20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,88
me … now.”
Atkins ignored him. She lifted the envelope with the words “Last Will and Testament” written on the front. She opened the envelope, took out a piece of typed paper, and started to read. It was a long narrative in which Dave thanked all of his online friends and left his paltry possessions to the staff and the money from the sale of the winery to a children’s charity that specialized in helping kids with disabilities. The document had been signed and witnessed by a Jeff Cruz. Nice.
She’d saved the envelope addressed to her for last.
Dear Nurse Atkins,
I apologize for being very disrespectful and making your job harder. I know you did your best for my father, and I’m indebted to you. I’ve left you a painting my mother named The Sun Also Rises, after an Ernest Hemingway novel. It was her favorite painting and all I have to give you. Peace and light.
Good-bye,
Dave Channing
The letter was also signed and witnessed by the same Jeff Cruz.
Atkins knew what Nancy Channing paintings were worth because Dr. Murray had one. Now she’d have one, too.
Dave sputtered, then asked haltingly, “Was Dad … in pain?”
Atkins sighed. “Yes, yes, he was in pain. I only help the ones who are in pain.”
“How?” Dave asked. “How do you … help?”
She said, “Dave, don’t bother yourself with details. He wasn’t in pain. Like you are. Okay?”
“I’m going … now. For God’s sake. Help.”
He bent over and, grimacing, wrapped his arms tightly across his abdomen.
“Your father had been sedated, Dave. They’re all sedated. I put a little something in the drip line. They’re already asleep and they’re asleep when they die. Ray felt nothing. He didn’t have to suffer like you.”
Dave looked up at the tall woman with the cinnamon-colored hair. He could see her hard eyes staring down at him.
“You do that. For them?”
She sighed in disgust, couldn’t wait to get away from him.
“I’m a helper. Someone has to do it, and I know how.” She clucked her tongue, as if saying, What a shame you took this into your own hands.
Then she put her hand on his knee.
“It will be all over soon, Dave. Nothing will bother you again.”
CHAPTER 112
NURSE ATKINS LIFTED the half bottle of wine from between Dave’s atrophied legs and took a couple of swallows.
It was pretty good. She drank some more and put the rest of the bottle back where she’d found it. Dave Channing was still breathing, but barely. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with buttoned cuffs and a turtleneck underneath.
She managed to get a couple of fingers against his wrist. His pulse was slow. His breathing was shallow. She knew what dying looked like. Dave Channing was on his way out.
She said, “I’m getting the painting now, Dave. And thanks for that. I forgive your jackassery. Have a good trip.”
Atkins got out of the passenger seat and walked around to the rear doors of the panel truck, hoping to find them unlocked. They were.
She felt a little dizzy as she twisted the handle, pulling the doors open. That was from the wine. She focused on a pile of quilted mover’s blankets on the floor of the cargo compartment. She didn’t see a crate or a mailing tube or any kind of box at all.
Had Dave’s last act been to prank her?
She got into the rear compartment on her hands and knees and felt along the back wall. Nothing. That son of a bitch. She backed out of the van, cursing. Had he forgotten to put the crate in the van? Or had he been so stoned he couldn’t lift it?
Getting out of the van was proving to be harder than getting in. There was no light back there, and now she was feeling nauseous. She’d left the papers in the front seat. She had to get them. She carefully backed out of the rear compartment, made for the front door, passenger side—and gasped. Something hard had poked her in the back and was pressing against her spine.
It could only be a gun.
A man’s voice said, “Put your hands behind you, Ms. Atkins. I’m taking you into custody.”
She recognized the voice but still turned her head to check. It was Dave’s friend. Joe something. He was strong. A former football player. She couldn’t outrun him, but maybe she could talk him down.
“Dave said he left something for me in the back. You should call an ambulance. He took all of his father’s pills. I wanted to call 911,