The Crush Part 3

"She's no fool."

"No. In fact she was . . . well, you'll see."

Dr. Newton's lawyer was standard issue. Height, average.

Weight, average. Hair, white. Suit, gray pinstripe. Eyes, wary and cunning. It took only one glance for Wick to a.s.sess him.

He then directed his attention to Dr. Rennie Newton, who didn't come even close to standard issue. In fact if someone had ordered him to conjure a mental picture of a surgeon, the woman on the tape would not have been it.

Not in a million years.

Nor was she typical of someone being questioned about a felony offense. She wasn't sweating, nervously jiggling her legs, drumming her fingers, biting her nails, or fidgeting in her seat. Instead she sat perfectly still, her legs decorously crossed, arms folded at her waist, eyes straight ahead and steady, a portrait of composure.

She was dressed in a cream-colored two-piece suit with slacks, high heels in a tan reptile skin, matching handbag.

She wore no jewelry except for a pair of stud earrings and a large, no-nonsense wrist.w.a.tch. No rings on either hand.

Her long hair was pulled into a neat ponytail. He knew from the surveillance photos that when it was down, it reached the middle of her back. Pale blond, which looked as genuine as the diamonds in her earlobes.

Oren stopped the tape. "What do you think so far? As a connoisseur of the fairer s.e.x, your first impression."

Wick shrugged and took a sip of tea. "Dresses well.

Good skin. You couldn't melt an ice cube on her a.s.s."

"Cool."

"We're talking frostbite. But she's a surgeon. She's supposed to be cool under pressure, isn't she?"

"I guess."

Oren restarted the tape and they heard his voice identifying everyone present, including Detective Plum, the second plainclothesman in the room. He provided the date and the case number, and then, for the benefit of the tape, asked Dr. Newton if she had agreed to the interview.

"Yes."

Oren plunged right in. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about the murder of your colleague Dr. Lee Howell."

"I've already told you everything I know, Detective Wesley."

"Well, it never hurts to go over it again, does it?"

"I suppose not. If you've got a lot of spare time on your hands."

Oren stopped the tape. "See? There. That's what I'm talking about. Polite, but with a definite att.i.tude."

"I'd say so, yeah. But that's in character too. She's a doctor. A surgeon. The G.o.d complex and all that. She speaks and folks sit up and take notice. She isn't accustomed to being questioned or second-guessed."

"She had better get accustomed to it," Oren mumbled.

"I think there's something going on with this lady."

He rewound the tape to listen again to her saying, "If you've got a lot of spare time on your hands."

On the tape, Oren gave Plum a significant glance.

Plum raised his eyebrows. Oren continued. "On the night Dr. Howell was murdered, you were at his house, correct?"

"Along with two dozen other people," the attorney chimed in. "Have you questioned them to this extent?"

Ignoring him, Oren asked, "Did you know everyone at the party that night, Dr. Newton?"

"Yes. I've known Lee's wife for almost as long as I've known him. The guests were other doctors with whom I'm acquainted. I'd met their spouses at previous social gatherings."

"You attended the party alone?"

"That's right."

"You were the only single there."

The lawyer leaned forward. "Is that relevant, Detective?"

"Maybe."

"I don't see how. Dr. Newton went to the party alone.

Can we move on? She has a busy schedule."

"I'm sure." With a noticeable lack of haste, Oren shuffled through his notes and took his time before asking the next question. "I understand it was a cookout."

"On the Howells' terrace."

"And Dr. Howell manned the grill."

"Do you want the menu, too?" the attorney asked sarcastically.

Oren continued looking hard at Rennie Newton. She said, "Lee fancied himself a gourmet on the charcoal grill.

Actually he was a dreadful cook, but n.o.body had the heart to tell him." She looked down into her lap, smiling sadly.

"It was a standing joke among his friends."

"What was the reason for the party?"

"Reason?"

"Was it an ordinary Friday night cookout or a special occasion?"

She s.h.i.+fted slightly in her chair, recrossed her legs. "We were celebrating Lee's promotion to chief of surgery."

"Right, his promotion to head of the department.

What did you think of that?"

"I was pleased for him, of course."

Oren tapped a pencil on the tabletop for a full fifteen seconds. Her gaze remained locked with his, never wavering.

"You were also under consideration for that position, weren't you, Dr. Newton?"

"Yes. And I deserved to get it."

Her attorney held up a cautionary hand.

"More than Dr. Howell did?" Oren asked.

"In my opinion, yes," she replied calmly.

"Dr. Newton, I--"

She forestalled her lawyer. "I'm only telling the truth.

Besides, Detective Wesley has already guessed how I felt about losing the position to Lee. I'm sure he regards that as a motive for murder." Turning back to Oren, she said, "But I didn't kill him."

"Detectives, may I have a private word with my client?"

the lawyer asked stiffly.

Unmindful of the request, Oren said, "I don't believe you killed anyone, Dr. Newton."

"Then what am I doing here wasting my time and yours? Why did you request this"--she gave the walls of the small room a scornful glance--"this interview?"

Oren stopped the tape there and consulted Wick.

"Well?"

"What?"

"She denied it before I accused her of it."

"Come on, Oren. She's got more years of schooling than you, me, and Plum there added up. But she didn't need a medical degree to guess what you were getting at.

Driving a herd of longhorns through that room would have been more subtle. She got your point. Any dummy Would have. And this lady doesn't strike me as a dummy."

"She and Dr. Howell had a history of quarreling."

"So do we," Wick said, laughing.

Oren stubbornly shook his head. "Not like they did.

Everybody I've talked to at the hospital says she and Howell respected each other professionally but did not get along."

"Love affair turned sour?"

"Initially I posed that question to everyone I interviewed.

I stopped asking."

"How come?"

"I got tired of being laughed at."

Wick turned and quizzically arched his eyebrow.

"Beats me," Oren replied to the silent question. "That's the reaction I got every time I asked. Apparently there were never any romantic fires smoldering between them."

"Just a friendly rivalry."

"I'm not so sure it was all that friendly. On the surface, maybe, but there might have been a lurking animosity that ran deep. They were always at each other's throats for one reason or another. Sometimes over something trivial, sometimes major. Sometimes in jest, and sometimes not.

But their disagreements were always lively, often vitriolic, and well known to hospital staff."

As he mentally sorted through this information, Wick absently popped the rubber band against his wrist.

Oren noticed and said, "You were wearing that yesterday.

What's it for?"

"What?" Wick looked down at the rubber band circling his wrist as though he'd never seen it before. "Oh, it's . . .

nothing. Uh, getting back, was Howell's appointment gender based?"

"I don't think so. Two other department heads at Tarrant General are women. Howell got the promotion Newton felt she deserved and probably thought she had sewn