by Harlan Coben
"So?"
"So take a look at the cases one by one for a second." Max sat u p q uickly, opened up his pocket pad, and read.
"Victim one:
Mr. Scott Trian. Trian had been found tied spread-eagle to his bed i n a partment 8G at 27 Christopher Street. The corpse was found wit h t wenty-seven stab wounds. The murderer sliced off Trian's left ear, bot h t humbs, and left nipple while he was still alive, we think. He als o c astrated Trian."
"Unbelievable," Sara whispered.
Max nodded.
"Even more unbelievable is that we've managed to keep the mutilation an d t orture away from the media."
"Won't last," Sara added.
"Someone will open his mouth."
"True enough, but until then I can use it to cut through all these phon y c onfessors. When pressed for details about the killings, none of th e c onfessing Gay Slashers knew about the mutilation or torture. They onl y k new what they had read in the papers. But we're getting off th e s ubject. Let's move onto the second victim."
"Okay."
Bernstein wet his index finger and turned a few pages.
"Victim number two: Mr. William Whitherson. Mr. Whitherson's boyfriend , a Stuart Lebrinski, stepped out of their co-op on the Upper West Side t o p ick up some groceries. When he came back an hour later, Whitherson wa s d ead. Twenty-three stab wounds.
There was no mutilation or signs of torture."
"There was no time," Sara said.
"The boyfriend was only gone an hour."
"Could be," Max allowed.
"But now things get really interesting. Victim number three: Mr. Bradle y j enkins." Pages were once again turned before Max continued.
"A limousine driver dropped Bradley off in front of his apartmen t b uilding after the charity ball at your father's estate. One neighbo r t hought he saw Jenkins leave the building a few minutes later wit h a nother man the neighbor described as 'very big'."
"Probably the same guy the wino saw."
"Makes sense," Max agreed.
"Anyway, the next thing we know Jenkins winds up dead behind the Blac k m agic Bar and Grill.
Several patrons of the bar recognized Bradley from his photograph, bu t a ll swear that he had not been seen that entire evening."
"So? He was at my father's party until late."
"One other thing the lock on Bradley's apartment door was jimmied." "Th e b ig guy probably broke in," Sara said.
"I don't see what part of it doesn't make sense."
Max put down his notebook.
"Put the whole thing together, Sara. First, Bradley Jenkins comes hom e f rom the party. Then some big guy jimmies the lock and breaks in.
Fine, okay so far.
You with me?"
"Go on."
"Now from the looks of Jenkins' apartment, the struggle if there was on e w as painfully short. Then Bradley and the killer leave the apartment an d d rive off together. Based on the tremendous amount of blood in th e t runk, we can speculate that Bradley was murdered while lying in th e t runk of the car. No mutilation, but like the other two, approximatel y t wo dozen stab wounds cover his face, chest, and groin.
The killer keeps the body in the trunk overnight, wakes up the nex t m orning, and dumps his body behind a gay bar."
"Maybe Bradley knew the guy," Sara said.
"Hold on, skip that. If they knew each other, there would have been n o n eed for the jimmied lock."
Max managed a grin.
"And I was all ready to jump on you for being wrong."
"Sorry to spoil it for you."
"Never mind. But you're ignoring the more important question."
"Which is?"
"Why did the killer take Bradley out of the apartment in the firs t p lace? Think about it. Trian and Whitherson were both murdered in thei r a partments, right? The killer got them alone, did his thing, and lef t t he mess. But not with Bradley. He went to the trouble of taking him ou t o f the apartment. That meant the killer had to go to the trouble o f s tealing a car, one. Two, he had to risk being seen leaving th e a partment as well as risk being seen getting rid of the body behind th e b lack Magic. Why? Why not just kill him like the others and get it ove r w ith? And why dump the body behind a gay bar?" Sara thought for a m oment.
"I see what you mean. Look, Max, I know the heat is coming down on you , but I can't hold back much longer. I won't say anything about th e m utilation of Trian, but I have to let the public know about th e c onnection of the three victims to the AIDS clinic."
"Sara ..."
"Someone is going to dig it up soon anyway, and now Bradley's fathe r c an't be hurt any more than he already has." She gripped her cane.
"More important, Harvey has decided to go public with the clinic's s uccess. He needs to raise funds. There'll be an hour story on th e s uccess of his AIDS treatment on News Flas h m ax whistled.
"Talk about a major scoop," he said.
"Could be Pulitzer here, Sara. I'd hate to see you miss that."
"Not fair, Max."
"I know. My bias against the press flaring up again. Sorry."
"Forget it." She watched him start to gnaw on his finger not the nail , the finger.
"Max, don't you think the connection to the clinic is important?"
"Crucial," he answered, removing his finger from his mouth and rubbin g h is face with the same hand.
"My people are checking out everyone involved with the place."
"That's the crux of the whole thing, isn't it?" she asked.
"I mean, everyone assumes that a psychopath is targeting gays, but he coul d r eally be after AIDS patients or, more specifically, patients a t h arvey's clinic."
"Could be."
"What about Harvey's fear that someone is trying to sabotage th e c linic?"
Bernstein stood up and began pacing in a small, tight circle.
"A possibility but a long shot. According to Harvey, nobody outside th e c linic not the PDA, you, or anybody else knew how close they were t o f inding a cure. Sure, there were rumors, but people don't usually try t o s abotage a rumor."
"I'm not sure I agree with you there," Sara said.
"We've both seen plenty of people act on a lot less than unsubstantiate d r umors before."
"Granted, but look at it this way if someone wanted to destroy Harve y a nd Bruce's work, why go to the trouble of murdering all these people i n s uch a grisly fashion? Why not just burn down the clinic? Or why no t j ust kill ...?" His voice trailed away.
"Just kill?"
Max swallowed.
"I was about to say, "Why not just kill the doctors?"" There was a lon g s ilence.
"Max, what did the handwriting analyst say?"
"Bruce Grey wrote the note. No chance of it being a forgery."
"Does that mean he definitely committed suicide?" Bernstein paused, hi s h and still nervously massaging his chin.
"Not necessarily," he began.
"Because of the note in Grey's handwriting, the suicide was barel y q uestioned. It was an open-and shut case."
"And now?"
"There's so many holes, Sara. I checked out Grey's history.
He seemed happy enough, normal enough, no signs of depression or menta l i llness."
"But if Bruce wrote the note "
"Ah, but haw did he write the note?"
"I don't understand."
"As you know, I took the liberty of having the handwriting analyst chec k t he note again. But this time I had him look for other details."
"Such as?"
"For one thing, Swinster noted that the handwriting was unusually shaky.
Words and letters ran into one another. It was definitely written b y g rey the shape and design of the letters tell you that but it was no t h is normal handwriting. He was in a rush or under duress or somethin g l ike that."
"Isn't that normal in the case of a suicide?"
"Not really. Usually, the handwriting is slow and even and fairl y n ormal.
Grey always wrote very neatly even when he scribbled down a p rescription. The suicide note was uncharacteristically sloppy. It coul d h ave been I said could have been coerced."
Sara sat forward with her eyes opened wide. Her words came fast.
"Then what you're saying is that maybe Bruce was forced to write it,"
she nearly shouted.
"Maybe somebody put a gun to his head and made him do it."
"Calm down, Sara. We don't know anything of the sort yet."
"And if that's the case, Harvey could be in real danger."
Bernstein shook his head.
"Don't start building this into something it's not. There are a millio n b etter explanations for all of this. It could be something as simple a s b ruce Grey being so cold his hand shook when he wrote the note. Or i t c ould be that he was nervous at the thought of running head firs t t hrough a window."
"You don't buy any of that."
Max pocketed his keys.
"But it sounded good."
"Where are you going?"
"To the Days Inn. I want to check out Grey's room."
"Hey, hey, Mikey, boy! How you feeling?" Michael looked up and smiled.
Reece and Jerome piled into the room with a half dozen other Knicks.
"You guys are a bunch of the ugliest candy-stripers I've ever seen."
"But look what we brought you," Jerome said, holding up a brown pape r b ag.
"What is it?" Michael asked.
"Hospital food sucks, right?" Jerome continued.
"Bet your ass," Michael replied.
"Two days of it and I'm already going crazy."
"And," Reece added, "everyone knows how you Jews love food from th e o rient."
"You mean ...?"
"Yup," Reece interrupted, "take-out from Hunan Empire."
"I think I love you guys."
"Don't get mushy on us, old dude."
"I'll try not to break down."
"So how you feeling, Mikey?"
"Okay."
"When you coming back?"
"Probably not till next season."
"Shit."
"Yeah, tell me about it. But guys, guess what?"
There was a pause.
"Reece already told us the good news," Jerome said with a wide smile.
"You're going to be a papa.
Congratulations, man."
They shook hands.
"Thanks."
The other players gathered around him to offer their congratulations.
"Hey, old dude, how you gonna teach me anything from a hospital bed?"
Jerome asked.
"Watch old game films," Reece suggested.
"See how Mikey played when he was in his prime."
"They had movie cameras back then?" Jerome joked.
Reece laughed.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Michael asked him.
"You're only a year younger than me."
"I know. That's why I want you back with the team. I don't want to b e t he new 'old dude'."
"Swell. How's practice going anyway?"
"We miss you, Mikey," Reece said.
"Nice to hear."
"Yeah," Jerome added, "I miss blocking your shot and putting it in you r f ace."
"Just hand over the food, Jerome, before my doctor seer it."
"Too late."
The tall bodies of the New York Knicks turned toward the door. Harve y s tood leaning against the frame of the doorway.
"Hey, Harv," Reece said.
"How's it going, Reece?"
"Not bad."
"Would you and your cohorts mind if I have a few minutes alone wit h m ichael?"
"Of course not."
"Good," Harvey replied.
"In the meantime I'll have one of the nurses bring you hoodlums over t o t he pediatric wing. There's a few kids in there you fellas might be abl e t o cheer up." "Be our pleasure," Reece said.
"Come on, guys. Let's go."
Michael's teammates bade him good-bye and left. Then Harvey closed th e d oor and moved into the room.
"So what's up?" Michael asked.
"We just got back results of the blood tests," Harvey began.
"You were HBV positive."
"Meaning?"
"You have hepatitis."
"Isn't that what you were expecting?"
"Yes and no."
"Explain, por favor."
"Frankly speaking, its all a little strange."
"What do you mean?"
Harvey crossed the room.
"You have hepatitis B rather than hepatitis A."
"Is that bad?"
"Ninety percent of all hep B patients recover fully within three to fou r m onths. With a little luck and some good training, you could even b e b ack in shape for the end of the season and the play-offs."
"Great."
"But we'd like to take a few more tests, Michael," Harvey said , "including a T cell study and an HIV test."
Michael sat up, his eyes finding Harvey's and locking onto them.
"An HIV test? Isn't that " "Yes," Harvey , "it's a test which i s s upposed to indicate if you are carrying the AIDS virus."
"Why would I need one of those?"
"Its merely a precaution," Harvey continued.
"We're sure you don't have AIDS or anything of the sort. You're no t h omosexual and you're not an intravenous drug user, which means you r c hances of having it are next to nil."
"So?"
"So Eric and I discussed it. We also consulted Dr. Sagarel, th e g astroenterologist. The thing is no one really understands how yo u c ontracted hep B."
"Some bad seafood maybe?"
"You're thinking of hepatitis A," Harvey continued.
"Hepatitis B is transmitted through blood transfusions, saliva, semen , stuff like that. Now I know you're going to want to slap me for asking , but I have to do it anyway. It's important that you tell the truth."
"Shoot."
"I know you love Sara, but have you had any extramarital affairs? Any a t a ll. An indiscretion during a Knick road trip, anything?"
"No," Michael answered.
"Never."
Harvey nodded.
"Normally, we wouldn't think of going through with an HIV test, but whe n e ric reviewed your records, he came up with the fact that you had a b lood transfusion after your boating accident in the Bahamas."
"But that was years ago."
"I know. If it were more recent, I wouldn't worry about it as much.
Nowadays we have the technology to screen blood donations so that th e c hances of a patient's receiving HIV contaminated blood are very remote.
Back then the test didn't exist."
"So you're saying "
"I'm not saying anything. Look, Michael, Eric and I have HI Von-the-brain with the clinic and all. You don't have AIDS, I'm nearl y p ositive of it. Under normal circumstances I would have just gone ahea d a nd done the HIV test without telling you."
"So why didn't you? You didn't give me details about the other tests."
"Because the law requires that you sign a form, that's all."
"And Dr. Sagarel agrees with you and Eric about this?"
Harvey's face seemed to cloud over in hurt for a brief moment.
"Yes, Michael. He agreed."
"Harv," Michael began, "I don't mean to question your judgment " Harve y w aved his hand.
"Don't worry about it, Michael. It was the right question to ask."
"So now what?"
"I'd like to draw some blood, if it's okay."
Michael shrugged, his eyes still scared. Then he nodded.
"You guys are the doctors." "Good," Harvey said.
"Give me your arm."
"Pick a vein, any vein at all."
Harvey did so, inserting the needle into the protruding blue line.
"Believe me, Michael, this is merely a formality."
"I hope you're right."
He finished taking the
blood and withdrew the needle.
"I am," he said. He walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped int o t he hallway.
"Janice?"
As per Harvey's instruction, Janice Matley, his most loyal an d t rustworthy nurse, was waiting by the door. Harvey had brought Janic e o ver from the clinic because he did not trust anyone with this task.
"Yes, Doctor?"
He handed her the blood sample.
"Give this to Eric or Winston only. Nobody else. If neither one of the m i s there, just wait."
She nodded and left. Harvey stepped back into Michael's room.
"When will you know the results?" Michael asked.
"In a week," Harvey answered.
"Now stop worrying like an old lady. There's no reason to think you hav e a nything other than hepatitis."
Mr. Philip Adams, assistant manager of the Days Inn, unlocked the door.
"Here it is," he said.
"Room 1118."
"Damn," Lieutenant Bernstein said.
"Something wrong?"
Max took his finger out of his mouth.
"Hangnail. It's driving me nuts."
Philip Adams watched with something near horror while the polic e l ieutenant used his teeth to rid himself of the annoying problem.
"Will there be anything else?"
"Has anybody stayed here since the suicide?"
"Actually, business has been a little slow right now so we've kept i t v acant."
"Has the room been cleaned since the incident?"
"Oh, sure."
"Can you find me the maid who cleaned it?"
"She's off today."
"When will she be in?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"I'd like her to call me when she gets in."
"Of course, Lieutenant, but why are you investigating this now? Th e s uicide was more than two weeks ago."
"Just trying to tie up a few loose ends," Bernstein explained.
"Can you also find me the receptionist who was on duty the night of th e s uicide?"
"Hector checked Dr. Grey in," Adams said.
"The police spoke to him already."
"When does Hector come in?"
"He's here now."
"Then please send him up."
"No problem."
"Has any work been done on the room since the incident?"
Adams coughed into his fist.
"We replaced the broken window he jumped through, of course."