Page 72 of Accidental Murder
The first person to die in the string of deaths was Sara Simmons, followed by Ashley in lieu of Kayla, then the clients with whom she’d had appointments Monday and Tuesday. Then Jacob because of the contact via Facebook.
At an intersection, she returned her thoughts to the Stanford businesswomen’s event. Hundreds of women had attended. The mix had included lawyers, doctors, and accountants, as well as a colorful array of creatives. She’d felt out of her league as she’d pondered what she would discuss. Computer code? Hardly. And she certainly couldn’t ask if any had done a wheelie on a Yamaha YZ450F. Sara approached and introduced herself. They exchanged business cards. Kayla remembered asking her why she maintained two offices.Sara explained, due to a legal requirement at Wilkerson Hospital, she was purely a consultant. They would never embrace a bioethicist. Lowering her voice, she added they would have preferred if she was cotton candy, meaning tasty without a lot of substance.
A blaring honk tore Kayla from the memory. The light at the intersection had turned green. She proceeded, refocusing on Sara who had loved rattling cages. Had she really committed suicide, or had someone murdered her because of something she’d discovered?
A visit to Wilkerson Hospital might provide the answer.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
All hospitals smelledlike vile cleaning supplies to Megan. Wilkerson Hospital proved to be no different. She stood facing David Macintyre’s assistant’s desk and tried in vain to block the odors as she pressed the petite woman for answers. Nurses and staff passed by. A few stopped and tried to listen in. The assistant waved them on.
“Sara Simmons was hired on Dr. Macintyre’s recommendation,” the assistant said in answer to Megan’s question.
“So they knew each other prior to working here?”
“Fifteen years ago Dr. Macintyre taught a class at Stanford. He was her teacher. When the hospital’s CEO suggested we have a bioethicist on staff, Dr. Macintyre referred Sara.”
“Did they socialize?”
“On occasion. Dr. Macintyre isn’t married. He’s divorced. When he dined with Sara and her husband, he would bring a date.”
A voluptuous copper-skinned woman in a blue dress sauntered up and dropped a stack of files on the assistant’s desk. She regarded Megan head to toe. “I heard you’re a cop.”
“I am.”
“You’re female.”
“Over thirty percent of the police department is.”
“Move on, Uché,” the assistant said.
“In a sec.” Uché flipped a hand. “I hear you’ve been asking about Dr. Macintyre and Dr. Simmons. I saw them at a motel once.”
The assistant slapped her hands on her desk. “Uché, you know that’s not true. That was not his car you saw. I explained how he bought a new car.”
“Well, it washercar.”’
“Miss . . .” Megan eyed the newcomer.
“Sayles,” she said with attitude. “Uché Sayles.”
“Miss Sayles, did you actually see Dr. Macintyre and Dr. Simmons or only their cars?”
“I saw the doctor and Sara. In an embrace.” Uché jutted a hip. “I mentioned it to a couple of others on the staff.”
The assistant huffed. “It’s a lie and you know it, girl. Leave now.”
Uché sashayed away.
The assistant grumbled. “Gossip is the devil’s tool.”
Megan didn’t disagree.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Kayla strodeinto the lobby of Wilkerson Hospital. Three-years-new, the facility matched other hospitals in San Francisco with its eighteen stories, flat gray walls, and massive parking structure, but the chief executive officer, a devotee of art and architecture who believed beauty healed the wounded soul, was not satisfied with the basics. His tasteful touches were everywhere. Kayla’s favorite was the whimsical fountain of seals and suspended seagulls at the main entrance.
Today, however, rather than spending a minute longer than necessary admiring art, she bypassed the reception desk, ignored the woman’s offer of assistance, and headed straight for the elevators. She pressed the Up button and pretended to be waiting to ascend. The beefy security guard who was manning the desk to block anyone from entering the administrative hallway without a badge didn’t look up from his magazine.
