Page 98 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

“About time you showed up,” Morrisette muttered under her breath.

One of the regular beat cops, Joe Bentley, rolled his eyes behind Morrisette’s back, and Reed imagined she had just about given everyone involved a few lashes with her razor-sharp tongue. Another cop with a reddish flattop and a crooked nose sent Morrisette a dirty look. To Reed, he whispered loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear, “The wife’s been lookin’ for you and man, is she pissed.”

“Bite me, Stevens,” Morrisette shot back.

“Oh, I forgot. You wear the pants in the family and you’re—”

“Stuff it,” Reed snapped. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Thank you, honey,” Morrisette cooed, just to add fuel to the fire, then turned serious on him. “Looks like someone couldn’t wait for the Grim Reaper to come along.” They walked into Berneda Montgomery’s hospital room. She was lying on the bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, cards and flowers filled with wishes for a speedy recovery decorating the windowsill and tables. But Mrs. Montgomery wouldn’t need them in her current state.

Diane Moses and her team were already present in full force, and the rooms around the one Berneda Montgomery occupied had been sealed off with crime scene tape. “We’re working fast, but it’s slow going. The hospital administration’s already putting the pressure on for us to wrap this up. They don’t like the groupies camped out with their cameras in the hall and think how much money Eastside General’s losing when they’re not able to charge rent for these beds. Do you know how much it costs to spend a night here? A lot. Thousands. Just to stay here. Before any medical procedure. So even though they’re not saying it, Eastside’s in a big rush to free up this here bed. They want this gal moved down to the morgue. Pronto.”

“Won’t be long now,” Diane said as her team swept the room and Reed took a closer look at the victim. “Check this out.” Diane showed him Berneda’s wrists. “Looks like she struggled. One of her arms was strapped down, something to do with keeping the IV in, and it was ripped off. She’s got marks on her wrist where she tried to pull her hand off the railing.”

Reed stared at the bruises on Berneda’s wrists, hated to imagine what she’d gone through at the time of her death. “Any other marks?”

“Nah, but we’re scraping under her nails. Hoping she got a swing at her killer with her free hand and we end up with some skin for a DNA test.”

“How’d this happen? Wasn’t she on a heart monitor?”

“Yeah, but the nurse who was supposed to be watching it got called to another patient whose monitor had gone off. So my guess is our killer slipped into Room 312, unhooked the guy there, then when his machine goes off bleeping like an effin’ nickel slot with a hundred-dollar payout, everyone rushes down there.” She pointed to a room not thirty feet away from Berneda. “The killer slips into Berneda’s room, unplugs the monitor, and offs Berneda. It wouldn’t take much. She was near dead as it was.”

“Her monitor didn’t go off?”

“So it appears. Turned off. Someone knew what they were doin’. None of the nurses or hospital staff did it or know who did.”

“Great,” he grumbled. “The other guy—312—okay?”

“Barely. Doesn’t remember anything. But we’re already checking that room, too, and we’re asking everyone on the night shift what they remember. So far no one saw anything remotely suspicious.”

“Except that heart monitors were going off like car alarms in a bad part of town.”

“Just one. Berneda’s didn’t make a sound.”

“Time of death?”

“Three-fifteen to three-twenty; at least that’s when the other guy’s monitor started going off like crazy. By the time the staff got to the desk, it was over.”

“What about before she was killed? The victim was here a while before the killer got to her. Did she ever come out of it enough to talk?”

Morrisette shook her head. “Not really. She kind of opened an eye last evening, and her speech was slurred. The nurse thought she was asking for something, but it didn’t make any sense. She seemed to be saying ‘Sugar’ over and over again. But of course she couldn’t have sugar as she was slightly diabetic.”

“Slightly?”

“Not on insulin. The maid, Lucille, took care of her and then took off. According to Hannah the daughter who lived with her, the maid’s on her way to live with a sister in Florida. Her job here is done now that the old lady croaked.”

“She’s not close to the family, I take it.”

“Seems not, though she helped raise all of ’em. From what I understand, she’ll get a cut of the estate. Maybe that’s the cause of the current friction.”

Reed didn’t like it. Especially when he considered that according to Detective Montoya of the New Orleans Police Department, Lucille’s daughter was missing. “Is she coming back for the funeral?”

“Who knows? I chalk it up as weird, but then everything about this case is.”

He wouldn’t argue that particular point. “So is the family still here?”

“Gathered in the waiting room. I thought you’d like to talk to them.”

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