A Reasonable Doubt by Susan Sloan (free novels .txt) 📕

“Well, I can’t say that I know anyone by that name.  And I think I probably know all the people who work here.”

“Do you think you could check for me anyway?” Joe asked, although it was purely an exercise.  He already knew that Margaret Dean didn’t work there.

“Sure.”  She turned toward her computer.  “Margaret, you said?”

“Yes, Margaret Dean.”

After a few minutes, she shook her head.  “I’ve just checked the whole employment file, and there’s no Margaret Dean listed.”

“How odd,” Joe said.  “This is where I was told I’d find her.”

Bonnie turned to her co-workers.  “Any of you know anyone who works here named Margaret Dean?”

The two other women shook their heads.  “Is she an employee or a patient?” one of them thought to ask.

“I just assumed she was an employee,” Joe said.  “It never occurred to me she might be a patient.”

“Well, let’s see,” Bonnie said, turning back to her computer.  And sure enough, a moment later, a big smile lit up her face.  “Here it is, Margaret Dean.  She’s been a patient on and off for several years, but she’s not here now, and according to this, we haven’t seen her since last winter.”

“Can you tell me what she was admitted for?” Joe asked.

Bonnie considered the request.  “I’m not allowed to give out that information, even to you,” she said.  “Not without a warrant or something.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t think to come with one,” Joe said easily.  “But I’ll settle for an address.”

“That I can do,” the receptionist said.  But a second later, she was frowning.  “That’s odd,” she murmured.  “We should have an address for her here, but there’s none listed.  There’s no telephone number, either.  Just the name.”

“There’s nothing in the file except her name?” one of the other receptionists echoed.

“Nothing,” Bonnie confirmed.  “Just her name -- Margaret Dean.”

A woman in scrubs was walking across the lobby, a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair.  She passed the desk at the exact moment Bonnie was speaking, and her head snapped around.  But she didn’t stop.  On the contrary, she quickened her step.

Joe missed nothing.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the woman exit the hospital.  “I thank you for your help, ladies,” he said to the receptionists.  “I guess I’ll have to search somewhere else for my elusive witness.”  He was out the door in a flash, following the nurse until she was about to step into a dark blue Pontiac.  “Please wait,” he said, startling her.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Joe assured her, pulling out the badge.  “I mean you no harm.  I’m just looking for Margaret Dean.  You know her, don’t you?”

The nurse looked away.  “I don’t want to get involved,” she said.

“Please,” he pressed.  “It’s very important.  I have to find her.  A man’s life is at stake here.”

The woman hesitated.  “Ask Mary,” she said finally.

“Mary?” he asked.  “Where do I find her?”  But the woman had already jumped into her car and was speeding out of the parking lot.

Joe stared after the Pontiac.  Then he retraced his steps to the reception desk.  “I’m back,” he said.

Bonnie grinned.  “Still in search of Margaret?”

“No, not Margaret,” he told her.  “This time, I’m looking for Mary.”

“Mary who?”

“Well, I don’t know her last name,” Joe admitted.  “But suppose we start with the employees again.”

“You sure are fickle,” Bonnie said with a chuckle.  She checked the computer again.  “It looks like we’ve got three Marys,” she reported after a moment or two of searching.  “A lab technician, a pediatrics aide, and an emergency room nurse.”

“Who’s here now?” he asked

“The lab tech is here, and the pediatric aide should be,” Bonnie told him.  “The emergency room nurse won’t be in until her shift starts, and that’s not until three.”

Once again, Joe thanked her and then followed her directions down a hallway to the left.  Then he took a right and then another left, until finally he reached a door with a sign that read: Laboratory.

“Excuse me,” he said, sticking his head in the door.  “Would you be Mary?”

“Yes, I would,” an overweight blonde replied.  “Can I help you?”

He flashed his badge again and waited for the eye-popping response.

“I’m looking for someone,” he said.  “A patient by the name of Margaret Dean.  Would you by any chance know her?”

The woman frowned.  “Not offhand,” she replied.  “I run a lot of tests, but to tell you the truth, I’m usually looking at the blood, not the patient.”  The private investigator saw no subterfuge in her response, so he thanked her and departed.

He got a similar reaction from the pediatric aide, a slender brunette.  “I know the kids, but not the grownups,” she told Joe.  “If she’s not a kid, I don’t think I’d be able to help you.”

He had one Mary left, and she wasn’t scheduled to come in until three.  It was now a little after one.

. . .

It was coming up on three o’clock, and John Henry had called all the qualified witnesses who could vouch for Dale Scott’s training and his dedication, and all the expert witnesses who could explain his injuries and detail the cause and manner of death that he felt it necessary to call.  He decided that what the jurors needed now was a change of pace -- a couple of witnesses who would humanize the victim.

“The people call Lauren Scott to the stand,” he announced.

There was a hush as everyone turned to watch Dale Scott’s widow enter through the double doors at the back of the courtroom and walk down the center aisle to the witness stand.  She was wearing a burgundy gabardine skirt and jacket with long sleeves and a high-necked blouse, which would have been perfectly appropriate for any October 24th but this one.

She placed her hand on the bible, and then, in a clear if subdued voice, she took the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, after which she stated her full name and then sat down in the