The Nitrogen Murder(57)

Dana heard Tom through the window between the cab and the back of the ambulance.

“ETA five to ten minutes. How do you copy?”

When Tom steered the ambulance into the driveway about eight minutes later, Dana drew a long breath. She held it and held it until she was satisfied there’d be no gunshots.



Evan Harvey, a resident, was on duty at the trauma center, and Dana found him hanging around the intake desk. A nice break. Evan was always good for a little harmless flirting, and it would send Tom a message. Dana leaned over the desk and gave Evan a peck on the cheek. Tom turned away and walked toward the cafeteria. Perfect.

“Nice to see you, too, Dana,” Evan said. His dark eyes danced over her, and Dana felt a surge of possibility for young love ripple through her. “How’s your dad’s hand?”

Dana startled, her stomach flipping over, as if she’d inhaled some shwag. But it had been a while since she’d smoked at all. It came to her in a few seconds that Evan wasn’t referring to her missing father but to her injured father of a few days ago.

“Oh, his hand’s fine. I guess he doesn’t handle kitchen knives often enough, especially in a strange kitchen.” She hoped her father’s hand, and the rest of him, really was fine, wherever he was.

“He said he’d been cutting down some bushes,” Evan said, sweeping the air with a karate chop.

“Nuh-uh, he was making an hors d’oeuvres tray at his fiancee’s house, for her East Coast guests. Maybe that didn’t sound macho enough.”

Evan laughed—a very pleasant sound, unlike Tom’s cackle. “Could be. I was just going off shift at five-ish, so maybe I wasn’t paying attention.”

Dana frowned. “But he hurt himself around ten in the morning. I figured he came here right away.”

“Now, that I’m sure of,” Evan said. “It had obviously just happened, and I don’t forget people who come in bleeding right as I’m leaving.”

Dana’s look must have been intense, because Evan hurried to explain. “Just kidding, just kidding. I was happy I was around to take care of him. It only took a few minutes, anyway. In fact, I left right after that, so I wasn’t here when Tanisha … you know.” Evan rapped his knuckles on his forehead, ruffling unruly dark waves. “Geesh, Dana, you must think I’m some kind of jerk.”

But Dana wasn’t judging Evan’s professional demeanor; she was thinking hard about last Friday. She’d let herself and Tanisha into Elaine’s house around noon, during a lull, to drop off the fresh flowers for the guests while Elaine was at work. Dana had insisted. Elaine was always doing nice things for her. Finding her books to help her study for the MCATs; sending everything from casseroles to furniture while Dana was moving; even paying to take care of Dana’s Jeep when she scraped it, so Dana wouldn’t have to tell her dad.

Dana remembered seeing the beautiful hors d’oeuvres tray. She’d slapped Tanisha’s hand playfully when her partner tried to steal a shrimp wrap.

Dana took a deep breath.

“Evan, are you sure—”

Evan had already opened the large register and turned it toward her. He’d flipped back to last Friday evening’s log-ins. Dana saw her father’s name above Evan’s finger and read across to the time: 4:54 P.M.

Friday’s timeline ran through Dana’s head. She and Tanisha had arrived here at the trauma center, where Tanisha was shot, about 6:15. So her father had been here an hour before. She ran the timeline farther back. The call had come to pick up Patel at 5:45. Say it had taken Golden State Hospital about forty-five minutes to bandage him up and make the call. That meant Patel and her father were both wounded around five o’clock.

So what?

Dana shook her head and blew out a loud breath.

“Are you okay, Dana? Why is this so important?”

“Thanks, Evan. I’m fine.”

Evan took her hand and squeezed it. He gave her a smile that would have knocked her out in different circumstances. “Let’s have coffee sometime, huh?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dana turned toward the door. Cute as Evan was, her flirting mood had passed. She needed some air. She couldn’t figure why her dad would lie about when and how he’d slashed his hand. Or why he wouldn’t have said something about being at the trauma center right before Tanisha’s murder.

And now he was missing. Surely he couldn’t be involved in Tanisha’s death, or Patel’s.

In the next minute, Tom came out to her. “Hey, couldn’t find you. They’re already finished with Senora Santiago. That’s a surprise.”