didn’t upset her did you? I don’t really think that she’s ready to be given much to carry at this time. She is much more fragile than she seems.”

  Cutting her off, the officer answered, “No, I didn’t. I was the model of restraint. If you don’t believe me you can ask the nurse,” he looked toward Meg before finishing, “she was with me every step of the way.”

  Meg smiled, “He was a good boy.”

  Relaxing her jaw, Mary Ann, her tone still serious, asked, “Have you got anything new?”

  “Not enough,” then, shaking his head the officer continued. “Who am I trying to kid? We don’t have anything. No motive, nothing. We’ve just got some sicko who gets his kicks cutting people up.”

  “So,” the psychologist probed, “you don’t think that this was tied to those three or four muggings you had over the last month at the airport?”

  “No, the M.O. just doesn’t fit.” he answered. “In those cases, all the thieves wanted was money. No one got hurt. I don’t see why they’d screw up and do something like this. This is not just a simple robbery, this is real sick. It is just not like ’em. This is more like a Manson thing or maybe demon worship or something. You know the kind of thing that you shrinks deal with and cop shows like CSI wrap plots around.”

  “Well, you’re the cop,” Mary Ann answered. “I’m sure you know what you’re talking about. And about the kind of people we deal with, a lot of them are overworked stressed-out cops. You sure you’re not one of them?”

  “Mary Ann,” Brian bristled, not laughing at her joke. “If you get anything that could help us …”

  “I’ll call you,” she assured him. “But from now on in, if you want to talk to Leslie Rhoads, you have to get my permission first. OK?”

  Nodding his head the officer smiled and said, “Yeah, that works for me.”

  “Have a good day and give my best to your family.”

  Mary Ann waited until Rosatelli had disappeared before turning to Meg. “Did he upset her in any way?”

  “No,” Meg assured her. “He toed the line. But she still remembers nothing of the attack. And she has no idea how badly she’s hurt.”

  22

  A few minutes later, Mary Ann Cunningham was sitting beside Leslie Rhoads’s bed. After the normal five-minute patter of polite conversation, the psychologist got down to work.

  “OK, why didn’t you call your parents to come pick you up?”

  “It was too late,” Leslie explained, “so I called a cab.”

  “You didn’t mention that yesterday,” Mary Ann said. “Why not?”

  “Didn’t think it was important,” Leslie answered.

  “Did you tell Rosatelli about it?” the doctor quizzed.

  “No,” the patient replied.

  “What cab company?”

  “I don’t remember,” Leslie shrugged.

  “Leslie,” she said while pulling a phone book from the nightstand. Turning to the yellow pages, she leafed through the book then stopped when she found what she wanted. “Look at the five companies listed on this page and see if you can remember which one it was you might have called.”

  Taking the book from Mary Ann’s hand, Leslie held it up and studied the section where the cab companies were listed. She slowly examined each name. Shaking her head, she handed it back.

  “OK,” Mary Ann continued. “We might be able to jog your memory in another way. Your cell was dead so you actually used a payphone to make the call.” Grabbing the phone from the nightstand, she gently placed it in the patient’s lap. “OK, Leslie. We’ll see if this little exercise will help. Pick up the receiver while I hold down the button so that we don’t really call anyone. Look over the list another time and dial each number on it. Maybe by repeating your actions, you can remember who it was you called.”

  Glancing at the first number, Leslie dialed the first six digits and stopped. Putting the receiver down, she stared into space for a moment, and then, as if assuring both herself and the psychologist, said, “This is it. The Blue Cab Company. I remember thinking it was strange when they picked me up in a white car without a light or any markings.”

  “A white car?”

  “Yes,” Leslie answered. “It was old and dirty white. I remembered thinking it was just like Springfield to have white cars working for the Blue Cab Company.”

  “What did the driver look like?”

  “Gosh,” came the puzzled response, “I don’t remember. Then again, I never remember what cab drivers look like. I’m in cabs all the time in New York, but who looks at the drivers?”

  “Well,” Mary Ann assured her patient, “That’s ok. This is a beginning. It is a really good beginning. Can you remember anything else?”

  Leslie looked toward the ceiling as if in deep thought before shaking her head. “I don’t even remember getting into the cab. It pulled up and then my mind goes blank.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Mary Ann assured her, sensing her patient’s frustration. “We have made progress. You stay right here, I need to step out into the hall and do something.”

  She eased out of her chair and left the room. After the door had closed behind her she walked about twenty more feet, pulled her cell out and dialed a number she knew far too well. “Brian, I don’t have much but I do have somewhere to start. The cab company she called was Blue Cab. They picked her up in a dirty white sedan. That’s all she remembers.”

  Mary Ann waited a moment before ending the call with, “You’re welcome.” She then hurried back down the hall.

  23

  I’m back,” Mary Ann announced.

  Hearing the almost silent whoosh of the door, Leslie saw not only the psychologist but also Dr. Parks. Mary Ann turned to face Leslie.

  “I’ve asked Dr. Parks to come in,” Mary Ann explained, “so that we might be able to go through questions you might have about your injuries, as well as any questions you have about what he did during the surgery. So, the ball is in your court. Speak freely! Ask anything you want.”

  Leslie’s eyes darted between the two guests. For almost three days, she’d been aware of the wrappings and the pain, but she hadn’t been allowed to view the damage, not even when it had been unwrapped each morning for the doctor’s examination. She was curious and impatient. But now, when she was finally being given the opportunity to get answers, did she really want to know where she stood? Were the answers to her questions ones she really wanted to hear? As she reconsidered where this road might take her, Parks pulled a chair from the corner of the room and dragged it to a point where it touched the other doctor’s. Leslie could now look at both of them without having to turn her head.

  As the two medical professionals got comfortable, she took a deep breath and began, “When do I get to see my face?”

  “Well,” the surgeon took the lead, “before I let you see your face, I want the swelling to go down just a bit more. Just like with a busted lip or a black eye, the first few days after something happens, the discoloring, the swelling, the trauma, combine to cause a distortion of the natural features. I don’t want you to have to endure seeing those things because they are too misleading. You will get the wrong impression. So, let’s give it as least a couple of days. Then, I’ll let you take a look and at that time I will explain more fully what we have left to do.”

  “There’s more?” Leslie’s voice showed a bit of surprise. She’d figured that all the surgery was completed. What more was there left to do?

  “Yes,” Parks responded. “You see, in cases like yours, the first thing we do is try to sew you back together in such a way that we match each torn or cut segment of skin with its mate on the other side. Then, after a time when the scar tissue has fully healed, we go back using more refined procedures and minimize the scars.”

  Scars! She really hadn’t thought about dealing with scars. She didn’t have a single scar anywhere on her body. What did he mean by scars? Couldn’t he fix them where there weren’t any? Isn’t that what surgeons did?