Desperate Measures (27 page)

* * * *

Dr. Bridges, the emergency room physician on duty at Jamaica Hospital Medical Center in New York City, checked the heart rate and pulse. He lifted eyelids to examine the listless eyes. He shouted at the nurse, ordering a full blood scan and EKG. He stomped out of the examination cubicle toward the nurse’s station to complete the necessary paperwork. A police officer waited at the counter.

* * * *

Bitter and unambitious, a few weeks away from retirement and past the point of giving a shit anymore, Officer Stan Lipton resented being called to investigate this matter. He wouldn’t be on this godforsaken shift if he hadn’t traded with one of his fellow officers last week. He had at least accomplished some rank during his miserable career with the New York Police department and managed to obtain the 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. slot. Tonight, he had to deal with some old lady found in the airport bathroom with no ID. Most likely had a heart attack from having her purse stolen by some drugged out creep.

Stan knew he shouldn’t be so judgmental and should keep an open mind. His attitude held him back from rising to detective but he didn’t care.

He had to go through the formalities and write up a report. The asshole brass could take it from there. Stan held out his badge with about as much enthusiasm as the doctor showed in looking at the piece of metal.

Stan asked, “What can you tell me about the patient who was brought in from JFK?”

With a command of authority, Dr. Bridges slapped his clipboard on the counter and removed his reading glasses. His demeanor made it clear that he had much more important things to attend to than answering questions from a frumpy, disorganized officer.

Dr. Bridges lectured Stan. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in the ER. It’s Saturday night in New York City. What do you think that means? In a few hours, this place will be loaded with gunshot wounds and drunks who’ve beaten each other up. And let’s not forget the car crashes. I’ll make this brief. The victim came in with no identification, appears to be eighty or so, probable drug poisoning, vitals are steady and her condition is stable. Won’t know anything further until the lab tests come back. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to the patients who need my help.” Dr. Bridges seemed to have as much sympathy for the semi-comatose woman as Stan did.

Stan saluted the doctor and chose his last statement to deliberately piss him off. “Thank you, Sir. We’ll need to get those lab results once they’re in.” With a sharp turn, Stan walked toward the bank of elevators, managing to catch the doctor’s retort.

“That’s doctor to you, Officer!”

Hospital visit completed, Stan hoped he never came under the care of Dr. Bridges. The guy was an asshole and exemplified the God Syndrome stereotype given to doctors.

Stan decided to burn a couple of hours over several cups of coffee and maybe some over easy eggs and bacon. His favorite all night greasy spoon diner was a few blocks from the hospital. After a cholesterol-filled meal, maybe he’d return to headquarters. That was a big maybe. What’s there to log into the computer? Not much information on this one, a wasted trip to the hospital. He’d drop off the hand-written notes. Yes, that would do it, and then he’d clock out. He could sleep for a couple hours and still go fishing.

* * * *

Ending the brief and cold conversation with his wife, Scott knew he had to report to Frank. The director needed to be informed of what had happened to Tomas. He made the call and outlined the situation.

“Holy fucking shit! What the hell’s going on down there, Scott?” Frank bellowed into the phone.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know at this point. Tomas should be awake in a few hours. The local police and the PIs from BS Investigations are providing coverage and protection.”

“Listen here, if those dimwit island cops and the goddamn PI from your father-in-law’s company solve this, yours and Tomas’s asses are in a sling! You hear me?”

With too much on his mind, Scott hung up the phone without a word in response. He opted to not get into a pissing match with the FBI director.

Caitlin’s mind whirled. She couldn’t get herself to unwind or sleep more than an hour’s stretch of time. The horror of the week replayed over and over again. At five in the morning, she turned onto her back and surrendered to insomnia.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and covered up her sleeping children. Caitlin padded barefoot into the kitchen. Sleep eluded her, so she might as well start the day with a cup of instant coffee. She opened the door before the microwave dinged. No sense waking everyone else up.

Caitlin opened the heavy glass sliding door to the terrace, took her coffee and cell-phone outside, and stared at the inky blue-black clear sky. Soothing waves lapped against the sandy beach. Bright stars twinkled like diamonds. In forty-five minutes, the sun would ascend above the water, diminishing the intensity of the full moon which cast a bright yellow glow onto the surface of the dark calm ocean.

Caitlin sipped her coffee, still confused and hurt over the events that transpired. She tried to make sense of her friend Linda’s betrayal and the odd behavior her husband exhibited in the brief phone call. Linda couldn’t have tried to poison Caitlin. Could she? What if the children, Linda’s own daughter, had eaten some of the food?

Her husband baffled her further. She detected something in Scott’s voice on the phone last night. He sounded so cold. Caitlin set her empty cup on the side table and settled her head on the lounge chair. The sea air had a tranquilizing effect and she dozed off.

Morning dawned and the sun rose over the horizon with a brilliant burst of orange, a fireball. The rays shone directly on Caitlin. Six forty-five in the morning. A longer nap than she thought possible. In a reflexive move, she swiped her hand across her forehead to wipe away beads of perspiration.

Caitlin heard a chirp, chirp, not a bird but an electronic sound. The noise came from the side table, her cell-phone with a voice mail. It sat next to the empty coffee cup. A lot of good the coffee did. She slept through the whole sunrise and the ringing phone. She snatched the phone. How the hell didn’t she hear it ringing? Flipping open the cover answered that; a text message from the realtor, Laura Evans, handling the sale of the warehouse.

In the message, Laura expressed her sympathy regarding the circumstances that had occurred over the last few days. She notified Caitlin that she had a family emergency and would be leaving the island for Miami on the afternoon flight. If it was convenient, she could meet her at the site this morning at 9:30 a.m. If the time was not acceptable for Caitlin, Laura promised to call when she returned from her unexpected trip to the United States. She then instructed Caitlin to take the measurements and pictures she needed of the future site of CSM, Caribbean. They could finalize any details or questions with the owner later on.

Caitlin leaped out of her chair and shouted out loud. “Perfect! Now’s my chance to get done what I need to. My two watchdogs are at the hospital. I just need to take a few pictures, send them to the architect, and I can finalize the deal. I better make a phone call first to see if there’s any change.”

* * * *

NYPD Sergeant Ben Regis made a ritual of arriving an hour before his duty started at 7:00 a.m. Thirty years old and ambitious, he had goals to rise high into the ranks, making chief. He enjoyed the quiet time before the shift change. It gave him the opportunity to review the reports from the evening so he could be an effective leader and assign the follow-up needed by his crew. He reviewed the hand written report from Stan Lipton.

Something nagged in the back of Ben’s mind about the location of the victim; he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Giving the report a closer look, he logged onto his computer hoping to find further details in the electronic report, he found nothing.

Ben yelled into the outer office. “Lipton, I need to see you now!” The incoming and outgoing officers shrugged.

Ben called all of the officers together. “Anyone know about this Jane Doe found at JFK and brought to Jamaica Hospital?”

The officers shook their heads. No one knew anything, nothing about the woman or Stan’s whereabouts. The only thing they were concerned about was getting their shift done and over with. No one gave a damn anymore, except him. Instead of assigning someone else to revisit the hospital, he’d do it himself. He had a feeling that this was going to be a big one. The FBI had surveillance at the airport. Could have something to do with that and might earn him a promotion.

Ben left a message for his lieutenant, notifying him that he’d be out in the field following a lead on a case at the airport. Ben realized that if he expected to advance his career in the department, he’d need to delegate more. His time for hands on investigations would be limited.

He drove as fast as he could to Jamaica Medical Center, hoping to catch the doctor on duty last night. He asked a few questions and raced down the hallway, fortunate to catch Dr. Bridges before the man left the hospital.

Ben held his badge out, ready for presentation. “Dr. Bridges, I’m Sergeant Regis. I have a few questions about the woman who was brought in last night from the airport.”

Dr. Bridges stopped and spun around with a look of annoyance on his face. “I’ve spoken to the officer last night, there’s not much more to tell you at this point. The woman has no ID and apparently ingested some sort of sedative. The lab results should be in shortly. My shift is over, so you’ll need to speak with the next doctor on duty.”

As the doctor prepared to retreat, shouting erupted from a nearby room and a nurse rushed toward them. “Doctor, the woman from the airport is awake, as I’m sure you can hear. She’s demanding to know why she’s here and what happened. The last thing she remembers is being in the airport waiting to depart for St. Kitts.”

Ben’s recollections kicked into high gear. St. Kitts was one of the flights on the FBI’s radar, along with Nevis. They were searching for some man named Yates.

Ben, in a commanding manner that rivaled the pretentious Dr. Bridges, grabbed the doctor’s arm. “This woman may be part of a federal investigation and I need to question her now! I don’t want to jeopardize her health, so do your thing and let me in there ASAP.”

After a quick examination, the doctor motioned Ben into the room. He authorized the questioning.

“Hello, I’m Sergeant Regis. Can you tell me your name?”

“Of course. I’m not senile, my name is Mabel Thompson.”

“Can you tell me the last thing you remember about yesterday?”

“That’s where it becomes confusing. I checked my luggage and waited at the gate for my flight. Another elderly woman sat down next to me. She was very nice. I started to cough a little, and she got me a cup of tea. That’s all I remember, until waking up a few minutes ago. Oh, my legs are stiff!” Mabel complained

Ben put a gentle hand on Mabel’s shoulder to comfort her. “Stretch out and get comfortable, Mrs. Thompson. You’ve had a heck of a night.”

She patted his hand. “Thank you, you have very kind eyes.”

Ben heard his name called from the doorway. The doctor held out a sheet of paper with
Laboratory Report
written on the top.

“You rest for a few minutes. I’ll be right back. I need to ask you some questions so we can find out what happened to you.” Mabel settled herself against the pillows, grabbed the remote control, and flipped through television stations.

Ben conferred in the hallway. “What have you got, Doctor?” Ben asked, eager to hear the lab results.

Dr. Bridges recited the findings of the toxicology scan without provoking a confrontation of authority. “She ingested a high level of a sedative called Luminal, otherwise known as Phenobarbital. No long term effects other than sluggishness and a slight headache.” The doctor flipped through the chart and added, “She had no personal articles on her when she was brought in, and apparently she’d been robbed and tied up in a bathroom stall. In my report, I noted ligature marks around her ankles, knees and wrists.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sure the incoming staff can answer any other questions you may have.”

Ben entered Mabel’s room once again with his notebook ready. “How are you doing? I’d like to get back to my questions. Are you up to it?”

“I’m just fine, ask away. You’re about as nice as the man who called me from the airline.”

“A man called you from the airline? When was this and why?” Ben knew he was rushing her and forced himself to slow down, so he wouldn’t miss a vital detail.

“It was last week. He wanted to know if I knew where to go for a wheelchair. We got to chatting for a while, and I told him how I often visited my sister Bernice in St. Kitts since both of our husbands have passed on.”

Frantic to record every word, Ben scribbled in his notebook and at the same time kept eye contact with Mabel. He needed her to feel comfortable and open. “I want to back up for a minute. You were going to see your sister Bernice. What’s her last name?”

“Willis, Bernice Willis, she lives just outside of downtown Basseterre and has a wonderful view of the water from her house.”

“Do you remember the name of the man who called you from the airline?”

Mabel shook her head and frowned. “No I don’t, but come to think of it, I was surprised by his call.” Mabel recited the phone conversation with the American Airline representative. She ended her statement with a rueful comment. “No one has ever done that before, he seemed overly nice, if you know what I mean.”

Ben closed his notebook. “Yes, I know what you mean.” Not adding that the ones who seemed overly nice were the nastiest bastards in the world. He concluded the interrogation. “I’ll let you rest, I’m sure your head hurts quite a bit, and you’re still sleepy. Here’s my card, if you remember anything else, please call me. I’ll come back to see you later in the day. I may have a few more questions.”