The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(76)

Tyler put the receiver down hard and turned back to McGowan.

“Jeb. You’re fired. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. If it gets back to me that you’re bad-mouthing Cindy or me or the Chronicle, I’ll return the favor. Bookkeeping will direct-deposit your check through the end of the pay period. But I want you out of here. Now.”





CHAPTER 111





DAVE WAS DOZING when the side door of the van slid open.

Nurse Carolee Atkins stepped up and sat heavily in the passenger seat. She shook his arm roughly to wake him up.

Dave pressed the button that raised his chair back into an upright position.

“Hi. Nurse Atkins … thanks … for coming.”

“What is it that you want, exactly?”

He pointed and said, “Glove … compartment.”

Atkins opened the glove box and took out three manila envelopes, one marked with her name, one with Murray’s name. The third one read, “Last Will and Testament.”

“Where’s the painting you were talking about?” she asked.

“Cargo … compartment. I … crated it up for you. Wrote your name …”

He yawned widely and left the sentence unfinished.

“Dave. Is the cargo compartment open?”

“You mind?” he said, gasping. “Talking to me? My last, uh, day.”

Atkins sighed. “Okay, but I have guests coming for dinner, so let’s keep it short. What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about … Ray. Something you liked. Closing … my eyes. Tell … me.”

Atkins said, “I liked your father, a damned sight more than I like you. One time I couldn’t leave for lunch because we were short handed. He went out and got me a sandwich. And pickles.”

Dave Channing was sleeping deeply. Whatever he’d taken—a cocktail of heart medication, blood pressure medication, diazepam, digoxin, which alone could have killed him, and what looked like half a bottle of wine—was shutting him down.

“Dave?”

He groaned.

Atkins opened the envelopes. Yes, there was a check for the doctor, ten thousand dollars. She read the apology from Dave to Dr. Murray, and it sounded sincere. He said that he’d lost his mind in grief. He hoped the money would cover the cost of repainting the car. He was very sorry for being such a pain in the ass and asked the doctor to please forgive him.

Dave tried to speak.

“What is it, Dave?”

“Pain.”

“Sorry. If you’d asked me to help you out, you wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

“Help me … now.”

Atkins ignored him. She lifted the envelope with the words “Last Will and Testament” written on the front. She opened the envelope, took out a piece of typed paper, and started to read. It was a long narrative in which Dave thanked all of his online friends and left his paltry possessions to the staff and the money from the sale of the winery to a children’s charity that specialized in helping kids with disabilities. The document had been signed and witnessed by a Jeff Cruz. Nice.

She’d saved the envelope addressed to her for last.

Dear Nurse Atkins,

I apologize for being very disrespectful and making your job harder. I know you did your best for my father, and I’m indebted to you. I’ve left you a painting my mother named The Sun Also Rises, after an Ernest Hemingway novel. It was her favorite painting and all I have to give you. Peace and light.

Good-bye,

Dave Channing



The letter was also signed and witnessed by the same Jeff Cruz.

Atkins knew what Nancy Channing paintings were worth because Dr. Murray had one. Now she’d have one, too.

Dave sputtered, then asked haltingly, “Was Dad … in pain?”

Atkins sighed. “Yes, yes, he was in pain. I only help the ones who are in pain.”

“How?” Dave asked. “How do you … help?”

She said, “Dave, don’t bother yourself with details. He wasn’t in pain. Like you are. Okay?”

“I’m going … now. For God’s sake. Help.”

He bent over and, grimacing, wrapped his arms tightly across his abdomen.

“Your father had been sedated, Dave. They’re all sedated. I put a little something in the drip line. They’re already asleep and they’re asleep when they die. Ray felt nothing. He didn’t have to suffer like you.”

Dave looked up at the tall woman with the cinnamon-colored hair. He could see her hard eyes staring down at him.

“You do that. For them?”

She sighed in disgust, couldn’t wait to get away from him.

“I’m a helper. Someone has to do it, and I know how.” She clucked her tongue, as if saying, What a shame you took this into your own hands.

Then she put her hand on his knee.

“It will be all over soon, Dave. Nothing will bother you again.”





CHAPTER 112





NURSE ATKINS LIFTED the half bottle of wine from between Dave’s atrophied legs and took a couple of swallows.

It was pretty good. She drank some more and put the rest of the bottle back where she’d found it. Dave Channing was still breathing, but barely. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with buttoned cuffs and a turtleneck underneath.