Oliver Quick

by Ditter Kellen

  If the Silencer were a nurse or doctor from the Destin area, why kill women all over the map? Most serial killers tended to hunt close to home.

  And then a thought occurred to him, something that Angie told him while he’d been in the hospital after his car accident.

  He searched his memory, recalling the incident with unmistakable clarity. “It’s not Hitler, is it?”

  A small indention had appeared between her eyes. “Hitler?”

  “The white-haired asshole who sewed up my hand in the ER.”

  “You mean Dr. Ahmad? He’s working in Alabama today. You’re safe for now.”

  Jerking up his phone once more, Oliver quickly dialed Nancy. He spoke before she could get a word in. “Get me everything you can find on a Doctor Ahmad. Possibly sixty to sixty-five years of age, white hair, approximately five-feet-ten. He works at Santa Rosa General Hospital and also a hospital in Alabama.”

  “You think that’s our guy?”

  Oliver was almost sure of it. “My gut says he is. I’ve met him. He’s narcissistic, efficient, and he had the perfect opportunity to get my cell phone number as well as make a copy of the key to my condo while I was in the ER.”

  “I’ll get back with you as soon as I have something.”

  “Thank you, Nancy.”

  Disconnecting the call, Oliver snatched up his 9mm along with his suit jacket and hurried toward the door.

  He yanked it open. “Shit, Richard! You really need to make some noise when standing at my door. I nearly shot you.”

  Holland’s eyebrows lifted. “I was about to knock. Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “You drive. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “Do you really think Ahmad is our guy?” Holland asked, after hanging up with the sheriff’s department. He flipped on his lights and sirens to keep from crawling behind the Destin traffic.

  Oliver went over everything he’d learned from going through the folders, ending with, “I don’t know if he’s our guy, but he travels across state lines to work in different hospitals. And he had access to my information and my house key after he drugged me up with pain meds.”

  “Everyone in that hospital has access to your information, Quick.”

  Oliver nodded. “True, but not the key to my condo.”

  “You have a point.”

  Ten minutes later, Holland pulled his SUV up along the curb in front of Doctor Ahmad’s place. The sheriff and two deputies had arrived ahead of them and were already climbing from their vehicles.

  The sheriff met Oliver and Holland at the edge of the drive. “I’m still waiting on a warrant.”

  “Dammit,” Oliver growled, his gaze searching the front of Ahmad’s well-cared-for brick home.

  The yard appeared freshly mowed, and several beds of flowers bordered the property line. “I’ll just knock, then.”

  Oliver strode up the driveway, his steps determined and sure.

  He could hear the shoes of Holland and the sheriff thumping closely behind him.

  Oliver stopped at the front door and rang the bell.

  Two long vertical windows were situated on either side of the red-colored door.

  Oliver could see a light burning inside.

  He rang the bell again. And again.

  The door was suddenly jerked open to reveal a sleepy-eyed Ahmad. “This better be important.”

  Oliver flashed his credentials. “We’re with the FBI. Mind if we come inside?”

  Ahmad eyed Oliver’s ID. “What for?”

  It took all Oliver could do not to snatch Ahmad outside by his throat. “We just need to ask you some questions.”

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a warrant?”

  “Do we need one?” Oliver returned, not backing down.

  “If you’re thinking of coming into my home, you’re damn right you need one.” He closed the door in Oliver’s face.

  Oliver lifted his hand to press the bell once more, but Holland’s words stopped him.

  “Don’t fuck this up, Quick. Wait for the warrant, or nothing we find will stick in court. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

  Oliver knew Holland spoke the truth, but dammit, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

  He turned to face Holland. “He’s probably in there right now, destroying evidence.”

  “Evidence that will never stand up in court if we go in without that warrant,” Holland repeated with a little more force.

  “Fuck!” Oliver barked, spinning on his heel. He stormed back to Holland’s SUV before he changed his mind and put a fist through the glass on either side of Ahmad’s door.

  Holland quickly caught up with him. “Get in the car.”

  Oliver climbed inside the SUV while Holland skirted the front and got in the driver’s side.

  Neither of them spoke for several heartbeats, and then Holland broke the silence. “We’ll wait here on the curb until the warrant comes in.”

  That was the best news Oliver had heard all day. He dropped his head back against the seat. “Why wouldn’t he let us in, unless he has something to hide?”

  “I agree, but we’re going to do this the right way. If he’s our man, and he got off on a technicality…”

  Though Holland’s words trailed off, Oliver knew exactly what he meant.

  The sheriff appeared at Oliver’s window, which he promptly rolled down.

  “Y’all planning on waiting here for the warrant?”

  Oliver nodded.

  “I put another call in to the judge, stressing the urgency of the situation. Hopefully, it’ll arrive soon.”

  Suppressing a curse, Oliver growled, “When is that judge going to get up with the times and follow the rest of the world into the digital age?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “We’ve been wondering that for years. It would save a hell of a lot of time and resources.”

  “No shit,” Oliver muttered, rolling up the window as the sheriff trailed back toward his car.

  Holland spoke up quietly from his position behind the wheel. “What if we’re wrong about Ahmad?”

  Oliver met his gaze. “He fits the profile.”

  “I know. But I can’t help feeling like we’ve missed something.”

  Oliver had wondered that same thing before Ahmad’s narcissistic ass had closed that door in his face. “What could we have missed? He had the perfect opportunity, the skills to not only remove past victims’ larynxes but to surgically remove Jennifer Clayton’s baby from her womb. He would also have knowledge of colostrum and the importance of feeding it to a premature infant.”

  “I know he fits the bill, Quick, but so do dozens of others at that hospital alone. Not to mention the surrounding medical facilities.”

  Oliver turned to stare at Ahmad’s brick home. “What if Jennifer Clayton’s baby is in that house? The longer we sit here waiting for that warrant, the more time he’s left alone in there with him.”

  Another patrol car pulled up behind the sheriff.

  A deputy got out and met the sheriff halfway between vehicles, holding an envelope in his hands.

  “That’s the warrant,” Oliver barked, opening his door and jumping from the SUV.

  He jogged over to the sheriff’s side. “Is that it?”

  The sheriff nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Oliver hurried back up the driveway and pounded on that front door. “Doctor Ahmad? Open up! We have a warrant to search the premises!”

  The door eventually opened, and Ahmad stood there, a bored look on his face. He held his hand out, palm up. “Let me see it.”

  The sheriff opened the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. He slapped it against Ahmad’s chest and forced his way inside.

  Oliver followed.

  Holland headed for the kitchen while the deputies and the sheriff went to the living room and all the rooms to the left.

  Oliver took the first room on the right. Ascertaining that the child wasn’t there, he quickly did a sweep of the next room
and then the next. He came up empty.

  Rushing back out into the hall, he veered off at the kitchen and took the glass sliding doors out into the back yard.

  A tall wooden privacy fence surrounded a swimming pool and a small metal shed.

  Oliver sprinted across the yard to the shed and yanked the door open.

  Feeling along the side, he located a light switch and flipped it on.

  Other than a riding lawn mower, a rake, shovel, and some pool supplies, the shed was empty. There was no sign of a baby.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “There was nothing there,” Holland pointed out for the second time. “Not one ounce of evidence that would link Ahmad to the Silencer. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue us.”

  Oliver stared out the window as Holland drove him home. He couldn’t find the strength to voice a rebuttal, even if he could think of one. Truth was, Richard was right, and Oliver knew it.

  Holland sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was him too. I mean, he has the demeanor of a would-be killer. You can see it in his eyes.”

  “Would-be isn’t good enough, Richard. I really thought it was him. Have I lost my touch? I used to have a good sense of discernment. I could profile a killer, right down to the kind of car he drove.”

  Richard turned into Oliver’s parking lot and eased up next to his rental car. “I’m sorry, Oliver, you’re right. You have always been spot-on. Just because we didn’t find anything at Ahmad’s place doesn’t mean he’s not our guy. I’ll do some more digging tonight. Maybe he has a place somewhere we don’t know about. I’ll talk to the sheriff and see if he can have a deputy follow the good doctor. Off the record, of course.”

  Oliver didn’t answer. He got out of Holland’s car and entered his condo without a backward glance.

  He locked the door behind him.

  Unsnapping his holster, he slipped his 9mm free and did a sweep of his place before pouring himself a scotch and reaching for his bottle of pain pills. The bottle was empty.

  “Dammit,” he snapped, plopping down onto the barstool. If he didn’t get the prescription filled soon, he would likely have to suffer through the night.

  Oliver blew out a breath, picking up folders and moving them to the side in search of the prescription paper he’d gotten from the hospital. He found it under Jennifer Clayton’s folder.

  He was just about to tuck it into his pocket when something caught his eye. His name. The handwritten letters of his name.

  “It can’t be,” he whispered aloud.

  Scrambling through the enormous amount of paperwork on the bar, Oliver picked up a copy of the handwritten note he’d received from the Silencer. He compared it to his name on the prescription. Same handwriting.

  He quickly searched out the second note from the Silencer. Same L, same E, same Q, and same R.

  Fishing out his cell, Oliver put in a call to the hospital. “Is Angie Palmer working tonight?”

  “She is,” a female voice replied. “Let me see if I can page her. Hold please.”

  That same voice returned to the line a few minutes later. “Sir? I’m transferring you to the nurses’ station now.”

  The line made a beeping noise and then, “This is Angie.”

  “Angie, it’s Oliver.”

  “Well, hello, Mr. Profiler. Is everything all right?”

  As casually as he could manage, Oliver asked, “Do you know who wrote my prescription when I was discharged after having my bullet wound sewn up?”

  “I don’t remember. I might have. Why, is something wrong?”

  “Are you sure it was you?”

  She chuckled through the line. “You know I can’t remember past an hour ago. If you’ll hold on a sec, I’ll go look it up. We make copies of all the prescriptions written.”

  She placed him on hold before he could answer.

  Oliver listened to some seventies porn music while waiting on Angie’s return.

  “You still there?” She questioned, coming back to the line.

  “Yeah, what ya got?”

  “It looks like your prescription was written by Doctor Herring. I can have him write you another one, if the one he wrote before isn’t working for you.”

  Oliver found it hard to answer with his adrenaline pumping out of control.

  “Oliver?”

  He took a deep breath in an attempt to slow his breathing. “No, don’t bother him, Angie. I’ll just swing by the hospital later this evening and pick up another one.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Oliver lightened his tone as much as he could manage. The last thing he wanted was for Angie to unknowingly mention anything to Herring. “Are we still on for pizza this weekend?”

  She hesitated. “I haven’t decided yet. Are you even going to feel up to it? You’re on pain medication.”

  “I’m perfectly fine. And I’ll be almost completely healed by the weekend.”

  “Okay then. It’s a date. Oh, hey, I gotta go. I’m being paged.” She ended the call.

  Oliver grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the bar stool, holstered his weapon, and hurried to his rental car. Though the handwriting on his prescription pad and both notes he’d gotten from the Silencer matched up, it wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. No, Oliver needed to talk with Herring in person, to gauge his reactions, his mannerisms when Oliver spoke about the serial killer on the loose.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Oliver arrived at the hospital approximately thirty minutes later. Traffic had been backed up for miles, due to a motor vehicle accident near the foot of the Destin Bridge.

  Popping a piece of gum in his mouth to make him appear more casual, Oliver sailed through the automatic doors toward the emergency room.

  He approached the check-in window and leaned down to see the woman’s face. “I need to see Doctor Herring.”

  “Are you injured?” she asked without looking up from her computer screen.

  Oliver ground his teeth. He tugged his credentials free and slid them beneath the glass.

  That got her attention. She looked them over, passed them back, and met his gaze. “If you’ll kindly wait here, I’ll go let him know you’re here.”

  “How about you just open the door, and I’ll find him myself.”

  She stared back at him without blinking and then pushed a button, releasing the lock to the double doors.

  “Thank you.” Oliver passed through the triage room before entering the busy emergency room.

  Moans and cries could be heard from behind the dozens of closed curtains in the horseshoe-shaped area.

  One nurse came hurrying past.

  Oliver reached out to her. “Excuse me, ma’am? Do you know where I can find Doctor Herring?”

  She shook her head. “He’s around here somewhere.”

  Thanking her, Oliver sealed his lips together and carefully began to check behind every curtain he came to. But the doctor was nowhere to be found.

  Maybe he was on break, Oliver thought, trailing toward the long desk to the left where a young brunette seemed to be multitasking. “Pardon me, miss. Is Angie Palmer around somewhere?”

  The brunette sent him a flirtatious smile. “She was just down here about half an hour ago.”

  “She’s not working the ER tonight?”

  “Oh no, she only works the ER on Mondays and Thursdays. Unless someone needs a night off. Most times, she works up on the third floor.”

  That would explain why she had to be paged, Oliver surmised, thanking the brunette and trailing off through the double doors to his left.

  He rode the elevator up to the third floor and approached the nurses’ station. “Good evening, ladies. Can you tell me where I can find, Angie Palmer?”

  Both women shook their heads. The one closest to him muttered in a sarcastic voice, “I have no idea where she is. We’ve been paging her for the past half hour.”

  Warning bells went off inside Oliver. “Have you tried her
cell?”

  The nurse nodded. “It goes straight to voicemail.”

  Oliver flashed his credentials. “Call security. I want this hospital locked down. No one leaves. Understood?”

  The nurse rapidly nodded before snatching up the phone and calling security.

  Oliver grabbed his own phone and pressed the button for Richard.

  “Holland,” Richard answered almost immediately.

  “Richard, it’s Oliver. I don’t have time to explain. I need you to get to the Santa Rosa General Hospital as fast as you can and bring every available agent, including the sheriff and as many deputies as he can spare.”

  “What the hell’s going on, Quick?”

  Oliver burst into the stairwell. “It’s the Silencer. His name is Doctor Vincent Herring. I think he has Angie Palmer. She’s a nurse who works in this hospital. Hurry, Richard!”

  Oliver disconnected with Holland and quickly called Nancy. “Doctor Vince Herring. I need to know the make, model, and color of his vehicle.”

  “Check your phone,” she shot back. “I tried calling you to let you know that he’s the only one who owns a house in Destin on more than an acre of land. He’s also worked in hospitals all over the United States before settling in Destin. And get this…six years ago.”

  “That’s when the killings stopped,” Oliver whispered, more to himself than to Nancy. “Thanks, Nancy.”

  “You bet.”

  He descended the stairs to the parking garage of the hospital, already checking the text he’d gotten from Nancy.

  Vince Herring drove a black 2018 Audi TT sports car. She’d also sent his current address.

  Unholstering his 9mm, Oliver scanned the parking area in front of him. Dozens of rows near the elevators were designated for doctors, nurses, and human resources.

  He spun to the left, his weapon at the ready. When no signs of life could be seen, he turned to the right. And on it went, until he’d checked every vehicle he came to.