going back a century and a half, after all.” He’d seen the modern-day corruption first-hand himself. What had happened had destroyed his sister in more ways than Allen had ever been able to fix. “Just covering the hospital’s bases. I’m sure you understand. Wouldn’t want anything to be misplaced on my watch.”
“Noted.”
“His wife and son will want his personal belongings.” Maybe. He’d heard from Nikkie Jean that Henedy’s wife of thirty-something years had asked for a divorce the day the shooting had happened. Combined with the loss of his nephew, it had sent him over the edge. That was what the media was reporting.
No one knew why Wallace had shot Izzie. He’d taken one look at her and fired. It seemed so random. There were theories ranging from demon possession—the Snotty Garlic was responsible for that one—to the idea that Izzie and Nikkie Jean were Wallace Henedy’s illegitimate daughters. Again, the Garlic.
Some enterprising tabloid reporter had found baby photos of both Izzie and Nikkie Jean and was claiming they resembled Henedy’s only son. Drama. Nothing but drama and gossip. Allen bit back the anger.
Someone needed to buy that damned rag and shut it down completely.
He toyed with the idea for a quick moment. He might just do it. Put Logan’s legacy to some good, at least.
“We’re getting forensic accountants to go over the entire department’s billing practices. At every hospital where Henedy has practiced. You ever have any concerns?”
“He wasn’t the greatest surgeon, but he was better than many I’ve seen come through the department. I didn’t hire him. Dr. Daniels did years before I signed on here. Wallace had worked here at least fourteen or fifteen years. I never had cause to fire him, though there were several instances that I questioned his judgment with patients. Nothing ever crossed the line. I know Rafe reported him to the medical board twice within the last year.” He wished he had. He wished he’d gotten rid of Henedy years ago when he’d first taken over the surgical department.
Then none of this would have happened. That he hadn’t was all on him.
Izzie wouldn’t be fighting for every minute of life, for every breath she took. Allen should have realized something was going on with Henedy. Guilt settled against his shoulders once again. “I hope you find the answers.”
“We will. And if anyone else is involved, that will come out, too.”
“I want answers, for Nikkie Jean and Izzie. They deserve that. You sure you’re the best man to find them?” Allen wanted to say so much more, but he bit his tongue. Callum might be an abrasive asshole, but Allen had more important things to deal with now.
“I’ve got it handled.”
The people Henedy had hurt deserved answers. If putting up with Callum brought those answers, Allen would suffer the experience. He sent Callum off with two small boxes of Henedy’s personal belongings.
They’d found a different set of journals. Horribly misspelled and chronicling Henedy’s daily life for the past forty years, with a few notes about his patients and his family. There was a surprising amount of journals.
Not exactly something Allen would ever want to read, but maybe it would give the TSP the answers they needed. Answers Nikkie Jean and Izzie deserved.
21
He had to think. Wallace had to think. He had to fix this. The girl…Izzie. She was haunting him now. He hadn’t heard she’d died. He didn’t think she had. No one had said he was now being charged with murder or anything.
He hoped she was ok. Jacobson had been there. That man was a world-class trauma surgeon. He could have made certain the girl pulled through.
Big brown eyes haunted him, almost every minute of the day. Especially at night.
At night, that girl turned into Elizabeth Rosemary. Each and every time.
That was what really haunted him.
Her face, telling him over and over that he’d killed her. It had been his fault. He should have found a way to keep her from being hurt.
Even Nikkie Jean didn’t haunt him as much now as that innocent nurse.
He’d killed women before.
They had been far from innocent.
Wallace couldn’t deny that he’d killed women before. In his role as a physician, he was intimately acquainted with death. It hadn’t shocked him in a long, long time.
He had killed.
Connie. She was still out there. He didn’t think they’d even found her body yet. That was not something he had intended to happen. Not when he’d dumped her in the Value Reservoir that night.
She hadn’t been found, not that