By previous agreement, they would not mention finishing their meal before coming and would answer questions but not volunteer extra information. Again, Gentry had cautioned Miki that someone had placed her in a bad position. How else would the detectives know they were together? She thought Ephraim told them, but she didn't mention it to Gentry.
Miki felt as if the few bites of burger she ate were stuck in her throat. She longed for the tall glass of water she left unfinished on the restaurant table. She looked around the dingy foyer—no water fountain, no bathroom.
Around midnight the elevator doors opened, and Detective Quinlan stepped out. "Sorry to keep you folks waiting," he said, sounding insincere.
Miki and Gentry stood and followed Quinlan into the elevator. He led them through the second floor lobby, used a key card to bring them into a utilitarian corridor, then opened the door to a small room, waving his hand to indicate they should enter.
Miki and Gentry sat at the table occupying the center. The only other furniture was a leggy table near the wall with a bolted-down, old style cassette recorder dead center.
"Interrogation room," Gentry said. "The textured wallpaper is meant to provide soundproofing. He nodded toward the mirrored wall over the table. One-way glass, I suspect."
"They're treating us like criminals."
Gentry shook his head. "No. If they were, we'd be in different places by now. Relax and see what happens next. Meanwhile, let's sit here and not talk."
After what seemed like hours to Miki, but was just thirty minutes, Cavanaugh peeked through the small window in the door, then entered. "I'm glad you were able to come when we called. Sometimes we waste hours running around to talk to people. It takes forever." She sat. "In the interest of time, I thought we'd update you both on what happened to Dr. Dempsey. Then we'll talk to each of you alone. Before we get started, do you have any questions?"
"I—" Miki stopped when she felt Gentry's warning nudge against her knee.
"Since neither of you have anything to ask me, I'll get started." Cavanaugh referred to her notes. "Jamal Dempsey's wife found him dead in their garage at four this afternoon. She returned home from a play date for her children. His car sat at an angle in the garage. She thought it odd, so she parked in the driveway and took the children in the front door. After turning them over to the nanny, she went into the garage and found him in his car."
"I didn't know Jamal was ill." Miki realized how stupid her comment sounded. She felt another warning, this time stronger.
"Ms. Murphy, it was foul play. Dr. Dempsey was strapped into the passenger seat of his own vehicle. His hands were bound behind his back. He died, I believe, from asphyxiation." She referred to her notes. "Someone jammed an endotracheal tube into his throat—the same tube they use to administer anesthesia—then plugged it so he couldn't breath. Whoever did it flayed his chest and abdomen before he died. We're assuming it happened before they plugged the tube because the blood loss was dramatic. But no one heard any screaming, so the tube was most likely blocking his voice box during the knife work."
"Oh my God, that's horrible." Miki buried her face in her hands and sobbed. After several moments, she raised her head and wiped her tears. "The poor man. How is Carmel? She must be devastated."
"You know her?" Cavanaugh asked.
"I've known her since Jamal joined the staff."
Cavanaugh tapped her pen on the table. "When we left the home, she'd been sedated by her family doctor." She eyed Gentry. "You don't seem surprised."
He glanced toward the ceiling before meeting her gaze. "Detective, I've known about this unfortunate, dreadful occurrence for almost two," he looked at his watch, "make that three, hours. It's shocking, but I've been shocked before and have learned to cope. I'm wondering if it's tied to the other murders. Was there an index card found with the body?"
"How do you know about the cards?" Cavanaugh asked.
"I believe Ms. Murphy told me, or maybe I heard it at the hospital."
Miki sucked in a breath. She hadn't mentioned the cards to Gentry or to anyone else, and she didn't think they were common knowledge. She knew about them, and Walden knew about the first one, as did Ephraim. Who did each of them tell?
Cavanaugh's conversation needled at Miki's private thoughts until she forced herself to pay attention to what the woman said.
"So, to answer the question, Mr. Gentry, yes, there was a note."
"What did it say?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the specifics."
Gentry raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
32
Early Tuesday morning, after a couple hours of fitful sleep, Ellen Cavanaugh met Keith Quinlan in the cramped, detectives' conference room. He had covered the corkboard wall, the one behind Cavanaugh, with pictures and printed reports from the three crime scenes. Each collage contained a photocopy of the verse from the white card found with the victim. Results of the medical record research filled the far wall, the pages enlarged and highlighted for easier viewing.
Cavanaugh surveyed the walls, being patient, noting the details. "You did a good job summarizing the cases. Maybe it will help bring the facts into focus."
She spread the front page of the local paper on the table. The headline blared, "the lord Murders Hospital Workers."
She shook her head. "I knew the leak would happen. I expected it before this. The mayor called the chief already. Now, it's going to get trickier to solve these cases."
"I left home before my paper arrived." He tapped the newspaper and pointed to the lord. "I wonder what son of a bitch talked."
"Don't know. Gentry knew about it, so it's becoming common knowledge. As usual, it says it's an informed source who prefers to remain anonymous."
"Maybe that chickenshit Gentry called the press. He avoided telling us where he got the information. I don't think it was from Murphy. She looked perplexed when he suggested she might have been the source." He ran his finger over the first few paragraphs. "Too much information here. Lots of detail. I'd guess whoever talked to the reporter saw at least one note. Hope we don't get copy cats."
"Walden claims to have found the first card in Sanchez's pocket. He could have shown it to half the ER before bringing it to Murphy's attention."
"Who could have done the same thing."
"She seems smarter than that," Cavanaugh said.
Quinlan scowled. "Fact is we don't know. Maybe she had something to do with the deaths. She knew every victim well, maybe even had issues with them."
Cavanaugh bit her lip. "Stretching. Just because someone knows the person doesn't make them a suspect. She's a supervisor. It's her job to know people."
Quinlan pointed to the three bits of verse and raised three fingers. "Seems to me the bastard—"
"You're making an assumption there. It could be a woman."
"Bastard. Bastardess. Whichever. I was being generic, but it would have to be one hell of a strong woman."
"For the moment, I'll give you that. It could be a strong woman or one with help. Continue." She moved her fingers in a come-forward motion.
"Anyway, the note for Sanchez was 'I will repay you.' The one for Porter was 'avenge not yourselves.' Both of those seem to focus on payback. Dempsey's piece, 'dearly beloved,' doesn't speak of revenge. It's obvious the reference is biblical. The lord."
"You think?" Cavanaugh raised a brow, mocking Quinlan's comment in a playful tone. She thought Quinlan worked hard, but he had a rough edge about him, tended to form quick opinions, and often seemed to jump to premature conclusions. His work on the display they now studied was his first such effort, and she hoped he had come to the realization police work involved solid reasoning, not only intuition.
He said, "If he's doing Bible quotes, seems to me the list is endless. We need to identify the perp and restrain."
Cavanaugh rolled her eyes. "I believe we have a guy who's going for a whole quote about vengeance, one body bag at a time. Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather
give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is Mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Romans 12:19. That's the whole reading. I figure five, maybe six, segments. Five or six murders planned. We've got a creep with a definite agenda and a fast timeline. Six days between the first two, three days before number three."
Quinlan rubbed the dark, glistening skin on his bald head. "Great Gran was always on my case about studying the Bible. Should've listened to her."
"Kramer in the evidence room pointed it out to me." She laughed. "I didn't listen to my grandmother's preaching either."
He grabbed a yellow pad. "Repeat the quote." As she complied, Quinlan wrote it in block letters sideways across a sheet of yellow, legal-sized paper. After highlighting the portions from the note cards, he tacked the paper to the wall, positioning it in a blank space.
"What else do you think about the crimes?"
Quinlan's hand went back to his head, he offered a toothy smile, then gazed at the table.
"Start with the first crime," she said. "We'll move on from there. Find the patterns—besides the quotes, I mean. The patterns will help us include or eliminate suspects."
Quinlan moved to the first section of the long wall. "First the cards. There are no prints on any of them, not even the first one."
Cavanaugh frowned. "A couple of smudges. The plastic bag had so many prints on the outside that none were usable."
"It got handled before we picked it up. Whoever placed the cards on the bodies was careful." Quinlan tugged at his lip with a thumb and forefinger.
"Go on. What else?" Cavanaugh wanted Quinlan to pull the information together, to dig deeper.
"Someone offed Sanchez in an almost gentle manner. We wouldn't have suspected murder without the note card."
"Correct. Clean and medical, except for the card. The killer wants us to know he got his man."
"Porter?" He bit his lip. "Brutal, but also medical. The perp may not have planned the ingestion by rats."
"Oh, I think it was planned alright." She walked to the section with Porter's data and pointed to a copy of the autopsy report. Several of the bites bled, suggesting she was alive. Youngquist said the injection into the heart made a quick kill. He also wrote there's evidence she suffered a knock in the head before death as well. I hope she was unconscious when the rats started their work."
Quinlan touched a picture of Porter in a uniform standing next to her husband. "The blow to the head suggests a male. Porter was a strong, muscular woman. Her husband mentioned how well she cared for herself, exercising at the gym, running."
"True, but anyone could have poisoned Sanchez. What bothers me is the major discrepancy in the modus operandi. The similarities are the verse, both medical personnel, the hospital location, and a medical means for murder. The degree of violence doesn't fit." Cavanaugh sat in a chair near the information wall.
Quinlan said, "We don't have a report on Dempsey yet. It's murder for sure. The techs lifted a few prints from the car. Maybe they'll identify some as not belonging to the family. Lots of blood. The perp may have cut himself with the blade. Maybe some DNA mixed with the doctor's."
"Here's hoping."
"A man doesn't skin himself, but we don't know if drugs were involved in this one too."
She smiled, noting her junior partner's warming to the rehash of the information. "With or without drugs, the means were medical. Anyone could have skinned him, but most folks wouldn't know how to block his airway with a tube. What concerns me is the level of violence has escalated. Again, the method is different. The location is different."
Quinlan contorted his face, appearing to be in deep thought. "Maybe there is more than one killer. Maybe it's a contest. Raising the mark."
Cavanaugh shuddered. "That's a thought. Not a pleasant one. If there are more bodies, I can't imagine what we'll find." She inhaled, then exhaled through clenched teeth. "It's obvious our perpetrator, or perpetrators, have medical backgrounds."
"Whoa. That includes the whole hospital, the doctors, every paramedic in town, not to mention every man or woman who was a military medic. The task is huge, the list longer. We need to narrow it down."
"Veterinary medicine as well." She pulled the flip chart within reach, then listed the mentioned occupations. "There are more we haven't thought about to add."
"I'll ask a few officers to come in and contribute," Quinlan said.
"Good idea. Then we'll cross-reference the list to the names in the medical records we screened. I eliminated a few this morning because Dempsey's name didn't appear anywhere."
"We still have a long, frickin' list of charts containing the names of the three victims."
"I'll get some help researching the patients and families in these charts, screen them for medical occupations, too. We'll start with the people who did not have happy outcomes—miscarriages, abortions, surgical errors, bad results, unhealthy babies."
"Good. That'll narrow the list to a couple of dozen. Those people worked together a lot." Quinlan grimaced.
"Makes sense to me," Cavanaugh said. "Night shift emergencies. Young anesthesiologist—not in practice a long time. On call a lot. Night shift nurse who worked in several departments. Demanding doctor who wouldn't take no for an answer and didn't like to wait for people to arrive."
"I think we've met our perp. Reviewing the list for a minute, Murphy was in the hospital for the first two and doesn't have an alibi for Dempsey. Says she was asleep."
"Keith, she's a night nurse. She sleeps during the day."
"Maybe not yesterday. The creep Gentry seems to be her best buddy, and he says he was in his condo, alone, all afternoon yesterday. No witness to prove it. Ephraim refused to come in and talk to us. Who knows where she was. We know she met Murphy at the diner. The two of them together could get the job done. Easy. They're both small women, but they're also strong, toned, like they work out."
Cavanaugh sighed. "Go on. Get it out of your system."
"Then there's Walden. He's freaking weird. Keeps showing up. First with the card, then he's the last to see Porter alive, and he says he was asleep until six yesterday afternoon—even though his little girl is in the hospital."
"His mother was with the child during the afternoon yesterday. The man worked night shift and sat with his daughter during the morning. The nurse on the sixth floor," Cavanaugh referred to her notes, "Wilma Carlson, said Walden ate lunch while he sat with his wife. She also said he returned before she went home at seven."
"You're going to accept that every one of these knowledgeable people was sleeping and not consider them."
Cavanaugh shook her head. "Not what I said. However, we have to think beyond the obvious, otherwise something will surprise us—like maybe another mutilated body. Maybe we're poking in the wrong places. The hospital is awash in dirty politics. We've heard about all manner of infighting on the board and medical staff, including the hospital president and the chairman of the board."
Quinlan rolled his eyes and frowned. "Consider the source, Ellen. It was Gentry. Neither President Gardner nor Chairman Troicki would confirm anything. Hell, they seem convinced there's a pissed off patient intent on getting revenge on the system. That's why I think we should go through these charts and find the ones who have motive."
She shook her head. "Yes, but more than that. We need to poke at Gardner and Troicki. Maybe one of them should be on our short list. Maybe if we push, they'll produce something of interest."
"Let's put surveillance on the people we know about. See what they're doing, what their habits are."
"Can't hurt. I'll ask the captain." Cavanaugh stepped out and returned a few minutes later. "Captain doesn't have the manpower. I knew it was a long shot. After we narrow the list of possibles, then he'll reconsider."
"Damn it all to hell." Quinlan dropped a fist onto the table with a thud. "I'll do what I can to keep track of some of them. It shouldn't be too hard, three out of the four work nights at the same hospital."
"Not the same nights
, Keith. I'll see what I can find. Maybe at least help to consolidate the list."
Two young, uniformed cops, one a tall male and the other female, entered the room. The man said, "Sergeant said you have a project for us."
"You both know how to read a medical chart?"
He said, "I was an Army medic."
The woman said, "I went to nursing school and decided it wasn't for me."
"That'll do." She walked with them to the far wall, pointed to the display of information and then at the stack of copied medical records from the hospital. "Go through these. Identify who had unexpected or unpleasant results, then run a check on the patients and family. We're interested in any medical background. Make a list and include addresses, phone numbers, anything you can find."
"No problem. When do you need the information?"
"As soon as possible. Before we have another death. We've had three in ten days. The creep is moving fast." She glanced at Quinlan. "Partner, let's go to the hospital. It's time we talk to the people who are medical, available, and knew all the victims."
"Starting with the smiling Dr. Ephraim."
Cavanaugh said, "I never saw her smile."
"My point."
33
Dempsey's death played on Miki and kept her awake until almost dawn. Then she progressed to worrying about her son. Despite her having sent several emails, James hadn't contacted her. The last she'd heard from him was nine days ago when he left for Italy. She dozed and dreamed about the young anesthesiologist, but her tired subconscious substituted James in place of the murdered physician.
A shrill ringing jarred her senses. Miki grabbed for her telephone, a clear image of James in the forefront of her mind. "Hello. James?"
"Sorry, Miki. This is Leslie Anson. I know it's like the middle of the night for you, but can you come into the hospital this morning?"
Miki untangled from the blankets and sat on the side of the bed. "I guess." She shook her head, trying to follow the conversation. "What time is it? What day?"
"Seven. Tuesday."
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