by Gary Birken
“You sound a little upset,” she said. “Is there something else?”
After a few seconds of hesitation, he said, “I wasn’t going to mention it until tomorrow, but I have some information about Mason Kaine I think you should be aware of. It may clear some things up for you and help you with the police.”
“What kind of information?”
“Let’s talk about everything tomorrow. I’ll see you at five.”
CHAPTER 81
DAY FORTY-THREE
“That was the worst Thai food I’ve ever eaten,” Morgan told Ben. “Who recommended that place to you?”
Ben pointed to the walk sign and they started across the street. “My accountant. He swears by the place.”
“Thank God he decided to concentrate on financial matters, because as a food critic he would have starved. The only good thing about the place is that it’s only a block from the hospital.”
Ben laughed and then shook his head. “Do you make all your lunch dates feel this good or is it just me?”
She took his hand. “The food may have been terrible but the company was four stars.”
“Nice recovery,” he said, as they approached the main entrance to Dade Presbyterian.
“What do you think Will’s got on his mind?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to get too excited about things until I hear exactly what he has to say.”
“Did you hear from Jody Baxter this morning?”
“No, but she told me it might be several days.”
“You don’t sound very encouraged.”
“All I can do is hope that she will persuade her superiors to allow her to investigate Mason Kaine. If they do, I’ll think they’ll find out he’s really Gideon, Stuart Artesian, and I. Ogden.”
“I. Ogden?” Ben asked.
“The man who put the cross around Alison Greene’s neck and probably killed her.”
“I don’t remember you mentioning his name,” Ben said in a voice that was lost in thought. He took her arm, slowed his pace for a few steps, and then stopped. With a modest smile, he said, “You were right about this guy. He certainly likes to play games.”
“What do you mean?”
“The name’s an anagram. Unscramble I. Ogden and it spells Gideon.”
Shaking her head, Morgan said, “That never occurred to me . . . How did you know that?”
“My mother loved word games. I spent most of my childhood playing Yahtzee, Jotto, and every other parlor game she could find. I even won the Scrabble championship at Northwestern.”
“Just when you think you know somebody,” Morgan said, with an impressed grin.
“So where do you go from here?” he asked.
“I’ve already told the police that I thought Gideon and I. Ogden were one and the same. I guess the anagram proves it. But I still need to find out one way or the other if Mason Kaine has a gap between his teeth.”
“I know I’ve asked you this already, but are you absolutely sure that nobody who was in the emergency room that night would remember?”
“I doubt it. That was almost eighteen months ago. I spoke with him myself, face-to-face, and I don’t remember. Any suggestions?” she asked.
“Unless you can come up with a time machine, I guess you’re stuck for a while,” he told her. “By the way, I got a call from Deborah Paniella this morning, the private eye I had called. She thinks she may have finally located Kaine. She said she needs a couple of more days.”
“That’s encouraging. It’s nice to get some good news for a change.”
Ben and Morgan arrived at the hospital and walked into the main lobby.
“Who are you going to visit?” she asked.
“One of my mechanics had his appendix out last night,” he said as they walked past the security desk. Morgan waved at Pete Dennison, the security officer on duty.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said to Ben. “If you don’t have a hospital ID, you’ll need a visitor’s pass.”
“This is Dr. Docherty,” Morgan said. “He used to be on staff here.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Connolly. It’s the rule. We got a memo straight from Mr. Allenby. Nobody without a hospital ID gets in unless they have a visitor’s pass. It only takes a minute.”
“No problem,” Ben said.
“Just stand on the yellow tape and look into the camera,” Pete said.
Pete waited for the visitor ID to print out and then handed it to him. Ben held it up and looked at it. Peeling off the adhesive back, he said, “Not a bad likeness,” he added, sticking the ID to his shirt pocket.
“I’m heading over to the ER,” Morgan said.
“I thought you were off today.”
“I’m just going over to say hi.”
“Sure,” Ben said. “Don’t forget about tonight. We’re eating at my place. I’m making dinner. I have a night lesson so let’s make it at nine.”
“I’ll call you later.”
Morgan headed across the lobby. When she reached the other side, she suddenly turned around, her eyes locked on the security desk. After a few moments, she looked toward the elevators, hoping that Ben hadn’t gone upstairs yet. But he was gone.
“Oh my God,” she whispered as she felt her heart doing cartwheels. “How could I have been so stupid?”
To the short line of people in front of Pete Dennison, the camera apparatus was nothing more than a fancy machine that popped out temporary identification passes, but to Morgan, it was a time machine.
CHAPTER 82
Detective Vic Prieto wedged his hefty frame into the front seat of the black Ford Taurus.
“How can you be so sure?” Jody asked him, sliding in behind the wheel.
A mystified look came to his face. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m taking about.”
He grimaced. “Not Dr. Connolly, again? For God’s sake, Jody, you’re an experienced cop. The woman’s certifiably nuts. I can’t believe you’re buying into her enchanted forest story.”
Undeterred by Vic’s condescending response, Jody put the key in the ignition and started the car.
“We’re police officers. We’re paid by the taxpayers not only to investigate crimes, but to look into possible crimes.”
“Possible crimes, yes; wild-goose chases . . . no.”
“Which brings me back to my original question. How can you be so sure?”
“Because the last time I checked, I didn’t have the word gullible tattooed on my forehead.”
“That’s not an answer. What you’re doing is relying on your instinct, which we both know has been wrong more times than a myopic handicapper at the dog track.”
“This has nothing to do with instinct. It’s about looking at the facts objectively. You should try it.”
“I have.”
“Then you’d realize that there’s been no crime committed here. If you want to help Dr. Connolly, convince her to get more psychological help.”
“Just tell me why you’re so sure she’s lying,” Jody said.
Vic reached forward and lowered the radio.
“She’s in trouble with the hospital and the state medical board, and she’s still screwed up over her father’s murder. She’s also pregnant and in the middle of a divorce. I think even you would agree that’s enough stress to screw somebody up.”
“Are you trying to tell me that in order to clear her name, this woman drove herself out to the Everglades, jumped into a canoe, paddled out twenty miles, and then threw herself into the swamp hoping that some kindly poacher would come by and have her rescued?”
“Not exactly. I think she hired somebody to do it,” Vic said.
“Are you kidding?”
“C’mon, Jody. We live in a city where you can have somebody killed for less than a hundred bucks. Dr. Connolly may be many things, but she’s not a stupid woman. I’m sure she could have found somebody with an airboat to take her out to the middle of Lake Okeechobee and drop her o
ff, wait an hour and then call nine-one-one.”
“Were you aware that state medical boards and hospitals are notoriously lenient when it comes to physician discipline?”
“So? What’s your point?” he asked.
“Dr. Connolly’s not facing life imprisonment. There’s no reason she would risk her life simply to vindicate herself. It wouldn’t be rational.”
“Who said anything about her being rational?”
“She may be stressed out and having some professional problems, but she’s not irrational.”
Vic snickered. “As I recall, there were a dozen or so cops who said the same thing about Ted Bundy. Am I crazy or weren’t you standing next to me when we spoke to Wolfe? He’s a good homicide cop. Didn’t you hear what he said about her behavior in her father’s murder investigation?”
“Of course I did.”
“Then you obviously weren’t listening very closely. He said she’s become overly involved in the investigation and has nothing to base her theories on other than a desperate and illogical compulsion to find her father’s murderer.”
“Wolfe’s a good cop, but he’s not a psychiatrist and”—Jody paused, held up her hand to keep Vic silenced,—“he might be wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You heard what Adele Kaine said. She said this guy Kaine’s capable of anything.”
“So what? I have two ex-wives who would say the same thing about me.”
Jody slowed down to let a mother duck and her ducklings cross in front of the car. “We’re going out to Kaine’s house later today.”
“No way. I have a lot better things to do with my time.”
A confident grin crossed Jody’s face.
“How are things going with Nancy?” she asked. “Are you still thinking about getting engaged?”
Vic reached into his pocket, pulled out a stick of gum, peeled off the paper, and popped it in his mouth.
“I don’t know,” he answered with a measure of caution. “Why are we suddenly talking about my personal life?”
“I’m just making conversation. Did you ever buy that ring you talked my ear off about?”
“If you must know, I bought it last week. I’m just waiting for the right moment to give it to her.”
“I wonder how Jana would feel about that?”
“Jana?”
“Jana, from Robbery—short hair, pretty face, big boobs. The one who laughs like a hyena.”
“That’s blackmail, Jody. I’m your partner, for God’s sake. I’m in a serious long-term relationship now.”
She laughed. “Long term? You’re talking to me, Vic. I’ve watched the steady parade of women in and out of your life. Your relationships have about as much permanence as skywriting.”
“You wouldn’t do this.”
“In a heartbeat,” she assured him. “Just come with me to Kaine’s house and I promise to take all of your disgusting little secrets to my grave.”
Vic’s chin fell. “You’re supposed to be my partner. It’s a sacred relationship. You could go to hell for this.”
“I’m willing to take that chance,” she said.
Crossing his arms in silence, he turned his head and looked out his window. Jody was quite familiar with Vic’s proclivity for pouting. Certain he would be accompanying her to speak with Kaine, she contained her urge to laugh. In silence, she checked her side-view mirror and accelerated onto the interstate.
CHAPTER 83
Abandoning her plans to go to the emergency room, Morgan left the hospital and made the short walk across the hospital campus to Dade Presbyterian’s main security office.
The small building was located between the two main parking garages. When Morgan walked in, she was relieved to see Al Bakersfield, the assistant director, sitting behind the information desk. Baby-faced, with a patch of sparse gray hair on his suntanned dome, Al made no effort to tame a waistline that betrayed his weakness for imported beer. Morgan had known him for years, and with one glaring exception, she regarded him as a reasonable man. For some irrational reason, he chose to ignore his chronically inflamed gallbladder, which had more stones in it than a gravel driveway.
In spite of her pleas, Al refused to have it removed. Every couple of months the pain became so unbearable that he wound up in the emergency room.
“How’s it going, Al?” she asked.
His brow furrowed. “I’m okay. I hope you’re not here to try and talk me into surgery.” He patted his belly. “Me and the old gallbladder are doing just fine.”
“That’s not exactly the tune you were humming a few weeks ago. Why are you being such a baby? It’s a routine operation. You’ll be home the next morning.”
“You mean if nothing goes wrong.”
“Why should anything go wrong?”
“I work in a hospital. I hear all the gruesome stories of what goes on over there. I also read the papers and watch 20/20. Hospitals are about as safe as hang gliding.”
“It’s not that bad.”
He snickered, interlaced his fingers and set them down on the information counter. “A couple of years ago, a woman in an Ohio hospital was having some heartburn after a routine operation. Her doctor ordered an ounce of Maalox. The nurse, who was obviously not the sharpest knife in the drawer, got the Maalox and went into her room. And then, while this poor woman slept, this angel of mercy injected the antacid in her IV. Now, most children of ten would know that you’re supposed to drink Maalox, not put it in an IV.” Al raised his hands with his palms up. “Needless to say, the Maalox took care of both her heartburn and her heartbeat.” Al scratched at his salt-and-pepper stubble and then added, “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just hold on to my gallbladder for a while.”
“Okay,” Morgan conceded with a smile, “but don’t come crying to me the next time you go overboard at Taco Bell.”
“It’s a promise,” he told her, raising three fingers. “Now, since I doubt you came over here to discuss my health, what can I do for you?”
Morgan moved to the middle of the counter.
“I have a little problem that I need your help with.”
He examined her over the top of his reading glasses. “What kind of a problem?”
“I have some questions about the Fast-Pass visitor identification system.”
“Why would Dade Presbyterian’s very busy chief of Emergency Medicine give a hoot about the Fast-Pass system?”
She tilted her head just slightly to one side. “It might be better if you didn’t know. Do you think you can help me?”
“Fast-Pass isn’t exactly a matter of national security, so I don’t see why not. What do you want to know?”
“Basically, how it works.”
“Well, we have one at every entrance and other strategic points in the hospital,” he said pointing to end of the counter. “They’re all identical to the one right there.”
“Who gets photographed?”
“Anybody who enters the hospital who doesn’t have a Dade Presbyterian ID has to go through the system. We photograph them, enter their intended area of visitation, and make a copy of their driver’s license. The machine then spits out a paper ID about the size of a playing card that they stick on their shirt. The whole process only takes about thirty seconds.”
“Can you show me how it works?” she asked.
“Sure. Move down to the end of the counter and we’ll print out a pass for you.”
Morgan took a few paces to her right and lined up in front of the small apparatus.
“Let me have your driver’s license,” Al said.
Morgan reached into her purse, pulled out her wallet, and handed it to him.
“I feel like I’m being arrested,” she said.
“We have handcuffs for that, Doc.” He pointed to the lens. “Look right into that little window.”
Al rolled out the keyboard, slid Morgan’s license into the Fast-Pass, and then tapped a single key. In a matter of moments, the machin
e spit out a black-and-white picture ID of Morgan. He peeled it off its adhesive back and handed it to her. She was surprised at how good the quality was.
“Does the computer store a copy of this?” Morgan inquired sticking the paper ID to her shirt.
“Sure.”
“For how long?”
“Forever, I guess. The system has a huge memory.”
Morgan cleared her throat and averted her eyes. “Supposing somebody wanted to retrieve copies of the passes issued on a particular day, at a particular station, for a specified period of time. Would it be possible?”
He placed his palms flat on the counter and smiled. “Why would somebody want to do that?”
“I didn’t say they would. Think of it as a hypothetical question.”
“I see,” he said with a deliberate grin. “In that case, the answer to your hypothetical question would be that it’s definitely possible.”
Morgan took a step back. “Al, supposing I told you that I needed to see the Fast-Pass ID for everybody that came into the emergency room on March third of last year. Specifically, between the hours of nine and midnight.”
“Are you serious?”
“There’s more. I also need the passes of everybody who went into the Cardiac Care Center on May thirteenth of this year between the hours of seven and nine.”
Looking as if somebody had just asked him to drive a get-away car in a bank heist, he crossed his husky arms in front of his chest.
“C’mon, Doc. What’s this all about?”
“Al, if this wasn’t incredibly important, I wouldn’t be here asking you.”
“It might help if I knew what you’re trying to find out.” Morgan stood silent. Al raised his hand. “Forget it,” he said. “Don’t tell me. I’m probably better off not knowing.”
“If you can get me the pictures; I’ll look through them and then destroy them.” She put her hand to her heart and with a smile added, “I promise.”
Al snuck a peek over his shoulder. Sitting on the other side of the office in front of a full wall of monitors, one of the officers manipulated a joystick. He appeared totally immersed in his surveillance.
“You realize, this may be an AHCA violation. I mean with respect to patient privacy issues. There are names on these IDs.”