Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel
Page 15
“All the time. My wife calls it the electronic leash.”
“I’m with her.” Ken slipped it back on his belt and twisted his wrist on the pretense of checking the time. “I didn’t expect that last one to take so long. The necrosis was a lot more advanced than I expected from the imaging. Now I’ll have to shift into fast-forward.”
“I hear you.” The man lifted his hand and moved away. “Good luck playing catch-up.”
As the anesthesiologist walked down the hall, Ken pulled his phone off his belt again, reopened Marge’s email, and keyed in a response.
Let’s meet at 4:30. I’ll cut my office hours short.
Then he typed a note to his receptionist. He hated to inconvenience his patients and their parents, but there was no choice.
Emergency at G. clinic. Reschedule all appointments after 4:00.
Slipping the phone back into its holster, Ken continued toward the elevator that would take him to the pediatric floor.
And tried to ignore the trembling in his fingers.
“Mr. Peterson? I’m Nancy Prescott.”
Cal rose as the patient-family liaison walked toward him in the lobby of Maryville Extended Care—his second nursing home visit this afternoon. So far, his pretext as a concerned grandson in search of an appropriate long-term care facility for his grandmother was working beautifully—and had generated new information.
He hoped this meeting would be as productive as the first had been.
As the fortysomething woman with short brown hair extended her hand and smiled, he gave her fingers a squeeze.
“Thanks for shoehorning me in on such short notice.”
“Responsiveness is a hallmark of our facility. Shall we chat in my office, or would you prefer to take a tour?”
“Why don’t we talk as we walk?”
“Excellent choice. I think you’ll be impressed with what you see.” She led the way toward a set of French doors at the far end of the lobby. “You said on the phone your grandmother may need more assistance than can be provided at home?”
“Yes. We’ve managed up until now, but at some point . . .” He lifted his shoulders in a what-can-you-do shrug. “Advanced COPD is difficult to deal with.”
“I understand. We have a number of residents with chronic lung disease. May I ask how you chose our facility to consider?”
“My grandmother had a friend who lived here. Clara Volk. They chatted on the phone occasionally, and Clara spoke highly of her experience here.”
Nancy gave him a surprised look. “I didn’t realize Clara had any friends left. She was ninety, you know. A very nice woman. It was such a shame she had no family.”
That was the same story he’d heard about Edward Mason—the other major Let the Children Come donor from last year—at the previous nursing home. He had a feeling the donors from prior years would fit that same pattern.
“I didn’t know she was so alone. I thought my grandmother mentioned once that a doctor used to visit her on occasion . . . as a friend, not a physician.” Cal flashed Nancy a smile as he added that clarification. “I recall Gram saying he sounded like the kind of man she’d like to meet.”
“That would be Dr. Blaine. He comes by to see members of his congregation, but he always makes it a point to ask about residents who don’t receive many visitors and then takes the time to stop in and chat with one or two. He’s the embodiment of Christian charity in action. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to add your grandmother to his list if she comes to live with us. Did you know he just won the state’s humanitarian of the year award?”
“Yes. I saw a clip about it on the news.”
She paused at the door to a dining room. “Our ambulatory residents eat here. We have a wonderful cook, and we work hard to provide a varied menu.”
Cal feigned interest in the space. “Very nice. Gram would enjoy this.” He followed Nancy as she continued down the hall. “Was Clara able to eat in the dining room?”
“Not in her last six months. She also suffered from rheumatoid arthritis. A terrible disease. It was almost a blessing when she passed. Of course, we all did our best to keep her spirits up, and Dr. Blaine stepped up his visits with her to twice a week during her last couple of months. One of our aides also took a special liking to her. Clara always seemed perkier after Dr. Blaine visited or when Olivia was on duty.”
At the mention of the name Olivia, Cal’s antennas went up.
He’d seen or heard that name at the previous nursing home too.
As Nancy showed him a vacant private room and rattled off some statistics about caregiver/resident ratios, social programs, and state ratings, he tried without success to put the name in context. It had been a fleeting impression, nothing more. The name had caught his attention because it was a bit out of the ordinary, not because it had any bearing on this case.
“Would you like to see the physical therapy center? It’s on the way to my office.”
Nancy’s question pulled him back to the present.
“Yes. Thanks.”
As they wound through the maze of generic institutional corridors, Cal maneuvered around wheelchairs and walkers and did his best to ignore the ubiquitous odor that had permeated every nursing home he’d ever visited, only half listening to Nancy’s subtle sales pitch as she sang the praises of the facility and showed him the therapy area.
Even though he couldn’t place the context of the name, the recurrence bothered him. What were the odds two people who shared the same fairly unusual name would be working at the nursing homes Blaine visited?
Miniscule.
Assuming it was the same woman, could there be a link to Blaine—especially since he was also a common denominator at the two homes?
“Let me get you an information packet to take with you.” Nancy led him behind the reception desk in the lobby and down a short corridor.
As he prepared to follow her into her office at the far end, he glanced across the hall at what appeared to be a staff break room, complete with a couple of tables, sink, refrigerator, and bulletin board.
Bulletin board.
That’s where he’d seen Olivia’s name at the previous place.
She’d been an employee-of-the-month last fall. September, perhaps.
Cal joined Nancy in her office as she retrieved a glossy folder from the bookshelf behind her desk.
Fishing time.
“I’ll have to mention to my grandmother that Dr. Blaine is still visiting residents here. She’d enjoy meeting him—and the aide you mentioned, as well. Olivia, I think you said.”
The woman handed over the folder. “I’m sure Dr. Blaine would be delighted to call on your grandmother, but I’m afraid Olivia is no longer with us. Such a shame. She was very sweet and caring and reliable, and the residents loved her. Then one day a few weeks ago, she just walked out with no warning. What can you do? The younger generation seems to operate by different rules. In general, though, our staff turnover is very low.”
As Nancy went on to reassure him of that by quoting more statistics, Cal mulled over his next move. He needed to find out if the two Olivias were the same. But he’d use a different pretext to ferret out that information. Asking Nancy any more questions about an AWOL aide he’d never met could raise suspicions.
“Do you know when you might be making a decision?”
Cal smiled at the woman and tucked the folder under his arm. “Soon. I’d like to wrap this up in the next couple of weeks.”
“Excellent. Please call if you have any questions.”
“I’ll do that.” He shook her hand and headed out through the lobby.
But he didn’t intend to contact the woman again. Because while he had plenty of questions, Nancy Prescott wouldn’t have the answers.
He was, however, going to get one of those answers right now.
BlackBerry in hand, he opened his car door, slid behind the wheel, and tapped in the number for the nursing home he’d visited earlier.
The clini
c was a wreck.
Numb with shock, Ken stared at the image on the computer screen in the church office conference room.
The 6.9 earthquake had virtually destroyed the adobe structure. The roof was half caved in, one wall had been reduced to rubble, and the main door was hanging by one hinge.
Interior photos showed similar devastation.
“Dear Lord.” Reverend Anderson leaned forward, intent on the screen, his hushed words a fervent supplication. “Was anyone killed?”
“No. There were injuries, but none of them life-threatening. Dr. Gonzalez says it was a miracle.” Marge pulled up the next photo, which showed a makeshift medical facility. “He’s set up temporary quarters in the village school. It fared far better than the clinic. But he’s in dire need of supplies, and rebuilding will require significant funds. I emailed him about our meeting, and he said he’d do his best to call in while we were all gathered.”
As she finished speaking, the extension in the conference room began to ring.
All of them looked toward the number on the LED display.
“It’s him.” Marge started to reach for the phone.
Ken beat her to it. He snatched the handset out of its cradle and put it to his ear. “Carlos?”
“Yes. Hello, Kenneth. Marge told me you were meeting this afternoon.”
“Were you injured?”
“No. I was spared. But there is much need here . . . did you get the photos I sent?”
“Yes.” Ken looked at Marge and the minister, both intently listening to his end of the conversation. “I’m going to put you on speaker. Hold one moment.”
Marge pushed the appropriate button on the base unit, and Ken replaced the handset.
“What is your most pressing need?” Ken gestured to Marge to take notes on the tablet in front of her.
“Many of the medications in our supply room survived, thank the Lord, and we salvaged what supplies and furnishings we could from the clinic. But we are very short on sterile goods and equipment. I’ve been putting together a list.”
As a rustling sound came over the line, Ken could hear the background cries of children who were hurt and afraid.
His stomach clenched.
He hated pain and unhappiness. Had devoted his life to alleviating both.
They had to fix this problem as quickly as possible.
Carlos began speaking again, and Marge filled a page before the local physician completed his list.
“The school officials have been kind enough to offer us temporary quarters, but we cannot stay here long,” the doctor finished. “We need to begin rebuilding as soon as possible.”
Ken ran his fingers through his hair. “We’ll discuss this as soon as we hang up, Carlos. I’ll call you back within the hour with a plan.”
“Thank you, my friend. I know you will find a way. And now I must return to work. I will pray our next conversation brings good news.”
As the line went dead, the minister folded his hands on the table. “How will we manage? If we dip into existing funds to get us past the emergency, we’ll have no operating dollars for the next few months.”
Silence fell in the room as they all pondered the problem.
“The need is too immediate for any serious fund-raising efforts.” Marge finally spoke, frowning as she read over the list Carlos had dictated. “Though in light of your recent award, the media would probably cover this story. I can contact some of the newspeople who called after the announcement went out. Perhaps, with sufficient publicity, some generous donors will come forward. A few medical supply companies might also step up to offer merchandise.”
Her reasoning was sound. And it was possible a flurry of donations would get them through the immediate crisis. But based on past experience, Ken knew donations would dry up within days of the media coverage, and the total generated wouldn’t be near enough to rebuild.
He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “It’s worth a try. In the meantime, I can provide a personal short-term loan to get us over the hump. We’ll survive this.”
“I have every confidence in that,” the minister seconded. “The Lord has smiled on this enterprise from the beginning. Every time our coffers have run low, he’s provided. I know the same will be true now. He won’t turn his back on such a great need. Shall we pray about that?”
Marge took his hand, and Ken completed the circle, bowing his head as the man asked God to bless them with sufficient resources to continue the noble work of the clinic.
And God would answer.
Ken would see to that.
As he always did.
“I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”
At Dev’s greeting, Cal closed the back door of the Phoenix office behind him, pausing as his partner exited the small kitchenette. “I was here all morning doing an employee background check for our newest client.”
“Yeah. Nikki told me. I was just giving you a hard time.”
“So what else is new?” Cal sidestepped Dev, who was toting a steaming cup of coffee, and continued toward his office. “How’s the surveillance going on the child custody case?”
“Nothing to report to our client yet. I handed it off to Connor at 4:00 and swung by here to catch up on some paperwork. Looks like we have a new protection gig in the offing too. Nikki took the call while we were gone, and I’ve been following up on it.”
“If it’s another trip to Bermuda, Connor says count him out.” Cal flipped on the light in his office.
Dev followed him in. “Nothing that exotic—but possibly more dangerous. Ever hear of William Santel?”
Cal set his briefcase on his desk as he tried to place the name. “Isn’t he president of Santel Enterprises? That electronics corporation headquartered in Missouri, with manufacturing facilities around the country?”
“Bingo. They also have a plant in Mexico—where he plans to go next week, despite a death threat.”
“Not too smart. Mexico is a scary place these days even without a death threat.”
“I explained that to him.” Dev blew on his coffee and propped a shoulder against the door frame. “He still wants to go—and he wants us to keep him safe while he’s there. He’s also willing to pay a very nice premium for that service.”
When Dev quoted the amount, Cal let out a soft whistle.
“I had the same reaction.” Dev took a test sip of the still-steaming java and backed off with a scowl.
“Money’s never been our sole criteria for taking a job, though. And the risk is high. A fat paycheck doesn’t matter if you’re dead.” Cal settled into his chair and waited. All of the Phoenix partners agreed on those points. Meaning there was more to this story—and other reasons Dev thought they should take the job.
“That’s true. But there are extenuating circumstances.” Balancing his coffee, Dev strolled over to the chair across from Cal’s desk, sat, and crossed an ankle over a knee. “Based on my preliminary research, Santel runs a clean, ethical operation that provides an essential service. The company makes high-voltage power supplies for applications like CT scanning, telecommunications, and explosive detection for baggage screening.”
“Okay.” Interesting but not compelling enough to merit risking life and limb.
“Santel employs five hundred people at his Mexican plant and offers higher wages, better working conditions, and far more benefits than his competitors—which they don’t appreciate. He’s also assisted authorities in Monterrey, as well as United States Immigration and Customs agents, with drug investigations—which the traffickers in Monterrey don’t appreciate.”
Cal processed that information. The man treated his employees well and cooperated with law enforcement to bring down drug traffickers, despite the personal risk.
Impressive.
But both of those activities could create enemies.
“Any clue who issued the warning?” Cal laced his fingers over his stomach and leaned back in his chair.
“So why doesn’t he lay low for a while? Take care of business by phone?”
“There’s been some vandalism at the plant, along with some graffiti. The troops are unsettled. He figures if he expects the employees to keep showing up every day, he should set an example by putting in an appearance on occasion too.”
Cal picked up his pen and tapped the end against his desk. “When does he want to go?”
“A week from today. Fly down Wednesday afternoon on the corporate jet, hang around the plant on Thursday and part of Friday, fly home Friday afternoon. Short trip, but intense. I peg it as a three-man job, plus a well-armed local security specialist and his crew.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“Yeah. He’s former law enforcement too. I worked with him on a border case in my ATF days. A good guy to have around if we run into trouble.”
“Doesn’t matter how good he is. This could still be dicey.” Cal pursed his lips. “Santel’s got guts, though—not to mention good intentions and admirable principles.”
“I checked with one of my former ATF colleagues, who made a few calls to some of his DEA contacts. They confirmed he’s cooperated with drug investigations on more than one occasion.”
“You’ve been busy. When did you manage to do all that?”
Dev shrugged. “Surveillance is boring. Making calls helped keep me awake.”
As if he’d ever doze off on duty. Dev might kid around at the office, but he was a pro on the job. Serious, focused, intense. The kind of partner you could rely on to watch your back in a dangerous situation.
“Okay. I’m in. Did you check with Connor yet?” His other partner’s vote would carry more weight, as they both knew. It always did on protection gigs. He’d also take the lead if they accepted the job, given his Secret Service background. That was one of the things Cal enjoyed most about Phoenix—they recognized each other’s strengths, and no egos were allowed when they assigned roles for gigs. The most-qualified man got the job.