Break No Bones (32 page)

"The marks on Helms's and Montague's bones are consistent with cuts from a scalpel blade."

After getting another "hmm," I told Gulet what I'd found on Cruikshank's computer. When I stopped speaking, he made a noise I took to mean "go on." I outlined what we'd discovered about Marshal and Rodriguez.

"You're talking Helms and Montague," Gulet monotoned.

"So far. An MP named Jimmie Ray Teal was also a patient at the GMC clinic. Who knows how many others? I think someone kiled Cruikshank to shut him up before he could go to the authorities. Probably Helene Flynn for the same reason."

"Uh-huh."

"A schizophrenic named Lonnie Aikman disappeared in 2004. A journalist reran a story about him back in March. Aikman's mother was found dead in her car this past Tuesday. Someone may have kiled her so Jimmie Ray wouldn't trace back to GMC."

"One buried, one in the ocean, one hanging from a tree, one dead in a vehicle. Not exactly a signature."

"Whoever is masterminding this is smart. Probably varied his MO so the murders wouldn't link up if the bodies were found. But one thing is sure. We have three garrotings."

"Where's this Mexican clinic?"

"Abrigo Aislado de los Santos, in Puerto Valarta."

I heard Gulet's desk chair swivel. Then, "What is it you want done?"

"I need any information you can gather on the ownership or leasing of private planes in this area, especialy any use by GMC or Marshal. And a list of al localy registered private aircraft, if that's possible."

"I'l put a deputy on it."

"And insight into who might be comfortable using Dewees as a body dump."

"I puled a list of homeowners when you found Helms. Only a handful stay on the island ful-time. Most properties are second homes, many purchased for use as tourist rentals. It'l take time to check rental records going back through 2001. Private owners who do their own renting often don't keep much by way of records."

"Do it. Where does Marshal live?" Hang on.

Ryan's cel rang while I was holding. He answered. I heard a lot of "yeah" and "uh-huh" as he took notes.

"Marshal's got a place on Kiawah Island." Gulet was back on the line. "Vanderhorst Plantation."

"Pretty high end for a pil pusher working part-time at a charity clinic. Does he own a boat?"

"I'l look into it." Gulet delivered the admonition I was expecting. "Now don't you and your one stil active boy pal go pestering Marshal again. If you're right about any of this, no sense provoking him into a sprint."

"If?" I'd been up al night and my Southern gentility, never my strongest point, was eroding. "Marshal's a sleaze. Two patients and a former clinic employee have disappeared. God knows where Flynn's body is!"

"You tel me Rodriguez has no criminal record. He's Mexican and he's left California to practice in Mexico. No one has shown me any connection to South Carolina. I have no basis to ask Mexican authorities to make inquiries. You know as wel as I do probing a man based on his heritage is considered harassment. Ethnic profiling."

"There could be a hundred reasons Rodriguez—"

Flapping a hand for attention, Ryan slid me his tablet. I read the notes.

"Rodriguez isn't in the NCIC database because he hasn't committed a crime in the United States. Rodriguez lost his license in California for having sex with patients."

I threw Ryan a questioning look. He nodded confirmation.

"How does that add up to a crime in South Carolina?"

I couldn't believe this deadass was stil unconvinced. "Do I have to dump a five-galon Hefty ful of kidneys on your desk?"

Ryan mouthed, "Good one."

"I have found, miss, that in law enforcement, runaway conjecture is a poor substitute for evidence. You might give that some thought. I'm coming to colect that computer."

Gulet's tone actualy conveyed sentiment now. Distaste. "Sit tight."

"Let me guess," I said, returning Ryan's tablet. "From the multitalented Jerry."

"Jerry's the bomb."

"Gulet's on his way. He's listening, but not persuaded. Thinks I'm a hysteric."

"What wil it take?"

"A guilt-riddled recipient baring his soul on Jerry Springer."

Two hours later we had something better, thanks to the enigmatic but assiduous Jerry. I hit Gulet as he walked through the door.

"James Gartland, Indianapolis, Indiana. End-stage renal disease. Three years on dialysis. Traveled to Puerto Valarta in 2002. Paid a hundred and twenty thousand dolars for a kidney and a sojourn at the Abrigo Aislado de los Santos.

"Vivian Foss, Orlando, Florida. End-stage renal disease. Eighteen months on dialysis. Flew to Puerto Valarta in 2004. Vivian's spa getaway cost a hundred and fifty grand."

I thrust Jerry's information at Gulet. "The lucky recipients wil not be crazy about testifying, but God bless subpoenas."

Gulet took a long time reading what Ryan had written during his third conversation with Jerry.

"This contact is FBI?"

"Yes," Ryan said.

"He spoke with Gartland and Foss personaly?"

"Yes."

"How'd he get the names?"

"Persuaded a very nice Spanish-speaking agent in Quantico to speak to
a
very nice Mexican lady at the Abrigo."

"Money talks?"

"Si."

"Why'd these people open up?"

"Jerry's
a
very charismatic guy," Ryan said.

Gulet kept staring at the tablet. I guessed he was organizing facts in his head. When he looked up, his face was a sculpture in stone.

"Feds thinking of jumpin' in on this?"

"Right now it's just Jerry doing me a favor. This plays out the way we're thinking, I'm sure the Bureau wil be nose to the glass."

"Stil, Gartland and Foss without more don't demonstrate a crime."

I threw up my hands.

"However." Gulet inhaled then exhaled through his nose. Hitched his belt. "Marshal keeps a twenty-three-foot Bayliner at the Bohicket Marina. According to the dock manager, the boat went out Saturday, hasn't come back."

"Ryan and I talked to Marshal on Saturday," I said.

"You mention any of this?" Gulet waved Ryan's tablet.

I shook my head. "But I asked about Unique Montague and Helene Flynn."

Gulet checked his watch. Ryan and I checked ours. It was 9:47.

"Let's see if we can locate the gentleman and speak some more. The clinic may not be my jurisdiction, but two bodies are."

===OO=OOO=OO===

Ryan and I folowed Gulet to the clinic. On the way we barely spoke. I was wired, yet exhausted from my night without sleep. I could only guess what was going on inside Ryan.

Two deputies met us outside on Nassau. The crime unit arrived as Gulet was instructing his backup team. A search warrant had been granted. Once it was served, the CSU would toss the clinic from top to bottom. On the way in from Isle of Palms, Gulet had reconsidered and phoned Mexico. I hoped that a similar scene was playing out at the spa in Puerto Valarta.

My heart pounded in my chest. What if I'd made a mistake? No. I couldn't be wrong. It had to be Marshal. The man was evil and a predator for profit.

One uniform circled the block to cover the rear of the clinic. Ryan and I trailed Gulet and the other uniform through the front door. Berry was at her desk. Her eyes widened as she took in the sheriff and his deputy, hardened when she spotted Ryan and me.

Gulet strode to the desk. The uniform lingered at the entrance. Ryan and I stepped to either side of the room.

Three patients waited in the vinyl chairs, an elderly black woman, a punk in sweats, and a man who looked like a high school tennis coach. The old woman watched us through large, square glasses. The punk and the coach headed for the door. Gulet's deputy stepped aside to let them pass.

"Where's Dr. Marshal?" Gulet asked Berry, al business.

"Examining a patient." Hostile.

Gulet moved toward the corridor down which Marshal had led us three days earlier. Berry charged from her desk and spread her arms across the entrance, a pit bul defending her patch.

"You can't go back there." Stil hostile, but now a note of fear.

Gulet kept going. We al folowed.

"What do you want?" Berry backed down the hal, arms spread-eagle, stil trying to block our progress. "This is a clinic. People are sick."

"Please clear the way, miss." Gulet's voice was Southern steel.

I was so pumped I almost pushed Berry aside myself. I wanted Marshal in the sheriff's presence quickly, before he could dial his Mexican counterpart.

Then the doctor appeared, exiting his office, chart in one hand. "What's the commotion, Miss Berry?"

Berry's arms dropped, but the glare held. She started to speak. Marshal cut her off with the flick of a manicured hand.

"Sheriff Gulet," said Marshal, looking perfectly composed in his white lab coat and impeccably coiffed hair, Marcus Welby calming an unruly patient. He nodded in my direction. "Dr. Brennan. The name is Brennan, is it not?"

My heart was racing. I wanted to get the goods on this bastard and see him pay for what he'd done.

"Dr. Lester Marshal, I have a warrant to search these premises for information concerning patients who have vanished under suspicious circumstances." Gulet's voice was typicaly deadpan.

Marshal's lips curled into a reptilian smile.

"Now why would such disappearances concern me, Sheriff?"

The words were out before I could stop them. "You know there's stuff in here that may tel us why and how they died."

"Is this a joke?" Marshal spoke to Gulet. "If so, I assure you, I am not amused."

"Sir, I am going to ask you to step aside while we conduct our search." Gulet's tone remained expressionless. "I'd prefer to make this as painless as possible for both of us."

"What should I do?" Berry asked, her voice pitched higher now.

Marshal ignored her. "What is this insanity, Sheriff? I'm a doctor. I help the poor and the sick. I don't victimize them. You are making a mistake." Marshal spoke to Gulet, his icy calm in stark contrast to the rising agitation of his receptionist.

"Sir." Gulet never took his eyes from Marshal.

Marshal handed the chart in his hand to Gulet. "You wil regret this, Sheriff."

"Tel me what to do!" Berry barked.

"Please see to the patient in exam room two, Ms. Berry."

Berry held a moment, eyes darting from Gulet, to Marshal, to me. Then she lumbered up the hal and disappeared through one of the doors.

Gulet motioned Marshal to the waiting area. "We'l just stand easy until the warrant arrives."

Marshal's eyes locked on to mine. In them I saw unconcealed hatred.

As the deputy led Marshal past me to a vinyl chair, I caught a whiff of the pricey aftershave, noticed again the creamy silk, the soft glow of the tasseled leather. My fingers curled into fists of anger. I felt repulsed by the arrogance, by the pompous indifference of the bastard.

Then I spotted it. Marshal's right temple. A vein pulsed like an engorged snake.

Marshal was terrified.

33

WE WAITED OUTSIDE, DRINKING COFFEE FROM STYROFOAM CUPS. A smal crowd gathered on the sidewalk, attracted by the cruisers and the crime scene van. When the DA arrived with the warrant, the CSU moved in. Gulet asked Ryan and me to sit tight while the team tossed the clinic and he and his deputy interrogated the staff.

An hour passed. Slowly, the gawkers drifted off, disappointed that no body had appeared.

Just before noon, Gulet strode across Nassau to where Ryan and I were leaning on the Jeep.

"Finding anything that could lead to charges?" I asked.

"Got a couple things you might want to see."

Ryan and I folowed Gulet into the clinic. Berry was being questioned at her desk. Daniels was sitting in one of the vinyl chairs. Neither appeared to be enjoying the day.

Marshal had gone out to wait in his car.

"What if he uses his cel phone?" I asked Gulet.

"I can't realy prevent that, but I can sure trace any cals he makes."

Gulet led us to a second-story treatment room. The place looked standard-issue. Chair. Stool. Gooseneck lamp. Dome-topped trash can. Paper-draped examination table.

As I crossed the linoleum, my eyes roved the cabinets and wals. Plastic cups, tongue depressors, eye test chart, baby scale.

"No bloody scalpel?" Ryan asked behind me.

"Just this."

I turned. Gulet was holding a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was a noose made of quarter-inch wire. Seeing the side twist, I knew the loop's deadly purpose.

I pictured Unique Montague hopping up onto the treatment table, alone, unwel, trusting the kindly doctor to make her better. I pictured Unique in that rusty barrel, decomposing in salt water. I imagined sea creatures probing the metal to get inside to her rotting flesh. I felt the beginnings of rage.

"Where was it?" Ryan asked.

"Stashed in an under-counter cabinet."

"Prints?" I asked, seeing powder on the wire.

Gulet shook his head.

"He probably wore surgical gloves. Though it sure as hel wasn't to protect the patient." I couldn't keep the loathing from my voice.

"Folow me," Gulet said.

The two remaining upstairs doors led into one large chamber, probably created by removing wals between what had been smal bedrooms and a bath. The chamber had been outfitted with a refrigerator, a double stainless steel sink, and counters and cabinets identical to those in the examining room. An IV pole stood in one corner. An operating table held center stage.

Lining one wal were four bright blue coolers, the kind you buy at Wal-Mart to haul lunch to the beach. Each had been tagged with a red-and-yelow evidence sticker.

"A do-it-yourself surgery," Ryan said.

"Complete with blackout curtains and state-of-the-art OR lighting." Gulet swept an arm around the room.

Evidence bags covered the table. I crossed to them.

Surgical clamps. At least twenty scissors of various types. Hemostatic, mosquito, and tissue forceps. Scalpel handles and boxes of disposable blades. Shipping labels stamped BIOLOGICAL SUPPLY HOUSE SPECIMEN. Sterile pouches. Stacked instrument trays.