Terminal (A Lomax & Biggs Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free Page A

them.”
    “I can’t believe it,” he said. “It took less than ten minutes for me to go from fondling Victoria’s gauzy thongs to retrieving Mike Lomax’s ragtag skivvies.”
    He started to leave, stopped, and turned around. “Y’know, as long as you’re dressed for it,” he said, grinning, “are you sure you don’t want to toddle on across the hall and get that pesky prostate exam over and done with?”
    “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” I said. “And if you see a guy wearing a white coat and a latex glove with a glob full of K-Y jelly on one finger, tell him to—oh, hell, you’ll think of something—you’re the comedian.”

CHAPTER 4
    JESSICA KEATING KNELT over the body of Kristian Kraus and shook her head. “Three shotgun blasts to the chest. Talk about overkill.”
    “Don’t judge our shooter too harshly,” Terry said. “It’s still early in the investigation, but I think we’ve established that Mr. Bernstein was not exactly a professional.”
    Officer Barclay returned. “Nobody else was hurt,” she reported, “although I’m sure several of the people I interviewed will be upping their Xanax intake for the next few days. Security cameras have the shooter’s Volvo pulling into the parking lot at 1:14 p.m. He sat behind the wheel for eighteen minutes, finally got out, removed a four-foot-long canvas case from the trunk, and entered the building. Three minutes later, all hell broke loose.”
    “Any witnesses?” Terry asked.
    “A long list, most of whom described a crazy man with a gun running down the hall half-naked, but the doctor’s receptionist had a face-to-face with the shooter. Her name’s Michele Melvin. She’s waiting for you at the front desk.”
    I knew Michele. She’d worked for Kraus when Joanie was a patient, and despite the fact that she’d met thousands of infertile couples since then, she recognized me immediately.
    “Detective Lomax,” she said, offering me her hand. “I’m so sorry about your wife.”
    “You knew?”
    “Dr. Kraus told me. He was very upset.”
    I nodded. My pants and my dignity had been restored, but I was still shaky after first staring down the barrel of a Mossberg, and then watching helplessly as Cal Bernstein blew his brains out. Bringing up my dead wife didn’t help calm me down. “Can you tell us what happened?” I said.
    “The man—the one who shot Dr. Kraus—came in. He was walking fast. He gets to my window and says, ‘I’m meeting my wife, but I desperately need a bathroom before I sign in.’ He’s squirming all around like you do when you have to pee real bad, so I buzzed him in.”
    She closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead. Cops see it all the time—an eyewitness reliving a moment of sheer horror that would stay with her for the rest of her life. We waited.
    “And then I heard him yell Dr. Kraus’s name,” she said, opening her eyes. “Only it was more of a question, like he wanted to make sure he was talking to the right person. Then I heard the first shot, and I went on automatic pilot.”
    She looked at me and Terry to make sure we understood. We did, but we let her elaborate.
    “I grew up in East LA. You hear gunfire; you take cover. You try to run, and you could wind up running into a bullet. I dove under the desk and prayed until I heard someone say, ‘LAPD. Drop the gun.’ That was you, wasn’t it?”
    I nodded.
    She smiled. “You’re the answer to my prayers.”
    “Did you know the man who shot him?” Terry asked.
    “Never saw him before, but we get new patients all the time. It’s the nature of the practice.”
    “His name is Calvin Bernstein. See if he’s in your records.”
    She hesitated.
    “What’s the matter?” Terry said.
    “Dr. Kraus is big on patient confidentiality, but I guess I’mallowed to break the HIPAA laws if my boss gets gunned down.”
    She searched her computer. “We’ve got six Bernsteins—no Calvins.”
    “Try Janice Bernstein,” I said.
    She went back to the