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  Henderson was already shutting down his machine. “Don’t forget that doctor,” he said when Tony gave him a quizzical look. “She was around for both murders. Seems like an odd coincidence,” he commented affably.

  Tony shook his head. “I told you, I’ve already ruled her out.”

  Henderson walked down the corridor. A knowing smile moved the ends of his handlebar moustache. “That kind of woman does cloud the mind.”

  Tony shot the other man an annoyed look. “There’s nothing cloudy about my mind. According to the M.E.’s time frame, Dr. Pulaski was five stories away from the scene of both crimes. During the first, she was dealing with a hemorrhaging patient and during the second, she was making her rounds. In each case, a lot of people saw her.”

  Henderson looked willing to be convinced, but still slightly skeptical. “Making rounds that late in the day?”

  Tony’s careless shrug indicated that he didn’t care what Henderson thought doctors did. He was only interested in one. And only so far as the case went. “Woman’s dedicated, I guess.”

  Reaching the elevator, Henderson pressed the down button. “Nice to know there’s someone else out there other than us.” And then he laughed. “’Course, she probably makes a hell of a lot more money than either one of us.”

  Tony laughed shortly. As far as salaries went, cops were on the low end of the scale. But it had never been about the money for him.

  Getting into the elevator, he looked at his partner. “I didn’t picture you being in it for the money.”

  “Not me. I’m strictly in it for the glamour,” Henderson deadpanned, then laughed. “And to get material for my book.”

  The elevator doors closed noisily. A grinding noise accompanied their descent to the ground floor. Henderson had a book? This was the first he’d heard on the subject, Tony thought. But then, he didn’t exactly leave himself opened to exchanges that went beyond the cases they were handling.

  “What book?”

  A faraway look entered Henderson’s faded green eyes. “The book I intend to write once I finally retire from this job.”

  For the first time that morning, Tony smiled. Henderson could no more retire than he could grow another set of arms. This was where he felt he belonged and they were going to have to surgically remove him from his desk to get him to leave permanently.

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors drew open. Tony got out. “You keep telling yourself that, Henderson,” he tossed over his shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that.”

  He hadn’t planned on revisiting the doctor he’d silently dubbed Snow White. The one Henderson seemed still to be suspicious of. He and Henderson had parted company at the hospital elevators, each intent on their own line of questioning. Henderson had gone to the place where Rachel had reported for the last six months of her life, the surgical floor, while he had gone to the nurses’ station on the maternity ward where Angela Rico had worked for over two years.

  Had the dark-haired obstetrician not been on the floor, he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to see her. But he didn’t have to. She was right there.

  He’d stopped at the nurses’ station where Angela Rico had sat, making notes on patients’ charts and talking to the people she worked with. A couple of minutes later, Dr. Sasha Pulaski came walking out of one of the rooms, looking tired and harried.

  It was too early in the day to look like that, he thought. But then, maybe the day had come on the heels of a hard night. He supposed that gave them something in common. Both of them could be summoned out of bed at a moment’s notice. And there was no saying no once the call came.

  Their eyes met as the doctor was passing the nurses’ station. Tony rose from what had unofficially been Angela’s desk, moving into the corridor. Blocking her way.

  “Doctor,” he said, nodding at her.

  “Detective,” she returned. He noticed that the woman drew in her breath, as if she expected him to ask her something.

  But just for a split second, as he glanced down at the button that was coming undone on its own just at the point he assumed was the top of her bra, he’d lost his train of thought. And every other thought as well. But only for a moment.

  “Have you thought of anything to add to your statement?” he finally asked.

  She’d gone over the events of those two evenings a thousand times in her mind. There was nothing new to add, nothing she’d forgotten to tell him.

  Sasha shook her head. “You don’t have any suspects?” She knew if he did, he couldn’t elaborate, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she was feeling strangely awkward and very aware that the two nurses in the glass-enclosed station were staring at her. At them. And taking in every word that was being said.

  “No one who crosses over into both areas,” Tony replied after a moment.

  They’d found out that Rachel’s husband owed a local bookie almost five hundred dollars, but Tony couldn’t see his way clear to the bookie killing Arthur’s wife because of a payment default, or even as a warning for others. Besides, Angela’s background was clean and so was her ex-husband’s. Neither was even remotely connected to the bookie so there was no common ground on that score.

  Tony’s stomach growled, reminding him that breakfast had been half a muffin and lunch hadn’t happened for him yet. An impulse struck him and he went with it before he gave it any thought. “You in a hurry?”

  Sasha’s first reaction was to say yes. As far back as she could remember, she’d always been in a hurry. There was always something to catch up on, something to do.

  But at that moment, there was nothing actually pressing that she needed to get to. Her office was located in the medical building across the street and it wouldn’t be open again until two o’clock. For once, the waiting room wasn’t jammed with patients who’d been forced to restructure their day because she was called away to deliver yet another baby who had no respect for due dates.

  Technically, that made her free. “A little less than usual,” she told him. “Why?”

  Not one to put himself entirely out on a limb all at once, he began with, “Where’s a good place to eat around here?”

  Humor appealingly curved her mouth. “Believe it or not,” she said, knowing what people thought of hospital food, “the food in the cafeteria isn’t half bad.”

  It wasn’t the food he was actually interested in. Talking to the doctor in surroundings that put her at ease was his real goal. “I was shooting for three-quarters good.”

  The smile became a grin. “For that, you’d have to go to Queens.”

  On his own, he favored takeout, usually from a pizza place. “Why Queens?”

  Without making a conscious decision one way or another, Sasha had begun walking toward the bank of elevators at the rear of the floor. The detective, as she’d expected, had fallen into step with her.

  “That’s where my parents live,” she told him. “My mother’s a fantastic cook. Dad keeps telling her she should open her own restaurant, but she doesn’t want the hassle or the risk, she tells him.”

  They stopped at the elevators. Tony glanced at his watch. “Not enough time to go to Queens and back for lunch. Guess I’ll have to chance the cafeteria.” His eyes held hers for a moment. “Want to be my guide?”

  She found it took effort to stop the shiver that threatened to sweep up and down her spine like a runaway roller coaster. She did, however, manage to sound cool as she instructed, “Just take the elevator down to the basement. Can’t miss it.” And then, as the elevator arrived and its doors opened, she decided to see if she could get anything out of the detective. “On second thought, maybe I could stand to grab something to eat, too.”

  They got in and he brushed past her to press the button. However minor, the swift, fleeting contact was not lost on either of them. Feeling just the slightest bit awkward, Tony dropped his hand to his side. “I’m sure your patients would appreciate it.”

  Sasha kept her back to the wall, wishing someone else was on the elevat
or with them. “My patients?

  He nodded. Two people stepped on at the next floor. He moved closer to her. “People think and react better when they eat regular meals.”

  There was no place for her to back up into. Trapped, she forced herself to sound amused. “You a part-time nutritionist?”

  The doors opened again and the two passengers got off. Tony made no effort to step back into his original space. He noticed that she shifted, inching her way to the side. He shook his head in reply. “Something my aunt used to say to us when we wanted to skip meals.”

  “Us?” She knew nothing about the man and saw this as a chance to give the detective some kind of depth and dimension.

  “My brothers and me,” he answered. He saw the interest in her eyes. He didn’t have long to wait for the next question.

  “Your aunt raised you?”

  It hadn’t been his intention to answer, but somehow the words seemed to flow naturally—even though the memories were jagged and sharp. It hadn’t been a warm and fuzzy childhood by any stretch of the imagination. “I wouldn’t exactly call it raised. More like stood guard as we grew.”

  On the second floor, several people got on, all bound for the first. This time, Sasha stepped into his space, her curiosity blocking out any claustrophobic feelings his close proximity might have aroused.

  “But you lived with her,” she pressed.

  He tried to summon the good moments and found them lost amid a sea of bad ones. Still, Tess had done the best she could, he supposed. “Yeah.”

  The single word said it all, she thought. His had been a hard childhood. Probably had contributed a great deal to the man she saw in front of her today. Unsmiling. Hard. “Because you wanted to or you had to?”

  It struck him as an odd way of phrasing the question. He looked at her as they came to the first floor and the same people who’d crowded on, got off. Their places were taken by people who wanted to reach the basement. Now he and the doctor were all but standing in each other’s spaces. Not, he noted, an unpleasant thing. But distracting, highly distracting. “I never heard it put that way.”

  She found herself whispering to him in order not to be overheard or have her words mingling with anyone else’s. There were at least three other conversations going on in the small enclosure.

  “Is that your way of saying you’re not going to answer the question?”

  The woman was quick on the uptake, he thought, somewhat amused. “Something like that.” He looked down at her. She had to be about five, six inches shorter than him, he guessed. And softer, remembering one feel of her hand. “I’m supposed to be the one asking questions,” he pointed out.

  The elevator doors opened again and the people in front of them quickly got off. “I thought you were the one who was just going to get some lunch. I didn’t realize this was official.”

  “Off the record,” he countered, getting off right beside her.

  A long, brightly lit hallway greeted him. Freshly painted arrows pointed in opposite directions, one toward the out-patient pharmacy and the other toward the cafeteria.

  Without looking, Sasha turned left. Striding quickly, he fell into step beside her again.

  “Off the record or on, it’s going to be the same information, Detective. I told you everything I knew, which wasn’t much. And if anything had occurred to me, I would have called you.” She wove her way in and out of the crowd like someone accustomed to doing this on a regular basis. He did his best to keep up.

  “I still have your card,” she told him. She carried it around with her every day. Looked at it every night as she emptied her pockets. Looked at it and conjured up an image that unsettled her as it seemed to embed its way beneath her skin.

  “Good to know,” he allowed. “All right, this is just lunch, then.”

  “Just lunch,” she echoed, making it sound like a pact.

  The second Sasha pushed the swinging cafeteria doors open, a wall of noise and increased warmth engulfed them. The cafeteria was filled almost to capacity.

  “I guess you were right about the food,” he said, lowering his head to her ear so that she could hear him. “Is it always like this?”

  His breath cascaded along her neck, making her feel warmer than any of the hospital heating ducts going full blast in the winter. She did her best not to react, not to shiver in the wake of the tingling sensation that was shimmying up and down her spine.

  “It’s lunchtime,” she pointed out. “And a lot of the staff doesn’t actually get a full hour. Lauren James has a myriad of rules she wants followed and she doesn’t tolerate people bending them.”

  Picking up a tray, he handed it to Sasha, then took one for himself before following her into the actual food area.

  There were two different steam tables offering up four different kinds of entrées, while beds of ice presented a variety of salads and desserts. Tony felt his stomach tightening in anticipation, urging him to make a choice, any choice. It no longer mattered what.

  He pointed to a stew and the white-attired server behind the table gingerly placed it on his tray. Tony noted Sasha selected a spinach salad. With a bit of ice still attached to the bottom of the dish, the salad slid around drunkenly on her tray until she brushed the sliver aside.

  “Watching your weight, Doctor?” he asked as they both went to the coffee island. Taking the coffeepot, he poured two cups.

  “No, I just like spinach.” And then she smiled as she paused to pick up an apple that was nestled in another bed of ice shavings. “Me and Popeye.”

  It was so noisy, he was forced to read her lips in order to hear her. Dr. Sasha Pulaski had the most dazzling smile he ever remembered seeing. Not because her teeth were blindingly white, but there was something sweet and genuine about the smile. Because he was a devout cynic who questioned everything, he couldn’t help wondering if the woman behind the smile was putting him on, or if she was as sweet as the smile she displayed.

  He also wondered what the chances were of his finding that out before the investigation was over.

  “Ring them up together,” he instructed the cashier, a thin, sinewy-looking Latino with large, round eyes and an electric blue T-shirt and jeans that adhered to him like a second skin.

  Sasha reached into the deep pockets of her lab coat. “I can pay for my own lunch, Detective.”

  He steadied her hand with his own. “I’m sure you can. Consider this a reward for steering me in the right direction.”

  “A reward?” she echoed.

  Okay, wrong word, he thought. “My way of saying thanks,” Tony amended.

  She wasn’t about to be in his debt for any reason. The ground there was uncertain. “No thanks needed.” Sasha began to reach into her pocket again.

  “You two want to take this mutual admiration society somewhere else?” the chunky lab technician behind them suggested, annoyed. “You’re holding up the line.”

  “Looks like the public has spoken,” Tony told her, placing a twenty into the cashier’s hand.

  “I’ll pick up the next tab,” Sasha informed him as she began to scan the area, looking for somewhere to sit.

  The word next hung in the air, daring him to take it seriously.

  Chapter 6

  “What can you tell me about Lauren James?”

  The question seemed to come out of the blue after several minutes of silence between them had gone by. Tony had sampled the stew and decided that the doctor was right. The food here was more than edible. He’d consumed several more forkfuls before saying anything. Once the hollow feeling had faded from his stomach and he felt a little more human, he felt up to addressing some of the issues that had occurred to him.

  Sasha raised her eyes from her salad. “What do you mean?”

  He’d always felt that vague questions were the best for openers. That left interpretation up to the person being questioned. A great deal of information could be garnered that way. “What do you know about her?”

  But the doctor apparentl
y wanted him to be specific. “You mean her background?”

  Tony shook his head. He wasn’t after facts he could get from a human resource file. He wanted impressions. “No, I already have that—”

  “Of course you do,” Sasha murmured, a slanted smile making a brief appearance on her lips. He struck her as someone who left no stone unturned. And if there were no stones, he probably went out and found some.

  Santini shrugged casually as he continued eating. “Part of the job.”

  “I know.” Her father had always been thorough like that. She was fairly certain that every boy she and her sisters ever dated had a complete background check conducted on him. “You probably have everybody’s background on some tiny little microchip.”

  “Not everybody’s,” he corrected, trying to decide if she considered that a job well done, or an invasion of privacy, “just the people who figure directly into the case.”

  Her eyes met his. “Like me.”

  That went without saying. “You were on the scene both times.”

  Sasha popped a cherry tomato into her mouth before commenting. She loved the taste of tomatoes. “Then it must have put you to sleep.”

  He narrowly avoided being hit on the back of his head by a woman with a large purse that could have doubled as a briefcase. He moved his head away just in time as she hurried on her way.

  “What did?” he asked.

  “Reading about my background. Nothing remarkable.” She recited what she knew had to be in his notes. “I went to NYU for my undergraduate degree, then attended NYU medical school.” She didn’t add that despite the fact that she worked three nights a week as a waitress to help defray the costs, she still managed to graduate in three years instead of four. “I interned at PM, then was lucky enough to get a residency here and now I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather work than here. Like I said, deadly dull.” And then she paused. “Or shouldn’t I use the word deadly?”