Code 15 (40 page)

Al had organized the Fast-Pass photo IDs into two piles: one for each of the dates she had requested. Beginning with the ones from the emergency room, she quickly separated out the women. This left her with approximately fifty photos to go through. Looking for Mason Kaine’s Fast-Pass, she studied each ID in the same manner. First she looked at the photograph and then the name printed below it. When she was satisfied the ID was not his, she slid it to the back of the pile.

Morgan had gone through about half of the stack when she came upon a photo she recognized. Although time had partially eroded her recollection of his appearance, the ID was definitely Mason Kaine’s. The name printed below the photo confirmed her suspicion. Even though the answer to her question was undeniable, Morgan stared at the photo for almost a minute. The picture of Kaine showed his front row of teeth to be normal. There wasn’t even a hint of a gap.

After a soft sigh, she tossed the remainder of the passes back on her desk.

“I knew it,” she whispered, putting the photo in the manila envelope.

With the disappointing realization that Mason Kaine was probably not the man responsible for her father’s death or the Code 15s, Morgan stood up and walked over to the opposite side of her office. Taking a seat in a small armchair, she could feel the desperation building. Her eye was caught by a large framed photograph of her father at a black-tie reception that sat on the top shelf of her bookcase. The affair was put on by Presbyterian to honor him for his many years of commitment to the hospital. Even though it was another reminder of his death and how much she missed him, she still found herself smiling affectionately.

After a few minutes, Morgan stood up from her chair and walked back to the desk. She reached for the second pile of Fast-Passes, the ones that belonged to the individual who visited the Cardiac Care Center the night Alison Greene died. Based on what she had just learned about Mason Kaine, she had no expectation of finding his photo among them. But she was interested in seeing what I. Ogden looked like. More important, she wanted to compare his ID to those from the emergency room, hoping to find a match.

Morgan flipped through the CCC photos one at a time. She had only turned over a few when she came upon one that instantly made her breath catch. Even though there was a noticeable gap between the man’s front teeth, she recognized his face immediately. Driven by a sudden rush of panic, her heart pounded out of her chest. Slowly, her gaze drifted down to the name on the pass. It read
I. Ogden
. Swallowing against a throat that felt as dry as cotton, Morgan grabbed for the original stack of emergency room IDs.

Her hands fumbled as she tossed each rejected ID back on her desk. Even while she frantically sorted through them, a part of her prayed she was wrong. When she was almost to the end of the pile, she came upon the ID she knew would be there. Morgan closed her eyes and forced herself to slow her breathing. After a few seconds, she slowly opened them again. She then held up the two photos, one next to the other. The names were different, but the man was the same.

Morgan reached for her cell phone, brought up the directory, and found the number for Jimmy’s Place restaurant. She hit the call button.

“Jimmy’s. Can I help you?”

“May I speak with Amelia please?”

“This is Amelia.”

“This is Faith Russo’s cousin,” Morgan began, above the clattering of the restaurant commotion. “I’m sure you remember. We spoke at the restaurant a week or so ago.”

“Of course, I remember,” Amelia said. “Were you able to find anything out?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I wonder if I could fax you a couple of photos. I’d like you to tell me if you think it’s the guy who was interested in Faith.”

“You mean Steve?”

“Yes.”

“Sure,” Amelia told her. She then gave Morgan the fax number. “By the way, he’s never been back in the restaurant.”

“I’m not surprised,” Morgan responded. “Thank you. You can call me back on my cell.”

“As soon as I have a look at them, I’ll give you a call.”

Morgan reached for the two photos and went out into Kendra’s office. After running off the copies, she faxed them to Amelia and returned to her desk.

Waiting for her phone to ring, Morgan drummed her blotter. She then picked up the nearest pen and began doodling triangles and circles on a small pad. Every few seconds her eyes found the cell phone. She picked it up to make sure the ringer was set to its maximum volume. She was just about to put it down when it rang.

“Hello.’

“That’s Steve,” Amelia said. “There’s no doubt about it. Where did you get those photos?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Morgan answered. “Thank you.”

What was just a suspicion a few minutes ago was now an incontrovertible fact: the man who killed her father was the same one who murdered Faith Russo. He was also, almost certainly, the mastermind behind the other Code 15s. Morgan believed she now had the information the police couldn’t turn a blind eye to. But in an abundance of caution, she decided to get Ben’s advice before calling Jody Baxter.

She tapped in his number but after six rings, she got his voice mail.

“Ben. It’s me. Please call me as soon as you pick up your messages. It’s important.”

Morgan checked the time and decided to give him an hour or so before making a final decision on her own regarding calling Jody Baxter. Confident for the first time the end of her nightmare was at hand, Morgan’s mind drifted to the events of the day.

All of a sudden, she sat bolt upright in her chair. Her feeling of comfort and safety instantly evaporated. She could sense the color draining form her face, and without giving the matter any further thought, she knew the last place on earth she wanted to be at the moment was sitting alone in her office.

Struggling not to become unglued, she grabbed the two Fast-Pass IDs and pushed them deep into the manila envelope. She worked around her trembling fingers to fasten the envelope closed. She made no effort to gather up the others, leaving them scattered across her desk.

Jumping to her feet, she turned around and snatched her purse from her credenza. When she turned back around to head for the door, she gasped. Standing in her doorway with a friendly smile was the last person she wanted to see.

Openmouthed, Detective Jody Baxter watched as the man in the wheelchair pushed the joystick forward to rotate the chair around.

“I generally don’t see people without an appointment but my nurse told me you’re from the police.”

His stubbly face, ragged gray T-shirt, and frayed flip-flops gave him the appearance more of an agoraphobic recluse than a cunning murderer of indescribable physical strength.

“You’re Mason Kaine?” Vic inquired with some uncertainty in his voice.

“I am.”

“Do you want to call for backup?” Vic whispered to Jody, who refused to look at her sardonic partner or acknowledge his dim-witted crack.

Kaine guided the wheelchair across the room, bringing it to a stop a few feet in front of them.

“Please excuse my inability to come downstairs,” he offered, “but I’m still waiting for my elevator to be repaired.”

Still tongue-tied, Jody realized she had to make a decision quickly. While making an apologetic withdrawal seemed attractive and maybe even the most politically correct, something told her to, at least, ask Kaine a few questions.

“We just have a couple of questions for you, Mr. Kaine. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Appearing annoyed, he exhaled loudly and said, “I suppose you’re here about that lunatic, Morgan Connolly.”

It was hardly the response Jody expected. Before Vic could say something they’d both regret, Jody jumped back in. “If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Kaine, what would make you think that’s our reason for being here?”

“I’m paralyzed, Detective Baxter, not brain-dead. The woman thinks I’m trying to kill her. What I can’t figure out is why. If anybody has a reason to be irate to the point of homicide, it’s me. A lot of people would have filed a formal complaint of harassment.”

“Why do you think she believes you’re trying to kill her?” Jody asked.

“Oh, come now, Detective. Would you really have me believe you have no idea what happened to my sons? I think we both know if it weren’t for Dr. Connolly’s ineptitude, they’d still be alive.”

“I’m not a physician, Mr. Kaine, so I’m not in a position to judge Dr. Connolly’s competency as a doctor. What makes you think she’s been harassing you?”

“For one, she showed up at the car dealership I do business with. She pretended to be somebody she isn’t to grill my friend for information about me. Fortunately, he called to alert me to the problem. Obviously, she’s lost her grip on reality. It’s no secret that Dade Presbyterian and the Medical Board are finally catching up with her. Hopefully, they’ll yank her license to practice medicine forever.”

“You seem to have a great deal of information about Dr. Connolly. What makes you so sure she’s having professional problems?” Jody asked.

Appearing as if his intelligence was being insulted, Kaine said, “I’ve lived in this area for a long time. I’m not without many close friends, some of whom are doctors at Dade Presbyterian.”

Jody suspected that Kaine’s flow of information was a lot more sophisticated than he’d have them believe.

Vic asked, “Besides this incident at the car dealership, are you aware of anything else Dr. Connolly’s done that might be interpreted as harassment?”

“How about meeting with my ex-wife and pumping her for information? Why would she go to all that trouble of finding out where Adele works, setting up a meeting, and then hounding her for information if she didn’t plan to use it for something?”

“Did your ex-wife tell you that?” Jody asked.

“No.”

“Then how do you know about the meeting?”

“Adele has a big mouth. She loves to gossip. Suffice it to say, we still travel in some of the same circles.”

Jody noticed his hands were wrapped tightly around the armrests of the chair and that they were quivering.

“Would you mind telling me how long have you been in a wheelchair?” she asked.

“About eight months.”

“Were you injured?”

“No.”

“I assume . . . I mean, are you completely unable—?”

“I am confined to this wheelchair, Detective. I’m paraplegic and completely reliant on this contraption to get around.”

“Have you had any direct contact with Dr. Connolly in the past few months?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“And you’re quite certain she hasn’t tried to call you or contact you in any way?” Jody asked.

“No,” he said, pushing himself up in his chair.

“You realize, Mr. Kaine, that even if you are correct about Dr. Connolly’s actions, there’s no law against an individual asking questions about somebody else.”

“Unless that person has criminal intent . . . or so my attorney tells me.” Kaine brought his chair a few feet closer. “If you don’t believe Dr. Connolly’s done anything wrong, why are you here?”

“She’s concerned that you’re holding her personally responsible for the deaths of your sons and that you have threatened her with bodily harm.”

“I would say she’s half right. Anyway, tell her I said to prove it,” he said with a self-righteous scoff.

“That’s not an answer, Mr. Kaine.”

“Maybe I should be the one making that accusation.” He paused for a few seconds and then asked, “Before you came over here today with these ridiculous allegations, did you know I was unable to walk?”

“No,” Jody answered.

“Has it occurred to you that it would be a bit of a task to assault somebody from a wheelchair?”

“Under most circumstances. I would agree,” Vic chimed in.

“Most circumstances?”

“With all due respect, you appear to be a man of means.”

Kaine laughed. “Meaning I could hire somebody.”

“It’s hardly an original idea,” Vic said.

“I guess if I were that hell-bent on revenge, I would want the pleasure myself. I wouldn’t farm out the job.”

“May I ask what happened to put you into a wheelchair?” Jody inquired.

“I have Guillain-Barré syndrome. It’s a very rare disorder that otherwise healthy people can acquire after a viral illness. As you can see, I have a rather severe case.”

“I assume you can substantiate the—”

“My neurologist’s name is Myron Steddman. He practices in Fort Lauderdale. His phone number’s in the book. I’ll call him and give my permission to release all of my medical records to you.” He maintained his silence for a few moments before saying, “Now, does that about do it?”

“Just one more question,” Jody said, studying him intently to see his reaction. “Does the name Gideon mean anything to you?”

His expression never changed, nor did he demonstrate any outward signs of apprehension.

“I’m hardly a biblical scholar, but as I recall, Gideon was an angel.”

Vic gave Jody’s arm a light tug.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Kaine,” he said. “We apologize if we disturbed you.”

“We may want to speak with you again,” Jody added.

“Maybe next time you could extend me the courtesy of calling first.”

Vic didn’t say a word until they had left the house and were on their way back to the car. Jody had been his partner long enough to know that once his teasing started, it could be merciless.

“A superhuman killer with extraordinary strength,” he said with an obnoxious chuckle.

“I may check out his story anyway.”

“Now there’s a brilliant idea. I mean, why not take a case that has already been a colossal waste of time and compound the lunacy by continuing to investigate it?”

“I said I
might
.”