Phyllis’ patients had their four a.m. vital signs and medications done by Marge Hawkins. The implication was that Ms. Hawkins had agreed to cover for Phyllis while she ran to the bathroom. There was nothing special in that. It happened all the time. What was odd was that Marjorie Hawkins didn’t complain when Phyllis didn’t come back.
* * *
Wednesday, two a.m.
Hillcrest Emergency Department
“We’re blown.” Agent DeSoto strode into the ER, fury radiating from every pore.
Jim looked up from the chart he was working on. “What do you mean?”
“Someone put the word out on the street that the police were waiting for druggies to show up at Hillcrest, to arrest them.”
Jim’s brow furrowed. “But that’s not true.”
DeSoto paced up and down in front of the desk. “It doesn’t have to be true. They just have to believe it.” He turned to face Jim. “We appreciate your cooperation, but there’s no way we’re going to find out anything here, not any more. We’ll have to hope we have better luck at one of the other hospitals.”
“We got two names. Those girls gave up their supplier and so did Corey Jones.”
DeSoto nodded. “Both bottom of the drug business food chain. I was hoping for better.”
He turned to the two undercover agents and started to speak, but was interrupted by what sounded like gunfire in the waiting room. “What the—?” He started toward the noise, then jerked backward and crumpled to the floor, blood spurting from his shoulder. The sound of the single shot was followed by a barrage as gunmen stormed into the treatment area.
Jim hit the floor, pulling his phone out in the same motion. He jabbed in the internal panic code, then followed it with a call to 9-1-1. There were screams, both men and women, coming from the waiting area, and curses, and the sound of flesh hitting hard objects.
Jim knew the thin wood substitute used in the ER desks would not stop a bullet of any sort. He needed a wall, preferably two, between him and the gunmen.
There was already a battle going on. Both DEA agents were fighting back. They had dropped two of the attackers and seemed to be making headway. Jim measured the distance between him and DeSoto, then to the treatment room on the other side of the desk. The bullets were flying, but not in his direction. The attackers were concentrating on the agents.
Jim slithered out from behind the desk, grasped DeSoto’s shirt, dragged him into the treatment room, grabbed dressing supplies, and applied pressure.
“Hang in there,” he told DeSoto. “If you have to get shot, this is the right place to do it.”
He heard footsteps outside the treatment room and looked up in time to see one of the gunmen aiming at him. Jim threw himself sideways, hitting the wall just as the gun went off. He felt a searing pain in his arm and briefly wondered where the next bullet would land, but the gunman was already down, killed by one of the policemen, so there was no second shot.
It took the officers only fifteen minutes to capture or kill all twelve of the attackers who had smashed their way through the ambulance bay door, then through the security checkpoint, killing indiscriminately as they went. But the death toll was high: four patients, one nurse, and both DEA agents.
For the remainder of the night Jim worked on the survivors. Toward dawn he looked up to find Ginny’s white face staring at him from the doorway.
She took a deep breath, then stepped into the room. “How can I help?”
“Hold this child.”
When they had the sutures in place, she dressed the wounds while Jim examined the x-rays. The little girl had been thrown against the wall by her mother. It had probably saved her life, but had broken her arm. The mother had not been so lucky.
“Social Services is coordinating with the families.”
Jim nodded, finishing off the edge of the cast. “I’m done here.”
Ginny stepped into the hall and gestured for a staff member to collect the child. When they had gone, she closed the door and leaned against it, facing Jim.
“You’re bleeding.”
Jim tried to shrug it off. “Must be someone else’s blood.”
“It’s on the inside.” She came over, pulled his isolation gown off, lifted the sleeve of his scrub top, and removed the temporary dressing he had slapped in place over the bullet wound.
Jim looked down at the still oozing graze, then grinned at Ginny. “Shucks, ma’am. It’s just a flesh wound.”
She was not amused. “Sit down.”
Jim started to protest, then realized it would be safer to comply.
She cleaned the wound and pushed at it, trying to bring the edges closer together. “I’ll be right back.” She left the room, returning with Dr. Varma in tow. The older woman inspected the wound, then settled down to stitch it up.
“Tetanus booster. Oral antibiotic. Change the dressing as needed and daily for three days.” She looked from Jim to Ginny. “You know what to look for.” They both nodded.
She stripped off her gloves, washed her hands, then nodded at them. “Excuse me. Work to do.”
Ginny closed the door on the other physician, then stared at Jim. “I saw some of the casualties,” she said, her voice unsteady. “They were going for headshots.”
“Come here, Ginny.” He slipped his undamaged arm around her and lifted her onto the exam table. This brought them eye-to-eye. “Someone talked and I think I know who.”
“You could be dead.” She sounded strangled.
“But I’m not.”
She sucked in a breath. “I didn’t really believe, I didn’t want to believe, that DeSoto was right.”
“The man knows his job.”
“But it’s not your job. You have other obligations.” He saw her swallow. “We need you, Jim, and you know it. Why did you risk your life like this?”
Jim found himself staring into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, giving her a doe-like expression, vulnerable, frightened.
He took a breath. “Because it was the right thing to do.”
The sound that escaped from between her lips was too soft to be considered a moan, but it had the same note of stifled grief.
“Listen to me, Ginny. All these things that have been happening; the murder, the bombing, this attack, they’re all connected somehow. We need to find that link.”
He saw her shiver and pulled her into a hug. “I’m all right, Ginny.”
Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he heard her reply.
“No, Jim, you’re not. We aren’t either of us going to be all right until this is over.”
* * *
Chapter 32
Day 13 – Wednesday morning
Hillcrest Cafeteria
Ginny looked up as Jim entered the cafeteria. He sat down next to her, his eyes on the woman across from them, his mouth pressed into a tight white line. The shift was over and Ginny had collared Lisa, bringing her down here and making sure she knew what had occurred in the Emergency Room.
“It’s not my fault,” Lisa shrugged.
Ginny scowled. “You’re the one who shot off your mouth.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We do.” Ginny gave Lisa a hard look.
Lisa shifted uneasily. “Okay. Maybe I did tell someone, but I couldn’t lie to her.”
“Who was it?”
“Marge Hawkins. She called me in and asked me about it. She said she would speak to the agent in charge and told me to keep my mouth shut. Just like you.” She looked over at Jim, her eyes lingering on the fresh dressing on his arm.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly did you tell her?”
Lisa shrugged. “She wanted to know how long it had been going on, the sting operation I mean, and who was running it, and what they hoped to accomplish. I thought she knew. She used his name, DeSoto, and talked about the drugs and the dealers as if she already knew what we were looking for.”
Ginny nodded. “So, you told her the plan, and about the vest
s.”
Lisa nodded. “But she already knew all about it. Except for the fakes.”
“What fakes?” Jim and Ginny had spoken at the same moment, and Lisa looked uncertainly from one to the other before settling on Jim.
“The fake fentanyl patches you brought in.”
“How did you know about that?”
Lisa shrugged again. “The pharmacist came down and was asking questions. Had they come off the Internet? Had we seen anything like them before? You know.”
“What did you tell him?” Jim asked.
“We told him no one knew anything about them. He told us you had brought them in.” She stirred suddenly. “Look, this has been very upsetting. Can I go now?”
“After you tell us what you threatened Phyllis with.”
Ginny watched Lisa’s face, which had been rather pale, suffuse with a dull red, but her voice remained calm, almost disinterested.
“That’s none of your business.”
Ginny leaned toward her. “You can talk to the police, if you’d rather.”
Lisa scowled. “It wasn’t illegal.”
“Then you won’t risk going to jail if you confess.”
Lisa fixed her eyes on the table. “I just wanted to hurt her, the way she’d hurt me. Him, too.”
“What did you say?”
Lisa glanced up. “I didn’t. I just threatened to.”
“What was it?”
“Phyllis had a miscarriage, while she was in nursing school.”
Ginny blinked. She hadn’t known Phyllis well enough to be in on that secret. “And?”
Lisa screwed up her face, then looked directly at Ginny. “I threatened to tell John it was his and she’d killed it on purpose.”
Ginny felt her stomach cramp. It was a nasty, petty, vicious little lie, but not, as Lisa had said, illegal. “How did you find out about the miscarriage?”
“I was at the gynecologist for a check-up and heard voices in the hall and recognized her voice. They got her out of there in a hurry, of course, and over to the hospital, but I’d heard enough to know she’d lost the baby. I got the rest in bits and pieces. She was arguing with Grace one night about going to the authorities.”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “What authorities?”
Lisa lifted an eyebrow in her direction. “You didn’t hear about the drugs they found in Phyllis’ locker?”
“I did. What about them?”
“Grace got them on the black market. Grace was always getting drugs and other supplies that way.”
“Why would she do that?”
“To give to her illegal friends. The ones that didn’t want to go to the clinic because they were afraid of being deported.”
Ginny felt a headache starting. “What has this to do with Phyllis?”
“One of the women, the illegals, was pregnant and having trouble. Phyllis was trying to persuade Grace to get her into the system, and Grace was refusing. Phyllis said she’d had a miscarriage and could have died if she hadn’t been close to help, but Grace stuck to her guns, saying she wasn’t going to abandon those people just because they’re here illegally.”
Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “Phyllis raised her voice, well, hissed more loudly is a better description. She said if Grace didn’t take that woman to get real medical care and the baby died, it would be her fault and that do-gooders like her should be locked up, since the road to Hell was paved with good intentions, or something like that. They were both livid.”
Ginny took a moment to collect her scattered thoughts. “Grace was buying black market drugs.”
Lisa nodded.
“And Phyllis knew about it.”
“Yeah, and Grace put some in Phyllis’ locker, for the police to find.”
“Why would she do that?”
“To get Phyllis fired, of course.” Lisa stood up suddenly. “I’m going home.” She grabbed her bag and took off. Neither Ginny nor Jim made a move to stop her.
When she was gone, Jim turned to Ginny. “Grace on one side of the politics. Phyllis on the other.”
“And Phyllis standing in for Clara. It’s too much to be a coincidence, but I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what it means.”
* * *
Wednesday morning
Brochaber
Jim had dropped Ginny off at her house, then driven to his grandfather’s. He now sat in the kitchen, a steaming mug of decaffeinated coffee in front of him, listening to the conversation between the other two men.
He’d been astonished to find Agent DeSoto already there, having talked his way out of a hospital bed and into the Laird’s presence. The Laird, it seemed, was functioning in his capacity as chairman of the hospital board.
“It appears, sir, that the attack on the Emergency Department was arranged by someone on the Hillcrest staff.”
The Laird’s frown deepened. “What evidence ha’e ye?”
In answer, DeSoto slid a piece of paper across the table. The Laird picked it up and read it through in silence, then set it down. DeSoto picked it up again and put it away.
“After the attack, I remembered her visit and had the tech boys do a quick search. She sent that note and photos of Jim and Ginny to her home e-mail address, then to someone on the Dark Web. We’ve got our best hackers working on tracing it further. We’ve also been interrogating the surviving gunmen. They were told where the ER security was the weakest, and one of them volunteered they’d been called out in a hurry, a last-minute job. He blames the short notice for the number of cartel members who didn’t make it out alive.”
“Sae th’ timing o’ the event gi’es ye pause.”
“And the specialized knowledge, yes, but we don’t have any way to narrow that down further. There were too many people who knew we were there. All the ER staff, a few of the administrators, two ICU nurses, the patients. Any of them might have said something to the wrong person.”
“Or called in a hit.” Jim shared what Lisa had told them about her chat with Marjorie Hawkins.
DeSoto nodded then turned to face the Laird. “The plan is working; we’ve got their attention. We need to keep the pressure on so we can flush the rats.”
“Th’ blue envelope didnae help?”
DeSoto shook his head. “We found Luis’ DNA on it, and what is probably his mother’s, but no one else’s.”
The Laird sighed, his eyes settling on Jim. “I dinna like it. He’s already been hurt.” He looked back at DeSoto. “Sae ha’e ye.”
DeSoto nodded. “And I have two dead agents to avenge.”
Himself sighed heavily. “I canna speak fer my grandson, and he canna speak fer Ginny, but ye’ve my permission tae ask.”
DeSoto turned to face Jim. Their eyes met. “Well?”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “If what you suspect is true, every minute Ginny spends in that building puts her at risk.”
“Both of you.”
Jim nodded. “I want it over with. I want that woman behind bars.”
“We’ll need more evidence before we can arrest her.”
“She asked you for the ER schedule.”
DeSoto nodded. “And gave me a valid reason for wanting it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have handed it over.”
“What about the tracker on Ginny’s car?”
“Same problem. It’s not legal to track a car you don’t own, in Texas anyway, but we can’t know whose name is on the account until after we look, and we can’t look until after we prove we have probable cause.”
Jim frowned. What DeSoto wanted, of course, was to continue using him and Ginny as bait.
“It will look odd if she disappears.” DeSoto meant Ginny.
“I know that.” Jim swallowed. “I hate to even suggest this, but it might be better if we don’t ask Ginny first.”
“Are ye suggesting she might no agree tae help?”
“No. I’m suggesting her face might give away the game, if she knows about it.”
The Laird’s brows drew together. “’Tis true she�
��s no much o’ an actress.” He tapped his finger on the table as he thought. Jim waited.
“All right. I’ll authorize th’ extra help. Put in as many men as ye need.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure you know which of the strangers in your building are mine.”
DeSoto and Jim both rose, took their leave, and headed for their cars.
“Are you all right to drive?” Jim asked.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I think you’d be better off in the hospital.”
DeSoto looked over at him and smiled. “I’ll feel safer if I’m not drugged and wearing a flimsy gown that opens down the back.”
Jim laughed. “At least post some guards.”
“Already done. For you, too. Good night.”
“Night.”
Jim watched DeSoto drive off, then made his way home. He looked carefully around as he drove, and in the parking lot, and along the hallway at the apartment complex, but could see no one.
He stumbled over the threshold, locked himself in, stripped, and fell into bed. It had been a very long, very hard twenty-four hours. He was aware, intellectually, that gunmen might burst in and execute him in his sleep, or burn the building down around his ears. It was possible DeSoto’s agents might be able to rescue him in time. It was also possible they would be the first to die. But he had reached the stage of exhaustion where he (almost) didn’t care. He closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.
* * *
Chapter 33
Day 13 – Wednesday afternoon
Hillcrest Conference Room
Ginny dragged herself out of bed late on Wednesday afternoon, climbed into her scrubs, and headed for the hospital. She picked up a large cup of strong coffee on the way over, reflecting that she was in danger of overdosing on caffeine before she was allowed to sleep again, settled down in the third-floor conference room, and dialed the police substation.
“Detective Tran? I’ve sent some additional information to you.” Ginny explained she had e-mailed her list of names that could be eliminated as suspects, with rationales, and a summary of what Lisa had told them that morning.
The Swick and the Dead Page 22