T Wave

by Steven F Freeman

  “I remember him. I’m just thinking…if he’s an orderly, he could work all over the hospital, right? Including Five South.”

  “Yes. We saw him on Five South, so we know he spends at least part of his time there.”

  “And his wife works in the hospice,” said Mallory, musing. “It kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes—maybe we should look a little more into their backgrounds.”

  “Oh, I’ve been looking into Jeanette’s. I guess I can spill the beans now, since I’m pretty close to wrapping up my case. Jeanette is my primary suspect for the hospice thefts. The patients assigned to her and the family complaints all line up with her culpability. Now I’m wondering if Randy is connected with the hospital thefts.”

  “That seems like a reasonable supposition, but do you have any evidence to support it?”

  “No, none,” admitted Mallory, “but perhaps the bait bottles will solve that dilemma.”

  Alton nodded. “Let’s see who else is on this report.”

  They spent the next few minutes leaning their heads together over Mallory’s laptop.

  “Look, there’s William Cline himself,” said Mallory. “Let’s see what this says. ‘Chief Financial Officer, Stokely Medical Group. Employed seven years.’”

  By this time, Alton had booted up his own laptop. “Since he’s the CFO, he’d be included in Stokely’s quarterly filings with the SEC. Let’s just see what they have to say about Cline.”

  For two minutes, the only sound in the room was the clatter of rapid keystrokes. Buster wandered up and nuzzled Alton’s leg with a wet snout, drawing a moment of affection from both of the room’s human occupants.

  “Look at this,” said Alton. “Here are Stokely’s latest quarterly filings. It says Cline owns over ten thousand stock options, at least he did at that moment.”

  “Do you think he still has them?”

  “Yeah. The stock price isn’t high enough for them to be worth anything—yet. However, that many options could be worth a small fortune if Stokely’s stock price could find a way to rise.”

  “Good for him,” said Mallory, “but I don’t see how that helps us with your investigation. Unless…”

  “Do you have an idea?”

  “Not a fair one, no.”

  “Come on,” urged Alton. “You’re thinking of something.”

  “Well, wouldn’t all those stock options make him highly motivated to bump up Stokely stock?”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why he’d want to bump off…” began Alton, trailing off into silence.

  “What is it?” asked Mallory.

  “I’m just remembering the conversation you told me about—the one between Nancy Goins and William Cline concerning Serenity’s vacancy rate. It’s probably nothing, but I think I’ll have a talk with Cline’s wife, just to satisfy my mind on the issue.”

  “Okay. As I think about it, Cline seems like an unlikely suspect, unless your conversation with his wife uncovers something new. He has too much to lose by getting mixed up in murder.” Turning back to Alton’s laptop, she continued, “So, let’s see if anyone else pops out on this list.”

  Alton and Mallory scanned the employee file for another thirty minutes. Although they encountered a number of employees with minor convictions and a few who had undergone treatment for stress or depression, there were no employees whose records shouted cold-blooded killer.

  “Do you have any other suspects?” asked Mallory.

  “It’s the usual dilemma,” replied Alton. “I have just enough information to consider several people possibilities but not enough to be certain about any of them. So I don’t really have a suspect as much as a weird feeling.”

  “More often than not, your weird feelings are on the money. Who’s on your list?”

  “Well, besides William Cline, there’s Nancy Goins.”

  “Nancy? Why? She’s the one who called for the investigation in the first place.”

  “True. As I said, it’s more of a vague suspicion…a few things that don’t add up.”

  “Such as?” asked Malloy.

  “Well, right off the bat, she doesn’t seem to be too heartbroken over her husband’s death.”

  Mallory picked up a teaspoon and stirred the coffee in her mug. “That doesn’t make her a murderer, though.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But I also heard from Pearl that on top of Nancy and Ken not being on good terms, there appeared to be someone else with whom Nancy did get along. Pearl said she heard Nancy on the phone a few times in friendly conversations.”

  “Okay, so maybe she was seeing someone else. I could see that being a motivation for murder, perhaps, but how does that fit in with the rest of the murders?”

  “Maybe it doesn’t,” said Alton. “It could be completely unrelated. She wanted him out of her life and used his surgery as an opportunity to make his death look like a tragic accident. There’s another, similar possibility that’s a little more disturbing. Did you notice that Nancy made an extra effort to point out the string of curious patient deaths to both of us? Without her, we might never have noticed them. Now, that could have been the result of a legitimate concern on her part. On the other hand, if you wanted to bump off your husband and knew you’d naturally fall under suspicion as a disenfranchised wife, how could you pull it off? You’d make your husband the latest murder in that string, that’s how.”

  “I see what you’re saying,” said Mallory, “but that still doesn’t shed any light on who committed the murders preceding Ken’s. It could have been Nancy herself, setting the stage for Ken’s murder, or she might have simply noticed them and figured she’d take advantage of the opportunity.”

  “Exactly. The fact that Nancy, of all people, would be the person to notice the first six murders makes me lean towards your first theory—that she committed them herself.”

  “Every good theory needs proof. Do you have any?”

  Alton shook his head in frustration. “Not really. Remember the interview I had with Nancy yesterday?”

  Mallory nodded.

  “Well,” said Alton. “She didn’t seem too enthused about performing an autopsy on Ken’s body. Also, as I was leaving, I turned to say goodbye, and she had an odd look in her eye. I just get the feeling that there’s more going on with her than we know.”

  “But no proof?”

  “No—none,” admitted Alton. He stirred his coffee for a minute. “We’ve noted several times that the drug thefts and murders could be interconnected. Let’s go back to Randy and Jeanette Abernathy for a minute. We know they’re mixed up in the drugs, at least Jeanette is. Since they’re involved in the drug thefts, the Abernathys could be involved in the murders, too.”

  “Yes, but what would be their reason?” pondered Mallory. “Money? That’s probably why they’re stealing the drugs, considering the quantities Jeanette has taken.”

  “But how would bumping off patients help them make money?” asked Alton. “Unless…” He shook his head grimly. “You’d have to be a cold-hearted bastard to send someone on the road to death simply to increase your drug supply.”

  “Drug dealers aren’t known for their touchy-feely side.”

  “True, but we’re not talking about the typical corner drug dealer here. It’s hard to imagine a nurse going to those extremes just for money.”

  Mallory leaned back in her chair. “Between the background checks and your interviews, we have several legitimate suspects for the murders. But the question is, who is really responsible? Only one of our theories—or none—is correct.”

  She glanced at Alton from the corner of her eye. “I think I’d be able to focus on this problem a little better if I had a shoulder massage. You wouldn’t know anyone interested in volunteering, would you?”

  Alton grinned. “I think I can round someone up.”

  Moments later, as Alton’s powerful hands kneaded the knotted muscles at the base of her neck, Mallory leaned her head forward and murmured, “O
h, my! I’m focusing all right, but it’s not on the case.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Two days had passed since Ken Goins’ death. As daylight faded, Nancy sat on her couch in the den, unmoving. She still wasn’t sure how to feel, how to react. In the stillness of her house, a space now empty of everyone but herself, the steady click of an electric clock on the wall seemed downright noisy.

  The sound of a gentle tap on the front door caused Nancy to flinch. She pulled herself off the couch, walked over to the front door, and peered through the security hole. It was Dennis.

  Nancy pulled the door open. Dennis looked at her with expectant eyes but remained rooted to the spot. “Would you like some company?”

  Nancy nodded and gestured for him to come inside. Dennis studied her, as if judging how she would respond to an embrace. Her somber mood seemed to assist in the decision, and he merely squeezed her arm as he entered.

  In silence, Dennis made his way into the kitchen and brewed a pot of strong coffee. Pouring a cup for himself and Nancy, he sat next to her at the breakfast-nook table.

  “I know you said you wanted to be alone,” said Dennis, “but I was worried about you, just sitting here by yourself.”

  She gave him a wan smiled. “Thanks, Honey.”

  Dennis seemed to perk up at the moniker. For a few minutes, neither knew what else to say and therefore remained mute.

  Dennis broke the silence. “The circumstances are horrible, I know, but Ken being gone…this is what we wanted, right?”

  “Yes. This is exactly what we wanted.”

  Dennis sipped his coffee and glanced up her with an inquiring eye. “Do you think you’ll be able to get through all this without people knowing—about us?”

  Nancy shrugged and leaned back in her chair, exhaling. “I don’t know. I hope so, of course, but there’s some investigator asking questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “About the details of Ken’s surgery: his doctor, when he scheduled it, stuff like that.” Nancy hesitated. She hadn’t yet shared with Dennis her suspicions on the topic she prepared to broach. “I also told the investigator about a rash of strange patient deaths at Serenity and Stokely Hospital over the past couple of months. Several patients have died unexpectedly…and apparently not from the condition they were admitted to the hospital for. The investigator is looking into it to see if foul play was involved.”

  Dennis seemed to ruminate on this information but didn’t comment on it. He appeared a bit less surprised than Nancy would have expected, considering the gravity of the news.

  He leaned closer and took her hand in his. “We’ll get through this. Just remember that I love you, no matter what happens.”

  TUESDAY, JULY 24

  CHAPTER 45

  The next morning, Alton arose early to attack his considerable Kruptos workload.

  At the end of the workday, he glanced at the clock on his laptop as his appointment chime rang out.

  “Four-thirty,” he murmured. “Time to conduct a reconnaissance mission.”

  Alton climbed into his Explorer and drove for over twenty minutes, arriving at a rather nondescript house in an older neighborhood. To avoid detection, he continued past the target residence and parked further down the street, out of sight.

  Exiting the SUV, Alton made his way back up the street, casually checking over both shoulders to confirm there was no one about who might observe his actions. As he reached the house in question, he walked along the sidewalk bordering the front yard and studied his surroundings for a solid two minutes.

  Still seeing no one, Alton walked halfway up the driveway. He could hear the television blaring from inside the house. Both garage doors were open and a vehicle rested in one of the stalls, so presumably at least one of the house’s occupants was home.

  Alton avoided the exterior windows as he made his way further up the driveway. He peered into the garage and studied its contents for a full minute. After committing the scene to memory, he moved to the back yard and once again surveyed the area with a keen eye. He nodded in satisfaction. It was as he had suspected.

  As he turned to retrace his steps to the front yard, Alton noticed an anomaly in the landscaping. He made a mental note to return at the right time and investigate it further.

  Careful to avoid revealing himself to the house’s occupants, Alton stole down the driveway and turned directly onto the sidewalk, heading towards his vehicle. He climbed in and left the neighborhood, satisfied in the information he had gathered.

  Rather than returning to Mallory’s condo, Alton drove to a nicer section of town. He parked in front of an upscale white colonial and rang the doorbell.

  A pleasant, middle-aged woman answered the door. “Yes, can I help you?” she said, glancing at Alton’s hands, presumably to see if he carried any salesman materials. For his part, Alton remained several paces behind the door in order to reassure her of his benign intentions.

  “Ma’am, my name is Alton Blackwell. I’ve been working with your husband at the hospital. Has he mentioned my name?”

  She shook her head and did not invite Alton to come inside. He didn’t blame her. If she were his mother, he wouldn’t have wanted her to make the offer, given the circumstances.

  “I’m not an FBI agent, but I’ve been assigned as a consultant to help the FBI investigate a series of possible homicides at the hospital. Your husband was assisting by giving us access to the patient and employee information we needed to conduct the investigation.”

  Sally Cline nodded and looked at him expectantly.

  “Ma’am, I have a few questions, but it’s a little awkward speaking out here on the front step. Could you call Agent Mallory Wilson or Stan Wiggins, her boss, at the FBI’s downtown office to confirm my identity? Then perhaps we could speak inside, if that’s agreeable with you.”

  “Okay, let me do that,” replied the occupant. She shut and locked the door. After a few minutes, she returned. “Do you have some sort of identification?”

  Alton had already removed his license from his wallet and handed it across.

  “Okay, come on in,” said Mrs. Cline, returning the license and holding open the door.

  “Thanks,” said Alton. Once he had taken a seat in the den, he continued, “I won’t take up much of your time.” He opted not to share her husband’s reluctance to support the investigation, lest it inspire a similar proclivity in her. “I’m just curious, Mrs. Cline…Has your husband mentioned any concerns he’s had at work recently?”

  “Really, Mr. Blackwell, I think you’d need to ask him that yourself.”

  “I have, but he appears to carry his responsibilities squarely on his own shoulders. It seems to me he’s not inclined to burden others with his troubles.”

  She produced a proud laugh. “Yes, he is a dear that way. He never tells me a lot about his problems at work. He ‘doesn’t want me to worry,’ he says.”

  Alton had to be careful to avoid raising her defenses with a renewal of his question. “Yes, exactly. But at the same time, his inclination to keep problems to himself makes it a little more challenging to piece together what’s happening at Stokely’s facilities. If I knew a little more about any current challenges he’s facing in his job, I might be able to help solve them. And it might help my investigation, too.”

  “Well, to be honest, he doesn’t tell me much. He’s been working very late hours for the last few months, and up until recently, I could see he was really worried.”

  “Did he say what he was working on?” asked Alton.

  “Yes, he said that the new hospice, Serenity, wasn’t making as much money as it should. I told him he shouldn’t have to be the only one to fix that, but he said building Serenity was his idea so he had to be the one to turn it around. Plus, he said that Stokely stock was ‘waiting for Serenity to hit its stride’, as he put it. He said once the hospice stopped losing money, Stokely’s stock would jump up.”

  “I see. And you said ‘until recently’
he was worried. Does that mean he’s appeared less concerned lately?”

  “That’s right,” she beamed. “My William always finds a way to figure out problems. He’s been so much more relaxed the past few days. I guess whatever he’s been trying is working.”

  “And he hasn’t mentioned what that solution is?”

  “Oh, no. Like you said, he doesn’t like to talk about his work problems when he comes home. I think he’s happy to get away from them when he’s here.”

  “That’s understandable,” said Alton.

  “It’s nice to see that worry gone—most of it, at least. At one point he was even worried about his job, but not anymore.”

  Making a mental note of his host’s last statement, Alton rose to his feet. “Mrs. Cline, thanks for your time. I think that’s all the information I need for now.”

  “Well, you’re welcome. I hope our little talk has helped.”

  “Yes, it certainly has. Thanks again.”

  Upon leaving the Cline household and departing in his Explorer, Alton placed a call to Leo Jacobin, CEO of Stokely Medical Group. He reached Amy Butterfield, Jacobin’s administrative assistant.

  “Can I speak with Leo Jacobin, please?” asked Alton.

  “Mr. Jacobin isn’t available at the moment. Can I take your name, number, and a brief message?”

  “Sure. This is Alton Blackwell. I’m an adjunct with the FBI, and I’m helping with an investigation into a series of homicides that may have taken place in Stokely facilities. Could you ask him to call me up to discuss the case?”

  “Mr. Blackwell, would you mind holding on for a moment?”

  “No, not at all.”

  After a three-minute wait, Amy returned to the line. “I’m going to patch you through to Mr. Jacobin now.”

  “Thanks very much, Miss Butterfield.”

  “Mr. Blackwell,” said Jacobin, “How can I help a fine member of the FBI.”

  Alton didn’t correct the man’s misunderstanding of his credentials. After explaining the nature of his investigation, he asked, “I understand that in the past, William Cline was concerned about the financial results of Serenity Hospice.”