A Murder, A Mystery, And A Marriage
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It was a cold, crisp autumn morning and I stood by the side of my car at a stop sign while my wife waited for it to turn green. She rolled down the window and said, “Do you hear that?”
“What?” I replied absently. It wasn’t unusual for her to be late, but she’d never been more than five or ten minutes before.
The next thing I knew someone had knocked on our driver’s-side door and the woman sitting there—who I hadn’t known existed until an hour or two before when she showed up unexpectedly and made a big show of telling me we were going to lunch—said, “I have a message from your wife for you.”
The woman who’d knocked was tall and slender and in her early thirties with straight blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her dress was cream-colored and looked expensive, though it didn’t have any labels in sight.
Her smile seemed to reach all the way across the seat back to me. She said something else too. I can only assume she said the same thing that I’m saying now: I had no idea what was happening.
It must have sounded strange to the woman, because she looked around to see if anyone else might be listening, then said to me, “We’ll talk later, Mr. Jones,” and winked at my wife. Then she left the car.
When we arrived home, the woman from the restaurant appeared again in my kitchen and introduced herself as Laura O’Brien, the head of security at the restaurant, which meant nothing to me at the time. It just sounded like a fancy name for a waitress.
She took one look at my wife’s face and announced there had been an accident. She asked us if we wanted her to call a taxi service and take us to the hospital or wait until our regular chauffeur arrived. My wife asked what she’d need to do to get a cab driver in her place.
“Just send the car away and you’re good to go,” said the woman. We thanked her and walked out the front door to find Laura waiting for us with an umbrella. She led us down a sidewalk where I saw three police cars and a few people milling about, all looking in one direction. When they caught sight of me and my wife, everyone began to turn around.
I’d never seen so many police officers and detectives before. I knew that my wife worked at the restaurant as a waitress, but hadn’t thought much more of it than that. Now, watching the news vans roll into my neighborhood, I felt the full impact of everything that happened over the last hour, or maybe day or week. I was sure I must’ve gone nuts somewhere between the house and the car.
Laura took us through the crowd to where one of the detectives sat on the grass outside of our front gate. The man had a notebook open in his lap and my wife’s driver’s license was lying beside him. He told Laura to step back while he got up from the grass and came inside to see us.
His name tag read, “Detective O’Sullivan.” He had red hair, bright blue eyes, and an Irish accent. He was in his early twenties and he looked young enough to be my son. He shook my wife’s hand and then mine and asked me where the hospital was, then if my wife had insurance.
We gave him some money and he called the emergency room at St. Andrews Hospital in West Palm Beach and arranged for an ambulance to come to collect us.
He said something about being careful with her until we arrived at the hospital and then walked us down to where two other detectives stood by the side of the road. One of them was in his late thirties, with blond hair and green eyes and he wore a police uniform with a star on his chest.
His badge read “Detective D’Agosta.” The second detective was tall with dark hair. His badge read, “Detective DeMarco.” They were talking, so I couldn’t hear what they’d been saying, but the younger detective turned around quickly when he saw me and nodded. It looked like he had something important to say to my wife, but I had no idea what that could possibly be.
As we waited, D’Agosta and DeMarco came closer, still talking, until D’Agosta asked me a question. When I didn’t answer right away, he said to my wife, “Did you ever tell him about the accident?”
My wife’s voice sounded small in the distance, and though she’d only spoken a few words, her answer surprised me. She said, “No,” and then turned to the other woman. “What happened, Laura?”
Laura O’Brien stood there with a shocked look on her face as if she couldn’t believe she’d just done or said anything. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Jones? Are you going to take a ride to the hospital with me? I want to be sure to catch the doctor in case it was a medical emergency.”
“Yeah…yes, I mean, I think I’ll go ahead. Thanks,” I replied, though I’m not quite sure how I ended up in her car with the woman and my wife was walking down the street towards the hospital.
All I know is I don’t remember driving with Laura to the emergency room and I must’ve taken off my own jacket in the back seat and changed the shirt underneath because when we arrived at the ER, all three of us were soaked from the rain.
The two detectives followed us inside, where a young nurse with curly blond hair was waiting for them. My wife and I went through another series of questions from an old man sitting behind a counter.
After that, they sat next to me, on one side, and Laura, on the other, while D’Agosta filled me in on the details, telling me about a fire in a building near my house in Hollywood which he’d been called to investigate.
The fire killed a mother and her five-year-old daughter and left a young man in critical condition. Apparently, the young man had gone into shock when they found him, so his story didn’t line up with what he’d told the police before the paramedics took him to the hospital.
“That sounds like the place, Mr. Jones,” said the detective. He handed me a piece of paper covered with numbers written in spidery handwriting.
I turned the paper over and the other detective pointed out my name and address to the receptionist in front of the desk. She gave my wallet back, and after some more questions about why we were there, D’Agosta and DeMarco led us past all of the patients in the waiting room towards a set of double doors on the far side of the lobby.
As soon as they pushed the doors open and we were inside the hospital, I thought that my heart might stop.
There were three beds, one with my daughter lying in it. The other two were empty. There was an IV pole beside my wife and she appeared to be sleeping.
She was still wearing the red coat D’Agosta had given me to wear and her hair was pulled up into a ponytail I couldn’t see any bruises on her face, but the woman’s eyes were open and looking at me. She didn’t say anything, though.
Then the nurses arrived to help Laura move onto one of the empty beds. We watched from outside the curtain until they left and then Detective O’Sullivan led my wife away. He came back with an older, heavyset nurse, who said her name was Mrs. Riggs.
He whispered something into her ear and she nodded. D’Agosta told my wife she’d find Mrs. Riggs in her office and to tell Mrs. Riggs he wanted to see me. My wife smiled briefly then disappeared through the double doors with my wife.
After waiting another five minutes, Mrs. Riggs came over and took me by the arm, leading me down the hall. D’Agosta and DeMarco followed, talking softly among themselves as they walked. I felt my legs begin to shake again.
Mrs. Riggs stopped and pointed across the corridor. “Your daughter’s room is straight ahead. It’s number thirty-three.”
She held her finger out in front of her so that she could be sure of where we were going. She looked around the hallway and asked, “How many kids are there?”
“Three,” I replied.
Mrs. Riggs nodded. “This is a very good hospital. I’ve been here all my life.”
The two detectives fell silent, and my thoughts returned to my daughter. When we turned the corner, I saw the closed door with a sign on it saying “Staff Only”. The only light was coming from the glow of the digital numbers flashing above the bed. D’Agosta and DeMarco stayed at the end of the hallway while Mrs. Riggs and I entered.
“Laura? Can you hear me?” I asked.
My daughter looked so small, lying there on the thin sheet, with only the IV line dangling down beside her nose. My mind reeled at how much she looked like my wife and the shock of seeing her there after being told what had happened to her was enough to make me lose my balance.
“I’m right here,” Laura whispered, smiling up at me. “Mommy’s here.”
She didn’t sound like she believed me, but then I realized she’d probably heard us walking past her and she couldn’t have known who was standing next to her before Mrs. Riggs opened the curtains to check on her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” said the nurse.
I stood up, feeling unsteady. D’Agosta put his arm around me and led me to a chair where he sat me down. Mrs. Riggs took some blood samples, and I answered a couple more questions for Detective O’Sullivan.
After that, I tried to get back on my feet and Mrs. Riggs helped me as the detective told me my daughter would be transferred to Cedars Sinai Hospital as soon as possible, and my wife and Laura should go home and rest.
When Mrs. Riggs finished with her work, D’Agosta and DeMarco went out into the hall and I walked across to Laura’s bed. I bent down to kiss her forehead.
“Mamma is here, Laura. She’s going to stay with you tonight.” I turned to Mrs. Riggs. “Could you help me take some of these clothes off?”
Mrs. Riggs gave me a smile and started to undo my daughter’s shirt, taking the IV line away as she did. Once the doctor had given his permission and the nurses moved aside, Mrs. Riggs pulled the sheet off of my daughter and left it lying on top of a pillow near the foot of the bed. My little girl had bruises all over her legs, arms, neck, and face.
The detective took the sheets from me and folded them so they wouldn’t get blood on them, saying, “They’ll need those back.” He put a hand under Laura’s arm and helped her roll onto her side, lifting the blankets as he did. Laura reached up for him, but D’Agosta said, “Just a minute, please,” as he moved away, taking one of the sheets with him.
He returned to the bed holding Laura’s clothes in his hands.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“A crime scene.” He looked around at my daughter, then at her clothes. “I’ll need your clothes for evidence. It’d be better if Laura wore them until they arrive in California, so we don’t have to send someone back here every time you want to visit her.”
Laura didn’t look happy about this idea, but I said nothing as Mrs. Riggs took off the rest of her clothes, leaving them beside her bed. I lifted my daughter’s leg as Mrs. Riggs peeled her hospital gown up and pulled it down over her hips. I saw the bandage and felt sick to my stomach, but my mind reeled with worry and fear.
“How is she doing, doctor? Can you tell me that?” I was still feeling shaky but trying to be strong.
One of the nurses walked over, holding out a clipboard. The other nurse handed me the clipboard and the doctor looked down at it.
“Laura is resting. She looks very weak, but her vitals are good. As far as we can tell right now, there’s no sign of any internal injuries. We’ll know more once the results of the blood tests come in. You may want to leave a note for the hospital staff to let them know that you’ve been discharged, Mr. Kincaid.”
The two detectives walked over to the door and D’Agosta told the doctor they would escort us to the lobby and give them their clothes. He gave the clipboard back to the doctor and he thanked him.
With my arm around Mrs. Riggs, D’Agosta and I left the room and Mrs. Riggs followed us out into the hall. She put her arms around Laura and kissed her on the forehead, then whispered something in my daughter’s ear. I wanted to know what she had said, but Mrs. Riggs shook her head, looking back at me and giving me an encouraging smile.
D’Agosta stopped us and D’Aquanni walked up to us with one of the uniforms in his hand. D’Agosta said, “Take these for Laura.” He held out my daughter’s clothes to D’Aquanni.
He put them in a plastic evidence bag and then passed me the sheet he’d taken from the bed, and a plastic bag containing my wife’s clothes.
“What’s this?” I asked.
I looked at D’Aquanni and he held the bag out again. The detective nodded at D’Agosta who reached behind him. A few seconds later a nurse appeared with a clipboard full of medical information and my wife’s hospital card. D’Agosta took that too and handed it to D’Aquanni. I turned away, feeling like someone was reaching in with their hand and trying to steal everything I owned.
Mrs. Riggs said something to my daughter and D’Agosta stopped walking.
When he turned to face D’Aquanni and my daughter, he was holding a box in his hand. It was a plain cardboard box about nine inches by three feet, about six inches deep. I saw it had some writing on the side in red marker.
“Laura, we’re going to have a little surprise waiting for you when we get back home,” he said as he handed over the box, “but before then you need to write me a letter, and it better be a long one. And Mrs. Riggs will help you write it if it’s hard for you. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Laura said with a big smile, nodding her head. “It will be very long.”
I took the box and D’Agosta put his arms around my shoulders as they both walked us through the hospital and out to the parking lot.
The detectives took me to my car and D’Agosta drove off, leaving D’Aquanni and me sitting in front of Mrs. Riggs’s SUV.
“You sure Laura doesn’t know what the detective means when he talks about writing a letter?” I asked as I opened the box.
Mrs. Riggs looked at the two uniforms standing behind me and nodded. The older of the detectives, D’Aquanni, turned out his pockets and pulled the bag holding Laura’s clothes from them, setting them down near the door to Mrs. Riggs’s vehicle.
He took the clipboard back to the desk and I heard the nurse come running to tell him there were two visitors outside in the parking lot. I watched him and the other cop walk across the lawn toward my car.
D’Aquanni reached my side, picked up the plastic evidence bag, and held it out to me. I put it inside my jacket pocket, looking down at my wife’s hospital card and hospital information sheet and shaking my head. D’Aquanni put his hand on my shoulder.
“Let me take these to the desk so they can put them away.”
“Why did she have to go to the hospital?” I asked the older cop. “If we’d stayed home…”
“We don’t know what happened. If this had been any kind of serious fall or even a minor accident, she would’ve come right home,” D’Aquanni replied, “but when your daughter got here, she was very groggy.
It might’ve just been shock, but they checked her over for internal injuries anyway and found a concussion, and we decided that we couldn’t risk letting it get worse until you could take her to the doctor.”
D’Aquanni and D’Agosta went back inside while D’Aquanni’s younger partner, D’Agosta, stayed with us and we talked. I tried to find something in him I liked, but all I saw was a good-looking cop who seemed like he would be nice if he ever smiled.
Laura’s letter was waiting for me when I finally made my way downstairs into the lobby. D’Aquanni brought it over after making sure the nurses didn’t need anything else from us. I held it against my chest and walked slowly out of the building and back to the SUV, where I sat with the box containing my wife’s clothes next to me on the seat.
I took the letter from my jacket and opened it. My wife’s handwriting was clear, but there were more question marks than words, so I turned it sideways and began reading.
The End