Jack felt a growing, burning, unquenchable fire inside.
Still zipping through slower traffic, he dialed Claire’s cell phone. “Honey, something terrible has happened,” he said, taking a deep breath. “John Connor has been shot at the hospital. Stan Mansfield said John’s dead, Claire.”
Jack heard Claire gasp and hold her breath. “What? John’s dead?”
“Also one of the CCU nurses, Heather. I’m on my way to the hospital now. Call your supervisor at Newton Memorial and see if they want you to come in. They may want to keep as many people away from campus as possible. If you do come in, call me before. And please be careful.” A pause. A sniffle. Jack’s stomach was in a growing knot.
“This is awful,” said Claire. “I can’t believe this sort of thing would happen here. In our hospital. In our town.”
Jack hung up. He felt a tear percolating in the corner of his eyes and a brewing wave of rage inside his chest. As he entered the Newton Memorial Hospital campus, he realized that Mansfield was not exaggerating a bit. This was big. Police cars, trucks, and vans were scattered all over, all flashing red-and-white lights. Jack stopped at the doctors’ parking-area gate and removed his wallet from his back pocket. In it, a keycard would automatically signal the electrical clearance that would allow the computerized gate to permit entrance. Just like every other morning for the last five years, the gate opened, and he drove in. Unlike every other morning, however, two cops waited at the entry into the underground garage.
“Hang on! We’re checking ID for all people coming in and out,” ordered the younger of the two police officers.
“Sure,” said Jack, showing his hospital badge. “What happened?”
“Don’t know much yet, Doc,” said the second cop. “We’re still assessing the crime scene.”
Jack parked his car. The employee parking garage was nearly full. The police had prevented the night-shift personnel from leaving, and the morning shift was just arriving. Jack saw multiple people in groups, no doubt discussing the morning’s tragedy. The doctors’ parking area, however, was nearly deserted. The residents and doctors in fellowship training who were not on call were not expected to arrive for another thirty minutes. And they have been told not to come in, he supposed.
Jack did a double take when he realized Rupert’s car was in its parking stall. “LAB RAT,” read the license plate of the black 745Li BMW, which was impeccably clean. “Geek,” he said softly under his breath, shaking his head to no one in particular. Why are you here so early? Jack mused. Never before had Jack noticed Rupert’s car in the parking lot so early. He had many people doing the grunt work so he could sleep late and drive his 7-series BMW and wear expensive suits. Son of a bitch! As he walked into the hospital, the thought returned to Jack’s head. “Why is Rupert here so early today?” he whispered to no one. Is Rupert involved with John’s murder?
As a cardiac electrophysiologist, Jack didn’t work closely with Dr. Rupert. Thank God for small favors. On rare occasion, Jack had requested an appointment with the mighty research guru to discuss a study patient on his service. Going to see Rupert, Jack had thought, was like petitioning an appointment with the pope. It was a complex and nerve-racking task to accomplish. However, to Jack’s surprise, despite his air of arrogance and brilliance, Rupert had been helpful and kind during those earlier sessions. Jack understood why the man had acquired the power and importance he achieved. Maybe he deserved some of it. However, Jack’s last encounter with Rupert, that abominable man, was forever etched in his memory. The laboratory scene when Rupert literally and rudely kicked Jack and his entourage out continued to play and replay widely in his mind. So, what’s the bastard doing here so early? The same thought returned. Jack hurriedly headed to the cardiology department office on the tenth floor. To get there quicker, he took the stairs two by two. By the time he reached the first landing, his thoughts shifted to the horror he was about to face.
“I can’t believe Dr. John Connor is dead,” said Beverly, the cardiology department secretary.
“What do you know, Bev?” asked Jack, hungry for information.
Beverly was an older woman who Jack thought was the most organized and sensible person on Earth. She had worked at Newton Memorial for over thirty years in many different departments. She had gotten to know everyone. Everyone knew her well. Everyone admired her.
“One of the cardiac patients in CCU shot Heather and Dr. Connor. Do you know Heather McCormick? She is—” Beverly paused and sighed deeply. “She was a nurse. She was such a beautiful and nice person. Very hard worker.” Beverly stopped and wept for a short moment, tears flowing down her cheeks. Jack slowly approached her. She got up from her chair, and the two hugged for a long moment in silence, all eyes tearing.
“Yes, I knew Heather. She was a great nurse,” Jack said. “Do you know any other details?” He was barely able to talk, the emotions intermittently choking him at the throat.
“He also killed Mike Huber. He was a night-shift security officer,” she said when she was able to speak again. Jack removed two tissues from a box nearby and handed one to Beverly. “That’s all I know. Sorry.”
“I’m going to see if I can find out more,” said Jack. “Page me if you need to talk, OK?” Jack forced a smile. Beverly dabbed at her teary eyes again.
Jack exited the cardiology office hastily and scampered to the CCU on the second floor. As he approached, he saw a huge commotion. The unit and the surrounding waiting-room area were crowded with wall-to-wall law-enforcement people. The entrance was roped off with the familiar yellow police tape. He had seen that sort of tape on TV cop shows but never before in real life. At every several feet stood a police sentinel, making sure those who entered the area had proper clearance. Jack craned his neck but was unable to peer inside. He noticed there were people taking pictures, observing occasional bursts of flashing lights coming from inside the unit, now turned into a crime scene.
What happened to you, John and Heather? thought Jack. How and why did you get yourselves killed? He swallowed hard. Is this something to do with the cardiac-arrest epidemic at Newton Memorial?
To purchase this book and others in print, Kindle, or audiobook formats:
www.amazon.com/author/JanEiraBooks
The Traveler's Return: Book Three (Traveler Series 3) Page 18