Perfect Flaw, page 27
“For what?”
“Anything suspicious.”
Angelo pulled open the nightstand drawer. Everything tidy and in its place. Paper. Pens. Pencils. Even a diary. He moved swiftly to the dresser. Again, everything—blouses, undergarments and socks—folded with such precision and stacked upon one another, arranged with such care. Angelo thought it must have taken hours for Laura to do her laundry.
He was overcome with a sudden burst of anger.
How could he have been so stupid?
Laura hadn’t delivered Angelo to Yossi. Laura had delivered Yossi to him, knowing either Jason would follow and come to save the day or Yossi would kill Angelo and get arrested. Either way, Yossi would be removed from her life.
Slamming the sock drawer shut, he heard the distinct clank of bottles. Angelo opened the drawer again, spilling the contents on the floor. Throwing the darned socks back into the drawer one by one, he picked up an unusually heavy pair of gym socks. Tucked inside, he found exactly what he had been looking for. “Jason!”
Jason appeared in the doorway, breathless. “I found a bunch of prescription bottles, but it’s all Chinese to me.”
“Look what I found.” Angelo held up one of the bottles for Jason to read the label.
“Lidocaine.” Jason shrugged. “Could it be a coincidence?”
“It’s not a coincidence,” Angelo snapped as though the word was an insult. “She told me that she and Tim put all of their savings into SkinDem. Once Demetre was sent to prison, they lost everything. An overdose of lidocaine can cause ventricular tachycardia, which is exactly what caused Mrs. Ellis’s heart to stop. The woman we met yesterday did not look sickly. Laura had thought of everything, down to the cleverly planted comment about her sick mother to the news reporter outside the police station.”
And then as if a slow dawning were occurring within Jason, he concluded, “So she killed her father and then her mother, so she wouldn’t have to worry about money.”
“Tonight’s fiasco with Yossi wasn’t a coincidence,” Angelo said. “Our unexpected visit provided Laura with the perfect opportunity do away with her mother to avoid drawing any suspicion.”
“While simultaneously removing her Yossi problem,” Jason finished. “Let’s get out of here.”
Angelo placed the bottles in his pockets. They hurried down the stairs and into the streets. No one saw them, even as they entered their motel room. Sitting on the bed, silent, panting, they discussed what they should do next. “We have to go to the police,” Jason began. “In fact, I’ll call them now.”
“I’ll go check on Camille,” Angelo said as he opened the door.”
“Wait,” Jason said, standing up. He walked over to kiss him. Angelo felt Jason’s hot, wet, mouth, but he pulled away. “You’re right. Go.”
“I love you,” Angelo said as he closed the door behind him. He rapped lightly on Camille’s door. “It’s me. Are you awake?” There was no answer. He knocked louder. “Camille?”
Angelo didn’t wait for her to invite him in. He reached for the doorknob and burst into the dark room. Angelo flicked on the light switch.
“Close the door behind you,” Laura said. She sat on the bed. Camille’s head trapped in the vise-like grip of Laura’s arm. In her other hand, she held a scalpel to Camille’s throat. “If you say a word, I’ll kill her.”
Angelo raised his hands. Camille’s mouth was gagged with a sock, her arms tied behind her back. Angelo wondered how long Laura had been terrorizing his poor sister.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Laura’s eyes darted over to the chair by the television. “Sit down.” Just as Angelo was about to move, she added, “Lock the door first.”
Angelo obeyed. “It’ll be okay,” he said to his sister.
“I hate to break up this tender family moment, but this situation is not okay.” Laura tightened her grip around Camille’s neck, twisting her body so she couldn’t see her brother’s face. Camille let out a squeal of fear. “You are so smug. You know that? I mean, who else would be so cavalier as to lie about being my mother’s physician.”
Smug or stupid, Angelo thought now in hindsight.
“Laura,” Angelo whispered. “My boyfriend . . . the cop . . . is in the other room right now calling the police. You won’t get away with this.”
Laura’s mask of control slid off. She began weeping, muffling her cries by pressing her face into Camille’s hair. “Why?” she gritted. “Why couldn’t you just go home? You had your revenge. Yossi was arrested. It was over. Why couldn’t you just let it go?”
There was a knock at the door. “Angelo,” Jason called. “The police are on their way. I’m meeting them in the lobby.”
“Okay,” he replied calmly. “Camille’s in the bathroom getting changed. We’ll meet you there, babe.”
They heard Jason’s footsteps walking away.
Laura’s face relaxed.
“Now what?” Angelo asked.
“Take out your car keys?” Laura demanded.
“I don’t have them.”
Laura yanked Camille’s hair, so her head fell back, exposing her neck. Camille let out a muffled shriek as Laura pressed the scalpel against her throat. “You were driving the car. I saw you.”
“All right. All right.” Angelo stood up. “I’m going to reach into my pocket.” He produced the car keys. They jangled in his shaking hand as he held them out. “Take them. Just leave me and my sister alone.”
Laura threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t be a fool. You’re both coming with me.”
“No,” Angelo shouted. “No, we’re not.” At once, Laura raised the scalpel and stabbed Camille in the thigh. Her muffled scream echoed in the room. “What are you doing?” Angelo cried out, sobbing now himself. Blood seeped into the fabric of Camille’s nightgown, plastering it against her skin.
“If you don’t take me seriously, I’m going to kill her,” Laura warned. “What’s another dead body?”
“Okay!” Angelo said, gripping his hair. “Just don’t hurt her!”
“Your car is parked out front,” she began. “I want you to pull it around back so we can get in. Understand?”
“Yes, yes.” Angelo didn’t have time to think it over, he just reacted. Walking to the door, he peered over his shoulder. Laura pulled Camille to her feet. Angelo felt a lump rising in his throat. He swallowed down hard as he reached for the doorknob. Behind him, Camille whimpered.
He only hoped that Jason would see him get in the car. He turned the doorknob and opened the door. A gust of wind shook Angelo hard so that he fell to the floor. A whipcrack sound blew in the night. The bullet had gone right past him, striking Laura. She was frozen, mouth ajar. Most of her right cheek was missing, exposing her white teeth imbedded in pink gums. Gunsmoke wafted from the hole in her face. Once it faded away, Angelo saw the bullet had gone clear through her head.
Laura’s legs buckled, and she sat down, hard.
Camille skittered over to Angelo. They huddled together on the floor as Jason entered the room holding his gun.
“Is everyone all right?” he shouted. Eyes still focused on Laura.
A police siren blared in. Jason let out a gusty sigh. As if it had awakened her—maybe it had—Laura lifted her head and looked at Angelo. Her eyes were leveled, but now pointing in opposite directions. Blood poured out of her mouth, and she slumped forward.
The room filled up quickly with two local police officers. The static noise of their two-way radios filled the air. A command for an ambulance. Report of a death. Angelo untied Camille’s hands and removed the gag from her mouth. Jason reached out to Camille. “Take my hand,” he said. She looked at Angelo still somewhat in shock.
“It’s okay,” he said to her. “It’s okay.
Jason escorted Camille to their room so she could rest on the bed until the ambulance arrived. Angelo moved to stand, but he felt faint. He pressed his head in between his knees and began gulping air. Once it passed, he stood up, careful not to move too fast. He entered his room and found Jason applying pressure to Camille’s wound using a bathroom towel.
“You saved our lives,” Angelo said still heaving.
Jason looked up and smiled wanly. “Who knows, you might have still talked your way out of it, babe.”
“No, you did, Jason. You really did. My life anyway,” Camille said. “Angelo, make sure nothing happens to this guy. He’s a keeper.”
“I won’t,” he replied to Camille. “Promise.”
Chapter Twenty-One
They entered the apartment Sunday night, dropped their suitcases, and slept for twenty hours, a sleep as deep as a coma. Angelo woke up around twilight the next day; purple, pink, and blue hues streaking across the city’s horizon, making the world outside appear more like a dream than a reality.
Angelo’s old life was waiting for him: stuffed mailbox, spoiled milk, and a message from his lawyer, Rudnick, reminding Angelo of his upcoming Office of Professional Medical Conduct hearing later that week.
When Jason and Camille awoke, they had dinner. None of them spoke about what had happened. Beyond the black stitches on Camille’s thigh and the fresh bruises on Angelo’s face, there was something altered deep inside each one of them. Something they weren’t quite ready to deal with. Maybe certain basement floorboards in the brain had snapped—free falling, crashing into an unknown crawlspace that was never supposed to be invaded.
One thing was certain: they were grateful for each other’s company, for the light conversation, the delicate chiding that pushed boundaries ever so slightly, and the welcomed euphoric wave of inebriation as they sipped wine.
Only when they returned to sleep later that evening did Angelo stumble back to the Cape, retracing his steps through the cornfield maze of events. Though he felt rested and relieved that Demetre and Yossi were in jail, there was the vague, residual regret that he would do everything differently if given the chance. Only so that Mia would still be alive.
Tuesday morning Angelo returned to work, though he felt more like a ghost than a physician, seeing patient after patient, and subsisting in a daze that clouded his conscious so that he had to ask the clinic manager to reschedule his afternoon appointments.
Camille had taken the rest of the week to recover, so when Angelo returned to the apartment, he found her on the couch writing in her journal. “You’re home early,” she said.
Angelo shook his head. “I’m not in the right headspace to take care of myself, let alone sick people who need my undivided attention.”
Camille patted the cushion next to her.
“Sit down.” Angelo reclined on the couch with his head in Camille’s lap. “Good or bad, everything will be decided on Friday. For now, there is nothing you can do other than remain focused on the OPMC hearing.”
“You’re right.”
Camille combed Angelo’s hair to the side. He recalled his mother used to do the same thing when he was little. His sister’s resilience was something that never failed to surprise him. He wondered how he would have gotten through this without her.
“I want to read you something I wrote,” she said, clearing her throat. “When we finally returned to our real lives after experiencing such a traumatic experience, it was as if everything—our apartment, the neighbors, the streets—all the colors seemed muted. We felt things less profoundly, as though we had left a part of ourselves at the Cape. Maybe we needed to leave that part behind so that we can begin to grow another part to replace the old one?”
“That’s very good.” Angelo managed to find some scintilla of comfort in Camille’s observation. At least he had a sister and a boyfriend who loved him. At least, he told himself assuredly, he had that.
Later that night, Angelo and Jason strolled through the streets of his neighborhood. They passed restaurant windows, alive with lights and noises. Glasses clinking, people chatting as the restaurant doors opened, spilling patrons into the streets radiating with ebullience—these sounds seemed to follow them as they passed.
“When did you first become suspicious of Laura?” Jason asked.
“It was while we were at the police station,” Angelo said. “I kept wondering, how did Yossi know we were there? And then it occurred to me, Laura told him. When Yossi said, ‘You set me up.’ I thought he meant she had tricked him, knowing you would come to save the day, but that’s not what he meant. Laura knew that even if Yossi came clean and admitted he was working with Laura, if she didn’t confess, no one would believe Yossi over her.”
In the end, Yossi had confessed to helping Demetre dispose of Mia’s body, but Angelo had been correct in his assumption that Laura was the one who had been assisting Demetre when Mia became unresponsive. Angelo wondered why Laura’s nursing training hadn’t kicked in. Succumbing to panic is a trained healthcare provider’s worst nightmare. Agreeing to dispose of the body, instead of calling for an ambulance, was the worst path Laura could have gone down.
The night before the OPMC inquiry, Camille, Angelo, and Jason dined at a French brasserie in Chelsea. They piled into the red leather booth. Camille stared at them like she was the proud mother of two heroic sons.
“I have a good feeling about this inquiry.” Camille took Angelo’s silence as disappointment for her bringing up the subject and added, “Me and my big mouth.”
“Why they even need to proceed with this inquiry is beyond me,” Jason said.
“This inquiry has nothing to do with Mia’s death,” Angelo recited as if he were reading lines. “They’re investigating my relationship with Demetre and whether there is any evidence I acted with misconduct.”
The server welcomed them, but Camille asked if he could give them a few more minutes.
Angelo took a long sip of water. “I figure if I lose my license, I’m going to rent a farmhouse and rescue dogs from kill shelters.”
“Dogs?” Camille laughed.
“Farmhouse?” Jason asked.
“Why not?” Angelo said somewhat hysterically. “Dogs can’t be harder than people to care for.” After a few deep breaths with Jason rubbing his back, Angelo experienced a peculiar fear.
It was Mia.
Across the room she appeared alone, sitting at a table. There was no escaping her sweet presence, those soft brown eyes, the cascade of chocolate hair. She didn’t frighten him. There were no milky eyes, no ghoulish sneer like one might expect from a ghost. She materialized as a young woman in his presence, asking for nothing, just raising a quick hand, hello, and when he returned the gesture, she disappeared back into her secret world.
Neither Jason nor Camille saw her, and, in the end, Angelo decided that he hadn’t either; a subconscious hallucination he feared would haunt him like a ghost forever.
Friday morning, Angelo arrived at the offices of the OPMC in New Rochelle. Rudnick was waiting for him outside. Angelo had forgotten how tall he was. Rudnick greeted Angelo warmly, and they went inside. The lobby appeared trapped in 80s décor. Salmon-colored fiberglass chairs. Plexiglass wall-mounted magazine rack. Linoleum floor tile. Rudnick stood out with his tanned skin and gold cufflinks.
Kraemer met them in the lobby. He was an obese man in his mid-fifties with a meaty head, no neck, and a thick 70s porn star mustache. He escorted them to a small room with white walls and no window. They sat at a foldout table. The room reminded Angelo of a hospital psychiatric intake room; except this time, he was the one being analyzed. That shift in power was disarming, and the gravity of the situation was not something he took lightly. If his actions were deemed unethical, Angelo would lose everything. Or maybe not everything, but his career, and that was a lot.
Kraemer offered them coffee, but Rudnick and Angelo refused. “Well, then let’s begin,” Kraemer said. “As it’s been explained to you through your lawyer, Dr. Perrotta, we are investigating your involvement with Mr. Demetre Kostas, and your role with his practice, SkinDem. Do you understand?”
Angelo nodded.
“Dr. Perrotta,” Kraemer said. “I need you to reply verbally so the stenographer can record your response.”
Angelo complied, “Yes, I understand.”
“Let’s begin.”
For the next two hours, Kraemer read email exchanges between Demetre and Angelo. All the while, the walls of that small room felt like they were closing in. Angelo heard his emails imbued with whatever it was that had snared Kraemer’s suspicions. Although there was nothing incriminating, it was still a horrible invasion of privacy. Each time Angelo looked over at Rudnick, his lawyer offered him a subtle, yet, encouraging smile.
By noon, the interview was drawing to a close. Kraemer pulled a letter from within a stack of papers.
“Have you seen this document before?” he said, sliding it over to Angelo. Immediately, he saw the Jeune Toi letterhead. Angelo willed his eyes to remain fixed to avoid drawing any suspicion. “Did you inform the Jeune Toi representative that you were the medical director of SkinDem?” Kraemer asked.
“No.”
“Then can you explain why she thought you were?” Kraemer pressed. “It says so at the bottom.”
Rudnick picked up the letter and handed it back to Kraemer. Then he looked at Angelo expectantly.
“Mr. Kostas lied and told her I was the medical director,” Angelo admitted.
“Why would Mr. Kostas lie about that?” Kraemer asked.
“Lunch,” Angelo said flatly. “Demetre. I mean, Mr. Kostas, wanted her to take him to a fancy Japanese restaurant for lunch.”
“And you agreed to go along with this charade and signed the letter?” Kraemer clarified.
“I didn’t think much of it at the time,” Angelo said. “It was just another drug rep lunch.”
Kraemer placed the letter back within the stack. Angelo sensed his disapproval.
“Dr. Perrotta, you were asked to consult with a Mrs. Violet Trautman. Do you recall why?”
