HARMED - Book 1: First Do No Harm

by L Jan Eira

  Inside the tiny vault was a small envelope marked First Federal Bank of Evansville. In the envelope was a small key with the number 232 imprinted on it. There was also a small thumb drive labeled Research Log—LFJ659. Jack smiled big as he held the small envelope and the tiny USB computer drive in his right hand.

  He exited the house, making sure that everything was as he found it. When he got in his car, he called Claire and filled her in on his discovery. He began his trip back to Evansville.

  “Will you please find out how many First Federal Banks there are in Evansville?” he asked Claire. A few minutes later, she texted him back and provided him the addresses and phone numbers for the five branches.

  He dialed the first number. “Good afternoon. I would like to rent a safe-deposit box. What time do you close today?” asked Jack. There was a pause.

  “Oh, all your deposit boxes are at your main branch on Green River Road? OK, thank you,” said Jack and terminated the call. As he drove toward the city, he entered the address information into the GPS. He sat back and drove on, content with the results of this trip.

  On his arrival, Jack got out of the car and brushed off the dirt from his clothes. “You can take the man to the country, but you can’t take the country out of the man,” he said, smiling to no one in particular.

  He walked into the bank, greeting an elderly security guard at the entrance. A doorway to his left displayed a sign overhead: Safe-Deposit Boxes. He entered the room and found box number 232. He opened the drawer and removed all its contents. He closed the deposit box and returned to his vehicle. He needed a safe place to review the documents. He drove toward Newton Memorial Hospital. First, he would stop to get dinner and the essential Starbucks coffee.

  Stomach full and back in the car driving to the hospital, Jack removed the Treo from his pocket and dialed Claire. He was excited with the new finds. By the words of the great philosopher and thinker, President Ronald Reagan: “The future doesn’t belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave!”

  CHAPTER 51

  Detective Quentin felt betrayed by Jack and Claire. She was starting to fall in love with Agent Mike Ganz. He was kind, smart, devoted to his job, and treated her like a lady. As a police detective, she would know if he was involved with such heinous crimes. She would feel it, but she felt nothing but contentment and adoration in his presence. What we have is strong, she mused. I’m not going to let a pair of amateurs dictate my fate. Life with Mike is too good…too good to discard. And there’s no way in hell he’s capable of killing people!

  Right here and now, it was time to put all that aside. Ganz was at her home, and a romantic dinner and evening were in the cards. Nothing was going to ruin that, not even Jack and Claire’s assertions and wild accusations.

  Ridiculous. My God, Mike’s a decorated FBI agent, she thought as she prepared the dinner table. Ganz was right behind her. He looked particularly attractive this evening. He wore an expensive suit and tie, attire that would leave most cops envious. She smiled at him as she dismissed the nonsensical and downright ludicrous contemplations swimming in her head. No way you’re right, Jack and Claire. No way in hell!

  Mike opened up the bottle of red and struck a match to light up the candles on the dinner table, focusing Quentin’s attention back to the moment. Everything was set. Everything was perfect. They sat down, soft music playing in the background. Quentin looked into Ganz’s eyes from across the table and saw love and irresistible passion. Mike might very well be the one.

  “Great music, great food, great company, great…well, everything,” said Ganz tenderly, sipping the merlot. She imitated him, their eyes fastening the two together.

  “I love this song,” she managed to say. “I hope this moment never ends.”

  “Would you like to dance?” said Ganz, getting up from his chair. Lou Rawls’s “You’ll Never Find Another Love like Mine” played softly on the CD player.

  “Why, yes I would,” said Quentin. He helped her up, and soon they embraced to the rhythm of the music on the makeshift dance floor.

  “I’m just glad the case is finally closed,” he whispered in her ear.

  The statement surprised her. Whether the case was closed or not was impossible to say at this time with any degree of confidence. It was so complex and involved, who knew what else was yet to come? Jack and Claire’s words hypothesizing his involvement returned to echoing in her mind.

  “Me, too,” she replied. Her own words gave her butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

  “I’m sorry about Herb. I know the two of you were very close.”

  “We were. Herb was my bud. I’ll miss him terribly,” she said, a tear falling down her cheek. He wiped the tear and then held her tightly, dancing to the music.

  “He had this case completely wrapped up. How sad for him to die of a seizure.” He hugged her even closer as the two bodies swayed to the music. “I heard the doctors say he had a stroke that caused the seizure.” He kissed her lips for a long moment. “I am so sorry, Susan.”

  The song ended, and the two separated slightly. He wiped a falling tear with his finger.

  “You don’t think he was murdered, do you?” asked Quentin.

  “Absolutely not,” said Ganz. “I was looking at him in the parking lot when he collapsed. Poor guy. Great cop. I’m gonna miss him a lot, too.”

  Susan’s mien remained subdued and pensive. The second track on the CD, “Lady Love,” came on, and the two commenced dancing again, wordlessly for a minute, and then Ganz kissed her again.

  When the song was over, he guided her to her seat at the dinner table. She served herself mashed potatoes and steak and then passed the plates to him.

  “You know,” Ganz paused for a beat, “I’m not so sure Jack Norris isn’t involved with the crimes. I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately. I might just snoop around a bit and see if I can find any connection between him and Rupert.”

  Quentin paused her chewing a beat, Ganz’s last words beginning to swirl madly in her mind. She drank from her wine, hoping to quench the turmoil inside her brain. Jack involved with the murders?

  Ganz swallowed a sip of wine. “Jack may have even given Herb something that ended up causing his stroke and seizures.”

  Quentin felt her cheeks blush as she nodded slowly while she ate. Certainly not Herb’s death. Why would Mike say such a thing? For now, she would go along with him and see where this conversation was going. “Interesting thought,” she lied, taking a forkful of mashed potato.

  “This food is delicious, Susan,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Her gaze returned to her plate. “So, what will you do now?” she probed.

  “I’ll follow Jack around for a bit and see what he does and where he goes as we wrap up the case. Then I’ll need to go back to Indianapolis awhile. But I’ll be back. For mashed potatoes like these, you’d better believe I’ll be back. If you’ll have me, that is.”

  “Sure, I’ll have you back. I was hoping you’d be back for me,” said Susan.

  “Of course it’s you, silly girl.” The two sat in silence and ate for a long moment, while Lou Rawls sang “Georgia on My Mind.”

  “You did a great job on the grill. My steak is impeccable,” said Susan, interrupting the peaceful quiet.

  “Thank you. I learned grilling from my dad. It’s a family secret.” Both smiled. Ganz’s recent accusations continued to whirl in Quentin’s head. Mike accuses Jack, and Jack believes Mike is involved. She sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. What would Herb do in this situation? How would he decipher this mess? She stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “Excuse me a minute, Mike.” She needed some air. It was all too much to handle. Suddenly her cell phone rang. She found her purse and fished out the mobile device.

  “Susan, it’s Jack,” she heard on the telephone. She wanted to hang up and go outside for a breath of fresh air. But she did not. She struggled to remain calm and polite as she spoke, and, for the sake of the ongoing investigation
, inconspicuous.

  “Yes.” She purposely left out the caller’s name.

  Jack spoke elatedly. “Susan, I wanted to keep you in the loop. I went to Rupert’s cabin in the woods and found some files. I haven’t looked through these yet, but I’m going to. I think these files will answer many questions. Would you like to review them with me? I can meet you at police headquarters and—”

  “No, this is not a good time,” she interrupted. After a short pause, she continued. “Give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll discuss your findings.”

  “OK, I’ll review the files at my office at Newton Memorial. I’ll give you a report tomorrow morning.”

  She hung up the phone, returned it to her purse, and rejoined Mike. She felt confused and alone. Vulnerable. How she wished Herb was there to give her advice. Ever since her father passed away from cancer five years earlier, Herb had taken his place in her heart. She had learned so much from him. One lesson she would always cherish and remember was how to follow her gut instinct. The problem was that half her gut was telling her Mike was a good person, but the other half was wondering if Jack and Claire were onto something. Could Mike ever be the monster the Norrises supposed he was?

  “Who was that?” asked Ganz nonchalantly when Quentin reappeared from the kitchen.

  For a short moment, Quentin struggled as to whether and how to answer. The truth will set you free, she mused and then replied, “Jack Norris.”

  “Oh, what did he want?” The topic had obviously piqued his interest.

  “He found some files that he thinks might be important in the case. He’s looking them over at Newton Memorial,” she answered.

  “Found files? Where? What kind of files?” he persisted, taking a sip of the red wine.

  “Rupert had a cabin in the woods somewhere. He found them there. I didn’t get much information. I wanted to get back to you quickly,” she finished with a smile.

  “Of course. Please forgive me. Where were we?” With this, Ganz stood up, gestured for her to get up, and they returned to the area in front of the fireplace, the designated dance area.

  They danced, now closer than ever, her head resting on his upper chest. No words. They kissed, this kiss more sweet and tender than the ones of moments earlier. And soon, Quentin’s small doubts began to dissipate.

  She couldn’t remember ever having felt this way. She had been able to put work completely aside and enjoy the here and now. Having lost her senior work partner so tragically made her feel vulnerable and alone. Ganz was providing her with the strength she so needed and desired.

  When they were done eating, she excused herself to change into something more comfortable. Ganz was sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, a glass of merlot in his hand. A log crackled noisily in the hearth, adding to the romantic ambiance.

  Quentin exited the room and made her way to the master bedroom. She began undressing. She placed her blue dress on the bed and began looking for a pair of comfortable jeans when she realized Ganz had turned up the volume on the music in the hearth room. She thought nothing of it at first, but then she thought she heard Ganz speaking. She put on a robe and sneaked out of the room, essentially to ascertain if he was talking to her. He was not. The stereo had been indeed turned up a few notches, and Ganz was not in the living room anymore. The door to the guest bedroom was now closed. She knew it was open before and surmised he went in there.

  Why would he go in there? she thought. She walked quietly toward the closed door to the guest bedroom. He was definitely in there talking to someone on his cell phone. She couldn’t make out any words.

  Intrigued, she went back to the master bedroom. As she took off her robe and put on her jeans, she realized Ganz had returned to the hearth room. The stereo music volume was again lowered little by little, as if to avoid perception.

  Why did Mike make a phone call he didn’t want me to know about? she mused. Maybe he received a private call? From the FBI? From another woman?

  She entered the living room. The door to the guest bedroom was open again, as she had left it before Ganz’s arrival. He stood up, a glass of wine in each hand, one of which he delivered to her.

  “You are so beautiful,” he declared.

  CHAPTER 52

  Jack was sitting at his office when his cell phone rang. It was Claire. “I thought I’d hear from you by now. I got worried. What’s up?”

  “I’m in my office at the hospital looking through all the documents from Rupert’s deposit box. There’s a lot of stuff in here. I want to go through each piece carefully.”

  “What have you found so far?”

  “There are a series of letters from the US Marine Corps. From Major Rooner. Essentially, he’s saying that they are interested in pursuing and learning more about the potential military value of the aerosolized bubbles, but they require more animal research. They point out that it is unethical to experiment with humans. They aren’t willing to fund the project. There are invoices and documentation about the equipment they’re using to deliver L-F-J-six-five-nine, aka Rat Poison. There are notes about the meetings with Akrim. That’s where I am now.”

  Jack heard Claire take a deep breath. Then she said, “What about Susan? Will you call her?”

  “Yes. I called her earlier and told her I am reviewing this stuff in my office. I’ll call her with details tomorrow morning. There might be evidence against Mike Ganz in here. I don’t want her to know about any of this until I understand it myself. Let me call you later when I figure out everything.”

  As soon as the call ended, Jack’s attention was again focused on the documents in front of him.

  • • •

  The administrative offices of the Departments of Medicine and Cardiology were located in a separate wing of the hospital. There were no clinical services provided in this location. As such, the place was already deserted. The lights were off in the halls, which were illuminated only minimally from the dim sunlight peeking through the windows. The hallways were silent. Eerie. Spooky.

  Down the hall, exceptionally soft footsteps approached. A man walked slowly and soundlessly. Unhurriedly, he continued steadily on his path, advancing at a snail’s pace, ascertaining along the way that he remained unnoticed. Like a ninja warrior in the dark, he was now just outside an office door.

  The mysterious figure placed a protective transparent mask over his face and mouth. He removed an aerosolizing device from his left pocket and another apparatus from his right pocket. Armed and ready, he covertly and slowly tiptoed into the office. He smirked when he realized his target had his back to him and that his attention was on the paperwork he was reading. He knew this time his victim would not escape.

  CHAPTER 53

  Jack looked up from his papers and turned toward the door. He gasped as he finally realized there was a man in his office, now only a few feet from him. A plastic mask covered his mouth and nose, making it difficult to identify the assailant.

  “Who are you?” asked Jack, his eyes on the man’s hands. “What do you want?”

  The man said nothing. By the time Jack realized what was going on, it was too late. The man sprayed a mist into Jack’s mouth and nose, using the element of surprise to his advantage. After spraying the deadly microscopic aerosolized bubbles for a few seconds, the man stopped and smiled. Mission accomplished. All that was left to do now was to allow a few more seconds for the bubbles to descend into the alveoli sucked in by an obligatory breath and enter the circulatory system. At that point, the proper frequency would be dialed in, and the ultrasound device would be activated, creating a supersonic, indiscernible beacon that would travel several yards. This would penetrate the human tissue unimpeded and disintegrate the bubbles, releasing their lethal toxins. Given the certain death about to come, Jack would not divulge any information about what he found regarding the Rat Poison project. The prosperous venture would lead to great riches beyond anyone’s dreams.

  In horror, Jack’s eyes met the attacker’s. He was rotund of
body, giving his identity away easily.

  “You?” said Jack in terror. “Why?”

  As soon as the spray was directed at him, Jack knew exactly what was happening. His first reaction was to hold his breath and flee. He did. He grabbed his white lab coat and ran toward the emergency department. Jack first noticed a slight pleasant tingling sensation in his nostrils. This awareness sunk deeper into his respiratory tree, and soon it traveled down deep in his chest. Jack knew the drug had been successfully deployed and was now inside him. Should he run to the emergency department where he could get help? Should he inject the drugs he gathered earlier that were now in his lab-coat pocket? How quickly would he have symptoms and become incapacitated? His heart started to race. Was this the result of excitement and running or the bubbles expelling their noxious content?

  Considering that the effects of Rat Poison were swift, Jack decided he should try to help himself and start his own treatment. He stopped suddenly and looked behind him. No one was chasing. Good. He briefly considered the elevator but thought it would be smarter to take the stairs. Pushing past a door, he entered the staircase and hurriedly descended two floors. Now on the sixth floor, he listened for chasing footsteps. Nothing. He sat on the stairs, removed the tourniquet from his pocket and tied it around his left arm, just above the elbow. He quickly removed a syringe and needle from his pocket and assembled the two. He withdrew five milligrams of propranolol into the syringe and stuck the needle into a forearm vein. Having accomplished this seemingly monumental task, he repeated the process with ten milligrams of verapamil. He took a breather to assess his condition. He could still think rationally, and, so far, the only person he’d like to kill was the son of a bitch who sprayed him in the nose with Rat Poison. He retrieved the midazolam vial and injected two milligrams into his vein. Given his hyperdynamic circulation, three blood geysers thrived in the front surface of his forearm. Having injected the three medications, Jack removed the tourniquet and held pressure over the puncture sites, still holding the syringe. His heart hammered hard in his chest, and his breath quickened. He could feel his mind slipping away. He descended one more flight. Still, there were no signs of a pursuer. His right-hand fingers were bloodied from holding pressure over the venipunctures.