Code 15 (7 page)

“Do you remember seeing him when he left the office?”

Annalisa shook her head. “The hallway was packed and the place was in chaos. I didn’t meet him when he signed in, and he wasn’t in the examination room when I got there.” She shook her head. “You might want to speak with Carrie. She did the initial evaluation.”

“If she’s available, I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Annalisa said, picking up the phone and paging Carrie overhead. She had barely set the phone down when a young lady with short, reddish blond hair and a coppery complexion appeared at the door. Annalisa gestured her to come in. “Dr. Connolly would like to talk with you about the day her father was attacked. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping into the office. Annalisa pointed to one of the two chairs in front of her desk. Carrie sat down.

Morgan had known Carrie Ahern since the day she had come to work for her father. She was two months shy of her nineteenth birthday at the time. It was largely because of Allen Hawkins’s encouragement that Carrie had completed her undergraduate education and then went on to become a certified physician’s assistant.

“Annalisa mentioned to me that you did the initial evaluation on Artesian,” Morgan began. “What do you remember about him?”

“He was a little strange, but it wasn’t like there were a bunch of alarms going off in my head.”

“What do you mean by strange?” Morgan asked her.

“He was way too familiar for a first-timer,” Carrie explained, pushing a few strands of hair from her forehead. “A lot of patients are talkative on their first visit, but it’s usually because they’re nervous. He seemed totally relaxed and he acted like he was some kind of expert on hospitals and doctors. He kept trying to impress your father with everything he knew about patient safety and Code Fifteens.” Carrie moved forward in her chair a couple of inches. “He said he knew you, Dr. Connolly.”

Annalisa and Morgan exchanged a curious look.

“Did he mention my name specifically?”

Carrie nodded. “He said you saw him in the emergency room, and that you had referred him to your father for further treatment of his hand.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying he knew I was Dr. Hawkins’s daughter?”

“He absolutely knew. I remember because it surprised me.”

Morgan gazed over at Annalisa for a second time. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she insisted. “I don’t tell patients who my father is, and I would never refer a patient to him. The other orthopedic surgeons on ER call would have a meltdown if they thought I was showing favoritism.” Morgan stood up. She walked over to Annalisa’s desk and sat down on the corner. “Did he say anything else about me?”

“He knew you were chief of the Emergency Department and the chairperson of the Patient Safety Committee.”

“How in the world would he know that?” Morgan asked, without really expecting a response. “Why did you leave the exam room? Normally, you wouldn’t do that.”

“He told your father he had a personal health problem that he wanted to talk to him about. He didn’t actually ask me to leave but I took the hint.”

“Do you remember anything else he said?” Morgan inquired.

Carrie’s eyes narrowed in thought. “It wasn’t anything he said, but there was definitely something else weird about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t look right.”

“What do you mean?” Annalisa asked.

“I’m in the gym six days a week. People’s faces can sometimes fool you but it’s different with their bodies. For an old guy hobbling around on a cane, he looked to be in pretty good shape.”

Carrie’s observations came as no surprise to Morgan. The police had already told her that based on the violent nature of the crime, they assumed Artesian was a younger man who had disguised his appearance.

“Anything else?” Morgan asked.

Carrie paused briefly and then added, “Only that he needed a good orthodontist.”

Morgan barely heard the overhead page requesting Carrie to come to the X-ray room. When she saw Carrie glance over at Annalisa, she pushed herself off the desk. She walked over to Carrie and extended her hand. “Thanks a lot. You’ve been a big help.”

“I’m very sorry about your father, Dr. Connolly. He did a lot for me over the years. I lost my dad last year.”

Morgan thanked her again and walked her to the door. She waited for Carrie to disappear down the hall before closing the door.

“Do you think she told the police all that?” she asked Annalisa.

“She must have. They interviewed her for almost an hour.”

Morgan shook her head. “I don’t remember treating anybody recently with a hand injury who might fit Artesian’s description.”

“That’s because you probably didn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whoever this guy was—he lied about everything. I went over his patient information form with the police in detail. It was like reading a fairy tale. After we were done, one of the detectives called the medical records department over at the hospital to see if Artesian had ever been a patient. They said they had no record of anybody by that name ever being seen in the emergency room.”

“He might have used a different name,” Morgan pointed out.

“I guess that’s possible.”

“I’m going to pull up my patient encounters by diagnostic code. It will show me all the hand injuries I’ve treated in the last year.”

“What do you think about Artesian claiming to have known you?”

“I had no idea,” Morgan said, pressing her palms and fingertips together. “But I’m not surprised. The police are pretty strict about sharing information about their investigations.”

“Did they tell you about the note?” she asked in a hesitant voice.

A look of bewilderment flashed across Morgan’s face. “What note?”

“He left a note, Morgan. Artesian left a note,” she repeated, stopping after each word.

“He put it on the counter. I didn’t notice it until right after the paramedics took your father over to the hospital. I gave it to the police.”

“Did you read it?”

She nodded. “Normally, my memory’s not that good, but I guess this is the kind of thing you never forget. It said,
Hell is truth denied. Comes now the penance for the third of three.
He signed it
Gideon
.”

“The third of three? What’s that supposed to mean? Three what?” Morgan asked, thinking to herself that whoever Stuart Artesian, or Gideon, as he called himself, really was, his plan to kill her father was very well orchestrated. Having spoken with both Carrie and Annalisa, Morgan didn’t feel there was any reason to talk with any of the other staff.

“Thanks for all your help.”

Annalisa met Morgan in the middle of the office and gave her a long hug. “Bill and I want to have you over for dinner.”

“As soon as things calm down,” Morgan promised, realizing that Annalisa’s invitation didn’t include Kevin and that she must have heard about their separation. Morgan was relieved Annalisa had the courtesy to spare her a barrage of questions about it.

They walked together through the lobby. “I’ll call you about dinner,” Morgan told her again when they reached the door.

Heavy in thought regarding the note Gideon had left, Morgan barely remembered leaving her father’s building and walking to her car. Before pulling out, she put the Thunderbird’s top down. With the warmth of the sun blanketing her shoulders, she thought about everything Carrie had said.

The question that continued to plague her was, why had he made it a point to inform Carrie that he knew she was Allen Hawkins’s daughter? He had to have known Carrie would tell the police. And why would he leave that cryptic note? As disturbed as she suspected Gideon was, she was convinced he was a man with an unambiguous agenda and a very specific method to his insanity. It didn’t take a criminologist to see he was inviting the police to engage in some twisted mind game with him.

Morgan looked in her rearview mirror and slowly backed out of her parking space. As much as it frightened her to consider the possibility, she had to wonder if Gideon’s strange preoccupation with her meant that she too was part of his ruthless obsession.

When Gideon spotted Jimmy’s Place, a well-known family restaurant in North Miami, he put on his directional signal and turned into the parking lot.

Before he got out of his car, he checked the time. If her schedule hadn’t changed, Faith Russo would be working lunch. Gideon hadn’t come across Faith by pure happenstance. To the contrary, he had invested a considerable amount of time and energy searching for just the right woman.

Once he had decided on Faith, he spent several weeks care fully cultivating his relationship with her. When he walked through the front door, the first thing he noticed was that the usual lunch-hour chaos was winding down. On the line, one of the short-order cooks was tossing a salad while the other stood in front of the grill tending to a sizzling burger.

Gideon finally spotted Faith at the far end of the three-sided counter taking an order. He bypassed a few empty tables and took a seat at the end of the counter. As soon as Faith saw him, she smiled and waved. At the age of twenty-six, Faith Russo was possessed with a trusting nature and a tranquil disposition. She had a rail-thin figure, generous eyebrows, and a slightly upturned nose. From the beginning, Gideon saw her as a street-smart survivor, always looking for a shortcut to a better life. In spite of a deadbeat for an ex-husband and a few lackluster boyfriends, Faith was steadfast in her optimism that she would one day meet the right man who would rescue her from the day-to-day drudgery that had become the main-stay of her life.

Filling a brown mug with coffee, she walked over and set it down in front of him.

Knowing Gideon only as Steve, she said, “You’re a little late today. What’ll you have?”

“How about tuna and tomato on whole wheat toast? Eighty-six the lettuce.”

She grinned and shook her head. “I don’t know why I even ask.”

“What do you mean?”

“You always order the same thing,” she said with a flirtatious giggle.

“Once you’ve found what you like, there’s no reason to keep experimenting,” Gideon said, stroking the back of her hand. “How are those kids of yours?”

“They’re a handful, but I love ’em to pieces.”

“Do you think you’ll have any more?”

She chuckled as she scribbled his order down. “For the right guy, maybe.”

“Really?”

She waved the check in the air. “Let me go put this in. I’ll be right back. You look tired.”

“I’ve been working pretty hard lately.”

Gideon watched her walk over to the line and clip the check to a rotating rack. She looked back at him every few seconds. Ignoring her other customers, she strolled back and began wiping down the counter.

“What is it that you do again?”

“I’m a health-care consultant,” Gideon told her. “I advise hospitals how to improve their patient satisfaction.”

“What do you mean by patient satisfaction?” she asked, topping off his coffee.

“Hospitals want to make sure their patients are happy with the care they receive.”

“Why? What choice do they have? It’s not exactly like going to Disney.”

“That’s just the point. People do have a choice. Nowadays, hospitals are no different than all those car dealerships down Seventh Avenue,” he said, pointing toward the large window. “They both compete for your business in a big way.”

“So why do these hospitals need you?”

“My company evaluates patient satisfaction and then provides the hospital with key information on how to improve it.”

“Which hospital do you work for?” she asked.

“Several, but Dade Presbyterian’s my biggest client.”

“You’re up, Faith,” came a voice from the line. She glanced over, saw that her order was ready, and went to pick it up.

“How do you find out if the patients are happy or not?” she asked, putting his plate down in front of him.

“Lots of ways but mostly by interviews and surveys.” He took the first bite of his sandwich and reached for his a napkin. “If you don’t mind me asking, how much do you make as a waitress?”

“On a busy day, I can make a hundred in tips.”

“For the way you guys work, that doesn’t sound like much.”

“It’s not bad compared to some of the other jobs out there. It’s not like I’m a brain surgeon or a real-estate tycoon.”

She picked up the saltshaker, wiped it clean with a damp rag, and then replaced it on the counter.

“You seem pretty good with people to me.”

“I never thought about it too much, but I guess I am,” she said with a light shrug.

“Supposing I told you that you could make a thousand dollars for a few hours of work? What would you say?”

She snickered, looking at him as if he was being more mischievous than offensive.

“I’d say why pay for something you could get for free?”

“I’m talking about a business proposition.”

“You’re serious?”

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“What would I have to do?”

“It’s simple. We’d prep you first and then send you into Dade Presbyterian’s emergency room where you’d pretend to be a patient. Afterward, we’d ask you a bunch of questions about how you were treated.”

Her eyes narrowed. “All I have to do is go to the emergency room, fake like I’m sick, and then tell you about it.”

He nodded.

“And for that I get a thousand bucks?”

“Pretty much. I’d have to prep you first. But in a nutshell, that’s it.”

“What do I do if the doctor orders medications for me or wants to give me some kind of a treatment?” she asked.

“We try to create scenarios where that doesn’t happen, but even if it does, I’ll teach you how to talk your way out of it. What do you say?”