T Wave

by Steven F Freeman

  “If he can delegate the authority to me, I can follow up with Nancy Goins and see where that leads. Perhaps I can do a little more research and see how much substance is behind her concerns. I could go to the hospice after my Kruptos workdays are over.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” asked Mallory. “It’s not like your day job is all that easy.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’ll give me something to do while I’m waiting for you to finish your drug investigation each day. I usually wrap up before you anyway.”

  “Okay. Well, that sounds great,” said Mallory. “If there’s anything to Nancy’s suspicions, I know you’ll figure it out.”

  “Let’s just hope there’s not anything to it. I’ve had enough death to last me a lifetime.”

  CHAPTER 25

  After arriving at Serenity Hospice, Mallory settled into Nancy’s office. As she booted up her laptop, she phoned her FBI supervisor and outlined Alton’s proposal to act as an adjunct to the FBI in order to investigate Nancy Goins’ concerns.

  “I gotta admit,” said Wiggins, “I’m not crazy about letting a civilian lead an investigation.”

  “I understand, Chief. In case it helps, Alton had a “Top Secret—Special Information” clearance from the Army. You don’t get that kind of clearance without a thorough background check.”

  “That’s true,” said Wiggins. “Well, between Mr. Blackwell’s TS/SI clearance and seeing what he did on the Mancini case this past spring, I’m willing to give him a shot. I’ll write up an order. The scope of his investigation will be limited to this case only, and he’ll need to report to me.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” said Mallory. “I’ll let him know.”

  “Good. Tell him to come to the office sometime in the next few days to pick up the paperwork and work out a reporting cadence between the two of us.”

  “Will do, Chief. I know he’s working today, so it may be hard for him to break away. How late will you be there tonight?”

  “Geez. Late, I’m sure—until eight, at least.”

  “Okay, you’ll probably see him tonight, then.”

  After hanging up, Mallory placed a brief call to Alton to share the results of her conversation with Wiggins.

  Mallory then turned her attention to her own case, collecting additional paper and electronic patient-narcotic records and using the documents to piece together the precise method used to carry out each crime.

  As Mallory left the office for lunch, Nancy called out to her, “Great work! At the rate you’re going, you’ll probably have this case wrapped up in the next day or two.”

  Mallory winced. She would have to advise Nancy to limit future remarks. Announcing to the floor that Mallory was hot on someone’s trail was a good way to induce the suspect to flee, but it was too late to rectify the comment this time. Mallory could only hope the perpetrator had not overheard Nancy.

  In the middle of the afternoon, Jeanette Abernathy wandered behind the hospice for a smoke break. After glancing over her shoulder to ensure her solitude, she placed a call to her husband.

  “What’s up?” asked Scrubs.

  “That lady—the one investigating the drugs—is back. I heard Goins tell her they’d be done in a couple of days.”

  “That ain’t good.”

  “Duh—what should we do? Should I disappear? Maybe go to my mom’s house for a few days?”

  “I don’t know…Did Goins or the other lady say anything about you in particular?” asked Scrubs.

  “No—Goins just said that they’d be done in a day or two. If they’re on to me, we might be talking about more than just my job. I could go to jail.”

  “But if they ain’t onto you, you don’t wanna look all suspicious, right? If you go and run away, they’re gonna know it was you, don’t you think?”

  Jeanette nodded her head as she paced across the asphalt lot. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Besides, they may not have a clue what’s going on. They might be thinking there ain’t no stealing. I say sit tight. Make them prove it was you.”

  Jeanette warmed to the idea. “Okay, I guess I can ask Max Douglas to see if he’s heard anything. He usually knows what’s going on around here.”

  “That’s a good idea,” affirmed Scrubs. Jeanette had previously mentioned her co-worker’s predilection for weed, so Scrubs figured the man was unlikely to pass along to hospice management any questions Jeanette might ask about Nancy Goins’ drug investigation. In fact, Jeanette spoke quite often of Max, a fellow nurse at the hospice, so he must be reliable.

  “If Max hasn’t heard anything, we’ll sit tight like you said and see what happens in the next few days,” said Jeanette. “Just be ready to leave town in case all hell breaks loose.”

  At around four o’clock, Alton called Mallory.

  “I just returned from your office,” he said. “I got the investigatory security clearance from Wiggins. He wants me to check in with him on the case every day or two.”

  “Good. What are you going to do first?”

  “I already made arrangements with Nancy Goins to speak with her and the staff at Serenity. I should be able to work that in over the next couple of days.”

  “Mr. Blackwell is on the job,” said Mallory. “Watch out, criminal underworld.”

  Mallory spent the afternoon documenting the details of two specific incidents of narcotics theft. By early evening, she exited the hospice and walked toward the parking lot, satisfied with her progress.

  As she approached the sleek lines of her white BMW 320i, Mallory noticed a note stuck on the windshield, just under the driver’s side wiper. Expecting an advertisement, she removed the paper and absent-mindedly unfolded it.

  Her attention became fully engaged when she read the text printed on the plain paper: “Stop your investigation of the hospice or you’ll end up one of it’s patients.”

  Mallory could feel her heart accelerate, and her fingertips began to tingle as a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. She shivered and swiveled her gaze across the parked cars distributed randomly throughout the dimly-lit lot. There were dozens of places an assailant could hide.

  Mallory unholstered her service Glock and ejected the magazine, double-checking to ensure it was filled to capacity. She reinserted the magazine into the handgun’s cavity with a heavy chock and gripped the handle, drawing comfort from the weapon’s weight. Crouching slightly, she scanned the lot once again, alert for noises. “Bring it on, asshole.”

  Keeping the pistol in her right hand, Mallory let herself into her car with the left. After locking the doors and pulling out of the lot as quickly as possible, she placed a call to her supervisor’s cell phone.

  “Agent Wiggins here. Is that you, Wilson?”

  “Hey, Chief. Sorry to bother you this time of day, but I thought you should know what just happened.” She related her day’s progress, Nancy Goins’ remark, and the ominous note left on her windshield.

  “Bring in the note tomorrow. Let’s see what forensics can do with it.”

  “Will do, Chief.”

  “I’ll send Peterson with you tomorrow as an escort. But remember, having a partner is no safety guarantee, so stay sharp, Wilson. These drug-dealing types don’t put a high value on human life.”

  By the time Mallory pulled into the parking lot of her apartment, her hands had stopped shaking. The warm glow of light emanating from her den window offered a beacon of safety and security. She felt a sudden yearning to be inside with Alton and rest in the comfort of his touch.

  She entered and relayed to Alton the story of the anonymous note.

  “What? Someone must have a lot of moxie to threaten a federal agent.” His brows furrowed in anger and concern. His distracted gaze landed on Mallory, and at last he seemed to recognize her anxiety. “How are you doing with all this?”

  “Mostly pissed…and a little scared, to be honest.”

  Alton approached Mallory and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She could feel most of the stress
and anxiety flow from her body.

  “You know I’ll be with you to figure this out, right?”

  “Yes, I know—always my protector,” she teased. “You’ll be happy to know that Wiggins is sending Peterson with me in the morning. He also asked me to bring in the note for analysis tomorrow.”

  Alton nodded with approval. “Whoever left it may have given you the best clue yet to track them down. Let’s hope it yields some information.” His gaze landed on the transparent evidence bag containing the note. “Can I see it?”

  Leaving the note in the bag to avoid contaminating the physical evidence, Mallory passed it to Alton.

  “‘Stop your investigation of the hospice or you’ll end up one of its patients’,” intoned Alton. His voice resonated with anger. “We’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 26

  That same evening, Scrubs was balancing a plate of hot dogs and baked beans on his knees and watching Family Feud when he heard Jeanette enter their house.

  “How was work?” he called.

  Jeanette entered the room and stared at him without responding. She lit up one of her Virginia Slims, took a long drag, and exhaled a fog of smoke. Finally, she spoke through the haze. “What do you think? I was ready to crap my pants all day.”

  “Well, I moved things along with the investigator.”

  “What have you done, Randy?” asked Jeanette with narrowed eyes.

  “Not much. I just left her a little love note. I told her I’d love it if she’d get the hell out of the hospice.”

  “Randy—she’s FBI! What if they come after you?”

  “Well, shit. Now you tell me.” Scrubs felt a knot in his stomach.

  “I just found out this afternoon. Pearl said she heard it from Nancy herself. Nancy said the FBI was investigating.”

  “Well, damn. I thought your investigator was some HR person. A note would have definitely scared off a desk jockey like that.

  “Don’t worry, though—I played it safe. They won’t know it’s me that left the note. I used the workstation printer at the nurses’ station. Fifty people use that printer. And I wore latex gloves—good thing there’s a box of ‘em in every room, huh? They won’t find my fingerprints on that note.” Scrubs hoped his voice carried more confidence than he felt. He had enough to worry about without his wife having a mental breakdown.

  “Let’s hope you’re right,” said Jeanette. “I don’t know what the charge is for threatening an FBI agent, but it can’t be good.”

  “Ya think?” replied Scrubs in exasperation. “Have you heard any more about the investigation? How it’s going?”

  “Not really. The FBI lady stayed holed up in Goins’ office all afternoon. She looked pretty happy when she left. I hope that doesn’t mean she found something.”

  “I hope so, too. Leroy’s still busting my chops to get more product. It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to get some anytime soon, though.”

  “You got that right,” exclaimed Jeanette. “I’m not going near anybody’s meds while that FBI chick is there—maybe not even after she leaves. This shit is stressing me out.”

  “I hear you,” commiserated Scrubs. “And on top of the investigation, you’ve been working a lot more overtime the last few months, too. That ain’t exactly good for calming your nerves.”

  “Huh?” said Jeanette. “Oh, yeah. Right, that’s one more thing.”

  Scrubs didn’t know what else to say, so he remained silent. He understood—even agreed with—his wife’s concerns. He didn’t want her to be caught. Yet he also knew their life was just as likely to come crashing down if they discontinued their lucrative drug trade. If they stopped selling the painkillers, they’d lose everything: house, cars, the whole enchilada. He felt trapped, as if he were in a darkened room with a net closing around him, one he could sense but not see.

  He wondered if the new course of action he had recently initiated would help pull he and Jeanette out of their financial predicament, but it was too early to say if this new approach would be successful.

  CHAPTER 27

  That same evening, Nancy Goins turned to her husband. “Are you going out?”

  “Yeah,” replied Ken. “Gonna shoot a few rounds with Johnny and the guys until it gets dark.”

  “Okay. When—”

  “I’ll be home when I damn well feel like it—that’s when,” snapped Ken. “Don’t wait up.”

  “All right—fine,” retorted Nancy. She turned on her heel and began to leave the room. Ken donned his Callaway cap and stepped into the garage, humming.

  Nancy watched him pull away from the house and immediately placed a call. “Hey—it’s me.”

  “Hey, Babe,” said Dennis. “Where are you?”

  “At home. Ken just left. Do you want to get together?”

  “Sure. Just tell me where and when.”

  “How about Dante’s in an hour?”

  “Works for me. I’ll see you there.”

  Sixty minutes later, Nancy stepped into the dimly-lit bar and grill. She scanned the tables and eventually spotted Dennis seated in a plush booth on the opposite side of the restaurant, far away from curious eyes. She wound her way through a maze of booths and chairs, arriving at his table just as he finished a whistled rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” After stooping to greet him with a lingering kiss, she took a seat facing him.

  “So how was work?” she asked.

  “Huh?” said Dennis with a grin. “Sorry—some beautiful lady just planted one on me, and it totally broke my concentration.”

  Nancy laughed as she smacked him with her napkin. “Flatterer. I asked how your day was.”

  “Busy and good—the usual, in other words. How was yours?”

  “Good, sort of. The FBI agent thinks she’s figured out who’s stealing narcotics from our patients.”

  “And…?”

  “She hasn’t told me who it is, but she seems pretty sure of her facts. She’s very thorough.”

  “Cool—that should help put Serenity back in the black, right?”

  “It’ll certainly help. We’ll probably need more than that to be profitable, but frankly that’s William Cline’s problem, not mine.

  “And since I had an FBI agent in my office, I told her about another issue that’s been worrying me,” she continued. “Over the last few months, I’ve noticed an unusually-high incidence of idiosyncratic patient deaths, at both Serenity and Stokely Memorial.”

  “Really?” said Dennis. “I didn’t know about that.”

  “No one seems to know. That’s my concern. Maybe there’s a perfectly rational explanation, but in case there’s not, I felt like someone should look into it. Who better to investigate that kind of thing than the FBI?”

  “I see. Seems like a good idea to me. Now it’s their problem, not yours.”

  The couple ordered their meal and sat back in their chairs.

  Dennis took a sip of the house wine. “So, how is your new hire working out?”

  “Wonderful, until she mistook her bottle of Percocet for the antibiotics she’s been on the last few days. When she got to work yesterday, she was so loopy, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. I had to send her to a cot in the basement to sleep it off and call in someone else to fill in for her.”

  Dennis chuckled. “Hopefully, that’ll be a lesson learned.”

  They continued to discuss the day’s events at their respective hospices, falling into the lexicon unique to Stokely’s medical professionals.

  After the meal, the couple traveled to Dennis’s condo. He poured two glasses of Chardonnay and carried them to the couch on which Nancy waited, handing her one as he seated himself next to her.

  “I have some interesting news,” said Nancy.

  Dennis reached over and laid his hand atop Nancy’s. “And what’s that?”

  “Ken is going in for surgery tomorrow.”

  “Really—what for? That intestinal thing…?”

  “You’re thinking about his diverticular disease. No, he�
��s going in for rhinoplasty—a nose job.”

  “Okay…,” said Dennis, sounding perplexed. “And it’s tomorrow, you said?”

  “Yes. I just found out yesterday.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “As you know, Ken doesn’t involve me in his life much these days. The only reason he told me is because he wants me to wait on him while he’s in the hospital. I told him I’ll make it when I can. I’m not complaining, though. It’ll be nice.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  ““Well, he’ll be in the hospital three or four days after the surgery.”

  “For a nose job? Why so long?”

  “He’s going to have the doctor fix his deviated septum at the same time. That part will require packing of the surgical site that the nurses will have to inspect as it heals.

  “In any case, you and I have been looking for a way to move our relationship forward, right? For the next few days, we’ll have more time together to talk about next steps. We won’t have to plan our time around his schedule.”

  “That makes sense,” said Dennis, nodding.

  Nancy took a moment to think. “His surgery could help our relationship in other ways, too.”

  Before she could elaborate, Dennis set down his wine glass and pulled her closer.

  “How about you help me right now, Nurse Goins?” he said with a leer. “I have a swelling that needs some attention.”

  “Oh, really?” she laughed. “Let’s just see what I can do.” After untucking his shirt, she ran her hands across his bare stomach and met his lips in a hungry rush. He reciprocated by slowly unbuttoning her blouse. The unfolding events ensured that—as instructed—Nancy would not be waiting up for Ken.

  CHAPTER 28

  Late in the evening, William Cline pulled his Cadillac CTS into the garage of his relatively modest home and switched off the engine. He remained motionless in the driver’s seat for a minute, staring at the shovel and rake hanging on the wall in front of his car. He finally pulled himself out of the sedan and entered his house.