by Robin Cook
Kevin expected an argument, but Melanie put the car in gear without so much as a whimper. They left unspoken the fact that they would now have to walk past the spot where they’d been fired upon.
Melanie completed her three-point turn. “Okay, everybody, here we are,” she said airily, as she pulled on the emergency brake. She was trying to buoy everyone’s spirits. They were all tense.
“I just had an idea which I don’t like,” Kevin said.
“Now what?” Melanie asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“Maybe I should quietly walk down to the bridge and make sure no one is around,” Kevin said.
“Like who?” Melanie asked, but the thought of unwanted company had occurred to her as well.
Kevin took a deep breath to bolster his sagging courage and climbed out. “Anybody,” he said. “Even Alphonse Kimba.” He hiked up his pants and started off.
The track down toward the water was so thickly shrouded with vegetation, it was even more like a tunnel than the track in from the road. As soon as Kevin entered it, it twisted to the right. The canopy of trees and vines blocked out much of the light. The center strip of vegetation was so tall that the track was more like two parallel trails.
Kevin rounded the first bend, then stopped. The unmistakable sound of boots running on the damp ground combined with the jingling of metal against metal made his stomach turn. Ahead, the track turned to the left. Kevin held his breath. In the next instant, he saw a group of Equatoguinean soldiers in their camouflage fatigues, rounding the bend and coming in his direction. All were carrying Chinese assault rifles.
Kevin spun on his heels and sprinted back up the trail like he’d never sprinted before. As he reached the clearing, he yelled to Melanie to get the hell out of there. Reaching the car he threw open the rear door and dived in.
Melanie was trying to start the car. “What happened?” she screamed.
“Soldiers!” Kevin croaked. “A bunch of them!”
The car engine caught and roared to life. At the same time, the soldiers spilled into the clearing. One of them yelled as Melanie stomped on the accelerator.
The little car leaped forward, and Melanie fought the wheel. There was a burst of gunfire and the rear window of the Honda shattered into a million cubic shards. Kevin flattened himself against the backseat. Candace screamed as her window was blown out as well.
The track turned left just beyond the clearing. Melanie managed to keep the car in the tracks and then pushed the car to its limit. After they’d gone seventy yards, there was another distant burst of gunfire. A few stray bullets whined over the car as Melanie navigated another slight turn.
“Good God!” Kevin said, as he sat up and brushed the glass from the rear window off his torso.
“Now I’m really mad,” Melanie said. “That was hardly a burst over our heads. Look at that rear window!”
“I think I want to retire,” Kevin said. “I’ve always been afraid of those soldiers and now I know why.”
“I guess the key to the bridge is not going to do us much good,” Candace said. “What a waste after all the effort we went through to get it.”
“It’s damn irritating,” Melanie agreed. “We’re just going to have to come up with an alternate plan.”
“I’m going to bed,” Kevin said. He couldn’t believe these women; they seemed fearless. He put a hand over his heart; it was beating more rapidly than it ever had before.
CHAPTER 14
March 6, 1997
6:45 A.M.
New York City
With a burst of speed, Jack made the green light at the intersection of First Avenue and Thirtieth Street and sailed across without slowing down. Angling the bike up the morgue’s driveway, he didn’t brake until the last minute. Moments later, he had the bike locked and was on his way to the office of Janice Jaeger, the night forensic investigator.
Jack was keyed up. After near conclusive identification of his floater as Carlo Franconi, Jack had gotten little sleep. He’d been on and off the phone with Janice, finally imploring her to get copies of all of Franconi’s records from the Manhattan General Hospital. Her preliminary investigation had determined that Franconi had been hospitalized there.
Jack had also had Janice get the phone numbers of the European human organ distribution organizations from Bart Arnold’s desk. Because of the six-hour-time difference, Jack had started calling after three A.M. He was most interested in the organization called Euro Transplant Foundation in the Netherlands. When they had no record of a Carlo Franconi as a recent liver recipient, Jack called all the national organizations whose numbers he had. They included organizations in France, England, Italy, Sweden, Hungary, and Spain. No one had heard of Carlo Franconi. On top of that, most of the people he had spoken with said that it would be rare for a foreign national to get such a transplant because most of the countries had waiting lists comprised of their own citizens.
After only a few hours of sleep, Jack’s curiosity had awakened him. Unable to get back to sleep, he’d decided to get into the morgue early to go over the material that Janice had collected.
“My word, you are eager,” Janice commented as Jack came into her office.
“This is the kind of case that makes forensics fun,” Jack said. “How’d you do at the MGH?”
“I got a lot of material,” Janice said. “Mr. Franconi had multiple admissions over the years, mostly for hepatitis and cirrhosis.”
“Ah, the plot thickens,” Jack said. “When was the last admission?”
“About two months ago,” Janice said. “But no transplant. There is mention of it, but if he had one, he didn’t have it at the MGH.” She handed Jack a large folder.
Jack hefted the package and smiled. “Guess I got a lot of reading to do.”
“It looked pretty repetitive to me,” Janice said.
“What about his doctor?” Jack asked. “Has he had one in particular or has he been playing the field?”
“One for the most part,” Janice said. “Dr. Daniel Levitz on Fifth Avenue between Sixty-fourth and Sixty-fifth Street. His office number is written on the outside of your parcel.”
“You are efficient,” Jack said.
“I try to do my best,” Janice said. “Have any luck with those European organ distribution organizations?”
“A complete strikeout,” Jack said. “Have Bart give me a call as soon as he comes in. We have to go back and retry all the transplant centers in this country now that we have a name.”
“If Bart’s not in by the time I leave, I’ll put a note on his desk,” Janice said.
Jack whistled as he walked through communications on his way to the ID room. He could taste the coffee already while dreaming of the euphoria that the first cup of the day always gave him. But when he arrived he could see he was too early. Vinnie Amendola was just in the process of making it.
“Hurry up with that coffee,” Jack said, as he dropped his heavy package onto the metal desk Vinnie used to read his newspaper. “It’s an emergency this morning.”
Vinnie didn’t answer, which was out of character, and Jack noticed. “Are you still in a bad mood?” he asked.
Vinnie still didn’t answer, but Jack’s mind was already elsewhere. He’d seen the headlines on Vinnie’s paper: FRANCONI’S BODY FOUND. Beneath the headline in slightly smaller print was: “Franconi’s corpse languishing in the Medical Examiner’s Office for twenty-four hours before identity established.”
Jack sat down to read the article. As usual, it was written in a sarcastic bent with the implication that the city’s medical examiners were bunglers. Jack thought it was interesting that while the journalist had had enough information to write the article, he didn’t appear to know that the body had been headless and handless in a deliberate attempt to conceal its identity. Nor did it mention anything about the shotgun wound to its right upper quadrant.
After finishing with the coffee preparation, Vinnie came over to stand next to the desk while
Jack read. Impatiently, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When Jack finally looked up Vinnie said irritably: “Do you mind! I’d like to have my paper.”
“You see this article?” Jack asked, slapping the front page.
“Yeah, I seen it,” Vinnie said.
Jack resisted the temptation to correct his English. Instead he said: “Did it surprise you? I mean, when we did the autopsy yesterday, did it ever cross your mind it might have been the missing Franconi?”
“No, why should it?” Vinnie said.
“I’m not saying it should,” Jack said. “I’m just asking if it did.”
“No,” Vinnie said. “Let me have my paper! Why don’t you buy your own? You’re always reading mine.”
Jack stood up, pushed Vinnie’s paper toward him, and lifted the bundle from Janice. “You really are out of sorts lately. Maybe you need a vacation. You’re fast becoming a grumpy old man.”
“At least I’m not a cheapskate,” Vinnie said. He picked up his paper and readjusted the pages that Jack had gotten out of alignment.
Jack went to the coffeemaker and poured himself a brimming cup. He took it over to the scheduling desk. While sipping contentedly, he went through the multitude of Franconi’s hospital admissions. On his first perusal of the material, he just wanted the basics, so he read each discharge summary page. As Janice had already told him, the admissions were mostly due to liver problems starting from a bout of hepatitis he contracted in Naples, Italy.
Laurie arrived next. Before she even had her coat off, she asked Jack if he’d seen the paper or heard the morning news. Jack told her he’d seen the Post.
“Was it your doing?” Laurie asked, as she folded her coat and put it on a chair.
“What are you talking about?”
“The leak that we tentatively identified Franconi as your floater,” Laurie said.
Jack gave a little laugh of disbelief. “I’m surprised you’d even ask. Why would I do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, except you were so excited about it last night,” Laurie said. “But I didn’t mean any offense. I was just surprised to see it in the news so quickly.”
“You and me both,” Jack said. “Maybe it was Lou.”
“I think that would surprise me even more than you,” Laurie said.
“Why me?” Jack said. He sounded hurt.
“Last year you leaked the plague story,” Laurie said.
“That was a completely different situation,” Jack said defensively. “That was to save people.”
“Well, don’t get mad,” Laurie said. To change the subject she asked: “What kind of cases do we have for today?”
“I didn’t look,” Jack admitted. “But the pile is small and I have a request. If possible, I’d like to have a paper day or really a research day.”
Laurie bent over and counted the autopsy folders. “Only ten cases; no problem,” she said. “I think I’ll only do one myself. Now that Franconi’s body is back, I’m even more interested to find out how it left here in the first place. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I believe it had to have been an inside job in some form or fashion.”
There was a splashing sound followed by loud cursing. Both Laurie and Jack looked over at Vinnie, who’d jumped up to a standing position. He’d spilled his coffee all over his desk and even onto his lap.
“Watch out for Vinnie,” Jack warned Laurie. “He’s again in a foul mood.”
“Are you all right, Vinnie?” Laurie called out.
“I’m okay,” Vinnie said. He walked stiff-legged over to the coffeepot to get some paper towels.
“I’m a little confused,” Jack said to Laurie. “Why does Franconi’s return make you more interested in his disappearance?”
“Mainly because of what you found during the autopsy,” Laurie said. “At first I thought that whoever stole the body had done it out of pure spite, like the killer wanted to deny the man a proper funeral, something like that. But now it seems that the body was taken to destroy the liver. That’s weird. Initially I thought that solving the riddle of how the body disappeared was simply a challenge. Now I think if I can figure out how the body disappeared, we might be able to find out who did it.”
“I’m beginning to understand what Lou said about feeling stupid about your ability to make associations,” Jack said. “With Franconi’s disappearance I always thought the ‘why’ was more important than the ‘how.’ You’re suggesting they are related.”
“Exactly,” Laurie said. “The ‘how’ will lead to the ‘who,’ and the ‘who’ will explain the ‘why.’”
“And you think someone who works here is involved,” Jack said.
“I’m afraid I do,” Laurie said. “I don’t see how they could have pulled it off without someone on the inside. But I still have no clue how it happened.”
After his call to Siegfried, Raymond’s brain had finally succumbed to the high levels of hypnotic medication circulating in his bloodstream from the two sleeping pills. He slept soundly through the remaining early hours. The next thing he was aware of was Darlene opening the curtains to let in the daylight. It was almost eight o’clock, the time he’d asked to be awakened.
“Feel better, dear?” Darlene asked. She made Raymond sit forward so she could fluff up his pillow.
“I do,” Raymond admitted, although his mind was fuzzy from the sleeping pills.
“I even made you your favorite breakfast,” Darlene said. She went over to the bureau and lifted a wicker tray. She carried it over to the bed and placed it across Raymond’s lap.
Raymond’s eyes traveled around the tray. There was fresh-squeezed orange juice, two strips of bacon, a single-egg omelette, toast, and fresh coffee. In a side pocket was the morning paper.
“How’s that?” Darlene asked proudly.
“Perfect,” Raymond said. He reached up and gave her a kiss.
“Let me know when you want more coffee,” Darlene said. Then she left the room.
With childlike pleasure Raymond buttered his toast and sipped his orange juice. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing quite so wonderful as the smell of coffee and bacon in the morning.
Taking a bite of both bacon and omelette at the same time to savor the combined tastes, Raymond lifted the paper, opened it, and glanced at the headlines.
He gasped, inadvertently inhaling some of his food. He coughed so hard, he bucked the wicker tray off the bed. It crashed upside down on the carpet.
Darlene came running into the room and stood wringing her hands, while Raymond went through a series of coughing jags that turned him tomato red.
“Water!” he squeaked between fits.
Darlene dashed into the bathroom and returned with a glass. Raymond clutched it and managed to drink a small amount. The bacon and egg that he’d had in his mouth was now distributed in an arc around the bed.
“Are you all right?” Darlene asked. “Should I call 911?”
“The wrong way down,” Raymond croaked. He pointed to his Adam’s apple.
It took Raymond five minutes to recover. By that time, his throat was sore and his voice hoarse. Darlene had cleaned up most of the mess he’d caused except for the coffee stain on the white carpet.
“Did you see the paper?” Raymond asked Darlene.
She shook her head, so Raymond spread it out for her.
“Oh, my,” she said.
“Oh, my!” Raymond repeated sarcastically. “And you were wondering why I was still worried about Franconi!” Raymond forcibly crumpled the paper.
“What are you going to do?” Darlene asked.
“I suppose I have to go back and see Vinnie Dominick,” Raymond said. “He promised me the body was gone. Some job he did!”
The phone rang and Raymond jumped.
“Do you want me to answer it?” Darlene asked.
Raymond nodded. He wondered who could be calling so early.
Darlene picked up the phone and said hello followed by several yeses
. Then she put the phone on hold.
“It’s Dr. Waller Anderson,” Darlene said with a smile. “He wants to come on board.”
Raymond exhaled. Until then he’d not been aware he’d been holding his breath. “Tell him we’re pleased, but that I’ll have to call him later.”
Darlene did as she was told and then hung up the phone. “At least that was good news,” she said.
Raymond rubbed his forehead and audibly groaned. “I just wish everything would go as well as the business side.”
The phone rang again. Raymond motioned for Darlene to answer it. After saying hello and listening for a moment, her smile quickly faded. She put the phone on hold and told Raymond it was Taylor Cabot.
Raymond swallowed hard. His already irritated throat had gone dry. He took a quick swig of water and took the receiver.
“Hello, sir!” Raymond managed. His voice was still hoarse.
“I’m calling from my car phone,” Taylor said. “So I won’t be too specific. But I have just been informed of the reemergence of a problem I thought had been taken care of. What I said earlier about this issue still stands. I hope you understand.”
“Of course, sir,” Raymond squeaked. “I will . . .”
Raymond stopped speaking. He took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Taylor had cut him off.
“Just what I need,” Raymond said, as he handed the phone back to Darlene. “Another threat from Cabot to close down the program.”
Raymond put his feet over the side of the bed. As he stood up and slipped on his robe, he could still feel the remnants of yesterday’s headache. “I have to go find Vinnie Dominick’s number. I need another miracle.”
By eight o’clock Laurie and the others were down in the “pit” starting their autopsies. Jack had stayed in the ID room to read through the records of Carlo Franconi’s hospital admissions. When he noticed the time, he went back to the forensics area to find out why the chief investigator, Bart Arnold, had not come in that day. Jack was surprised when he found the man in his office.
“Didn’t Janice talk to you this morning?” Jack asked. He and Bart were good enough friends so that Jack thought nothing of marching right into Bart’s office and plopping himself down.