Читать книгу Under Suspicion - Hannah Alexander - Страница 12

Geoff sat in the crowded waiting room, watching the inner door for Shona to come out and the outer door for the first news crews to arrive.

Shona was unreachable right now, in conference with the police. Ordinarily, the hospital personnel wouldn’t have told him even that much, except Shona had left word for him. At least she had relented somewhat.

He still wasn’t sure what his reception would be when he and Shona met. They had parted on a note of anger last year, and nothing that had passed between them in eleven months had given Geoff any reason to think she had had a change of heart. He, on the other hand, had endured plenty of second thoughts. Why had he been so demanding?

And yet, he still meant what he’d said. For several years, Shona had been evolving into her father’s puppet, scrambling to do whatever it took to keep Kemper MacDonald content. She had overlooked more and more of Kemper’s unethical behavior, even when he lied, manipulated and ingratiated himself to win votes to assure the completion of his own agenda. Until a couple of weeks ago, that agenda had been the advancement of his own career—and Shona’s.

It was at that time, during a private, late-night visit from his father-in-law, that Geoff had discovered a thread of hope that all was not lost.

Geoff checked again with the receptionist at the ER desk and was told that Kemper was still in critical condition. At least he was alive.

An older lady stood behind Geoff when he turned around. “Mr. Tremaine?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She held her checkbook out with one hand, an ink pen with the other. “Could I get your autograph? This is all I could find to write on.”

He hesitated. He had never been able to fathom why anyone would be interested in his autograph, but Wendy insisted it was good PR. With a smile, he relented and did as he was asked. He signed with a flourish he had practiced, the writing as much unlike his normal writing style as he could make it in order to protect himself from identity theft—good advice from an attorney who had visited the station.

“Do you have someone in the ER tonight?” he asked the lady as he handed her the signed book.

She nodded. “My mother. She has congestive heart failure. I just saw you over here and—”

“I’m sorry to hear about that.”

“Oh, she’ll recover as soon as they pull off the fluid. They’ve done it before.”

“I hope she’ll be okay.”

The lady gazed up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Tremaine,” she said on a sigh. “You know, I never miss the Channel 6 news now that you’re there.”

He smiled, refusing to take the woman’s admiration seriously.

As the lady returned to her seat, Geoff realized he and Shona had always been two of a kind. They lived in the public eye, and though they didn’t particularly enjoy the attention their jobs brought them, they had learned to cope with the fish-bowl syndrome years ago.

At least, most of the time.

To his relief, Shona stepped through the door from the ER. She spotted him immediately and started toward him, looking very tense. He knew that look well.

Though his wife had always been beautiful, the years had graced her, giving her a polish that didn’t fully emerge until her midthirties. She now had silver-blond highlights in her short, thick dark hair, and her eyes, which had always been large, no longer made her appear ingenuous but astute. Amazing what a few years of seasoning could do for a woman. She was more beautiful than ever.

Unfortunately for him, she was also less easy to read.

He was stepping forward to meet her when the entry door opened, admitting Sally Newton and a cameraman from the station.

Sally, spotting Shona, wove her way through the crowded room. “Mrs. Tremaine, can you tell us how the senator is doing?”

All eyes in the waiting room suddenly focused on Shona.

Sally was in her midtwenties, and she had not yet learned many lessons in diplomacy. She advanced on Shona with a microphone in her hand, gesturing for the cameraman to follow her.

Shona raised a hand of entreaty toward Geoff. “Please, not now,” she said softly. “I can’t talk right—”

“Sal,” Geoff said, smoothly stepping in front of Shona to shield her from the camera, “the senator’s family will have a statement for the press as soon as possible. At this moment we don’t have sufficient information to relay, only that Senator MacDonald is in critical condition.”

The pretty blonde blinked at him. “But Wendy told me—”

Shona took Geoff’s arm.

“We’ll contact you as soon as we have a statement,” he told the reporter. “You must understand our concerns. Shona needs to focus all her attention on her father at this time.”

“Can you at least tell us what happened? Was this a murder attempt?” Sally asked.

Geoff heard Shona catch her breath at the question. He lowered his voice. “I just told you, Sally, that there will be a statement later. There’s nothing here for you to see.” Without staying to argue, he ushered Shona back through the doors into the bustling ER.

“That young woman needs to learn some manners,” Shona snapped.

“As Wendy would say, she’s simply doing her job.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what Wendy would say. I’m just glad you decided there was something more important at the…moment….” Shona stopped, gazing toward the trauma room where a team of hospital personnel surrounded someone—Kemper? Her hand tightened on Geoff’s arm.

“We don’t need to be here right now,” he said. “Is there a private room where we can wait?”

She led him along a corridor to a conference room with a table and chairs, love seat and recliner.

She released his arm at last, and sank onto the love seat. He resisted the urge to assure her that everything would be okay. He’d learned long ago not to make assurances he couldn’t keep, especially to Shona Tremaine, who would not hesitate to call him on it.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

She grimaced. “I discovered I don’t handle medical emergencies well. Karah Lee would be ashamed of me. I held together until I tried to watch them work on Dad in the trauma room.” She wiggled her fingers in front of her stomach, giving him a good idea about what had happened.

“I called her,” Geoff said. “She’s on her way.”

Those large, dark gray eyes narrowed. “I asked you not to do that.”

“She’s his daughter, too, and she’s coming. Give her some credit.”

Shona’s grimace told him she was irritated but not really angry. He hadn’t pushed it too far…yet.

“Only because you called,” she said. “Karah Lee likes you better than she does me.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“Of course, it is.” She glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. “She even told me that once.”

“You two are always pulling each other’s chains.” Shona retained her privacy with dignity in the public eye, but, despite their separation, she seemed to be as candid as always with him. The key word was seemed. He no longer knew if he could take her at her word, especially since he knew she felt she must be on guard with him.

“How did it go with the police?” he asked.

“Is this Geoffrey Tremaine, reporter for Channel 6 news asking, or Geoff, my husband?”

“It’s always just me, Shona.”

She leaned forward. “And who, exactly, is that? When I spoke with you on the phone you seemed determined to interview me.”

“And you were just as determined not to be interviewed. You gave me no choice. For me, family has to come first.”

She blinked and looked away, and he realized, belatedly, the effect his words would have on her.

“That’s laudable.” Her voice had suddenly gone soft.

“I’m sorry, Shona. I wasn’t trying to—”

“For me, it seems I allowed the job, and my father, to come first.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Milt Davis interviewed me,” she said. “Then he warned me the mansion will remain a crime scene until further notice. The FBI might be stepping in if the evidence suggests the attack on Dad—if that’s what happened—could be political in nature.”

“Did Milt give you any indication whether or not the police thought that could be the case?”

“We don’t know what happened yet. Dad is just bleeding for no reason, bruising beneath his skin, as if his clotting factor has suddenly failed.”

“That isn’t a naturally occurring event,” Geoff said. “I know your father doesn’t have hemophilia.”

“That’s why the police are suspicious of foul play. I’m sure they’re looking for a weapon at the house, but I don’t know of anything that would cause that kind of bleeding.”

“You won’t be able to stay at the mansion, obviously.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave here anyway while Dad’s critical. A policewoman is going to pack some things and bring them by for me later. I’ll stay at The Capitol Plaza.”

“You can come home with me. You’ll be safer there.”

She looked up at him, her eyes misting. Then she dropped her gaze and shook her head. “Not this way,” she said softly.

He sat down in the chair across from her. “Did anyone actually see a wound?”

“No. As much as Dad was bleeding, the doctor would have seen blood coming from a specific wound, but there was nothing.”

“Where did you get the idea that this was a shooting?”

“He said the word,” Shona told him. “He said, ‘Shot.’”

“That’s it?”

She spread her hands. “Then he said for me to…” She gave him a quick glance, then looked down at her fingers. “He said to get away.”

“From what? From him? Why would he—”

“He might have been trying to tell me to get out of Jefferson City.”

“What else did he say?” Geoff asked.

She didn’t look at him. “I think he must have been hallucinating. He said something about getting the little one out…I’m not sure exactly what he said. It made no sense.”

Geoff studied her expression as she continued to avoid eye contact. What was she not telling him?

His cell phone rang, and he groaned. He was supposed to turn it off when he entered the hospital. In the excitement, he had ignored the sign, even after mentioning it to Wendy.

To his relief, he saw the caller was not Wendy, nor did the number belong to anyone else with his news team. It was Linda Plinkett, Kemper’s old friend, fellow committee member on the Drug Task Force, and, quite possibly, a whole lot more. He answered in spite of the hospital policy restricting cell phones, knowing there were no machines in this section of the building that would be disrupted by the electronic transmission.

“Yes, Linda?”

“Geoffrey Tremaine, what on earth is happening to Kemper? I just heard on the news that he’s been shot!”

“He’s still in critical condition.”

“Where? I can’t reach Shona.”

“We’re here at the hospital.”

“Which hospital? I can’t find him, and these blasted federal regulations prevent the hospital staff from telling me where he is.”

Geoff glanced at Shona. “We’re at St. Mary’s.” Linda might as well jump into the investigation with both feet. She would be embroiled in it soon enough.

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

Shona couldn’t face Geoff with the swift rush of suspicion that held her mute. Dad couldn’t have been talking about Geoff. He must have meant Jefferson City. Longtime residents often called it just plain “Jeff.”

She hugged herself, unable to stop shivering. How many times would she have to repeat Dad’s words in the next few days? Geoff was bound to hear it from someone. The police would want to question him, if only because of that one statement Dad made.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Geoff. For these few moments, they were being more civil with each other than they had been since before their separation. She didn’t want to break the spell because of her inability to trust.

Geoff stood up and shrugged out of his sport coat, then gently placed it around her shoulders. She could smell the warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave as his hands rested briefly on her shoulders.

It would be so comforting to allow him to take care of everything.

That was impossible, of course. Too many issues remained between them to simply erase the past. And besides, there was this suspicion….

Instead of returning to his chair, Geoff sat on the arm of the love seat. “Do you have any idea what your father might have been talking about? What did he want you to get away from?”

“He was practically incoherent, and he lost consciousness while he was still talking. He could have even been hallucinating.”

“But you got the impression he was warning you about something?”

She glanced up at him. Why did he insist on pursuing the subject? “I didn’t get any impressions at all at the time, okay, Geoff?” she said more sharply than she’d intended. “He was bleeding badly. All I cared about was getting help.”

“The police are combing the mansion for evidence of a crime. It would be foolhardy to consider going alone to a hotel room if there is any danger at all. Can’t we forget the issues between us long enough to see this through? Your safety is more important than—”

She raised a hand to silence him. “Dad’s in the other room, fighting for his life. That’s all I can think about.” She wrapped his coat around her more tightly and stood up. She never had been able to sit still in a crisis.

She glanced over her shoulder at Geoff. Her husband could be a model for a clean-cut, all-American grown-up Boy Scout. His blue eyes were clear beneath straight, light brown eyebrows. She knew him so well, had known him for so long, since they were love-struck teenagers in high school. So why did he suddenly seem like a stranger to her? Not a stranger, exactly, but…somehow different.

She reached into her pocket for some change, but it was empty. She had locked her purse in her car. Why had she done that?

“Coffee?” he asked.

She nodded. “Anything to take this sour taste out of my mouth.”

He pulled some coins from the pocket of his slacks. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him leave, then paced the room, unable to sit down. There were no windows, and suddenly the walls seemed too confining, suffocating.

For the first time in years, Shona considered prayer. She dismissed the idea immediately, but she understood why people turned to God in times of distress.

How good it would feel—how comforting—to be able to allow someone else to take the load from her that she always seemed to be carrying. But was there anyone to take it? She’d shouldered the weight alone for so long with no help from anyone.

Okay, maybe Geoff had tried to share her burdens, but he always insisted on doing things his way. That had been one of the problems between them. They handled situations so differently.

Moments later, he stepped back into the room with two mugs of coffee. “The nurse took pity on us.”

“Thanks.” Shona took one and inhaled the steam that rose from the hot liquid.

“Cream, no sugar,” he said. “I tried to get you decaf, but that pot was empty. You have enough to worry about without more stress. Are you still trying to cut back on caffeine?”

She knew he was trying to distract her. He’d always been good at that. And she had often resented the tactic. “Trying, but I haven’t—”

The door opened, and in stepped the doctor who had led her father’s medical team. Shona froze.

“Mrs. Tremaine? I’m Dr. Morris.” He wore a fresh, white coat, but his green scrubs were still bloodstained.

“Yes, Doctor,” Shona said. “How is my father?”

Dr. Morris gestured for Shona and Geoff to sit on the love seat. He sat across from them on the recliner. “I’ve asked our hospital chaplain to join us. He’s on his way.”

Shona felt her strength drain away at his words. “You can just tell us, Doctor. I don’t need a preacher to translate for me.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tremaine, we did all we could to resuscitate your father. He responded for a few minutes, and then succumbed. Kemper MacDonald is dead.”

Shona felt herself go numb. She knew medical personnel had to speak that way. Euphemisms for death could lead to misunderstandings. Still, it sounded so harsh.

Geoff placed an arm around her shoulders, and she stiffened, resistant. He’d tried to destroy her relationship with her father. He would not intrude into her grief.

He removed his arm. “Dr. Morris, was there any evidence of a gunshot wound?”

“None.”

“When can I see him?” Shona asked.

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, that wouldn’t be—”

“I won’t fall apart on you this time, Dr. Morris. I need to see my father.”

There was a long hesitation. “Give us time to clean him up, Mrs. Tremaine. We don’t want to cause you any more grief than necessary.”

“Do you have any idea yet what might have killed him?” Geoff asked.

The doctor shook his head. “There will be an autopsy, of course. That should give us some answers.” He gently touched Shona’s shoulder. “The chaplain will help you with the final arrangements. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

She nodded and leaned her head against the sofa. Dad was dead. There was no going back. He was gone.