Fatal

by Michael Palmer

  “Drop the gun! Drop it now, Lonnie.”

  Reluctantly, Tuggle did as he was ordered.

  “Thet bang were ’bout ten feet behind yer car,” Lewis called down. “The nex one’ll be unner it.”

  “An’ the nex buckshot from this gun’ll be in yer brain,” Frank added. “Now, yev got ten seconds ta git yer boys an’ git outta here. Tell ’im ta set his revolver down afore he moves.”

  “Do it, Cork,” Tuggle ordered.

  Tuggle motioned to the man behind Frank, and in a moment, he came into Matt’s view, cowed and weaponless. The two of them backed out of the front door and called to the other pair.

  “You’re going to regret this, Frank,” Tuggle said. “You ain’t the only one who can blow things up.”

  “You gotta git t’us ferce, Lonnie. An’ you ain’t done so good at thet. Do us all a favor an’ don’ tra it. We don’ git much pleasure outta killin’ helpless critters. Tell ol’ LeClair t’weren’ none a us out at the mine. The doctor neither. If’n anythin’ happ’ns ta him, yer the one we’re gonna blame. Got thet? Ah said, Got thet?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

  Matt listened to the car depart and then straightened up and crossed over to Lewis.

  “I can’t believe you have this place mined,” he said.

  “Ah had me an adventrous spell back in the lat sixties, an’ joined the army,” Lewis replied.

  “I remember you telling me about that.”

  “Well, what Ah may not a tole ya was Ah signed up mostly ’cause Ah wanted ta learn how ta blow thangs up. I’z in demolitions in Nam. Come in handy from time to time, blowin’ up stumps an’ such. Plus nobody gits near to this here place less’n we want ’em to.”

  “Or away from it, either, it seems. You guys never cease to amaze me.”

  “Gimme a hand back ta bed, Doc,” Lewis said, picking up his intravenous bag and chest tube. “All ’is excitement has me a mot tuckered.”

  ANY BENEFIT MATT had accrued from his nap at Nikki’s bedside was gone. His eyes burning with fatigue, he gazed up wistfully at the turnoff to his house as he pointed the Harley back toward the hospital. He would make rounds and then sign out to whoever was taking over coverage. After that, bed.

  It was still possible the BC&C thugs might come after him, but besides being careful, there wasn’t anything he could do about it except run, which he wasn’t going to do. The Slocumbs had made their point and made it well. Come after us again only if trying to get us is worth dying for. As for the toxic dump, there was no way to predict what Armand Stevenson and the other powers at the mine were going to do. The only thing that was certain at the moment was that because of an anonymous note from a barely educated local who didn’t want acknowledgment or even a reward, his long struggle against BC&C had been vindicated.

  The doctors’ parking lot was nearly filled. Just fifteen years old, the hospital now boasted specialists in every area of internal medicine, and most of the surgical specialties as well. It pained him to give BC&C kudos for anything, but in fact the company was largely responsible for the continued growth of the place.

  He found a space close to the ambulance bay and locked the Harley. Then he crossed the ER and headed up the stairs to Med/Surg 2. Not too surprisingly, Tarvis Lyons was dozing in his seat by the door to Nikki’s room, his chin resting on his chest. Something—Matt’s footsteps on the tile or perhaps a breeze down the hallway—roused the policeman just before Matt reached him.

  “Hey, Ledge, wazzapnin’?” he said.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yep. Your lady got off just like clockwork.”

  “Got off where?” Matt asked, feeling a sudden chill.

  “For the MRI you ordered,” Lyons said, clearly bewildered.

  Matt raced to the doorway. Nikki’s bed was empty and had been made, awaiting a return Matt doubted would be happening.

  “Tarvis,” he said, his pulse hammering, “I didn’t order an MRI.”

  CHAPTER 19

  IT WAS RIGHT THERE IN THE PHYSICIAN’S ORDERS section of Nikki’s chart, right below the order Matt had written for neuro checks.

  MRI AT HASTINGS HOSPITAL. PTNT TO GO BY AMBULANCE.

  T.O. DR. RUTLEDGE.

  T.O.—telephone order. Someone had called the ward secretary using Matt’s name and had ordered that Nikki be transported by ambulance for an MRI at Hastings Hospital. Quickly, Matt called the radiologist there. He was not at all surprised to learn that, at his request, Nikki had been inserted into their MRI schedule as an emergency. Her appointment was for thirty minutes ago, but as of yet she hadn’t shown up.

  Tarvis Lyons, looking nonplussed and bereft, was waiting by the doorway to Nikki’s room.

  “I screwed up, didn’t I,” he said.

  “Just tell me what happened.”

  “You and Chief Grimes both said not to let no one into the room unless I knew who they were. Well, if I don’t know the Stith brothers, I don’t know anyone.”

  “The Stith brothers?”

  “Marty and Gerald. They drive for Gold Cross Ambulance. Marty’s part-time with the fire department, too. They’re regulars on Saturdays at Snooky’s, just like me. So, first the nurse came and told me you had ordered an MRI and the ambulance was coming. Then a little while later the Stiths showed up and took her. I had no idea I wasn’t supposed to let her go.”

  Matt rubbed at his eyes. Who in the hell could have engineered this? It had to be someone who knew the hospital and how things were done. A doctor? A nurse? He snatched up the phone and called the operator.

  “Hi, it’s Dr. Rutledge. Could you please get me Gold Cross Ambulance?”

  “Right away, Doctor.”

  “Gold Cross, Mary speaking.”

  “Mary, it’s Dr. Matt Rutledge at the hospital. Would you please radio the ambulance that’s taking Nikki Solari from Montgomery County to Hastings Hospital?”

  “What do you want me to tell them?”

  “Tell them to turn around and get back here as soon as possible. Don’t take the patient to Hastings.”

  Matt tapped his foot and fidgeted with the light cord, but he knew what was coming.

  “Dr. Rutledge,” the dispatcher said, “this is very strange. I can’t seem to raise them.”

  “Maybe they’re in the hospital already.”

  “They each have portable units that kick in as soon as they leave the ambulance. I’ll check on the trouble. Do you want me to keep trying the radio?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Matt said. “Keep trying.”

  At that instant, Tarvis Lyons’s radio crackled to life.

  “Lyons.”

  “Tarvis, it’s Chief Grimes.”

  “Shit,” Lyons whispered. “Yes, Chief.”

  “I told you not to let that woman out of your sight.”

  “I don’t remember you sayin’—”

  “Tarvis, give me that,” Matt snapped, snatching the radio away. “Chief, it’s Matt Rutledge. Someone using my name called in an order to have Nikki taken to Hastings for an MRI. She never arrived and the Gold Cross people can’t raise the ambulance on the radio.”

  “That’s because the drivers have been duct-taped to a tree in the woods off Highway 29. They just got brought in here. Nikki Solari’s not with them.”

  “Damn. I’m coming right over.”

  “Listen, don’t bother. I’ll be over to—”

  Matt handed the radio back to Lyons.

  “Tarvis,” he said, “if the chief calls back, tell him I didn’t hear what he said and I’m on my way over.”

  THE POLICE STATION, standard redbrick issue with an attached garage and jail in back, was situated as far on the east end of town as the hospital was on the west. Matt rode the Harley over, searching his mind for a hint as to who could have engineered Nikki’s abduction, and why. Whoever it was had to have been watching him to know he had left the hospital. If only Nikki had shared a theory—any theory—as to why the two men were waiting for her in the firs
t place.

  The patrolman on the station desk phoned Grimes and then, with a shake of his head, motioned Matt toward a bank of folding chairs. Through the open blinds on the interior picture window in Grimes’s spacious office, Matt could see the chief talking to the two ambulance drivers. The Stith brothers, both freckled and red-haired, seemed to be talking at once. Matt had never spoken more than a few words to either of them, but that contact was enough for him to know that neither man was going to win the Nobel prize for rocket science. Grimes’s right-hand man, a hard-nosed sergeant named Steve Valenti, faced the drivers from a seat beside the desk, his eyes narrowed as if probing their account for inconsistencies. As Matt approached the office door, Grimes caught his eye and held up a hand for him to wait a moment. Then, after a few words with Valenti, he motioned him in. Even before Grimes spoke, it was clear from his expression that he held Matt somehow responsible for what had happened.

  “Rutledge, I warned you to be careful with that woman.”

  “I didn’t do anything except go on a house call,” Matt replied flatly.

  “I also told you to stay at the hospital.”

  “Well, I don’t handle being told what to do. That’s why I went to med school. What’s with you, anyway? Did Solari say something kind to you at the funeral? Is that what’s going on?”

  “Don’t push me, Rutledge.”

  “Don’t go ordering me around, Grimes. Hey, hi, guys.”

  “Hi, Dr. Rutledge,” the Stiths said in unison. “We’re sorry about this.”

  “I’m sure there was nothing you could have done about it.”

  “No, there wasn’t. We got a flat on 29. One of the bastards drove up and—”

  “Gerald,” Grimes snapped, “we’ve already covered all this. It’s Dr. Rutledge’s turn to answer some questions. Listen, why don’t you two wait outside. I’ll call you back when I need you again.”

  Heads down, the brothers shuffled from the office. Valenti closed the door behind them and took his seat again. This time, the probing, eyes-narrowed stare was fixed on Matt.

  “So,” Grimes began, “you say you never ordered any MRI on Nikki Solari, but the ambulance people say they saw the order.”

  “It was a telephone order, called in by someone other than me.”

  “Not you, but using your name.”

  “That’s right.”

  Matt felt the warmth building in his face—historically the first sign that some sort of eruption was imminent. Grimes’s snide, supercilious tone was pushing a number of hard-to-reach buttons.

  “So, where were you while all this was going on?”

  “I was making a house call.”

  “To who?”

  “I don’t talk about my patients to anyone. It’s unethical.”

  “And you, of course, are Mr. Ethics. So while you were caring for a victim of a brutal attempted murder, you decided it was the perfect time to make a house call.”

  “Back off, Grimes,” Matt warned, the red warmth creeping up a few degrees. “I had been with her for more than twelve hours when I left the hospital. She was reasonably stable, and I had other people to attend to. Besides, if you had sent someone else out other than that lump Tarvis Lyons, they might have thought to have me paged to check on what was going on, since I didn’t say anything about ordering an MRI.”

  “I don’t know what in the hell is going on, Rutledge, but I can’t shake the sense that you’re right in the middle of it.”

  Matt pointedly ignored the remark. “What happened, anyway?” he asked.

  “Sounds like the same two men who went after her before.”

  “If at first . . .” Valenti interjected, sounding like Ed McMahon.

  “One of them probably shot out a tire on the ambulance, then both of them pulled silenced revolvers on the drivers. The whole thing took two minutes at the most. Dark sedan is all we can get out of the Stiths.”

  “You know who the men are?”

  “Do you? Jesus, Rutledge, how could you go and let this happen to that woman?”

  “Grimes, instead of trying your best to connect me to what happened, why don’t you have every man on your so-called force out there looking for her.”

  “You tend to your friggin’ business, Rutledge, and I’ll tend—”

  “I know, I know. You did that one before.”

  “Just don’t go on any more house calls until we have this business cleared up. Got that?”

  “Okay, okay, I got it.”

  “Good. Now scram. Tell Lyons to get on over here.” Grimes turned his back on Matt. “Steve, let’s get an APB out on Dr. Nikki Solari.”

  Valenti picked up a clipboard.

  “Out,” Grimes said.

  Matt slowly gathered up his denim jacket and keys and headed for the door.

  “White female, thirty-six years old,” Grimes dictated to Valenti.

  “Thirty-four,” Matt said over his shoulder.

  “Out! Make that thirty-four. Medium-length dark hair, five-seven, slender build, may be wearing surgical scrubs.”

  “Green.”

  “Dammit, Rutledge. Okay, green surgical scrubs. Now get out of here. What a dick,” Grimes muttered, loud enough to be easily heard from where Matt was.

  Matt left the office. The door swung nearly closed, but remained slightly ajar. He turned to finish the job, then realized that neither policeman had noticed. Instead he lingered off to one side, where it was easy for him to overhear the ongoing conversation.

  “So,” Valenti asked, “is the jerk right? Did she come on to you?”

  “None of your business,” Grimes replied with a sly smile.

  “Rollins was at the funeral service. Said the girl was looking pretty interested in you.”

  “So, maybe she was. I got enough goin’ on around here, believe me I do. Come on, now, let’s get this over with.”

  “Marks or scars?” Valenti asked.

  “How should I know?” Grimes replied. “Wait, I do know one. Get this. She’s got this weird tattoo on the top of her foot. Some sort of lizard. Can you believe that?”

  “Top of her foot, huh? Women don’t go around showin’ me the top of their feet.”

  “They wouldn’t show you their face, either, if they didn’t have to.”

  “What kind of lizard?”

  “An orange one. How in the hell am I supposed to know what kind?”

  Matt, who had turned toward the exit, stopped still. Nikki had been wearing sneakers when he intubated her at Crystal Lake. How did Grimes know about the tattoo? He had been there at the ER, but as far as Matt could remember, Nikki was covered up by the time he arrived, and stayed that way. Could someone on the staff have mentioned it to him? Possible, but doubtful. He had no trouble believing that Grimes had come on to Nikki in some way, but he hadn’t even considered that she might have flirted with him. Immediately, he discarded the notion. The reason Grimes knew about the Gila monster wasn’t because Nikki had shown him.

  Bewildered, Matt headed out to his bike. The only logical explanation he could come up with was that Nikki was wearing some sort of strapped shoe at the memorial service. As he approached the hospital, still another explanation occurred to him—the possibility that Grimes was with Nikki after she had been abducted.

  Tarvis Lyons, looking balefully about, was still at his post by the doorway to Nikki’s empty room.

  “Any word?” he asked.

  “Nope. She’s gone.”

  “Shit. Is the chief pissed at me?”

  “He wants to see you over at the station.”

  “Shit. Ledge, you gotta tell Grimes I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Without responding, Matt went to the small closet in the room. Nikki’s clothes were hanging up to dry rather than being stuffed in the usual plastic bag. Her sneakers were there, too—New Balance, a fairly new pair, still damp. She must have been wearing hospital slippers when the Stith brothers wheeled her away. They could have easily fallen off or been removed during o
r after her abduction. If Grimes was involved in the kidnapping, that would certainly explain his choosing Tarvis to guard the room.

  Nikki had jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt on when she went into the lake, but it was unlikely they were the clothes she wore to the service. Her car had probably been towed or driven to the station. More than likely, her clothing and possessions had been catalogued and examined. They had to be in the evidence room. If her shoes were closed on top, he could rule out the possibility that Grimes had seen the tattoo beneath any straps.

  He returned to the policeman.

  “Tarvis,” he said, “you want me to tell Grimes this wasn’t your fault?”

  “I need you to, Ledge. I’ve had some trouble lately and—”

  “In that case, I need a favor from you.”

  Lyons brightened. “Name it, Ledge.”

  “When she was loony from her concussion, Dr. Solari started babbling on about what she was really doing down here. It seems she runs a business up north where lady doctors provide, you know, services, to high-roller men who have big bucks to spend.”

  “Services?”

  “Sex, Tarvis. She runs a prostitution ring where the women are all doctors.”

  “Holy—”

  “And she has a book—a black book with the names of all her clients and all the women doctors in Boston, New York, and around here who work for her.”

  “She really is a babe,” Lyons said wistfully, his imagination clearly running as far amuck as it was capable of. “That’s what they were after her for? That book?”

  “Exactly. Grimes didn’t mention it, so I don’t think he has it yet. If we can find it, you’ll be a hero.” He bent over and spoke man-to-man. “Plus, you’ll know which lady doctors in these parts give . . . the best exams.”

  He punctuated the remark with a nudge.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Can you get me into the evidence room?”

  “I have a card. We all do. I just have to swipe it.”

  “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

  Lyons had driven his battered, grease-stained Wrangler to the hospital. Matt followed him back toward the station, but cut off a block from the building, parked the Harley, and met him by the basement door in back.