by Adam Hiatt
“Where is everybody?” Reddic asked.
“I’m the only one living here right now. The other guys went home for the summer, but sooner or later somebody will move in,” Jaxon responded absently.
Reddic opened the white Venetian blinds covering the three rectangular windows in the living area and sat down opposite Jaxon on a faded blue sofa.
“So what do we do now?” Reddic asked.
“Nothing,” Jaxon stated solemnly. “I’m too disoriented to think right now. This whole afternoon has me confused.” He covered his face with his hands. “What am I going to do, Reddic? Dr. Langford is going to die, and so is my career. I’m finished.”
“Don’t talk like that. I’ll smack you in the head if you don’t snap out of your self-indulgent dwelling. This is only a minor misfortune. You act like your life is ruined. Give me a break.”
“You don’t understand, Reddic. I’ve been hammering stuff out non-stop with Dr. Langford for over two years only to have some, some guy take it all away from me,” Jaxon responded.
“What are you talking about? He’s just another professor.”
“No he’s not. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s the most renowned historian in the field of religious history. That may not mean anything to you, but it does to me. He has connections with every school in the world, making it financially worthwhile to even pursue this profession. And every few years he chooses a protégé, an academic apprentice to mentor. He’s very selective; he only takes students he believes have an abundance of potential to be refined into top-tier historians. That lucky lot pretty much gets to choose their employer, which is unprecedented in this business. He chose me Reddic, and I was almost finished, but now it’s all vanished.”
“I don’t know how to say this tactfully,” Reddic said sympathetically. “But you sound like an idiot.” Jaxon looked up, flashing angry eyes. “Seriously, you sound like a spoiled little Ivy leaguer. Have you ever undertaken something and not excelled? The answer is no. You’re an overachiever. You don’t need Langford.” Jaxon started to interject, but Reddic cut him off.
“The way I see it, there’s only one thing you can do,” he continued. “You need to show respect to your professor by continuing his research. If, worst-case scenario, he doesn’t make it through this, you’ve probably learned enough from him already to write your ridiculous dissertation and find a good job. But if, best-case scenario, Langford survives, don’t you think he’ll return to campus with special feelings of gratitude for saving his life and his research? And as a token of his appreciation he’ll surely double his efforts to place you in any job that you desire.”
“Wow. What are you, a motivational speaker?”
“No, I’m pragmatic, and I’m also right.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But I will admit that I may have overreacted. All I want is for mom and dad to look down on me and be proud of what I’ve accomplished.”
“I know. I feel the same way.” Reddic’s stomach knotted up slightly. He detested concealing things from his brother, but he just couldn’t tell him the truth; at least for the time being. There was still more to learn.
“Do you think we should go to the hospital and check on Dr. Langford?” Jaxon asked.
“Now that’s a good idea. I can’t stand the smell of this place.”
Chapter Four
They arrived at the Cayuga Medical Center fifteen minutes later and found their way to the emergency room. The reception area was devoid of any comfortable furniture with only a few office chairs lined against the wall next to a vending machine and a coffee table, covered with magazines. They approached the triage nurse sitting behind a traditional hospital bar-topped desk talking on the phone. She looked up at them, held up a finger, scribbled a number on a piece of paper and terminated the phone call.
“May I help you?” she asked. She was wearing green scrubs and had her brunette hair up in a ponytail. She was a little heavyset, but had a pleasant face and a warm smile. Her hospital identification offered Janet as her name.
“Yes, Janet, right?” Jaxon said. She nodded and smiled. “We came to check on the status of Matthew Langford. He was admitted less than two hours ago with a gunshot wound to the chest.”
“Yes, I remember. What’s your relation to him?” she asked skeptically.
“He’s my mentoring professor at the university,” he said.
Janet’s eyes shifted toward Reddic.
“This is my younger brother,” Jaxon continued. “He and I were the ones that found Dr. Langford in his office and called for help.” He paused. “We just wanted to see if he’s, you know, if he’s….”
“Recovering,” Reddic finished.
“Well, I’m not really at liberty to disclose any information concerning our patients, gentlemen,” Janet replied.
“You can’t tell us anything?” Jaxon pushed.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s against the law.” Jaxon looked over at Reddic then back to the nurse. “Okay, thank you for your time,” he said. He turned away toward the exit, shoulders slumped, defeated. Reddic grabbed his elbow and pulled him back.
“We respect that policy, Janet. Our mother was a nurse, so we know how hard you work and how invaluable you are to these patients. Quite frankly, I don’t think hospitals would survive without you. So thanks,” Reddic said charmingly. “Just for the record, we didn’t want to read Dr. Langford’s file or anything like that. We just wanted to hear how he was doing. We just feel responsible for what happened. If we had only gotten to his office sooner this may not have happened,” Reddic reflected. “But you’re the nurse, you know best.” Reddic put his arm around Jaxon’s shoulder and slowly moved toward the exit.
“Wait,” Janet said. “I suppose I can at least give you an update.”
She motioned for them to come closer. She looked around as if she were assessing that they were alone.
“There’s good news and there’s bad news. The bullet fortunately entered his chest on the right side and missed his heart, but it did damage part of his costal cartilage and punctured the superior lobe of the right lung. The good news is he’s been stabilized and transferred to the ICU. The bad news is he’s temporarily comatose, but as I said before, he’s stable.”
“Comatose? He was shot in the chest not the head, how could he be in a coma?” Reddic asked.
“You don’t necessarily need to be struck in the head to fall into a coma. In reality, any traumatic event could cause a severe shock that could lead to a state of coma,” Janet replied. “But his is a chemically induced coma.”
“How long will he be in this coma?” asked Jaxon.
“I’m not sure. The doctors know more about the prognosis.”
“Can we go see him?” Reddic asked.
“I’m afraid not. The unit is locked down and only immediate family members of patients are allowed inside. No exceptions.”
“We would like to talk to him as soon as he comes out of the coma. What’s his room number?” Reddic pressed.
“I can’t give you that, I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem,” said Jaxon. “Thank you, Janet, for your help. We’re just relieved that Dr. Langford is still alive.”
“In no small measure to both of you; if you hadn’t called for help when you did he may not have survived,” Janet observed.
Exiting the hospital the same way they entered, they walked toward the visitor’s parking lot. The sun was still overhead, but it was beginning to descend toward the western horizon. A light breeze came off of Cayuga Lake, rustling the leaves on the trees.
“By the way, when was our mother a nurse?” Jaxon asked.
Reddic grinned conspiratorially.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Jaxon continued. “Dr. Langford is a good man. Why would somebody want him dead? He didn’t have any enemies. In fact, he was one of the more likeable professors on campus.”
“Obviously somebody didn’t like him or something he was doing,” Reddic s
aid.
“What do you mean?”
“Well let’s first agree to eliminate any theory involving intra-departmental rivalry. Nobody is that stupid.”
“Agreed, go on,” Jaxon said anxiously.
“Did you notice anything peculiar about Langford’s face and neck while in his office; apart from his pallid complexion I mean?”
“Not really. The blood made me so uneasy I didn’t look at him much.”
“Well, I saw him up close, and it looked like he had a slight inflammation on his left cheek beneath a ruddy abrasion. Not to mention a faint violet formation over his trachea.” He waited for Jaxon to comment.
“Okay,” he said, urging Reddic to continue.
“All I’m saying is what if the killer was trying to find something and was persuading Langford by force.” Jaxon looked at him confusedly.
“Analyze this theory. You said that Langford was scheduled to meet with you this afternoon, right? What if somebody else knew that? The killer could have knocked on the office door around the prearranged time and the professor would surely admit him thinking that you came a little early. As soon as the door opens Langford sees that it’s not you, but engages in polite conversation because he has a few minutes to spare. One thing leads to another until the objective of the surprise visit gets revealed. Of course, your professor refuses to comply, so the intruder pulls out a gun. But that doesn’t quite do the trick because as you said, he used to be jock. So maybe he gets struck in the face with the butt of the gun as a warning. I would have to imagine Langford partially cooperated at this point. The killer probably suspected it was only part of the truth, so he squeezed his neck, cutting off the air until he disclosed it all.”
“I suppose it’s plausible, a little theatrical, but still possible. Still, it doesn’t exactly explain the gunshot. If Langford is dead, he can’t talk,” Jaxon interrupted.
“You’re right, he can’t talk. Is that a bad thing?”
“Excuse me?”
“If you were looking for something and you found it would you want the only person who could identify you to live?” Reddic asked.
“I’ll concede that point. So you think that the thief got what he was looking for?”
“I can think of one way to find out.”
“What are you going to do, call him?” Jaxon mocked.
“Nope,” Reddic said as he patted his right cargo pocket. He reached inside and pulled out the flash drive that he took from the would-be assassin.
“What do you got there?” Jaxon asked, looking puzzled.
“Remember the jacket I took from the shooter? It fell out of one of the pockets. I guess I forgot to give it to the cops.”
Jaxon abruptly stopped walking. Reddic turned to see what had happened.
“Do you know how much legal trouble you could be in for withholding evidence?” Jaxon asked huffily.
“I didn’t withhold it. It’s so small I just forgot about it. Let’s just look at it before you overreact again.” Reddic hurried off toward the parking area. After a few steps he turned back to face Jaxon. “Who knows,” he said. “It may be the key to what this is all about.”
Chapter Five
The youthful doctor passed by the triage nurse without uttering a word. The nurse looked up from her desk, smiled, and returned to her work. The doctor removed his identification badge from the pocket of his white lab coat and rubbed it over a gray plastic square next to a bank of doors. The locks hummed and clicked, prompting him to push them open and step into the Intensive Care Unit wing.
Sliding through the second doorway on his left, he dropped the shades and locked the door. There were two beds in the tranquil room, but only one occupant. A monitor on the right side of the patient indicated his vital signs were stable. On the left a machine fed small drops of liquid from an elevated transparent bag into a plastic tube, which flowed into a vein on the man’s right hand.
The doctor found a chart at the foot of the bed and read the patient’s name, finding it on the first line—Matthew Langford. He reached into his lab coat and pulled out a small glass vile and a syringe. Uncapping the needle, he carefully stuck it into the vile and brought out five milliliters of liquid. He gripped Langford’s left arm around the bicep and inserted the hypodermic into the median vein, injecting the chemical.
A spasm of throaty coughs jarred Langford out of the coma. His eyes fluttered rapidly before they settled on the doctor sitting bedside. Langford heartily sucked water from a thick straw that the doctor put to his mouth.
“Thank you,” he said groggily, running his tongue over his dry lips. “Where am I?”
“You were shot and brought to the hospital. I’ve been taking care of you,” replied the young doctor with just the hint of an accent.
“How long have I been sleeping?”
“A couple of hours. You were very lucky, Dr. Langford. The bullet could have killed you.”
“I need to make a phone call. My wife must be worried beyond belief.”
“Your family has already been notified. They will be here shortly.”
“Thank you,” said Langford.
“The police have the man who tried to kill you in custody,” the doctor continued. “He confessed that he was trying to coerce you into giving him a name. What name was he asking about?”
Langford said nothing. His eyes fell on the identification badge hanging from the doctor’s pocket. His face suddenly became alarmed. The doctor immediately knew why. The photo on the badge didn’t match his youthful, tanned face.
“That question never came up. He must have been misleading the authorities,” offered Langford.
The doctor’s congenial expression dissolved as rage flowed through his veins. “Now you’re lying, doctor.” Quickly standing, he took a handful of Langford’s full hair and tugged, lifting his jaw. “You cannot afford to lie again. Tell me the name,” he roared.
“I don’t know it,” he said between short breaths. With his free hand, the doctor pressed down on the chest wound. Tears rolled down Langford’s cheeks, the pain was too much. “I only know where it can be found,” he whimpered.
“What is the location?” the doctor asked.
“Granite Mountain,” Langford said, fighting off more tears.
“You’ve done the right thing. May Allah treat you mercifully.” The doctor pulled the pillow out from under the professor’s head and smothered his face. Langford jerked his neck and threw his arms out wildly, but his strength was weak. He could only hold off the inevitable for a few short seconds.
The doctor slipped out of the room unnoticed, leaving the lifeless body of Dr. Matthew Langford behind. He marched out of the hospital with a cell phone pressed to his ear.
“I have the location,” he reported.
“Excellent,” replied the male voice, clearly American. “The Imam will be pleased with your efforts, Amjad. Have one of your men continue to watch the professor’s office. The Imam wants to know if anyone returns there, but you must not fail again. Your man’s haste nearly crippled our quest.”
“What of the body?” Amjad asked. He tried to ignore the American’s condescending tone.
“I have a contact within the police. He is heading the investigation and will take care of it.”
“I understand.”
“I will soon contact you with more instructions. May Allah guide you on your way,” he snorted.
Amjad slammed the phone shut and disappeared into the parking lot.
Chapter Six
As the Yugo slowly climbed campus hill, Reddic absorbed the stately beauty of campus as they drove. There was a dramatic contrast in aesthetic value, he observed, between the town and the university. Ithaca itself was nothing to feature on a travel magazine; most of the housing developments in town appeared to be externally dilapidated, while countless telephone and power lines ran down each of the narrow streets, all but preventing any clear path of sight. Yet, as soon as the Yugo began to ascend the northern topographic
prominence, Reddic noticed a visual transformation. Buildings with architectural elegance, unobstructed vistas, lush vegetation, and a diverse array of flowers abounded throughout the university’s limits. As the roadway leveled off in the heart of campus Reddic couldn’t help but admire the sweeping panoramic view of the Finger Lakes Region. He now understood why many people referred to Cornell and the majority of its Ivy League sisters as Ivory Towers. The campus sat on a hill, symbolically overlooking the commoners below.
The Yugo pulled in behind McGraw Hall and came to a rest. On the first floor of the northeast corner of the building was a door with an electronic keypad mounted just above the handle. Jaxon typed in the six-digit code and pushed the door open, allowing the motion sensors on the ceiling to engage the lighting system. The periphery of the room was filled with cubicles, each containing a computer and telephone along with various other office items. The area was an anachronism compared to the building as a whole.
The center of the room was lined with oak bookshelves that were stocked with an impressive collection of historical works that most universities would covet. Jaxon walked to a corner cubicle situated by a window and sat down. He powered on the computer, logged on with his user name and password and moved over so Reddic could sit next to him.
“What is this place? I don’t think you’ve ever showed me this room before,” Reddic said as he reached for the memory stick.
“It’s what we doctoral nerds refer to as the ‘inner sanctum.’ It’s a research lab that only we have access to. Those books over there are from libraries throughout the entire world. We can request inter-library loans and they will come right to this room, not the Olin. But the best perk is right over there,” Jaxon said, pointing at a white, box-like machine. “It’s a color printer that prints over sixty pages per minute. And we can print for free.”