Harmful Intent (42 page)

Kelly turned to him. “Maybe Trent's killing has a hidden benefit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe his death provides us with a clue that we wouldn't have had unless he'd been killed.”

“I don't follow you,” Jeffrey said.

“Those men in suits were primarily out to shoot Harding, not you. I'm sure of it. And it wasn't a humanitarian gesture. That tells us something.” Kelly was becoming more animated by the second. “It means that somebody thought that Harding was a threat. Maybe they didn't want him talking to you. I think those men with their fancy suits and guns were professional killers.” She took a breath. “I think this whole thing might be more complicated than we've imagined.”

“You mean you think that Harding wasn't just a crazy person acting alone?”

“That's exactly what I mean,” Kelly said. “What's happened tonight makes me think of some sort of conspiracy. Maybe it has something to do with hospitals. The more I think about it, the more I believe there has to be another dimension that we've completely missed by concentrating on the idea of a lone psychopath. I just don't think he was acting alone.”

Jeffrey's thoughts went back to the exchange between Frank Feranno and Devlin. Frank had said, “This doesn't concern you, and we just want the doctor.” They had wanted Jeffrey, but they had wanted him alive. They'd certainly had the opportunity to shoot him, along with Harding.

“What about insurance companies?” Kelly asked. She'd always disliked insurance companies, especially after Chris's suicide.

“Now what are you talking about?” Jeffrey asked. With everything that he'd experienced, his mind was numb. He couldn't keep up with her line of thinking.

“Somebody benefits from these murders,” Kelly said. “Remember, the hospitals have all been sued as well as the doctors. In Chris's settlement, the hospital's insurance paid as much if not more than Chris's insurance did. But it was the same insurance company.”

Jeffrey thought for a moment. “That seems like a pretty far-out idea. Insurance companies do benefit, but it's too far down the line. In the short run they lose and lose big. It's only in the long run that they can recoup the cost of such extravagant settlements by raising premiums to doctors.”

“But they would ultimately benefit,” Kelly said. “And if insurance companies benefit, I think we should keep them in mind as being involved in all this.”

“It's a thought,” Jeffrey said, unconvinced. “I hate to put a damper on your brainstorming, but with Trent out of the picture, it's all academic. I mean, we still have no proof of any kind about anything. Not only do we not have proof that Trent was involved, but we don't even have proof of a toxin. And despite Seibert's interest, we might not get any.”

Jeffrey remembered the syringe Trent had menaced him with on the stage. If only he'd had the presence of mind at the time to pick it up. Then Seibert would have had an adequate amount for his tests. But Jeffrey knew he couldn't be too hard on himself. After all, at the time, he was terrified he was about to be killed.

Just then Jeffrey thought of Trent's apartment. “Why didn't I think of this before?” he said excitedly. He tapped his forehead with his fist. “We still have one more chance to prove Trent's involvement in the deaths and the existence of the toxin. Trent's apartment! Someplace in that apartment there has to be incriminating evidence.”

“Oh, no,” Kelly said, slowly shaking her head. “Please tell me you're not suggesting we go back to his apartment.”

“It's our only chance. Come on—let's do it. We certainly don't have to worry about running into Trent. Tomorrow the authorities might be there. We have to go tonight. The sooner the better.”

Kelly shook her head in disbelief, but she put her car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

 

Frank Feranno felt terrible. As far as he was concerned, this had been the worst night in his life. And it had started out so promisingly. He and Tony were going to clear ten grand for wiping out a blond kid named Trent Harding and drugging a doctor named Jeffrey Rhodes. Then all they had to do was drive to Logan Airport and put the doctor on a waiting Learjet. It was going to be so simple, since the kid and the doctor were meeting at the Hatch Shell on the Esplanade at nine-thirty. Two birds with one stone. It couldn't have been an easier setup.

But it hadn't come off as planned. They certainly hadn't planned on Devlin showing up.

Frank came out of Phillips's drugstore on Charles Circle and walked over to his black Lincoln Town Car and climbed in. He used the vanity mirror on the flip side of the sun visor to see as he cleaned the graze along his left temple with the alcohol he'd just purchased. It stung something fierce, and he bit his tongue. Devlin had almost nailed him. The thought of how close he'd come made him sick to his stomach.

He broke the seal on his other purchase, a bottle of Maalox, and popped two tablets into his mouth. Then, picking up the car phone, he called his contact in St. Louis.

There was a bit of static when a man answered.

“Matt,” Frank said. “It's me, Feranno.”

“Just a minute,” Matt said.

Frank could hear Matt tell his wife that he was going to take this call in the other room and to hang up when he'd gotten it. A minute later, Frank heard an extension picked up. Then he heard Matt yell to his wife that he had it. There was a click as she hung up.

“What the hell is going on?” Matt said. “You weren't supposed to use this number unless there was trouble. Don't tell me you boys screwed this up.”

“There was trouble,” Frank said. “Big trouble. Tony got hit. He's dead. You forgot to tell us something, Matt. There must be a price on this doctor's head. One of the meanest bounty hunters in the business showed up, and he wouldn't have been there unless money was involved.”

“What about the nurse?” Matt asked.

“He's history. That was easy. It was getting the doctor that was the hard part. What kind of money is involved with him?”

“Bail was set at half a million.”

Frank whistled. “You know, Matt, that's not an insignificant detail. You should have warned us. We might have handled the situation a little differently had we known. I don't know how important the doctor is to you, but I got to tell you, my price just went up. I figure you got to match the reward at a minimum. Plus, I lost one of my best hatchetmen. I have to say I'm very disappointed, Matt. I thought we understood each other. You should have told me about the bail in the beginning.”

“We'll make it up to you, Frank,” Matt said. “The doctor is important to us. Not as important as getting rid of Trent Harding, but important nonetheless. I tell you what—if you can get the doctor to us, we'll up the fee to seventy-five thousand. How does that sound?”

“Seventy-five thousand has a nice ring. Sounds like your doctor's pretty important. Any idea where I can find him?”

“No, but that's part of the reason we're willing to pay so much. You've told me how good you are—here's a chance to prove it. What about Harding's body?”

“I did like you asked,” Frank said. “Luckily I hit Devlin after he shot Tony, but I don't know how bad I hit him. I didn't have a lot of time. But the body is clean. No identification. And you were right: there was a syringe. I got it. I'll put it on the plane.”

“Excellent, Frank,” Matt said. “What about Harding's apartment?”

“That's next on the list.”

“Remember—I want it scrubbed,” Matt said. “And don't forget the hiding place in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. Get everything out of it and put it on the plane too. And look for the kid's address book. He was such a hardheaded stupid ass that he might have put something in it. If you can find it, put it on the plane with the rest of the stuff. Then trash the place. Make it look like a robbery. Did you get his keys?”

“Yeah, I got his keys,” Frank said. “No problem getting into the apartment.”

“Perfect,” Matt said. “Sorry about Tony.”

“Well, life's a risk,” Frank said. He was feeling better, thinking about seventy-five grand. Frank hung up the phone, then made another call.

“Nicky, this is Frank. I need some help. Nothing big, just got to trash a place. How does a few C notes sound? I'll pick you up on Hanover Street in front of the Via Veneto Café. Bring your piece just in case.”

* * *

Making a left turn onto Garden Street, Kelly had an unpleasant sense of déjà vu. She could still picture Trent Harding coming at them with the hammer in his hand. She pulled over to the right side of the street and double-parked. Leaning out the window, she looked up at Trent's apartment.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “The lights are on.”

“Trent probably left them on, thinking he'd be gone for only half an hour or so.”

“You sure?” Kelly asked.

“Of course I'm not sure,” Jeffrey said, “but it seems like a reasonable assumption. Don't make me more nervous about going up there than I already am.”

“Maybe the police are already there.”

“I can't imagine they'd have made it to the Hatch Shell yet, let alone here. I'll be careful. I'll listen before I go inside. If the police come while I'm up there, lean on your horn, then drive around the block to Revere Street. If it comes to it, I'll cross the roofs and come out one of the buildings over there.”

“I tried blowing the horn last time,” Kelly said.

“This time I'll be listening.”

“What are you going to do if you find anything incriminating?”

“I'll leave it there and call Randolph,” Jeffrey said. “Then maybe he can get the police to come in with a search warrant. At that point I'd turn over the investigation to the experts. Let the legal system crank through its slow gears. In the meantime I think I'd be better off out of the country. At least until I'm exonerated.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Kelly said.

“It will be if I find the toxin or something equivalent,” Jeffrey said. “And, Kelly, if I do leave the country, I'd like you to think about joining me.”

Kelly began to speak but Jeffrey stopped her. “Just think about it,” he said.

“I'd love to go,” Kelly said. “Honestly.”

Jeffrey smiled. “We'll talk about it more. For now just wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Kelly said. “And hurry!”

Jeffrey got out of the car and peered up at Trent's open window. He could see that the screen had not been replaced. That was good. It would save time.

He crossed the street and made his way through the front
door. He was able to push through the inner door without difficulty. There was the smell of fried onions and the sound of several simultaneous stereo systems. As he climbed the littered stairway, his apprehension rose. But he knew he didn't have time to indulge his fears. With newfound resolution he went to the roof and down the fire escape.

Jeffrey stuck his head into the living room and listened. All he could hear was the muted stereo music he'd heard in the hallway. Satisfied that the place was empty, Jeffrey climbed in.

Jeffrey immediately noticed that the place was more of a mess than it had been the previous evening. The coffee table, minus a leg, was overturned. Everything that had been piled atop it was scattered about the floor. By the telephone there was a round hole through the plaster wall. Shards of glass were strewn all over the floor near the kitchen door. Jeffrey spotted a broken beer bottle among the wreckage.

Moving quickly, Jeffrey made sure no one was there. Then, going to the door to the hall, he secured the chain lock. He was not about to take any chances of being surprised. With these chores accomplished, he started his search. What he planned to do first was look for correspondence. He wouldn't read it there, but rather take it with him and go over it at his leisure.

The most promising place for correspondence was the desk. But before going to the desk, he stepped into the kitchen to see if he could find an empty bag of some sort to put correspondence into. In the kitchen he found more broken glass.

Jeffrey stared at the glass in the kitchen. It was on the countertop next to the refrigerator. It appeared to be a bunch of clean glasses that had been deliberately broken. Stepping over to the counter, he opened the cabinet immediately above. Inside on the first shelf were more of the same kind of glasses. On the shelf above were dishes.

Jeffrey wondered what had gone on inside the apartment before Trent had left. Then his eye caught a discrepancy in the depth of the cabinet. The glass portion was half the depth of the dish portion.

Reaching into the cabinet, Jeffrey pushed the glasses out of the way and rapped on the back with his knuckle. As he did so, he felt the wood move. He tried to pry the rear wall of the cabinet forward, but it wouldn't budge. Changing tactics, he tried pushing against the wood. When he pushed against the far right-hand corner, the wooden panel rotated. Jeffrey grabbed its free end and pulled it out.

“Hallelujah!” Jeffrey cried as he peered in at an unopened box of 30 cc ampules of Marcaine, a cigar box, a supply of syringes, and a rubber-stoppered vial of a viscous yellow fluid. Jeffrey glanced around the kitchen for a towel. Finding one hanging from the refrigerator handle, he used it to pick up the vial. It seemed to be of foreign manufacture. Jeffrey recognized the vial as the type used to contain some sort of sterile injection medication.

Using the same towel, Jeffrey lifted the cigar box from the space and, placing it on the countertop, lifted its lid. Inside was an impressive stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. Recalling his own stack of hundred-dollar bills, Jeffrey estimated that the cigar box contained between twenty and thirty thousand dollars.

Jeffrey put everything back where he'd found it. He even wiped off the wooden back and the glasses he'd handled so that he'd leave no fingerprints behind. He felt excited and encouraged. He had no doubt that the yellow fluid in the vial was the phantom toxin, and that an analysis of it would reveal what Seibert should look for in Patty Owen's serum. Even the money heartened him. He viewed it as strong evidence that Kelly's guess of some sort of conspiracy was correct.