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He could see her take a deep breath to call for help and began speaking rapidly.
“You’ve got to help me, Cheryl. The cop
s came to my apartment this morning, with a search warrant. That big black detective.” He held his hands in a pleading position. “He thinks I killed Chris. They took away things. Evidence. Please, please…” His chiseled, confident face dissolved into tears and he slid down against the wall sobbing. “Please, I need you.”
“Put your pants on or I’m out of here.” She squared her shoulders and gave him her nastiest look. She wouldn’t let herself show fear. “And step away from the door.”
“You’ll talk?”
“If you step away from the door.”
He pulled himself up and walked slowly to a chair that held his clothes. She saw the clothes only now—they might have been a clue to stay out if she had seen them earlier. As he moved, she kept the rolling table between them. With the door unguarded, she made two wide strides to it, threw it open, and started out.
“Please!”
She turned to face him. “I’ll stay for the moment, if you don’t piss me off or get weird. But get dressed. And don’t call me Cheryl. You know what my name is.”
“Sure, sure.” He was half mumbling as he slid into his boxers and his slacks. She dropped down the doorstop so the door was half open, and she leaned against the wall by the jamb.
“God, I need to fuck right now.”
It was true: he used sex to relieve stress. It took her awhile to realize that he was most aroused when he was under the greatest pressure. Soon after that, she came to understand that she might just as well not have been there. She was just a female body to him. A way to work off stress. Another conquest.
“Talk to your pal, Amy.” Cheryl Beth folded her arms, half feeling sorry for him, but still drunk with adrenaline fear.
“That bitch.” He slipped on his dress shirt and quickly buttoned it. His face was a caricature of little-boy petulance. She half expected to see him use his sleeve to wipe his runny nose. “She sold me out.”
“Sold you out?”
“The cops said she didn’t back up my story that we were together that night, the night that Chris was killed.”
“So she told the truth.” She was comforted by the sounds of a housekeeping crew working in the hallway close by.
“Do you know how much money I bring into this hospital as a neurosurgeon?” His adult voice was back, but with an angry edge.
“I know, you’re the famous two-million-dollar man.”
“They told me this would go away. They said it would not touch me!”
“Who told you? What are you talking about?”
“The hospital! Jim Bryant!” The CEO of Memorial. Cheryl Beth had a hard time believing such a thing. Gary’s eyes were still wild.
“Gary, I told you that night you should immediately go to the police and tell them the truth.”
“Bryant said he’d shut it down. No one would even talk about it.”
Cheryl Beth took that in but kept her face as expressionless as possible. You’re an open book.
“You’ve got to help me,” he said, adding, “Cheryl Beth.”
“I’ve done all I can do, Gary.”
“Damn you!” He shook his fist at her. “You’re such a cold bitch. It’s all because your mother never loved you. I get you.”
She pushed her anger down into her shoes and quietly said, “Gary, you never knew anything important about me. What matters to me. You weren’t man enough to ask or to understand. We just fucked. It was nothing special.” The cold harshness of her voice surprised her. His eyes widened and he actually twitched, jerking his head to the left, the veins standing out in his neck.
“Please, I’m sorry.”
