“We’re here to see Leland Odin,” Max said.
Mavis shook her head and pursed her lips together like a good bureaucrat. “We’re not allowed to give out that information,” she said. “It’s confidential.”
“This is a police investigation,” Max said. He showed her his ID, then slid a business card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “Perhaps you’d care to call downtown and speak to my supervisor, Deputy Chief Gerald Thacker . . .”
“Or even the city attorney,” Afton offered. “I know he’s taken a personal interest in this case.” There was nothing like a good tag-team act to bump open a few doors.
Mavis flicked the card between her thumb and forefinger as she thought for a second. Then she said, “The VIP floor is on eleven.”
Max smiled. “Thank you.”
“They have a VIP floor?” Afton asked as they rode up in the elevator.
“Yup. Fat cats have their own area in the hospital. I guess senators and CEOs don’t care to share a room or shuffle down the hallway with their asses hanging out the backs of their hospital gowns.”
The elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and Afton stepped out onto a hospital floor that she never dreamed existed. The floors were covered in thick dove gray carpeting instead of durable linoleum, the walls were hung with colorful original artwork, and the lighting was low and inviting, much like in an elegant restaurant. A six-foot-high water fountain dribbled water over copper water lilies as it tinkled out calming notes.
“This feels more like a spa than a hospital,” Afton said.
“There’s even room service,” Max said. “You can order a cup of tea and crumpets instead of settling for Jell-O and oatmeal served on metal cafeteria trays.”
“You’ve been here before.”
“Just once. When one of our illustrious pro athletes shot himself in the leg with his own gun right in the middle of the dance floor at Glow. You remember that swanky night club down by the Target Center where all the beautiful people went to dance and snort blow?”
“Can’t say I ever made it to that place.” Although Afton figured her ex-husband Mickey probably had. Numerous times.
At the nurses’ station, directly in front of them, a pair of young women dressed in identical light blue scrubs sat behind the desk. They were talking in hushed tones as they both pecked away at keyboards.
As Afton and Max approached the nurses’ desk, a security guard came out of a nearby room and stepped in front of them. “Help you?” he said. He was carrying a steaming cup of coffee and looked like he might be on break.
Max pivoted toward the guard and pulled out his ID once again. “I’m Detective Max Montgomery and this is Family Liaison Officer Afton Tangler. We just dropped by to see if we could speak to Leland Odin.”
The guard, a behemoth with brush cut hair, blew on his hot coffee. “I understand the man’s pretty sick. Not sure the docs want him disturbed.”
“We’re not going to disturb him,” Afton said in a pleasant voice. “We’re just checking on him as part of our ongoing investigation into the helicopter crash.”
The guard, who looked like he’d probably played pro football at one time, nodded. “You think somebody engineered that crash on purpose? That’s the scuttlebutt I’ve been hearing around here.”
“We think that’s exactly what happened,” Max said.
One of the nurses at the desk glanced up and said, “Do you need me, Joey?”
“No, I got this,” the guard said. He tipped his cup at Max in a friendly manner. “Lots of investigating going on tonight,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Excuse me?” Max said.
“Your guy, Odin. He just had a visitor an hour or so ago.”
“Who was it?” Afton asked.
The guard shrugged. “Girlfriend?”
“You sure it wasn’t his wife?” Afton asked. “Or his stepdaughter?”
“Mmn . . . pretty sure.”
“What did this girlfriend look like?” Max asked.
“Pretty Asian lady. Maybe Chinese.”
Afton stared at Max. “Fan Ling,” she said.
“And she was here when?” Max asked.
“Like I said, about an hour ago.”
“Mr. Odin was awake then?” Afton asked.
Joey shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t generally go into the patient rooms. Access is only for the docs and the nurses. And, I guess, for visitors.”
“You’re on break right now?” Max asked.
Joey nodded. “Just came off break.”
Max glanced over at the nurses’ desk, where they seemed to be busy again. “Maybe you could stretch it out a little bit? And you wouldn’t mind if we wandered in and tried to talk to our guy?”
Joey thought for a moment and then said, “I guess that’d be okay. Not much going on here anyway. Just don’t let the docs catch you.”
“Which room is Odin in?” Afton asked.
“Eleven-E,” Joey said. “Um . . . that Fan Ling woman, she’s very good-looking.”
“She works for Odin,” Max said.
Joey grinned. “I had a feeling she does more than work for him.”
• • •
AFTON and Max headed down a long, softly lit corridor that ended at an exit door. Carpet whispered under their feet, mahogany doors opened into hospital suites that were twice the size of standard hospital rooms. In fact, when they peeked into a door that had been left ajar, the room looked like something you’d find at a five-star hotel.
“Which room did he say?” Max asked. They’d just passed 11-B.
“Eleven-E,” Afton said. She was glancing at the artwork that hung on the walls as they walked along. “Holy smokes,” she said, stopping in front of a photo. “Look at this.”
Max peered at the large, framed color photo. “It’s the cherry and spoon sculpture from the Walker’s sculpture garden. So?”
Afton tapped a finger against the glass. “This particular photo was shot by a very famous architectural photographer. His work hangs in the Minneapolis Institute of Art.”
“Yeah? You’re a photo aficionado?”
“Like I keep telling my kids, art nourishes the soul,” Afton said. “But what I really can’t believe is that they have . . . what? One, two, three of his photos here.”
“Maybe they’re all on loan,” Max said.
“Or maybe the university’s decorator spared no expense. No wonder they keep jacking up the tuition. By the time Tess and Poppy get here, it’ll probably be a hundred grand a semester.”
“I wonder if Jake will ever get here,” Max said.
Just as they reached Suite 11-E, a man in a pristine white coat came sliding out of the door. He wore a stethoscope around his neck and looked grimly serious.
“Excuse me, doc?” Max said. He hastily showed the doctor his identification and then asked, “How’s Mr. Odin doing?”
The doctor turned his concerned look on them. His name tag read DR. SANCHEZ. CARDIOLOGY.
“Mr. Odin is a very sick man,” Sanchez said, shaking his head. “We just put him on a dobutamine drip and now he’s sleeping. I’m going to have a private nurse sit with him to make sure his respiration and heart rate don’t escalate any further.”
“Is there any way we can get in there and ask him a question or two?”
“Not at this time.” the doctor said. “I’m afraid any undue stress or disturbance could be fatal. And if his pulse rises above one hundred and twenty beats a minute, we’ll need to halt inotropic therapy.”
Max squinted at him. “That all translates to . . . ?”
“We’re giving him meds to make his heartbeat stronger and keep his kidneys functioning,” Dr. Sanchez said.
Max nodded. “Gotcha.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Afton said.
They turned, walked back in the direction of the nurse’s station, and stopped. Afton glanced back over her shoulder. “Hold it.”
“What?” Max asked. “What are you thinkin
g?” He knew darned well what she was thinking but he had to ask anyway.
“Maybe a tiny peek wouldn’t hurt?”
“You sure about that?” Max asked.
“No, but if he’s been talking to a hoochie momma like Fan Ling, apparently the old boy’s not dead yet. Who knows? Maybe he’s been reinvigorated thanks to her ministrations. Or maybe that doctor stuck him full of some miracle drug.”
Afton and Max backtracked down the hallway.
“Where’d that doctor disappear to anyway?” Afton asked.
“Must have gone in some other fat cat’s room.”
They paused outside the door to Odin’s room. The private nurse was nowhere in sight yet.
“This was your idea, you know,” Afton said. “I mean, initially.”
“So you’re going to blame me if we kill him? If we jolt him into having a heart attack?”
“No, we’ll share equally.”
“Okay. Deal.”
Afton put a hand on the doorknob and pushed the door open slowly. “Mr. Odin?” she said in a soft voice. “Hello?”
The inside of the room was hushed and dim. Odin was lying in bed motionless under a pile of white blankets. Large machines surrounded his bed, blinking and beeping, flashing numbers, producing ragged green lines that blipped across a screen, disappeared, then came back across the screen again.
“Mr. Odin?” Afton said.
“Looks like he really is asleep,” Max whispered.
They stood there for a few seconds, but Odin didn’t move. Didn’t twitch a muscle.
“At least we gave it a fair shot,” Max said. “C’mon, this guy’s all doped up. We won’t get anything out of him tonight.”
Afton hesitated. Something felt wrong. What was it? She wasn’t sure, but deep down in her psyche she felt a tickle of unease. Odin seemed quiet enough, but she’d detected a strange, low hissing sound. One of the machines, perhaps?
“Come on,” Max whispered. He was silhouetted in the doorway.
“It feels like . . . Is he really okay?” Afton asked.
As if triggered by Afton’s sudden apprehension, one of the machines began to beep. Seconds later, it brayed out a high-pitched, urgent warning sound.
“What the hell?” Max said, taking a step into the room.
Her heart in her throat, Afton gazed in terror at the screeching machine. Numbers—were these supposed to indicate Odin’s heart rate?—flashed by in rapid succession. Forty-six, then thirty-eight, then thirty-two, descending ever lower, tumbling quickly, ticking off like a digital clock at an Olympic time trial. What’s happening? Afton wondered. Was Odin’s heart rate in free fall even as they were standing here?
“I think he’s . . .” Max began, but Afton had already taken a step closer to Odin’s bed.
And that’s when she saw it. Something dark and wet and sticky pooling right beneath his head!
Afton ripped back the covers just as Odin lifted his head and great gluts of blood began to spray like a faucet.
“Jesus,” Afton gasped. “He’s been cut.”
Odin’s eyes were half-open now, forming dark pools of pain. His lips were pulled back in a bizarre rictus and even though the machines were still going crazy, there was a steady, low hiss, like air being let out of a balloon.
“Son of a bitch!” Max yelped. He sprang forward and placed his hands against the thin red line that continued to spurt blood, trying to apply some pressure.
“We gotta get help,” Afton barked as she grappled for the buzzer to call the nurse. “Have them get a crash cart in here. A doctor.” She hesitated a split-second as comprehension finally dawned. “I think that doctor . . .” Then Afton spun past Max and pounded down the hallway. “I’m gonna go after . . .” Her words floated back to Max. “. . . that son of a bitch Sanchez.”
She saw the crash cart heading for Odin’s room, saw the grim, determined looks on the two nurses’ faces. Then she turned left and headed for the exit door. She was making a guess, one she knew could be off base, but she decided to take that chance anyway. She burst through the door at the end of the hallway and threw herself into the narrow stairwell.
Had he gone this way?
Afton paused to listen. Maybe three or four flights below her, she could hear loud footsteps banging down the metal stairs. Going like crazy. Yes! It has to be him!
Afton hammered down the steps two at a time, sending up her own echo that reverberated loudly in the cement stairwell. Her knees absorbed the shock as she rushed down the first four flights, then started to protest. Her thighs began to burn and she gasped for breath. Her hand clutched the rail at each numbered landing as she flung herself around to the left and continued to descend. Just like Odin’s heart rate, the numbers painted on the inside of the stairwell doors got lower and lower.
Minutes later, Afton burst out of the door at the bottom of the stairwell and staggered into a large maintenance room. It was jammed with gray plastic carts and large green Dumpsters. Overhead fluorescent lights illuminated the cinderblock room with a harsh, jaundiced glare. She surveyed the room.
Nobody here.
Her heart hammered inside her chest as a fresh jolt of adrenaline flooded her veins and urged her to keep going.
Gonna catch this son of a bitch!
Bolting past the Dumpsters, Afton saw a bunch of tools leaning against the wall. She grabbed a cultivating rake that had a long handle and four curved metal tines as she rushed past, then pushed open another exit door and found herself on a large cement loading dock. A cool wind whooshed around her, and stars sparkled in the black sky overhead. She lifted the rake above her head and did a clumsy pirouette, scanning in all directions. That’s when she saw the two men standing there, dressed in blue scrubs and smoking cigarettes. The red tips of the cigarettes glowed like beacons in the night.
“Did a man just coming flying out this door?” she barked at them.
A tall, stooped-shouldered man with a surgeon’s paper cap on his head gave her a curious, detached look and nodded tiredly as he lifted an arm in the direction of the main campus. “Yeah, he took off that way.”
14
NARONG glanced back over his shoulder as he ran toward campus. He’d already stripped off the white coat and balled it up in his hands. Now he stepped out onto Washington Avenue, dodged a city bus and then a red Prius, and finally skipped his way across the busy street. A cement garbage can sat on the sidewalk dead ahead of him. Excellent. He swerved to a stop, stuffed the lab coat into the trash can, and breathed a sigh of relief.
But no.
He glanced back and there she was. That stupid woman. Caught like a rabbit in the headlights of a bus that had just pulled to the curb. The woman who’d clattered after him all the way down the stairwell. He could see her now across the street, balancing some kind of stick in her hands, bobbing and weaving her way through a throng of people who’d just piled off the bus. He thought he’d lost her, but there she was. Foolish to follow him.
Narong knew exactly what he would do. Kill her. Slit her throat from ear to ear just like he’d done with the old man. He’d killed several women in his short career as an assassin, so there wasn’t any kind of ethical decision to make. He just had to lure her into a dark place. His skill and knife work would take care of the rest.
• • •
AFTON sprinted across the front lawn of the hospital, bounded into the street, and skidded to a stop. A blaring horn sounded as a speeding car blew past her, almost clipping her.
“What the hell, lady?” the driver shouted back.
Afton didn’t care. As soon as the car passed, she darted across the street and headed into the darkness that was the Northrop Mall. Passing the chemistry building, she glanced left and then right. It was quiet here in this massive greenway that was filled with trees and lined with enormous stone buildings around the perimeter. Not much was moving except for a couple of bikes that rolled silently toward her, their headlights poking through the darkness like weak flashligh
ts. Maybe she’d lost him? The fake doctor.
But no, that had to be him just up ahead. Zigzagging, running lightly, almost effortlessly on the balls of his feet, glancing back over his shoulder to see if she was following him. Of course she was following him. And when she caught up with him she was going to . . . what?
Scream her head off? Poke him in the eye with the rake handle? Or use the claw end . . . and do what?
Checking her speed, Afton figured that Max had already raised a red alert, had screamed bloody blue murder and got the University Police Department rolling out to search the campus. That knowledge gave her some degree of comfort as she kept going.
Long shadows lengthened as Afton kept the runner in sight. All was silent save for a chill wind that snaked through the treetops overhead. Because it was still early spring, the oaks and maples hadn’t fully leafed out yet, so bare branches rubbed against each other, creaking and clacking like dry bones.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the scream of a siren.
Excellent. Help was on the way. Now if she could just . . .
Up ahead, her runner—her madman killer—dodged left and disappeared into a copse of trees. Were those trees just outside Wilson Library? She couldn’t remember; it had been a long time since she’d gone to school here.
Creeping forward, Afton’s head was on a swivel, trying to sense where the guy was hiding. The big question, the hard-assed question, was—was he trying to evade her? Or was he lying in wait for her?
Afton’s heart pounded in her chest as a fresh shot of adrenaline coursed through her veins. Where were the university cops? Where were the yapping dogs and searchlights? Why had that siren faded away to nothing? Was help coming or not?
Off to her left a branch snapped. Afton’s stomach dropped and her skin prickled. He was close. And all she had was a stupid, flimsy weapon. What to do? Turn tail and run?
Cowardly, she told herself. That would be cowardly.
Time seemed to crawl as her world condensed to the cluster of trees just up ahead.
Suddenly, the guy burst out of the trees like a greyhound leaping from a starting gate to charge after a mechanical rabbit. He flew across the quadrangle in the direction of Morrill Hall.
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