Diagnosis Murder 4 - The Waking Nightmare Read Online Free PDF Page A

making the connection the moment Lieutenant Sloan identified himself," Perrow said. "Every body knows Mark Sloan's son is an LAPD homicide detective."
    "You're like Buffy," said Justin Darbo, the skydiving instructor, with the drowsy vocal inflections of a pothead, which, Mark thought, should have made anybody think twice about jumping out of an airplane with him.
    "Buffy?" Mark asked.
    "The Vampire Slayer," Justin said, absently picking at the thy skin on the bridge of his peeling nose. "You've got your own mythology. I bet your car is part of it, too."
    Mark glanced at his Saab convertible. It didn't look very mythic to him.
    "Glad to have you on board, Dr. Sloan," intoned Virgil Nyby with the authority of a man who should be in judges' robes instead of a skydiver's jumpsuit. He was barrel-chested, with broad shoulders and arms the width of tree trunks. "It means we'll get to the bottom of this horrific tragedy that much faster."
    "That's certainly my intent," Mark said. "Though you are under no obligation to talk to me."
    "You can talk to my dad, or you can talk to me in a tiny little interrogation room downtown," Steve said. "Your choice."
    "We aren't a bunch of street thugs, so you can save the tough guy routine," Hemphill said. "There isn't a man standing here who isn't worth millions."
    Justin raised his hand. "I'm carrying three thousand dollars in debt on my Visa card."
    "I think I speak for all of us," Virgil Nyby said, like someone accustomed to speaking for everybody, "when I say we'll cooperate in any way we can. Winston was the heart and soul of this company and, more importantly, a dear friend. We want his killer brought swiftly to justice."
    Mark couldn't think of anything to ask that Steve wouldn't have asked already. Besides, he'd rather hear what Steve found out, go over the autopsy report, and perhaps do a little research on skydiving before facing these men again.
    "You've had a long, traumatic day, so I won't keep you any longer," Mark said. "We can talk another time."
    He had started back towards his car, Steve at his side, when Dean Perrow called out to him. "Surely you must have some idea what happened, Dr. Sloan."
    Mark stopped and turned to look at Perrow, who was standing with his arms open wide, hands up, palms towards him, as if to say go ahead, take your best shot.
    "You are a genius at this sort of thing," Perrow said. "Aren't you?"
    "Actually, Mr. Perrow, there is one thing I'm certain of already," Mark said, letting his gaze pass over each of the four men. "The murderer is right here."
    As if on cue, the medical examiner's van passed behind them, carrying the corpse of Winston Brant to the morgue, kicking up a thick plume of dust in its wake. All four of the skydivers turned to watch in grave silence as the van drove away, as if it was the hearse in a funeral procession.
    When the dust settled, they turned around and were surprised to see that Dr. Mark Sloan was gone.
     
    Rebecca Jordan lay comatose in the Community General intensive care unit, her right arm and leg splinted, elevated, and immobilized. She was surrounded by complex machines that monitored all the activity in her body. The machines were supposed to provide Mark Sloan with essential information that would help him restore her to perfect health. But none of those machines could tell him what he really needed to know—none of them could track the fear, chart the sadness, or measure the desperation that drove Rebecca Jordan to hurl herself out a window.
    Mark didn't need to see a readout to know those demons were still there, waiting to torment her again when she awoke from her coma. Examining her chart, he didn't see any obvious physical indications that she'd been suicidal before. There were no scars on her wrists nor old needle marks elsewhere on her body. There were no drugs in her system nor any signs in the x-rays of serious injuries in the past.
    It was pointless, of course, to try and make any assumptions about her mental