Resuscitation (5 page)

“How expensive?”

“Well, she was wearing a Carolina Herrera cocktail dress—that probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but get this. The friggin’ sales tag is still on the dress. I found it attached to a button on the underside of the hemline. It was purchased at Saks Fifth Avenue, and guess how much?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Five bucks shy of
three thousand dollars
.”

It took a minute for him to digest this. “What do you make of it?”

“Unless her parents are loaded or she just won the Lotto, I can’t imagine that she bought it.”

“So, you think that our guy cranked her fucking chest open, did unspeakable things to the poor thing, and then dressed her in a three-thousand-dollar dress?”

“Seems that way. But that’s just part of the mystery. No price tag on the shoes but they’re Jimmy Choos, and I’ll bet they cost close to a thousand.”

“I don’t get it. He kills her and then spends four Gs on clothes?”

“It sure is puzzling,” Betsy said.

“Sounds like he suffered from serious regrets after he killed her.”

“Either that, or there’s some hidden message he’s trying to convey.”

“Any prints on the price tag?”

“It’s clean as a whistle.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t think he raped her, but can’t verify it until we do a complete exam and analysis in the lab.” She shook her head. “Can’t imagine why he killed her the way he did. It’s a new one on me.”

Al knelt again and slowly uncovered her chest. “Un-fuckin’-believable.” He remembered the last serial killer and how he had removed his victims’ hearts as trophies. “He stapled her chest?”

“Neatly and with precision.”

“Any other bruises or wounds?”

“That’s the weird thing. The rest of her body—at least here on-sight—looks unharmed. But I can’t really answer that until we get her on a slab.”

“Call me as soon as you have a full report.”

“Will do, Detective.” A moment of awkward silence. “Tell Sami I said hi. And that I really miss her.”

Sami and Angelina had arrived at Josephine’s home before noon, just in time for lunch. Angelina loved her grandmother’s macaroni and cheese, and Grandma Rizzo had promised to make some. Concerned that her mother’s health of late had seriously deteriorated, Sami felt guilty asking her mom to cook. But Sami knew her mother well. Josephine was a tough old woman and it would take more than a weak heart and fading memory to ground her. Besides, Josephine’s cardiologist told Sami that keeping her mom busy with tasks that were not too strenuous would be a good thing. And she could think of nothing that pleased her mom more than cooking—particularly for Angelina.

They sat at the kitchen table, Josephine barely eating a forkful of the macaroni and cheese. Angelina cleaned her dish and was licking the bowl.

“Honey,” Sami said. “How many times have I told you that young ladies don’t lick their bowls?”

“But Mommy,” the six-year-old pleaded, “I’m still a little girl. Can’t
little
girls lick their bowls?”

Josephine gave Sami the “look.” “Leave the girl be. She doesn’t need restaurant manners at my house. If she wants to lick the bowl, let her.”

“But Mom—”

“Don’t ‘but Mom’ me, Samantha Marie Rizzo. Remember what
you
used to do with ice cream bowls when you were Angelina’s age? You used to lick them clean and put ’em back in the cupboard.”

“I most certainly did not.”

Josephine placed her left hand over her heart and raised her right hand to the heavens. “God is my witness.”

No reason to argue. Sami guessed that this was just another example of her mom’s senility. Josephine could remember things that happened thirty years ago, but couldn’t recall what she ate for breakfast yesterday. The doctor had warned Sami that her short-term memory would fade fast. And over the last few months, her mom’s condition had noticeably worsened. “Are you still feeling chest pains and shortness of breath, Mom?”

“It comes and goes.”

“Are you taking your medications every day?”

“When I remember.”

“That’s why I bought you that seven-day pill container. Remember how we talked about you filling it every Sunday and taking the blue pill in the morning and the white and pink pills with dinner?”

Josephine waved her arm as if to dismiss the reminder. “I wrote it down on a piece of paper but don’t remember where I put it.”

“I’ll write it down again and put it on the refrigerator.”

Suddenly, the color drained from Josephine’s face and she clutched her chest.

Sami sprang up and her legs pushed the chair backwards, knocking it over. “What is it, Mom?”

“The macaroni and cheese didn’t agree with me. I should know better than to eat rich foods.”

“But you only ate a couple of forkfuls.”

“My stomach isn’t what it used to be.”

Sami could see Josephine struggling to breathe, clearly in distress. Her forehead was dripping perspiration. Sami frantically searched through her purse for her cell phone. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”

Now Josephine was leaning forward, her upper body almost resting on the table. “I’m okay. It will pass. It’s just a stomach thing.”

Sami ignored her and called 9-1-1.

Al was on his way to the precinct when Sami called. He stuck the magnetic light on top of the roof, turned it on, engaged his siren, made a U-turn, and headed for Saint Michael’s Hospital.

In less than ten minutes, he squealed his tires as he pulled into the emergency department driveway and parked next to the painted-yellow curb where the sign said “Ambulances Only.” He flipped down the visor with the “Official Police Business” placard and the San Diego Police Department logo. He dashed through the front doors and approached the main check-in desk. After a brief conversation, the nurse directed Al to a small waiting room just outside the emergency department.

He spotted Sami sitting in the corner of the dim room with her head down and her hands neatly folded on her lap. The last time he’d seen her look so forlorn was at the funeral of her ex-husband, Tommy DiSalvo. Angelina was nowhere in sight. He slowly walked toward her, purposely clearing his throat several times, so he wouldn’t startle her. He sat beside her and draped his arm around her shoulders.

“How is she?”

She looked up at him with puffy red eyes. “She had a heart attack. They’re doing an angiogram right now to see if there are any blockages. They haven’t yet determined if her heart was damaged.”

Al kissed Sami on the cheek. “She’s a tough cookie. She’ll be fine.” He didn’t feel as though he convinced her. “Where’s Angelina?”

“Emily is watching her.”

“Where?”

“At the house.”

“Want me to go pick her up and bring her here?”

“Not the best place for a hyperactive six-year-old. Besides, Angelina loves Emily.” Emily was Sami’s only cousin on the Rizzo side of the family. Sami grasped Al’s hand. “Can you stay with me?”

He stared at his scuffed shoes and shook his head. “I hate to do this, Sami, but—”

“I understand.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Not too long ago I was a cop, too. Does it have to do with Davidson’s call early this morning?”

“We found the body of a young woman at Mission Bay Park. The parents have identified the body and I have to interview them. Not looking forward to it.” Al checked his cell phone. “If you hear anything—and I mean anything—call me.”

Sami craved a cup of coffee, even the rotgut they served at the hospital cafeteria. But she didn’t dare leave the waiting room for fear she’d miss the doctor. She tried to concentrate on a two-month-old article about Paris Hilton in
People
magazine, but the words did not register in her brain.

She looked around the room, at the dilapidated cloth chairs, the worn carpeting, the crooked picture of a surfer riding a huge wave, the coffee table littered with outdated magazines. She caught a whiff of the antiseptic smell so prevalent in all hospitals. Alone with her thoughts, she remembered the last time she sat in this same waiting room while her father lay in intensive care fighting for his life. Somewhere in this hospital, her mother might be doing the same thing. At this very moment, her mother could be lying in a bed with tubes up her nose, IVs in her arms, and a breathing tube down her throat. She’d been waiting for more than two hours and not one person had even popped their head in the room to offer an update. To sit alone in this smelly room seemed like cruel and inhumane treatment.

Sami’s daughter, Angelina, had already lost her father, and the only family left was Grandma Rizzo and Cousin Emily. Once Sami’s biggest critic, Josephine had become her strongest supporter after her daughter’s brush with death at the hands of Simon. For so many years, Josephine had made Sami’s life a living hell with her meddlesome, manipulating ways. But somehow, the old crotchety woman had been reborn. This was not to say that Josephine didn’t often take a cheap shot at her daughter. But the frequency and intensity had diminished considerably, leading Sami to believe that even senility had its benefits.

Sami didn’t pray very often. But at this particular moment, she found herself pleading with God to save her mother.

She lifted her head and noticed a young doctor standing in the doorway, wearing the customary white lab coat and stethoscope draped around his neck. He smiled warmly and approached Sami.

“Ms. Rizzo?” He extended his right arm and firmly grasped her hand.

She stood and the doctor affectionately sandwiched her hand between his.

Odd, Sami thought, that he would be so cordial. Most of the doctors she’d met over the years had been like icebergs. She was certain they had never met, yet he seemed vaguely familiar.

“I’m Doctor Templeton, chief of cardiothoracic surgery.”

Templeton
? Was this
the
Templeton, the Chamber of Commerce Man-of-the-Year Templeton she’d read about only a few days ago? The chairman of a committee that advised the president himself on matters of health? He seemed much too young for such a prestigious title. She tried to read his eyes but they offered no clues for her to foresee what he was about to tell her.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Rizzo.”

Al arrived at the precinct and parked his car in the underground garage. Guilt-ridden that he’d left Sami alone at the hospital, he felt as though he had betrayed her. She’d been fragile since her near-death experience, but he felt sure she’d bounce back. Except for her father’s passing, there had never been a time when she needed his support so desperately. He saw the neediness in her eyes when he’d left her. Al tried to negotiate a delicate balance between his personal life and his career. But police work demanded his undivided attention. And once in a while, he had to choose between Sami’s well-being and his duties as a homicide detective. Frankly, he wasn’t completely certain he wanted the responsibility that went along with a committed relationship.

Al wrestled with his feelings for Sami constantly. When they were together, he felt completely content and certain this was where he should be. But when they were apart, he savored every precious moment of his freedom. After living alone for his entire adult life, doing whatever he wanted to do whenever he wanted to do it, letting the laundry pile up to the ceiling, eating pizza and takeout seven nights a week, scratching his balls, watching sports until his eyes bugged out, he was now faced with some sense of structure in his life, and having to consider someone else’s welfare. He did not feel that Sami and he were at the same point in their relationship. Clearly, Sami wanted more. But scared to death to make a commitment, he felt himself pulling away, and wasn’t so sure he was capable of giving more. This was not about love. He couldn’t imagine loving her more. But love came at a hefty price. He had sacrificed his independence. Perhaps he’d even forfeited his identity. Was it any wonder he’d never been married?

And of course, the other huge issue was Angelina. He’d never wanted kids—never wanted the responsibility. But the six-year-old was part of the package. Although Sami never once put any pressure on him, or even hinted that he should assume the role of a parent, how could he live with Sami, under the same roof, lie beside her every night, and not accept the unwritten obligation?

Feeling a wave of panic, he glanced at his watch and rushed into the building. In less than thirty minutes, he would meet with Genevieve Foster’s parents, and he’d be asking tough questions and offering few answers. Al had not yet seen the full autopsy report, so he headed for Captain Davidson’s office for a quick briefing.

Doctor Templeton sat beside Sami and coughed into his hand. “Ms. Rizzo—”

“Please call me Sami.”

“Okay, then, Sami, the very good news is that your mom’s heart shows no signs of major muscle damage. In fact, the test results are very positive. However…”

At this particular moment, she hated the word
however
.

He hesitated for a moment and fixed his eyes on hers. “Four major arteries are over eighty percent blocked, and the only effective treatment is bypass surgery.”