Mercy

by Daniel Palmer

  Spence and Capshaw exchanged glances, then shrugged.

  “We don’t know. Someone filed off the serial numbers,” Capshaw said. “Did a good job of it, too. Makes it real hard for forensics. We’re still looking into ownership.”

  “Check your records. I don’t own a gun, and I certainly don’t know how to buy one with an expertly filed-off number, or file it off myself.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe your pal from Dorchester knows his way around town, if you know what I’m saying.”

  Julie flashed Spence a hard look. “You don’t really believe that, do you? The only scenario that’s going to add up and make all the pieces fit together is the one I’m telling you.”

  “You should have come forward when Jordan did.” Capshaw’s tone was only slightly admonishing.

  “If I had, then I wouldn’t have been able to get the sample tested.”

  Julie showed the detectives the lab results Lucy wrote up for their benefit.

  “At first I thought it might have been an unknown drug reaction killing the patients, my fiancé included,” Julie said. “Something a drug manufacturer would be willing to bribe, cheat, and kill to keep secret. But I was wrong.”

  Spence looked confused. “It’s not a drug reaction?”

  “No, it is,” Julie said.

  “Oh, I got it,” Spence said. “Wait, I don’t got it. Do you confuse your patients like this?”

  “What I mean to say,” Julie continued, “is that it’s not an accidental drug reaction. Someone is making the targeted victims alpha-gal allergic.”

  “You told us about that. Alpha-gal is a—a—” Capshaw fumbled for the right words.

  “It’s a carbohydrate that’s not found in humans or primates, but it is found in the meat of other mammals,” Julie said. “People who are allergic to the alpha-gal sugar in mammal meat will experience delayed anaphylaxis. The shock can be anywhere from four to eight hours following ingestion of meat, including beef and pork.”

  “This isn’t some condition PETA invented, right?”

  “No, Detective Spence, I assure you it’s quite real. Researchers think there’s something in the saliva of the lone star tick that makes people allergic to the alpha-gal in mammal meat.”

  “So we’re fine so long as we stick to cannibalism.” Detective Capshaw smirked.

  “In a way you’re right. I think the killer tested potential victims for alpha-gal sensitivity by feeding them meat. If they broke out in hives, they were essentially marked for death. Someone with access to the medical records system at White deleted the hives incident from the patient’s EMR, which was a smart move.”

  Spence leaned forward in his chair. “Why smart?”

  “We inventory the EMR system from time to time for health trends. Someone might have been curious about why White Memorial had a statistically significant outbreak of urticaria.”

  Capshaw turned to Spence. “That’s doc jargon for hives,” he said. Then to Julie, “I had ’em once. Awful. Just awful.”

  “How did these guys get tick bites?” Spence asked. “The vics were pretty limited, your fiancé included. I don’t think they were doing much hiking.”

  Julie had been wondering the same thing for days.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just know these victims were somehow made alpha-gal sensitive, and then they were killed.”

  “Killed by using—” Spence glanced at his notes. “Cetuximab.”

  “That’s right,” Julie said.

  “But not heparin.” Capshaw sounded dubious, though seemed pleased he had remembered the drug name.

  “Shirley wasn’t killed in the same way as the others. Her death was much more obvious, intentionally so, as a setup to get me out of White.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was too close to the truth.”

  Spence and Capshaw seemed willing to accept this just to move forward.

  “So, speaking of obvious, with—cetuximab, wouldn’t that be picked up in an autopsy?” Capshaw was looking at his knuckles when he asked the question.

  “No. As Detective Spence so aptly put it, most of the victims were very sick and would not have been autopsied. Even if they were, like Sam was, there’d be no trace of the drug unless we specifically looked for it in a forensic toxicology screen, which is far more comprehensive than what might be ordered for, say, an overdose in the ER. We wouldn’t do a screen like that unless we had a good reason.”

  “Like a court order to exhume a body.”

  Julie had already given the detectives her theory on William Colchester’s involvement.

  “Precisely. There was a chance that a full forensic toxicology screen might have yielded traces of cetuximab in the tissue, especially given the quantity we found in Albert Cunningham’s body. I think someone was worried what a full tox screen on Donald Colchester would reveal. Ask me, I’d say someone preyed on William Colchester’s fears, told him exhuming the body would get Brandon’s charges dropped. I’m sure he wasn’t told why, but like you said, docs can be confusing. Wouldn’t be hard to convince him of some falsehood.”

  “You’re saying Colchester didn’t know about the cetuximab?”

  “In my opinion, no,” Julie said. “William Colchester had one goal and one goal only: convict Brandon Stahl for the murder of his son. He bribed Sherri to get her testimony, and then offered another bribe to the judge so he’d deny the request to exhume his son’s body. I’m figuring Colchester’s the one who planted the morphine in Brandon’s apartment. That’s what I believe.”

  Spence said, “And you think William Colchester killed Sherri and blamed it on a Brandon Stahl supporter because she was going to confess to the bribe?”

  “Yes.”

  “So this cetuximab stuff is really what killed his son, Donald, by causing that weird heart thing?” Capshaw looked proud of himself for following, and even better, contributing to the conversation.

  Julie nodded. “Yes, what we thought was a condition called takotsubo cardiomyopathy was all along Kounis syndrome, an allergic cardiac event triggered by a massive overdose of cetuximab in a person who was alpha-gal allergic.”

  “Alpha-gal allergic because of a mysterious tick bite.”

  “Or not a tick bite,” Julie clarified. “Like I said, I don’t know how the victims got the allergy. But I do know anyone who had the sensitivity and was later infused with a high dose of cetuximab would suffer a massive and fatal coronary that would look exactly like takotsubo to any pathologist. Wouldn’t matter if the person’s heart was sick or healthy, it was going to develop a ballooned left ventricle before it stopped beating.”

  Capshaw said, “And so your big plan is to get this guy to confess.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why would he?” Spence sounded dubious.

  “This individual tried to have me killed, Detectives. We know that’s true, or you would have me in handcuffs right now. I’ll show him the evidence from Albert Cunningham’s tissue sample. Then I’ll tell him I’ll bury it, in exchange for him guaranteeing my safety and the safety of my son. Something happens to either of us and my lawyer brings the evidence to you. I think he’ll believe me. I’m counting on it.”

  Capshaw said, “Why is your suspect even doing this? What’s the motive?”

  “Think about the victims. They were all very ill, severely incapacitated, or at the end of their lives,” Julie said. “I think the killer was taking a patient’s right to choose death and removing the patient from the equation.”

  “Angel of Mercy kind of thing, is that it?”

  “Yes, he’s picking the victims for that reason. That’s my belief.”

  Actually, it was one possible theory—enough to convince the detectives to help, Julie hoped—but she had another theory, one she kept to herself. Lucy had coached her to think of this conversation like a chess match: “Always stay three moves ahead,” she’d said. So far, Julie had played it well.

  “Since you and he share some of th
e same beliefs on death with dignity, he might just believe your offer to keep tight-lipped about it,” Capshaw said, thinking aloud.

  “This all sounds very dramatic,” Spence said, “but in real life people can get really hurt.”

  “And in real life people are being murdered at my hospital. I need to do something to stop it.”

  “You’re sure of this guy?” Capshaw did not look convinced.

  “Absolutely,” Julie said.

  Spence and Capshaw exchanged glances, and some sort of understanding passed between them. It made Julie think of Jordan and the night they became partners at his apartment.

  “If we get a green light—not saying we will, but if we do—you’d have to wear a wire,” Spence said.

  Julie shook her head. “No. No. I can’t do that. I know him. He’ll suspect me going in. I’ll be searched, and then we won’t get anything.”

  “We’ll be there. We’ll have your back.” Spence acted so sure of himself.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Then this conversation is over. You go home and we’ll talk about charges when we come to arrest you,” Spence said.

  Julie hated being in this position, but she had put herself there. She knew going in they might demand she wear a wire, but what choice did she have? Jordan depended on her, Brandon too. And she faced jail or another attempt on her life if she did nothing. The only way to set things right, and bring the hammer down on those responsible, including William Colchester, was to get the police involved.

  “Look, maybe you could try something else. Bug the office or something. There’s this technology called TrueSpy, my son found it on my phone. I think Lincoln Cole put it there. It secretly records phone conversations. Your team could use that, couldn’t they?”

  The detectives’ expressionless gaze said no.

  “I’ve done this rodeo plenty of times now,” Capshaw said. “Our tech guys have a way of doing things. We can’t just throw in something new, something we haven’t heard of or used before, and think it’s going to work. We have a process, and that’s the process we have to use. Now, I hear you, Julie. I get your concern, I really do, but these devices are so small nobody is going to notice them. I promise. You’ll be fine.”

  Julie agonized. “May I make a phone call? I’d like to talk it over with my friend.”

  “Sure. Call away.”

  “In private,” Julie said.

  Capshaw shut off the recorder and he and Spence left the room without protest.

  Julie phoned Lucy on her new cell phone. The two talked at length until a decision was made. Julie invited Spence and Capshaw back into the room.

  “If you can make it happen,” Julie said, “you’ve got yourselves a deal. But on one condition.”

  Capshaw sighed. “We’re listening.”

  “My friend Lucy is allowed to be with you as an observer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to be scared out of my mind and, no offense, you two aren’t exactly a comforting presence.”

  Again with the glances, and again the detectives reached a nonverbal agreement.

  “Fine,” Spence said. “She’ll be in the equation. But we need the name of the guy we’re taking down.”

  Julie said, “His name is Dr. Gerald Coffey.”

  CHAPTER 51

  Thin clouds stretched across a slate gray sky and snow was in the forecast for this first day of December. Lucy had dressed for the weather in her warmest sweater, though the back of the surveillance van was plenty warm thanks to all the body heat. The full-size white cargo van had a decal on the outside panels advertising a company called JP Pest, but inside the van was crammed with high-tech surveillance equipment unlike anything Lucy had ever seen. There were wireless transmitters, sound recorders, sound amplifiers, a mixing board, cameras, various wires, even a working periscope and controller. It was all highly sophisticated, and when Lucy saw it she understood why they could not use new technology that had not been properly vetted and field-tested.

  Detective Spence was in the back of the van, along with Lucy and two technicians from the Boston PD who knew how to operate the equipment. To increase usable space, the van’s seats had been removed and replaced with benches bolted to the floor. Detective Capshaw was seated up front, reading a copy of the Boston Herald and looking a lot like a guy from JP Pest enjoying his lunch break. Scattered around the hospital campus were a number of other undercover police officers, but Lucy did not know where they were positioned or how they had been disguised.

  Detective Spence had made it clear that Lucy’s job was to keep Julie calm. Other than that, he expected her to stay out of the way. His prickly demeanor did not ruffle Lucy in the least. She respected it, in fact. This was his domain, his job, his operation to run, and his neck on the line if things went south. And things were going to head south. Lucy was sure of it.

  Getting Julie inside White was not a problem, because she had Lucy’s badge. “The badge switch worked before, it can work again,” Julie had said during a late-night planning meeting with the lead detectives. All the warrants, including those for the wiretap, were in place, and steps had been taken to ensure Dr. Coffey would be at his desk. In fact, he was scheduled to meet with Lucy—only it would be Julie who walked through his office door.

  “Okay, let’s do a mic check,” a technician said.

  Spence gave Lucy a nudge. “You’re on,” he said.

  Lucy wore a headset with an attached microphone. She got comfortable in her seat and took a deep breath. She was not one to get easily rattled, but this was her friend venturing into treacherous waters, and Lucy played a vital role in the mission’s success.

  “Julie, it’s Lucy. Can you hear me?”

  A crackle in the headset and then, “Yes, loud and clear.”

  Julie’s voice was also being broadcast into earpieces worn by all the police. “What’s your—um, location?”

  Lucy did not know the proper lingo. Spence had told her to just talk naturally. “Where are you?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m inside the lobby of the Barstow Building,” Julie said. “I’m using my phone’s earpiece so it looks like I’m having a normal phone conversation, but I’m worried you can’t hear me. The microphone is pretty far from my mouth.”

  “I hear you loud and clear,” Lucy said.

  Spence gave a thumbs-up as well.

  The miniaturization of the wire Julie wore had stunned Lucy. Gone were the days of bulky contraptions and sweat streaming down faces of worried snitches fearing the dreaded pat-down. “Wire” in the age of wireless meant cameras and recorders so small they could be hidden practically anywhere. The recording device Julie wore was hidden on the button of her white lab coat. The device captured audio only, because Julie insisted on wearing the smallest possible device that would meet the need.

  Now was the moment of truth, and Lucy’s anxiety came on strong.

  “Red Leader, this is Red One, I have Julie in our sights. Confirming her position in the lobby of the Barstow Building.”

  “Roger, Red One,” Detective Capshaw responded.

  “How’s the disguise working?” Lucy asked.

  “Nobody has come over to ask me to lunch,” Julie said.

  During the planning meeting, Julie had pushed for a simple disguise to wear to help conceal her identity. She was concerned that former colleagues might approach her and inadvertently tip off Dr. Coffey. A wig turned her from a brunette to a blonde, and the glasses she wore were intentionally oversized as well as tinted to hide her eyes and much of her face.

  “Are you ready for this?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Julie said.

  Lucy checked the time on the van’s digital clock. “Okay, you’re expected in Coffey’s office in five minutes.”

  “Got it. Or Roger. Or whatever I’m supposed to say.”

  Julie went quiet.

  “Red Leader, Red One, she is on the move. Repeat, Julie is on the mo
ve, she’s past security and into the building. We have lost visual.”

  A sudden numbing apprehension overcame Lucy.

  Spence took notice of her pale complexion. “Do you need water?”

  Lucy nodded. “Yes, please.”

  Chatter in the van went silent. Everyone’s attention was focused on the equipment, listening to Julie’s footsteps, and then the ding of an elevator. She was on her way up. The crackle of a microphone in Lucy’s headset made her heart jump.

  “Red One, are all teams in position?”

  “Roger, Red Leader. All exits are covered. We’re prepared to take our target.”

  The plan was to use overwhelming force. Dr. Coffey could be armed, and the biggest concern was that this mission not turn into a hostage crisis. They had coached Julie when to back off, and to stay near to the door so she could make a fast exit, and to make sure she knew how to find the stairwell. With luck Julie could get out of there with no problem, and later the police would make the arrest with no risk to public safety.

  Lucy lowered her head and fixed her gaze to the floor of the van.

  Come on, my friend … be okay … just be okay …

  Lucy glanced at the digital clock. It was a minute past the designated meeting time. The microphone made a jumble of noise and suddenly stopped picking up any sound. Lucy flashed Spence an edgy look.

  “Where is she?”

  Spence was looking anxious himself. “Hey, Red One, we have any visual?”

  “Negative, Red Leader.”

  “All right. Hey, Dave, check the equipment.”

  Dave, one of the two technicians in the van, ran through a series of checks. “Um, Detective Spence, we have an issue here.”

  Spence went over to Dave. “And?”

  “And I’m pinging her transmitter, but I’m not getting a response.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the device is offline, sir.”

  Spence went red in the face. “Oh, that’s just great. Just great!”

  The sarcasm was biting. Lucy came over to them, her concern much more pronounced.