Both Clara and Becky nodded.
“Okay. Now, I want to hear every single detail. From the beginning.”
It took an hour for Clara to describe the entire history of the problem, during which Becky fed them chocolate cake and ice cream.
“So, House Bill 1712 is proposing stricter controls on the use of foreign nurses in Texas.”
“Right.”
“And there are some powerful people in Austin (who prefer to remain anonymous) who have set up a way for Mexican nurses to come to Texas to work.”
Clara nodded. “All expenses paid. They agree to come in exchange for help with the NCLEX and the philanthropists behind the idea arrange all the necessary papers. Once the nurses get here, they’re supplied with housing and jobs.”
“And you know this how?”
Becky lifted an eyebrow. “There’s a woman at the Board who’s been bragging about it: how noble they are and how admirable it is to rescue these women and fill the need here at the same time.”
“I heard there’ve been some problems in Houston.”
“Yes. Some of these foreign nurses have made enough mistakes to attract official attention.”
“How do you know those nurses, the ones making mistakes, are part of this pipeline?”
“Timing, mostly. We tracked the official documents—immigration, licensure dates, and so forth—on the problem nurses and found they had all come over the border and been placed in long-term care facilities in batches.”
Becky interjected at this point. “When the Board started investigating, we found those particular long-term care facilities were all owned by either the same umbrella corporation or a sister version of it, all of the assets in holding companies. That caused some concern and we tried to dig deeper, but got stonewalled. Whoever is behind this has friends in high places.”
Clara resumed her tale. “So we decided to tighten up on the credentialing, which the Board has the power to do without the cooperation of the employers. But it meant obtaining a resolution from the legislature so we could reach the necessary records. This protest is just one of the ways they’ve tried to stop us. I’ve heard rumors of threats to legislators’ families, bribes to turn a blind eye, and suggestions that opponents will find their careers over.”
She sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. There are a lot of people in this town who do an awful lot of good in the world, but I can’t help thinking that someone is using the do-gooders in Texas to do something that is not very good for the people of Texas.”
* * *
Chapter 21
Day 9 – Saturday night
Host hotel
They took their leave of the sisters and drove back to the hotel. Jim followed Ginny into her room, closed the door behind him, then leaned against it, his eyes on her.
“Thank you.”
She hung up her coat then turned and smiled at him. “You’re welcome. What for?”
“For letting me come with you tonight. I would have been worried sick not knowing where you were or what you were doing or when you’d be back.”
She laughed. “You sound like an old woman. Speaking of which–” She pulled her phone out and dialed home.
“Mom? Yes, sorry it’s late. We were out having dinner. Jim and I. Yes, he came down to help with the emergency. I’ll bring him home with me tomorrow.” She looked at him. “Mother says hello.” She turned back to the device. “Yes. All right. Yes. I love you, too. Goodnight.”
She slipped the phone back into her purse. “There, that’s done. Now where were we?”
“You had just called me an old woman.” He dropped gloomily into the desk chair. “The truth is, I feel like one. This whole thing has gotten so much bigger than I anticipated.”
She nodded. “Not just a simple little murder. Now it’s a case of state law versus restraint of international trade.”
He caught her eye. “I hope Clara’s wrong. I hope—and this sounds awful, but I’m going to say it anyway—I hope Phyllis’ murder turns out to be personal. I don’t like playing spy.”
Ginny looked up. “Who said anything about spying?”
Jim caught his breath and back-peddled hastily. “No one. It just has the flavor of a spy novel to me.” He jumped to his feet, crossed to where she stood, and scooped her up in his arms.
“Jim!” she squeaked. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He dropped her on the side of the bed farthest from the door, then settled down beside her. “Manning the gates. You sleep. I’ll keep guard.”
She curved toward him, her eyes on his face, a small frown forming. “You look tired. Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Three hours in the call room at the hospital and four here.”
“Well, you look as if you could use more. Go back to your room. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He reached over and stroked her cheek with a fingertip. “Didn’t I just tell you I wasn’t going to leave you alone?”
She nodded. “I heard you, but I assumed you were exaggerating. You cannot spend the night in my room.”
“Just for tonight. I promise I won’t misbehave.”
She shook her head. “Not gonna happen.” She sat up and looked at him, frowning. “What’s bothering you, Jim?”
“Nothing. I just want to be with you.”
She rolled off the bed, came around, and tugged on his arm. “Up. Out. I need my sleep. I’ve got another half day of conference tomorrow.”
Jim sat up, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat watching her as she tried in vain to pull him to his feet. Talk about not gonna happen. He could force the issue, but he had to admit that he really was tired and she was probably as safe here as anywhere in the city. He stood up.
“You’ll lock the door.”
“Of course,” she said. “Come on.”
“All right.” It would be easier to think in the morning. “But come tuck me in.”
“Jim!”
He had hold of her hands now, pulling her toward the hallway. “Come on. Tuck me in and kiss me goodnight.”
“Jim! Someone might see!”
“We will walk decorously side by side in the public spaces. Come.”
They made their way up to his room, two floors above. Jim fished out his room key, opened the door and started to enter, then froze. Someone had been in the room.
To help him sleep, Jim had covered the power button on the television with one of the ubiquitous hotel advertisements. When he opened the door, the bright red light caught his eye. He glanced down at the doorknob, seeing his Do Not Disturb sign still in place. Considering his late arrival and the fact that he’d slept in this room most of the day, it was unlikely that the intruder was the maid.
He pushed Ginny behind him and flipped on the light. The room was empty, but his make-shift LED cover was now lying on the floor. He went straight to his overnight bag, pulled the zippers open and looked inside.
The envelope was gone.
He grabbed his belongings, stuffed them into the bag, then grabbed Ginny’s hand and pulled her into the hallway. “Come on.”
“Jim, what’s wrong?”
“We’re leaving.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
He took her back to her room and helped her pack, his mind racing. Someone had followed him here. Someone who knew what he was carrying. Someone willing to break into his hotel room to retrieve the evidence.
They checked out, rode up the parking garage elevator, and stepped out into the concrete structure. Ginny was leading the way, but glancing back over her shoulder, her face full of unspoken questions. It wasn’t until Jim’s eye fell on the car that he stopped. Retrieve the evidence, eliminate the witness.
“Ginny, wait.”
She turned to look at him, her hand halfway to the trunk latch.
“Ginny, sweetheart, please, back away.”
She stood without moving for a moment, her eyes locked on his, then did as asked.
Jim sighed his thanks to whatever deity might be listening.
He motioned for her to come to him. When she did, he slid an arm around her waist and steered her back inside. It took him twenty minutes to locate Agent DeSoto. It took the Austin bomb squad only ten minutes to respond.
Jim was sitting in the hotel lobby with his arms around Ginny, fending off her questions, when the police officer approached.
“There was something there, all right, but it isn’t a bomb. It’s a tracking device.” He held it out to show them. “Can’t have been there very long either. The case is pretty clean.” He slid a gloved fingernail along the edge of the plastic case, then opened it to show them the electronic device nestled inside. “Attached by a magnet. GPS locator. Available off the Internet. What do you want us to do with it? I mean, if it’s evidence, we’ll need to bag it.”
Jim looked up from the device in the officer’s hand. “Can you give me a minute? I want to hand that question off to someone else.”
Jim called DeSoto again and explained what they’d found. “The question is, do we give it to the police here or bring it to you, or what?”
“Let me think a minute.”
Jim waited through the silence on the other end of the line.
“Dr. Mackenzie? Can you put the officer on the phone?”
“Sure.” Jim rose and handed over the phone, explaining DeSoto’s role. He watched as the police sergeant walked out of earshot, waited while the two officers of the law came to a decision, then took the phone back when it was handed to him.
“Here’s what we’d like to do. The device is evidence and we want to preserve that for use in court so we have to maintain the chain of custody, but we don’t want to alert the bad guys.”
Jim listened as DeSoto outlined the procedure for bagging and tagging the device, then signing it over to him, to be held until he could turn it over to DeSoto or someone designated by him to receive it.
“Can you do that? It means leaving the evidence bag, tracker inside, in the car, so that whoever put it there won’t notice.”
Jim nodded into the phone. “We can slip it into the door pocket so it will stay put until needed. Can we figure out who put it on her car?”
“Possibly. Officer Weems is going to photograph the device and send me a copy of the image. With the serial number, we may be able to track the purchase. Get back to Dallas,” DeSoto instructed. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
Jim hung up the phone, then accepted the evidence bag from the police officer, signing where indicated.
“Since this is going to be out of police custody, we would like to emphasize that whether or not this perpetrator is caught and whether or not he goes to jail, might hinge on your diligence. Please check on the bag regularly, in a private place like a closed garage, to make sure it’s still safe. We would hate to let a criminal slip through our fingers because of a procedural glitch.”
“I understand.”
The officer nodded. “Have a safe trip.”
“Thanks.”
Jim held the door while Ginny got in on the passenger side of the car, then settled down to drive back to Dallas. They were an hour out before she spoke.
“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?”
He took a deep breath, then explained about the ambush at the state capital and his role as courier and how the disappearance of the fake drugs implied he was being followed.
She was silent for a long time after he finished. “You think they’re planning to kill you?”
Jim shook his head. “No, at least, not yet. If they had wanted to, they could have gunned me down at any time. Or planted a bomb instead of a tracking device. Whoever this is, they wanted to know where to find us.”
“Us?”
He reached over and took her hand. “It was your car. You and I were out on the town in that car until late, which means they knew which car to bug, and were ready to move in swiftly once we got back to the hotel. That requires resources and organization. We have to assume that, if they’ve decided I’m a threat, the same is probably true of you.”
* * *
Chapter 22
Day 10 – Sunday two a.m.
Loch Lonach Homestead
They drove straight back to Dallas. With twenty minutes left in the drive, Jim pulled out his phone and called his grandfather.
“Homestead grounds. I’ll meet ye at th’ gates.”
Jim looked over at Ginny. “What does he mean, ‘Homestead grounds’?”
“The living history site is secure. The gates are locked and there are guards.”
Jim steered toward the Loch Lonach Homestead, and pulled up at the gate, unsurprised to find Himself already there, fully dressed in kilt and Inverness cape even at this hour.
They followed his taillights through the historic village, then pulled into a small parking lot facing a one-story modern building. The Laird opened the door with a badge and thumbprint.
“Bring yer bags. Ye can stay here th’ nicht. I’ll bring ye groceries in the morn. Turn off th’ phones ’til we can talk. ’Tis a safe zone, but cell lines are no secure.”
Both Jim and Ginny nodded.
“Th’ guards ken yer here and will no bother ye. I’ll be back fer breakfast. Sleep.”
Jim followed the Laird to the front door and got instructions for locking themselves in, watched the car out of sight, then turned off the lights. He found Ginny in one of the bedroom suites pulling the shades down on an unlit view of the back wall. She turned to look at him, and he saw her shiver.
“Are you cold?”
“No. Scared.”
The suite was laid out in an “L” shape, with a sitting room on one leg and the sleeping area on the other. Jim guided Ginny over to the sofa, pulled off her coat and shoes, wrapped her in blankets from the bed, then settled down and pulled her into his arms. He held her, murmuring to her, telling her she was safe, until he felt her stop shaking.
“Sleep, Ginny. We’re going to be busy tomorrow.”
This time she didn’t protest, just shifted against him, snuggling closer, and closed her eyes. She was warm enough for both of them and Jim relaxed into the cushions. He put his head down and studied the patterns of shadow and light that appeared on the ceiling.
Luis was the key. If his mother was involved with the fake drugs, there was a very good chance she was involved with the people responsible for the bombing.
Phyllis had described—in writing—a system that exploited and abused Mexican nurses, probably quoting Maria. If Phyllis had been killed for publishing cartel secrets, then anyone working on the case might be in danger. Alternatively, the killer might feel safe, having pulled off the perfect murder, leaving no forensic evidence, no witnesses, and a satisfyingly large number of innocent suspects.
Jim let his eyes wander, trying to think through the implications, but his brain just wasn’t cooperating. Maybe DeSoto knew how the Mexican nurses and the Mexican drug cartel fit together. Jim’s tired brain amended that thought. The question wasn’t whether DeSoto knew or not, but what he planned to do about it. Presumably, they would find out tomorrow.
* * *
Sunday midmorning
Loch Lonach Homestead
At ten a.m. the next morning, Jim, Ginny, Angus, and Tomas DeSoto were gathered around the table in the safe house on the Homestead grounds, eating Sunday brunch. True to his word, Himself had brought groceries, then stayed to cook. Jim was pleasantly surprised at how good the food tasted.
“So,” he said, wiping his mouth, “that’s everything.” He picked up his coffee and turned to face DeSoto. “Your turn.”
DeSoto nodded. “What do you want to know?”
“I assume using me as a courier was your idea.”
DeSoto nodded. “When I saw the explosions on the news, I called my Austin contact. He told me about the evidence drop and that it looked as if they either had a traitor on the inside of the Austin office or their intranet had been hacked. As a re
sult, they had evidence they didn’t want to hand to anyone in their organization.”
Jim nodded.
“I called your boss, to see if he knew Dr. Wingate, because of the ER connection. He mentioned you’d flown to Austin to help out and would be in the same hospital. That’s when I got the idea to use you as a courier. Whose idea was it to split the drugs?”
“Mine. I picked out the examples I thought we might be able to trace and suggested to Wingate that he mail the remainder to the Dallas DEA office, then disappear. Did he?”
“I don’t know about the mailing. He’s disappeared, all right. No one knows where to find him, but his car’s gone and so is a big chunk of his ready cash.”
Jim hoped very sincerely Dr. Wingate had managed to get out of harm’s way. Which brought him to the real question. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry in spite of the coffee.
“Am I in danger? Is Ginny?”
DeSoto shook his head. “I don’t think so. The organization—and they are very organized—has its evidence back.”
“Part of it.”
“Yes, part of it, and they might want to ask you where the rest is. But, unless I misread the situation, this has been going on for some time. They’ll be willing to take some risks, like disguising a hit on a DEA agent as part of a violent demonstration, but they’re not going to attack you unless they have to.”
“How did they know I had the drugs?”
“Ah! Now, that I can answer. Dr. Wingate’s office was bugged. We found a listening device stuck to the back of his filing cabinet.”
Jim felt his stomach clench. Someone had been listening in on that conversation. “Wait a minute. If someone was eavesdropping on us, they already know I don’t have the rest of the drugs.”
“Correct, but they may think you know where Wingate is.”
“Oh.”
“It narrows the field for us, though. We’ll probably be able to trace that bug.”
“And the hotel?”
“We think someone followed your taxi from the hospital. They’d have no trouble finding a maid willing to pick up a little extra money by letting someone into your room.”
The Swick and the Dead Page 15