“So we have to go to the police. Let’s go together. They’ll investigate him and—”
“No.” Dink shook her head, flatly. “That’s so not what we’re doing.”
“Why not?” Christine asked, but in the next minute, she got her answer.
Dink had turned away and was stalking off in the direction of the stage.
“Dink?” Christine called out, hustling after her. “Dink!”
Chapter Forty-eight
Christine took off after Dink, realizing what was happening. The nurse was going to confront the man who she now believed had killed her best friend. Christine had to stop her. It wouldn’t help Zachary unless Dink went to the police, and worse, it would alert Hallstead to the fact that he was suspected of Gail’s murder. Christine shouted, “Dink, no!”
Dink ignored her, jogging through the crowd, her blond curls bouncing, her arms swinging, her stride strong and determined. She ran past the other orthopedic surgery nurses, who looked at her curiously, their heads turning in confusion.
One of the nurses, a tall African-American woman, grabbed Dink by the arm, trying to slow her step. “Honey, what’s going on?”
“Amy, let me go. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Dink, wait! Hold up!” Christine reached the nurse, touching her other arm, flanking her. “Don’t do it this way. You’re just going to tip him off. He’ll get a lawyer, he could leave town. Let’s get him the right way. Let’s go to the cops.”
“I don’t care!” Dink didn’t break stride or even look over. “I’m gonna call him out! I’m gonna bust him in front of everybody! He’s going to pay for what he did to Gail!”
On the other side, Amy hustled to fall into step with Dink, her dark eyes flaring behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Dink, don’t do this! You’re going to get fired! He could even sue you!”
“He’s a killer, Amy! He killed Gail! He killed her because he didn’t want to let her go!”
“What?” Amy said, shocked, hustling to keep up with Dink. “What are you talking about?”
“Dink, no!” Christine grabbed the nurse’s elbow, but she wrenched it away.
“Don’t try and stop me! You didn’t know Gail and you don’t know me! Stay out of it!”
“Please, no!” Christine shouted, running beside Dink. People began to notice the commotion they were making, three women shouting and running through the astonished crowd. Nurses swiveled their heads to them in alarm, other hospital employees craned their necks to see what was going on, and people at the periphery looked askance, wondering who would disrupt such a solemn occasion.
Suddenly Dink broke into a run, her curls flying as she bolted forward, ignoring Christine’s and Amy’s shouts to stop. Amy outpaced Christine, who ran as hard as she could on her swollen feet.
“Dink, no!” Christine hollered futilely, as she watched Dink sprint around the right side of the stage and disappear behind the curtain, where the speakers had been. Christine picked up the pace, panicked as she ran through the crowd, which had parted to let them through. She veered around the side of the stage, where she saw that the speakers had dispersed, but Dink was running after them full-tilt as they walked toward the hospital entrance near the ER, Dr. Hallstead, Dr. Cohen, Dr. Verbena, with Rita Kaplan, some other men, and the women in pastel suits.
“Grant, Grant!” Dink shouted as she ran, but the group didn’t hear her, crossing onto the sidewalk toward the entrance.
“Dink, stop!” Christine yelled, catching up with Amy, and the two of them ran side by side, shouting for Dink, who ignored them.
“Dr. Hallstead, Grant!” Dink hollered, and Grant Hallstead whirled around, his lips parting in shock. Dr. Cohen, Dr. Verbena, Ms. Kaplan, and the rest of the group turned around, too, confused and bewildered.
“You killed her!” Dink screamed. “You killed Gail because she wouldn’t be with you! You’re not going to get away with it! Not while I draw breath!”
“What are you talking about?” Hallstead asked, his eyes flaring.
“Don’t you give me that crap! You were having an affair with her and you killed her because she wanted to break up with you!”
“No, no that’s not true!” Hallstead’s mouth dropped open, and the women gasped. Dr. Cohen looked over, frowning.
Dr. Verbena faced Hallstead in anger. “Grant?” he demanded, in an undeniably authoritative tone. “What is she talking about?”
“It’s not true, it’s not true!” Hallstead insisted, edging backwards.
Christine and Amy froze, watching the spectacle since there was no other choice.
Dr. Verbena gestured to Dink. “You may not know, Dink is my niece, Dolores Verbena. I’ve known her since birth. She doesn’t lie, and she and Gail were the best of friends.”
Christine bit her tongue, thrilled and dismayed. She wished she’d had this confrontation in the police station, but she never would’ve guessed that Dink was related to the CEO of the hospital. It gave her accusation instant credibility.
Hallstead was shaking his head. “I would never kill anybody, I would never kill Gail. I was with Milt the night she was murdered. Right, Milt?” Hallstead appealed to Dr. Cohen, holding his palms outstretched. “Don’t you remember? We were in New York that night, for that conference? We even shared the same hotel room to save money.”
“Oh, yes, right,” Dr. Cohen answered, rattled, then he addressed Dr. Verbena. “Adam, your niece must be mistaken. I was with Grant at the conference that night. We both came back the next day on the train. We got the news about Gail then. It’s an awful mistake to think that he killed her, or that he would kill anybody. He’s a physician. We’re all physicians.”
Dink seemed stalled, and Amy went to her side, putting an arm around her. Christine felt shocked. Her theory was all wrong. Her lead was completely false. She didn’t understand how she’d been so wrong. Hallstead might have been having an affair with Gail, but he hadn’t killed her. He had a rock-solid explanation for where he was that night.
“Uncle Adam,” Dink said, beginning to sob, “he had an affair with her. I know that for a fact! He was having an affair with her! He’s just the worst, the worst!” Dink burst into tears, finally breaking down, and Amy wrapped her arms around her, giving her a hug, then looked over her shoulder at Christine.
“Who are you, anyway? How do you know Grant? What’s your involvement here?”
“Nothing, I’m sorry,” Christine said, backing away from the appalled crowd. She didn’t want to give her name or any information.
“What did you tell her?” Amy called after her. “How do you know Grant? Who are you anyway?”
“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Christine took off, mortified and upset. She hurried away from the dreadful scene and ran toward her car in the ER parking lot, which was after a pocket parking lot for doctors. She reached the car, chirped it unlocked, and jumped inside.
She started the engine and drove off, stricken.
Chapter Forty-nine
Christine felt her eyes brimming, joining the line of cars leaving the hospital. Traffic was moving swiftly, which was merciful because she had to flee the scene. So many emotions welled up inside her, she couldn’t begin to parse them. She felt a wall of regret that she had gotten Dink so distraught, if not fired. She flashed on all of the nurses at the vigil, bereft. She remembered Gail’s parents, in abject grief. She had disrespected the entire vigil.
Rain pelted the windshield, coming down in earnest. She flicked on the wipers. Christine turned onto Marshall Street, blaming herself for everything she had done, from the beginning. For going to Graterford, for working with Griff. For canvassing neighbors, visiting crime scenes, and playing detective. For thinking that she knew what she was doing. All of it had blown up in her face, now not only hers, but Dink’s and Griff’s. She had made a mess of everything, and worst of all, she had done it believing in Zachary’s innocence. Now she knew she’d been a fool.
Christine turned onto High Street, wiping
tears from her eyes. She was driving while crying again, but she couldn’t hold it together. She had to accept the fact that Zachary had really killed Gail and the others. She couldn’t be in denial anymore. He had lied about meeting Gail, about meeting the other nurses, and he even lied to her about who was paying his retainer. She had believed him because she’d wanted to, but she had been a fool. She had never felt worse than she did at this very moment, compounded with a wave of exhaustion and nausea. She was pregnant with the child of a serial killer, and now it couldn’t be denied. Rain pounded on the windshield.
Christine headed down High Street, and just then her phone started ringing. She dug in her purse as she drove and checked the screen to see that it was Griff calling. She didn’t know if she should pick up in her current state, but he had a right to know about the fiasco at the vigil.
“Griff?” she said, answering the phone.
“Christine? What’s the matter?”
“It’s a long story.” Christine didn’t know where to begin. “I’ll give you the headline—”
“What’s the matter? You sound funny.”
“I’m trying to tell you, I was wrong. I was very wrong. I was wrong about everything.”
“Christine? What’s going on?”
“Gail had a married boyfriend, but he didn’t do it.”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t blubber about it. You’re not driving, are you? You shouldn’t be driving and yapping on the phone. All these devices, they’ll lead to perdition.”
“It was a terrible scene, a terrible scene.”
“What was a terrible scene? You’re not making any sense. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Christine said, blinking away tears, but she didn’t know when she’d been worse. She drove down High Street in the downpour and passed her hotel, realizing that she was going the wrong way. She hadn’t had a chance to put Griff’s address into the GPS, she’d been too upset when she got in the car.
“Come back to the office. We’ll talk about it.”
“I will, I missed the turn. I think he did it, Griff. I think he’s guilty. I think we’ve been working too hard and it’s all for nothing, for nothing.”
“Oh boy. What’s the matter with you? What’s come over you?”
“Everything is going to hell, Griff,” Christine heard herself saying, her heart breaking. She thought of Marcus and how much she loved him, and how she didn’t know if their marriage would survive this baby, Zachary’s baby.
“Christine?” Griff said, his tone gentler, and just the sound of it in her ear reminded her so much of her father, who used to talk to her just that way, and she realized that she would never hear that tone from him again, that her father was already gone, that she was losing everything, that nothing was left.
“Christine? Answer me.”
“I should go, I just want to hang up.” Christine blinked her eyes clear to take the next right turn after the hotel, trying to get back to town, but she was stuck on a slick, two-lane road that curved around a park. She looked for a street to turn right, but all the streets were one-way, going the wrong way.
“Don’t hang up. Now you have me worried about you.”
“Don’t worry.”
“This is ridiculous. Come back now.”
“I will,” Christine said, following the road that seemed to be heading out of town.
“I have better things to do than to worry about you. This is why I work alone.”
“I’m sorry, Griff. I’m sorry I screwed everything up.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Where are you?”
“I don’t know, I’m lost,” Christine said, realizing the truth in the words.
“Help yourself then. Look for a sign.”
“There’s no sign.” Christine drove ahead while the houses disappeared, replaced on both sides of the road by three-rail fences bordering pastures with herds of grazing horses, their backs dappled dark with rain.
“Of course there’s a sign. Look for it.”
“No, I don’t see any.” Christine rounded a curve and spotted a white route sign through the rain. “I’m on Route 842.”
“Silly girl. You’re headed out of town. Turn around and come back.”
“Okay,” Christine said, wiping her eyes as she cruised ahead. There was too much oncoming traffic to make a U-turn, so she kept driving, past bucolic scenery that she was crying too hard to appreciate.
“Did you turn around yet?”
“I will when I can.”
“Stop blubbering. You’re going the wrong way. It turns country fast. There’s nothing out there but cornfields. Buck up.”
“Okay,” Christine said, but the tears kept coming, and her nose stopped up.
“I’ll stay on the phone. I don’t want you to kill yourself in a crash.”
“I won’t crash.”
“I’ll stay, nevertheless.”
Christine felt touched. “No, that’s okay, it’s not safe, you’re right. Let’s hang up. Thanks.”
“See you soon,” Griff said, then hung up.
Christine hung up, wiping tears from her eyes, heaving a heavy sigh, and trying to compose herself. She dug in the console for a napkin to blow her nose with, but there was only one left. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes as she passed horses and cornfields along Route 842 and drove through a tiny town of Unionville, only three blocks long. Raindrops bounced off the windshield, coming down harder, and the road wound through even prettier country, with no houses or farms except for tall white silos far from the road. Cornfields surrounded her, their green swaying in the rainy gusts.
Christine’s tears finally stopped, and she gave her nose a final blow with the soggy napkin, looking for a good place to make a U-turn. There was still too much oncoming traffic. She glanced in her rearview mirror and noticed that a white Mercedes sedan was flashing its headlights at her. She accelerated, realizing she must have eased off the gas during her crying jag.
She drove ahead, looking for a street to turn into, but it was hard to see in the driving rain, and there were only cornfields. She glanced behind her again, and the white Mercedes was still flashing its headlights at her, which she didn’t understand. There was no room to pass her, and Christine was going as fast as she could, so she put her right blinker on to signal that she would be turning soon.
She spotted a gravel road up ahead, slowed to get ready to turn right, then steered onto the gravel road. It was only one car wide, heading out of sight between the cornfields, and she braked to turn around, which would take some doing because it was so narrow. Reflexively, she checked the rearview mirror again. Oddly, the white Mercedes was still behind her.
She blinked her eyes clear, not understanding what she was seeing, but in the next moment, the driver of the white Mercedes lowered the window and stuck a hand outside, waving it frantically. The driver must have been a woman, and gold bangles lined her wrist.
And she started honking at Christine, trying to flag her down.
Chapter Fifty
Christine braked, startled to see the Mercedes driver get out of her car, slam the door behind her, and hustle toward her in tan heels, splashing through the watery gravel, heedless of the downpour. Rain flattened the woman’s fancy salt-and-pepper coif and drenched the shoulders of her pink pastel suit.
“Can I help you?” Christine lowered her window, blinking against the rain just as the woman got there, her forehead buckled with pain and her mascara running, as if she had been crying, too.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded, distraught. She hooked her manicured fingernails over the top of Christine’s window, her brown eyes desperate.
“What? Who are you?” Christine drew back from the window, and raindrops sprayed inside the car.
“What’s your name? Do you work at the hospital? Are you another nurse?”
“Who are you? Why do you ask?” Christine said, bewildered.
“I’m Grant’s wife Joan. I need to speak with you.” br />
“Grant who?”
“Grant Hallstead, please don’t pretend you don’t know.” Joan’s bloodshot eyes filled with tears, and mascara dripped a black drop down her cheek. Rain poured down on her, drenching her suit, but she seemed not to care. “We’re trying to work on our marriage, we’re in counseling now, and he swore everything was going to be different now that Gail’s gone. I’m asking you, I’m begging you to end your affair with my husband.”
“What?” Christine asked, astounded. “I’m not having an affair with your husband!”
“I knew you were going to deny it, but please, I’m begging you, woman-to-woman, to leave him alone. We have three kids, still in high school, and I’m trying to keep my family together for them.” Joan clung to the edge of the window in the pouring rain, and Christine felt terrible for her.
“Look, come inside the car, we can talk about this. You’re getting soaked out there.” Christine motioned her inside, and Joan scurried around the front of the car, and Christine slid the window up and unlocked the car doors as Joan jumped inside. “Joan, I’m not having an affair with your husband, I swear to you.”
“Just hear me out, we can talk about this in a civilized way.” Joan put up both palms, with slim fingers. “I don’t want a fight or anything like that, I’m not going to make any trouble—”
“—no, really, I’m not having an affair with your husband—”
“—I just wanted to try to reason with you, and try to explain to you what’s going on in our marriage, so that maybe you would respect it.” Joan spoke fast, her words running together, powered by emotion, but Christine had to get a word in edgewise.
“Joan. I’m really not having an affair with your husband—”
“I see that you’re married, too, and I hope that you can understand what it’s like in a long-term marriage. I can see I’m older than you, he always picks younger nurses”—Joan’s lower lip trembled, still bearing the traces of pink lipstick—“and I thought it would change after Gail, he swore to me it would, so I was so surprised to see you at the vigil with Dink—”