The Maker Page 16

  She couldn’t believe the woman was still so hung up on him. Twice more, he’d dropped by their apartment and collected Tanya for a date. Both times, she’d gone with him, giggling and blushing like a teenager. The last time, she hadn’t returned home until midway through the next morning.

  Chanel swallowed a sigh and determined to tune out her roommate’s chatter. Then she heard the words ‘meeting with the police’ and snapped to attention.

  “Can you believe it? It’s so exciting! It’s just like something from Criminal Minds.”

  Chanel blinked hard and frowned. “I’m sorry, Tanya. What did you say about the police?”

  Her roommate rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening? We’re being interviewed by the police. They’re investigating the death of three patients. Can you believe it? Not just the senator’s wife, but two others!”

  Chanel’s heart thumped so hard she was afraid it would drown out the rest of Tanya’s words and all of a sudden, she was desperate to hear what her friend had to say.

  “What are you talking about, two others? Do you have their names?”

  Tanya leaned forward across the cafeteria table and lowered her voice although the place was so crowded with lunchtime diners, Chanel didn’t think anyone would overhear. She could barely hear.

  “The word on the street is that they’re also looking into the deaths of Amelia Arncliffe and Robyn Evan.”

  Tanya’s eyes were wide with excitement. Chanel felt a growing sense of hope. Amelia Arncliffe and Robyn Evan. The women she’d mentioned to the police. Were their deaths finally being investigated? Perhaps her theory that the women had died suspiciously wasn’t as farfetched as some people had thought? Perhaps Detective Sutcliffe had listened to her, after all?

  At the thought of the darkly attractive police officer, warmth suffused her body. Even her cheeks felt hot. It had been nearly three weeks since she’d seen him and yet she remembered him like it had been yesterday.

  The shade of his hair, so dark it was almost black, with eyes to match. The impressive height and width of him…

  She was tall for a woman, but she’d felt dwarfed beside him. Even in high heels, she’d had to look up and that was no mean feat for any man to achieve. The knowledge that he might have started an investigation into the deaths of Mrs Arncliffe and Mrs Evan warmed her through, even if it didn’t have anything to do with her.

  Rumor had it the senator’s wife had died in a manner similar to the other two. Chanel was more and more certain there was something very wrong. Patients were dying on Ward Three and she had a terrible feeling the reasons behind it were pure evil.

  “When are the police conducting the interviews?” she asked as casually as she could manage.

  “I’ve heard they’ve already interviewed the kitchen staff. They’re supposed to interview the doctors today.”

  Today… Chanel was gratified to learn the police weren’t wasting time. She picked up her coffee cup and tilted it to her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a tall dark figure who looked very familiar. In fact, he’d been in her thoughts only moments earlier.

  Detective Sutcliffe stood in the crowded cafeteria line with a tray in his hand. Another dark-suited man stood behind him, looking similarly stern and authoritative. She recognized him as the officer who’d brought her upstairs the time she’d gone to the police station. As if sensing her scrutiny, Detective Sutcliffe turned his head in her direction.

  His gaze clashed with hers and Chanel’s heart skipped a beat. A second later, it pounded against her ribs. His dark eyes flared with an emotion she was scared to define. The intensity of his gaze seared her from across the room. A flush crept up her neck and spread across her face. Her pulse leaped wildly. He excited her like no other man had and she didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

  For a start, the timing was all wrong. He was likely investigating the suspicious deaths of three of her former patients. While she knew she had nothing to do with them, he didn’t know that. She wasn’t stupid. Anyone who’d had contact with the dead women would be a potential suspect and that included her.

  Dragging her gaze away, Chanel tried hard to get her erratic breathing under control. With determination, she focused on her roommate who was still talking animatedly across the table, in between taking bites from her sandwich.

  Chanel was pleased for the distraction. She was acutely aware of the detective in front of her. There was nothing she could do to relieve the pressure his presence had put on her stress levels.

  “Ooh, do you think they’re officers?” Tanya whispered loudly and turned and pointed in the direction of Detective Sutcliffe and his colleague. “They have that look about them, don’t you think? I wouldn’t mind being interviewed by either of them. They are H-O-T. Oh my God! Don’t look now, but they’re coming this way!”

  Chanel’s stomach dropped to her feet and simultaneously clenched with a rush of nerves. As much as she wanted to see the detective again, the thought of him speaking to her sent her into a panic.

  What would she do if he acknowledged her? How would she explain to Tanya how she knew him? She could pretend she’d met him at the clinic. It was the truth, if not the whole truth. Would Tanya buy it? Her thoughts spun frantically back and forth, but her concern was unwarranted.

  With equal parts relief and disappointment, she realized the men were leaving the cafeteria. Neither man spared them a glance, despite the fact they passed within two or three yards of their table.

  Chanel frowned, more than a little peeved. What the hell game was he playing? First he sends her a look that could melt ice cream from thirty paces and then he ignores her completely. Conveniently forgetting her panic of mere moments before, she compressed her lips indignantly and did her best to bolster her dented pride.

  * * *

  Bryce strode out of the cafeteria and did his best not to think about the woman he’d just passed by and ignored—a woman who’d filled far too many of his dreams. She looked as beautiful as he remembered, but different to the girl who’d come to the police station.

  She looked like the doctor he’d met in the clinic. Her navy suit and pale pink blouse were mostly obscured by a white lab coat. Her blond hair was as thick and vibrant as it had been in his dreams, only rather than hanging loose and flowing, it was pulled back into a plait, like it had been the last time he’d seen her.

  His cock hardened at the thought of tugging out the elastic hair band and loosening the thick waves with his fingers. The urge to do that was so strong, he clenched his fists and cursed under his breath.

  What was it about this woman that turned him into a quivering mess of want and need? He’d been around beautiful women before. Only a week earlier, he’d been unaffected in the company of Samantha Wolfe. It was clear his reaction to Chanel couldn’t be in response to the fact he’d been celibate for so long. There was something about her that touched him way deep inside and he yearned to discover more.

  Was she as aware of him as he was of her? Or was his interest totally one-sided? That possibility filled him with disappointment, but still, he looked forward to them reconnecting. He’d get his chance when he interviewed her.

  The task force had spent hours analyzing the hospital staff rosters and had narrowed down the list to fifty potential suspects. Most of them were kitchen staff. It stood to reason, if the poison had been ingested, it had originated in the kitchen.

  Bryce and his other colleagues had spent two days interviewing the kitchen staff who’d come to their attention. Most of them were eliminated right away. The chefs merely prepared the food each day. They had no contact with the patient list or any idea of what meal had been ordered by whom.

  The handful of people who tagged each meal with the name of the patient had also been interviewed at length. None of them knew the victims personally. It seemed none of them had a reason to want the women dead.

  Bryce then turned his attention to the nursing and medical staff. Out of th
e nineteen nurses who worked on Ward Three, none of them had the care of all three patients during the relevant time. Of course, it was possible the murderer slipped into the patient’s rooms with some excuse, but like the kitchen staff, none of the nurses knew the women personally and none of them had a motive for seeing them dead.

  Jett had compiled the list of the medical staff who’d come into contact with the victims. When he showed it to Bryce, two of the names immediately stood out: Doctor Leo Baker and Doctor Chanel Munro. Out of the seven doctors who had patients admitted to Ward Three, along with their students, only Chanel Munro had been assigned the care of all three victims. That knowledge was disturbing. Even more so, because to consider her a viable suspect didn’t make sense.

  Chanel was the one who’d brought the first two deaths to his attention. She’d attended upon him at the police station of her own volition at least a week before the senator’s accusations. It was absurd to think the killer would draw attention to her crimes, particularly then, when no one even knew a crime had been committed.

  He and Jett arrived at the bank of elevators and waited for one to arrive. The general manager had set up the task force in vacant and adjoining clinic rooms on the fifth floor. A steady stream of staff members had been coming in and out for the past two days. Now, it was the doctors’ turn.

  Jett had elected to interview Doctor Baker and this suited Bryce fine. He’d already interviewed the man and had come away with a favorable impression. It was important an objective observer deal with the man this time around. Besides, Bryce was curious to hear Jett’s assessment of the doctor.

  Bryce made sure, however, that Chanel was put on his list. She intrigued him and not just on a professional level. He yearned to spend more time with her, to get to know her outside of work, find out what made her tick. He knew, in a different life, she was a woman he could fall in love with. In fact, much to his chagrin, he was already in lust.

  He was drawn to her on so many levels, he couldn’t even describe it. He’d never felt this way about any woman, not even his wife, and yet, as it stood now, he barely knew the woman who had stirred up so many emotions. It was like they’d met in a previous life; there was a connection so tangible he was sure she felt it, too.

  There was no way he was giving up the opportunity to see her and talk to her again, even if that was in a police interview. Although his hormones were dictating otherwise, he was sure he could maintain a professional distance when it mattered. Besides, he refused to believe for an instant she was guilty.

  Objective? Hell, no. But this was his investigation and he wasn’t having it any other way.

  * * *

  Chanel took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. She didn’t know what she was worried about. She didn’t have anything to do with the deaths of the women. It wasn’t as if she was any more a suspect than every other staff member who’d attended upon them. Besides, if it weren’t for her, the police wouldn’t even know about Amelia Arncliffe and Robyn Evan.

  She reached the door to the clinic where she’d been told the police interviews were being held. The staff had been briefed by the general manager and told in a no-nonsense tone to cooperate with the investigating officers. Knowing it was best to get it over with, she took another deep breath, squared her shoulders and opened the clinic door.

  She should have guessed he’d be the one to conduct the interview. Memories of the way he’d stared at her in the cafeteria came back to her in a rush. His gaze was as intense now as it had been then. He nodded in a polite, businesslike way, but the fire in his eyes remained.

  Her pulse stuttered and her heart took a dip. The fluttering of nerves in her stomach intensified. She didn’t need to be told they had nothing to do with the impending interview and everything to do with the man who stood in front of her, still and silent and assessing.

  He was every bit as good-looking as she remembered and her body reacted just as strongly. With all five of her brothers in law enforcement, she’d never been afraid of the police, in fact, she’d been just the opposite. There was something so solid about this officer, an air of safety and security that drew her. She wanted to take shelter against his broad chest. He cared for his ailing grandmother. With him at her back, Chanel would never fear anything again.

  But all of this was nonsense. She barely knew the man. It was ridiculous imagining him in her life. That kind of instant attraction only happened in the movies. For most people, attraction was a gradual thing. Not that she had any experience. She’d yet to discover what it felt like to be in love.

  Apart from her teenage crush on the star of the Grafton High School football team, her life had been too full of college and exams and internships to devote any time to her social life. A drink with friends on odd occasions after classes, a rare date with a persistent colleague and dinner out with her sister every now and then was the sum total of her social life.

  Not that she regretted shunning the traditional college life. Less time at parties meant more time to study and she’d graduated top of her class. Her academic success had opened doors for her at the best hospital in Brisbane and she didn’t doubt it had also had some bearing on her acceptance into Doctor Baker’s prestigious residency program.

  At the reminder of her boss and the reason for her presence in the clinic, she grimaced. Mistaking her reticence, the detective hurried to reassure her.

  “Thank you for coming, Doctor Munro. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”

  “Of course, Detective Sutcliffe. I understand you’re speaking to staff about the deaths of Amelia Arncliffe, Robyn Evan and Eileen Green. If you recall, I was the one who approached you with my concerns regarding the first two women.”

  A little color crept up his neck. “You’re right and as it turns out, you had just cause to be concerned. Recent tests indicate all three of the women were poisoned.”

  Surprise shot through her. It was one thing to have suspicions about the way the women had died, but to have those suspicions confirmed was heartbreaking and more than a little upsetting.

  “I assume you believe the offender is employed by the hospital?”

  He nodded, his expression grim. “Yes, that’s the theory we’re working on. The poison was ingested. In particular, we’re looking at everyone who came into reasonably close physical contact with the victims, including you.”

  His gaze didn’t shift from her face. She stared back at him. She had nothing to hide. “Am I a suspect, Detective?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect, Doctor Munro. Given that you came to me with your concerns about at least two of our victims prior to anyone else becoming aware of it leads me to think you’re innocent of their deaths. Then again, maybe you’re a brilliant sociopathic killer masquerading as a healer and it was a clever ploy to put us off the scent? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Chanel narrowed her eyes and her heart rate picked up its pace. Surely he didn’t believe that? It was ludicrous beyond words. Still, something about the seriousness of his expression gave her pause. She needed to know his thoughts.

  “You don’t believe that.”

  He stared at her a few moments in silence, as if debating what to tell her. She held her breath and waited, unable to believe that he was seriously contemplating the last statement.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” he stated finally, his voice harsh. He turned and strode across the small room and sat behind the hospital desk. A single chair sat opposite.

  “Take a seat and let me explain,” he added with a little less gruffness.

  A tiny trickle of fear crept through Chanel’s veins. He couldn’t possibly think she had anything to do with it and yet, from the grim expression on his face, that was exactly what he was thinking.

  Stepping forward, she sat down and did her best to focus on the man across from her. He opened a file and took out a sheet of paper. His shoulders slumped on a sigh and her disquiet spread into a cold feeling of dread.

  He m
et her gaze, his eyes troubled. “We’ve analyzed the staff rosters. We’ve gone through hundreds of names. How many people do you think had contact with the victims?”

  Chanel frowned and tried to think where he was going with his question. She assumed there were a decent number of people who’d been in close proximity to the patients. The obvious ones were the nursing and medical staff, but of course there were the cleaners, kitchen staff, people who filled the water jugs, brought the tea trolley around… The list was almost endless.

  Aware that he was waiting for an answer, she shrugged and said, “I imagine there were quite a few. Hospitals are busy places. It takes a lot of people to keep them functioning.”

  “How many?” he asked again.

  “I don’t know. Maybe fifty or sixty.”

  “You’re close. According to the rosters, there were fifty-seven members of the hospital staff who had reason to be in contact with the victims and that doesn’t count the people who happened to be nearby without a specific reason.” He sat back in his chair. “We have no way of quantifying that. We’re working on the theory the killer wouldn’t have wanted to draw unnecessary attention. A staff member with a reason to be there would go unnoticed and in fact, did go unnoticed.”

  Chanel nodded. His reasoning was sound. “Is that why you’re not sure whether I’m a suspect?”

  The detective blew out his breath on another sigh and scrubbed his hands through his hair. It left the short, dark ends standing mussed upon his head. His hair looked clean and soft and Chanel itched to run her fingers through it, until she gave herself a mental shake at the inappropriateness of her thoughts.

  “Tell me, Doctor Munro, how many staff members do you think had access to all three victims?”

  Chanel frowned. “I thought I just answered that?”

  “No, the fifty-seven staff members had access to one or another of the victims. How many do you think had access to all three?”