Chapter 15
Detective Kennedy leans his massive frame back in the ten-year-old, pockmarked, wooden swivel chair. Badly beaten up, with two wheels in need of repair, the relic serves to remind him how much damage the NYPD inflicts on those who serve it. Kennedy studies the sparsely populated suspect board in front of him, blocking out the cacophony of noise and motion on this typical afternoon at Manhattan’s 17th precinct. Drug dealers, prostitutes, and other unsavory suspects litter the halls and fill the bulk of the interrogation rooms. Detectives bark orders at each other and their underlings as they weave threads of evidence and leads into cohesive stories.
As acting chief, Kennedy could have a room of his own, a place to collect his thoughts and run the DMC away from the chaotic fray. But Ravello never took on such airs, opting instead to work at a desk abutting his own. That desk sits vacant now next to his and will for as long as he can make it so. No one can fill Chris’ shoes, so why bother trying?
Kennedy stares at the suspect board. Little is known about Irina Malekoviec beyond the basics. Fifty-three years old, Russian, a former concert pianist, her career was torn apart by an insufferable case of rheumatoid arthritis. She spent her days these last four years in relative isolation in her one-bedroom apartment in Brighton Beach, in an area affectionately known as Little Odessa due to its preponderance of Russian immigrants. Piano lessons dotted her calendar, providing just enough money and companionship to keep her moving forward. Calls to her students pegged her as competent, demanding, and aloof. The students knew little of her personal life and social circle and suspected she was a loner. Kennedy’s earlier call to Malekoviec’s rheumatologist, Doctor Jerome Gorelick, has yet to be returned. A visit to Gorelick’s office will likely be needed to spur the investigation along.
“Hey Chief, you’ve got a call,” Simmons yells from two desks over.
Kennedy replies with a knowing nod, “Doctor Gorelick?”
“’Fraid not. It’s a guy claiming to be Durand.”
“What! How the hell’s a guy holed up at Rikers get access to a phone?... And why in God’s name would I want to talk to that loon?” Kennedy shakes his head in disgust and turns his attention back to the board. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Simmons shrugs as he relays the message.
His face turns ashen as he covers the receiver.
“You’re gonna want to take this, boss.... Durand says Michelle Ravello is alive and well— but not for long.” Kennedy freezes in his chair, then turns slowly back toward Simmons. All eyes are glued on the detective as the room turns silent and still. Kennedy stares blankly at Simmons as his eyelids open and close several times.
Rising to his feet, he shifts his weight back and forth. He grumbles a few inaudible expletives, then quietly, “All right, transfer it to my line.”
The phone rings three times, four, five as Kennedy stares at it, circling his hand around the receiver. He lifts it to his ear in silence. “Good afternoon, Detective Kennedy. I trust your recent promotion is proving satisfactory?” Insincerity and sarcasm hang in the air. “Such a shame dear Doctor-Detective Ravello could not continue on in the position. Some men just handle stress worse than others.” A throaty laugh fills the line. Kennedy’s anger spills over.
“What the fuck do you want, Durand?” Kennedy says through gritted teeth.
“What indeed, Detective?” Durand’s voice fills with false indignation. “Such hostility... you should be thanking me as I am the only one who can help you catch your killer and recover your partner’s wife.”
“Been hitting the catnip too hard, Durand? We buried Michelle weeks ago, so what the hell are you talking about?”
Durand sighs with disappointment. “So many questions, such little understanding. Why do I even try?” Then pointedly, “Your Malekoviec case, of course—it holds the secret to finding Michelle.”
A chill runs through Kennedy. How the hell...? He spits out a flustered reply, “What about it, Durand? One of your deranged buddies have a thing for piano teachers?”
“Such a simpleton, Detective... ah, but like the ‘little engine that could,’ do keep trying.” Then condescending, as if speaking to a small child, “Someday you may outgrow your diapers and play with the big boys. But today is not that day, Detective.”
Kennedy strangles the phone with white knuckles as he struggles to contain himself. “We’ve got important work to get back to, Durand. So if you’ve got something to say, just spill it.”
“To Ravello.”
“What?”
“I have no time for underlings, Detective, no matter how fancy their titles.” Then icy cold, “Only Ravello. Bring him to me if you want answers.”
“Hello? Hello? Shit!” The sound of the receiver slamming into its cradle reverberates. Men jump back to looking busy while Kennedy stares at the phone, wondering what to do next.
Chapter 16
“Todd Zigler?” Limerock extends a hand. “Grayson Limerock, Immunogenetics Offerings.” Grayson looks at the box of donuts hoisted upon Todd’s arm and laughs. “Bit of a sweet-tooth, eh, Todd?”
Limbs filled with donuts and a tray of coffees, Todd tries to shake hands, but settles for a nod instead. “Oh, they’re for the office.” He eyes Grayson warily. “Say, have we met before?”
Grayson flashes a smile. “No. I enjoyed the paper you and Harold Hyslop presented last year at the Miami Conference of Immunology and Biochemistry.” He looks at Todd’s full hands. “Can I help?”
“Sure, Mr. Limerock. That’d be great.”
Grayson takes the coffees as the two walk out of the donut store at the corner of 10th Street and Avenue A, just north of Tompkins Square Park. Despite the early hour, two artists in black overcoats and gray fingerless gloves paint the park’s landscape while an unsavory man lurks off to the side, in search of his next fix. Grayson and Todd head west on 10th, a stiff, swirling wind lashing at them.
“Heading toward Union Square? I’ll walk with you.”
“Sure.” Todd eyes Grayson with interest. “No offense, Mr. Limerock—”
“Grayson.”
“Uh, sure, Grayson, but didn’t think this was your kind of neighborhood. Pictured you more of an Upper East Side guy.”
Grayson laughs. “Well, you’ve got me there, Todd. Big brownstone on 82nd between Park and Madison.” He turns more serious. “Chalk it up to a bit of slumming in the name of recruiting top talent.”
“Okay?”
As Grayson and Todd come to a stop at the corner, the ‘Don’t Walk’ light flashing across the intersection, Limerock rests his hand on Todd’s forearm.
“Todd, I’ve long admired your work at Doctor Hyslop’s lab. But quite frankly, your talents have outgrown him, and I’m prepared to offer you a substantial raise to come work for me.”
“Oh, wow. I’m really flattered, Mr. Lime—, Grayson, but I can’t leave right now. We’re sort of in the middle of some big things at the lab.”
“Not to mention the fallout from the woman’s death who you were treating.”
Todd yanks his head back. “How’d you know? I thought it was hush-hush.”
Grayson flashes a confident smile and a wink. “You don’t become the CEO/CMO of a billion-dollar company, Todd, without knowing everything going on in the industry.”
The ‘Walk’ signal beckons as the crowd pushes around them.
Grayson grabs Todd’s arm, holding him in place. “I’m impressed by your loyalty, Todd, but realize it comes at a price. The stench of a death tied to your lab can have a profoundly negative effect on your career. And once the police are involved, well, there’s no telling where things may lead.”
Grayson stares intently at Todd, then hands him the tray of coffees. “Be careful, Todd, and keep all your options open. You can never be sure which path you’ll suddenly need to pursue.”
CONTINUED IN FORBIDDEN CURE 2: REVELATIONS
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Rubin is a practicing physician who enjoys weaving tales of medical/scientific intrigue. Writing for him is equal parts catharsis, creativity, and escape from the rigors of a busy medical practice and the joys and challenges of raising a family.
The works of James Patterson, Robin Cook, Michael Palmer, and Patricia Cornwell inspired Dr. Rubin to create the Chris Ravello Medical Thriller Series. Each book in the series has regularly enjoyed a place on the Amazon Best Sellers lists for Medical Thrillers and Medical Fiction since their releases.
Challenges and tragedies in Dr. Rubin’s life, particularly the untimely death of his mother, provided some of the underlying drama, conflict, and turmoil for the series’ lead character.
When he isn’t busy practicing medicine or crafting his next medical thriller, Dr. Rubin enjoys time with his family and friends, running, playing piano, and traveling.
To find out more about William and what is coming next for Chris Ravello, visit the author on Facebook (william.erubin), Twitter (@werubin671), or follow him on Bookbub, Goodreads, or Amazon. You can also email him ([email protected]) and/or have your name added to his growing newsletter list at Newsletter Sign Up.
William values your thoughts, insights, and feelings on Forbidden Cure, so please post a review on your favorite websites/blogs.
Forbidden Cure Part One Page 4