Disclaimer: "Diagnosis Murder" and the characters in it are owned by CBS and Viacom and are merely being borrowed here for recreational, non-profit purposes.

Rating: G

Summary: A patient's relative decides to ensure that Mark doesn't interfere with his plans for an early inheritance.

As always, a special thanks to Mouse for her continued honesty and support.

PREEMPTIVE MURDER

Chapter 1

Mark Sloan was standing at a nurse's station, reviewing patient charts, when he was hailed by his friend and colleague, Dr. Jesse Travis.

"Hey, Mark, I thought you were going home early today," Jesse said, as he approached the older doctor.

"That was before the 'flu hit another one of our attending physicians," Mark replied with rueful humor.

"Oh boy, who's out now?" Jesse asked.

"Dan Engleton. I've picked up several patients he has in the hospital." Mark flashed a somewhat tired smile. "I'm still hoping to get back home in time to meet Steve for dinner."

"That's right; he's getting back from that seminar today, isn't he?" Jesse glanced at the charts Mark was holding. "From the looks of it, you may not make it until breakfast," he quipped. "You want me to take some of those?"

"Thanks, Jess," Mark said warmly, "but these are mostly the ones I've seen already. I've only got one more patient to look in on." He smiled at his young friend, appreciating his willingness to help out. They were all carrying extra loads this last week or two, due to an unusually virulent strain of 'flu that seemed to be decimating the hospital staff almost as much as it was the community at large. But Jesse knew that Steve had been away at a criminology seminar, and he knew how much Mark was looking forward to having a chance to spend a relaxed evening with his son before Steve was officially back on duty at the precinct and subject to the ever-present demands of last-minute cases or backed-up paperwork requirements that so frequently scuttled any plans they might have.

"Okay. Well, say hi to Steve for me and tell him that he might as well enjoy his last free night, because he's going to be covering Bob's for me for the next couple of evenings!"

Mark laughed as Jesse continued down the hall to finish off his shift, which would undoubtedly last for several more hours. Handing the bulk of the patient files he had been reviewing to a nurse, he picked up the remaining one and headed off to see his last patient of the day, an 85-year-old woman who had been admitted a few days previously for a severe case of the 'flu with respiratory complications.

Entering the patient's room, Mark found two people there before him: a young nurse in her early twenties, and a male visitor who appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s. Both looked around as he approached the bed. Mark addressed the man.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Mark Sloan," he introduced himself. "I'm here to see Mrs. Gallegher."

The man looked slightly nonplussed, as he acknowledged the greeting.

"I'm Michael Garretson, her nephew," he said. "I thought Dr. Engleton was my aunt's doctor."

"I'm afraid Dr. Engleton has been hit by this 'flu that's going around," Mark explained easily. "I'm sure he'll be back in a few days, but in the meantime, I'm helping out with some of his patients."

Garretson accepted the explanation with apparent equanimity, expressing polite wishes for Dr. Engleton's recovery and helping to answer Mark's questions as he reviewed the information in the patient's chart.

Mark spent a few moments examining Mrs. Gallegher, who was groggy and not very alert. Exercising the easy charm that served him so well, especially with elderly female patients, Mark succeeded in getting her to talk, and even coaxed a smile out of her. When he felt he had obtained all the necessary information, he flashed her a warm smile, and told her that he'd be back to see her again the next day. As he moved toward the door, he signaled the young nurse, who had remained in the room, to come with him. Mr. Garretson, who had been watching the doctor's interactions with his aunt, moved quietly to follow them to the door.

"Is there anything wrong, Dr. Sloan?" he asked. "I know she's not been doing too well."

"Well, she doesn't seem to be responding to the current treatment," Mark replied quietly. "But there are still a few things we can check out yet. There's no need to get too upset just yet."

"Good," Garretson replied. "I know she's getting up there, and she's always been rather frail and sickly, but I hate to see anything happen to her. She's such a dear old thing."

"Well, we'll do our best to get her back on her feet," Mark said soothingly.

"I'm sure you will. Thank you, Doctor." The man looked over at the young nurse. "And thank you, Nurse, for your care of my aunt. I know she appreciates it. I'm just going to grab a quick bite to eat, but I'll be back in a little while." The man smiled at them both, and walked away.

As they watched him disappear down the corridor, Mark turned to the nurse beside him.

"Caitlyn, have you been taking care of Mrs. Gallegher since she was admitted?" he asked.

"Yes," replied the nurse, looking surprised and slightly nervous. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"I was just wondering – did Dr. Engleton mention anything to you about Mrs. Gallegher having a cardiac condition?" Mark asked.

"No," she replied. "Is there something on the chart?"

"No, there isn't," Mark said with a thoughtful frown. "But her heart rate seems to be surprisingly slow since she's been admitted."

"I think Dr. Engleton said something about the 'flu putting a strain on her system," volunteered the nurse diffidently.

"Could be," Mark mused. "I wouldn't have thought the effect would be that pronounced though, unless she has some pre-existing heart condition." He shook off his slight preoccupation and smiled at the young woman. "Well, we'll just keep a close eye on things and make sure we cover all the bases."

The nurse stood in the hallway for a moment, as Mark disappeared down the hall. When he was out of sight, she headed for the coffee shop on the ground floor. Once there, she scanned the room, checking out the few patrons. She quickly picked out Michael Garretson and moved over to his table.

"Miss Rogers!" he exclaimed as she approached him. He cast a quick glance around the room. "How nice to see you; are you taking a break here too?"

Casting her own automatic glance around, she sat down at the table next to him and said in a quiet voice, "Michael, we need to talk."

Lowering his own voice to be barely audible, he replied briefly, "We agreed that it was best not to be seen together here."

"There are no hospital personnel here now – nobody who knows either of us. And we have a problem. I have to talk to you." Her voice was urgent and insistent.

Garretson raised an eyebrow, but, after another searching glance around the room, merely said in a normal tone, "Won't you join me for a cup of coffee then? It's the least I can do after you've been so kind to my aunt." He signaled for the waitress, as Caitlyn settled nervously into the chair. They made polite, open small talk while the order was taken and delivered.

Once the waitress had served the coffee, Garretson looked closely at his companion and asked quietly, "Okay, now what's the problem that's so critical that it couldn't wait?"

"We can't go through with this," Caitlyn replied nervously. "Not now."

"Why not? Look, everything's been going great. Aunt Camille has been going steadily downhill, with no symptoms that aren't perfectly compatible with her age and condition. Another day or two, and it should all be over."

"That was when Dr. Engleton was her doctor. This is Dr. Sloan." She saw him open his mouth to argue, and cut him off. "Look, you don't understand. Dr. Sloan is different. He notices things. He's got a reputation around here for practically being able to smell when things aren't right."

"Well, reputations can be exaggerated, you know," Garretson responded soothingly. "And we've looked into this carefully. Even if he does do a few extra tests, potassium won't show up unless you're specifically looking for it; and there's no reason why he should suspect it in this case. It'll just be a case of an old woman whose heart gave out during a particularly nasty bout of the 'flu."

Caitlyn remained unconvinced. "I don't know, Michael. Dr. Sloan is a consultant for the police department; he solves murders and everything." That caused Garretson to look thoughtful. He surveyed the young nurse's face, realizing that she was definitely on edge about this. It wouldn't do to have her come apart now and undo all his careful planning. His first priority was to get her reassured and calmed down; then he could decide what to do about this new doctor she was so concerned about.

"Look, Caitlyn, it'll be all right; I promise. Besides, we've gone too far to back out now. Remember, this is going to be a great thing for us. Poor Aunt Camille – she's been sick and miserable for so long now; it's really a blessing for her to have a quick, peaceful end. And then you and I will be together – no more sneaking around waiting for me to have the money to afford the life we've dreamed of. We'll work something out that'll keep Dr. Sloan from getting suspicious; trust me."

He continued to murmur assurances as they left the coffee shop, and once outside, he drew her into a quiet corner and pulled her close to him. She responded eagerly to the embrace, melting into his arms, her doubts dissipating as she lost herself in the dream of a future with this man she adored. The interlude was all too brief, however, as Garretson released her with a murmured reminder of the risks of them being spotted together. She understood that. The beauty of his plan lay in the fact that he had no opportunity to administer the daily doses of potassium that would shortly result in fatal cardiac failure, and she, as far as anyone knew, had no motive. That was why they had to be so careful to hide their relationship – for her protection. As long as no one knew that she was in love with Camille Gallegher's nephew and heir, there would be no reason to suspect her, should any question arise in connection with the death. No doubts arose in her mind as to any other possible motivation for her lover's actions. His aunt's death would be a merciful release for an ailing and unhappy old woman and the means to provide for their blissful future together. She believed in him passionately; she belonged to him, body and soul. She reluctantly left the haven of his arms to return to her duties, comforted by his presence and assurances.

Michael Garretson watched her leave, mulling over what she had told him. It was unfortunate that Dr. Engleton had succumbed to the same illness that had provided the opportunity to speed up his receipt of his inheritance. Dr. Engleton was young and inexperienced, and was unlikely to question the downward slide of an old woman whose heart had given out under the strain of a severe bout of 'flu. This Dr. Sloan, from the sounds of it, was an entirely different story. Obviously, if he had been involved with murder investigations for years, he was much more likely to notice any little discrepancies in symptoms that might result from their additions to his aunt's IV. He decided that it might, in fact, be wise to take steps to ensure that Dr. Sloan did not present a problem to the smooth completion of his plan. And the sooner he took care of that situation, the better.

Mark entered the beach house conscious of a feeling of satisfaction that he had still managed to get home well before Steve was expected back. He puttered around, tidying up and getting himself organized, taking advantage of the extra time to do a few of the things that he had neglected over the past few hectic days. Much as he enjoyed his work, and had no desire to contemplate the possibility of retirement just yet, he had to confess that, at his age, these extended periods of extra-long shifts with extra-heavy patient loads tended to catch up with him sooner than they used to.

Once he had the house straightened to his satisfaction, he sat down at his desk to attend to some paperwork he had brought home. After a while, however, his attention wandered to the crossword puzzle he had put aside a few days earlier, and he found himself immersed in it. Finding that he was having trouble concentrating even on that normally relaxing diversion, he concluded that what he really needed was to get outside. Removing his reading glasses, he rose, stretched, and wandered toward the deck, hoping that some fresh air would wake him up a bit.

As he approached the sliding glass doors, he admired the glow of the sunset that was just starting to send wisps of rose across the blue of the sky. He loved the peacefulness of the beach at sunset; a nice relaxing lounge on the deck enjoying the view would make a perfect start to a pleasant evening spent with his son. Just as he reached for the handle of the door, the serenity of the evening was shattered by a series of shots that sprayed a deadly rain of broken glass and bullets directly at him.