PALINDROME (19 page)

Janik chuckled. “Brown nose.”

“Riley shoots Cooper and then kills himself?
I don’t see it.”

Janik pointed at the screen. “Like you said,
Riley has several drug arrests.”

“All misdemeanor charges.”

“That doesn’t mean anything; where there’s
smoke there’s fire.”

“Still, it’s one thing to pull a gun and
shoot someone in the heat of rage. It’s another to punch your own
ticket.”

“How are these two tied to each other?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I would run this by narcotics. See if
they’ve had eyes on either of these two. I like the drug
angle.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“What about the homeowner?”

“She’s MIA. So far all I know is that she’s a
student at SUNY Stony Brook. I found her registration receipts in
the house. I don’t think she’s been living there all that long.
Neighbors say they think she may have inherited the place from her
aunt earlier in the year. It doesn’t look like she has too many
ties to the community. I was just about to pull her records.”

Janik nodded in the direction of the computer
screen. “Pull her up. Let’s see if she’s got any priors.”

Sampson put his fingers on the keyboard.
“Okay,” he said aloud as he began to punch in her name. “She’s in
the system.”

Janik leaned in for a closer look. “Yes, but
not for an offense. She was admitted to East Pines Psychiatric on a
Physician’s Emergency Certificate.” He read the date. “Just a few
days ago.”

“At least now we know where she is.”

“Maybe,” Janik said. “A PEC’s only good for a
forty-eight-hour hold. You better get on the horn.”

“Got it,” Sampson said. He had already picked
up the phone.

Thirty-six: Freedom

I
was still groggy from the sedative I
had been given the evening before. I was not sure what Rosen had
injected me with, but it seemed to be taking a long time to filter
out of my body. I had been given the sedative instead of being
released, along with a story about a delay in the paperwork. Rosen
said I was agitated and that nothing could be done until the next
morning. He said that I needed a good night’s sleep.

It felt good to be dressed in my own clothes,
but hope fled the minute I saw the smiling face of Thomas Sparks.
He was standing at the reception counter when Evelyn wheeled me
past the security guard.

“You’re signed out.” Sparks said. “The car is
right outside.” He literally peeled Evelyn’s hands off the
wheelchair. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

Evelyn gave him a nasty stare. “Cool your
jets.” She continued to challenge Sparks for a moment but then
backed down.

“What about my stuff?”

Sparks lifted a plastic bag. “I’ve got
everything right here.” When he lifted the bag the front of his
suit jacket parted just enough for me to see the butt of his gun. I
think Evelyn might have seen it too. She covered her mouth but said
nothing. In either case, I knew that she had no human compassion
and doubted she would do anything about it. Sparks put his hands on
the chair grips and pushed me through the doorway.

It was a beautiful summer day. The sky was
clear and the sun was intense. I had to shield my eyes with my
hand. “Can I have my stuff, now?”

Sparks saw me shielding my eyes. He reached
into the bag and handed me my sunglasses. “What about the rest?” I
asked.

“Aren’t you just happy to be out? I could
have left you in there indefinitely.”

“Yeah, you’re a real prince. I want my
phone.”

Sparks let go of the wheel chair. We were
still twenty feet from his car. “You can walk now.” He walked over
to the car, popped the trunk, and dropped the plastic bag into it.
We were alone outside the building. This time he intentionally
exposed his gun to give me a good view. “Get in the car.”

“Where are we going?”

Sparks got into the car without giving me a
reply.

I got out of the wheelchair. I knew better
than to get into the car with him. Ax had taught me that the odds
of survival diminished greatly once your assailant had taken you
captive. I tested my legs to determine if I was steady enough to
run. Sparks rolled down the window and tapped on the window frame
with the gun barrel. “I said get in.” I lingered a moment while I
tested my courage. He pulled back the slide and chambered a round.
I walked to the passenger door and got in.

“I asked you where we are going.”

Sparks started the car and rolled away from
the curb. “Don’t talk to me unless I ask you a question. I’m not a
patient man.”

“Out of the frying pan into the fire.”

“I told you, no conversation.”

“I was talking to myself.”

“Well, don’t.”

~~~

Janik hovered over Sampson’s desk, nervously
turning a pen between his fingers. Sampson held on the line while
his call was routed to the hospital administrator. He waited no
more than thirty seconds, but the elapsed time seemed much
longer.

“Hello, Detective Sampson?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Linda Gallo, Detective, how can I help
you?”

“You’re the hospital administrator?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a patient at East Pines named
Alexadra Ameleon?”

“I remember seeing her name just recently.
Let me check our records. Is there a problem?”

“It’s important that I locate her
immediately.”

“Okay, just a minute.” Sampson heard papers
being shuffled. “She was just discharged.”

Sampson covered the phone and turned to
Janik. “They just released her.”

“Shit!” Janik said. He was grinding his teeth
loudly enough for Sampson to hear it. “You know what to do, Pete.
Check in with me when you have a lead on her.” He walked away.

Sampson uncovered the phone. “What was she
there for?”

“HIPAA laws, Detective; you’ll need a warrant
before I can share the patient’s file’s with you.”

“I see that the PEC was signed by Dr. Samuel
Rosen. Is he there? Can I speak with him?”

“He left right after she was released. He’s
not on staff, but he requested temporary hospital privileges. We
almost never say no when a patient is admitted on an emergency
basis.”

“I’ll need his contact information.”

“Not a problem. I’ll have my assistant get
that for you. Will you hold?”

“Yes, of course.” Sampson waited until
Gallo’s assistant came on the line. He scribbled down Rosen’s
contact information and dialed his office as soon as he had hung up
with East Pines. The auto-attendant answered his call. He hit O for
operator.

“Hello, North Shore Medical Center, how can I
help you?”

“This is Detective Peter Sampson of the
Suffolk County Police Department. I’d like to speak to Dr.
Rosen.”

Sampson heard the receptionist speaking to a
colleague. “Oh my God, Claire, another one.”

“What was
that
?” Sampson asked.

“Dr. Rosen isn’t in today. Would you like to
speak to his service?”

“I’m not a patient. Where can I reach
him?”

“I’ll take your number and ask him to call
you back. He’s not on call today, so I don’t know how long it will
take for him to get back to you.”

“My cell phone number is 631-630-1112. Tell
him that this is a matter of extreme urgency.”

“I will, Detective Sampson. Thank you.
Goodbye.”

Sampson slammed the phone into its cradle.
My timing sucks!
He got up and refilled his coffee cup. His
phone was ringing when he returned to his desk. “Pete Sampson,” he
answered.

“It’s Tommy Drew, Detective.”

“Hi, Tommy, I didn’t expect to hear from you
this quickly.”

“Forget about it, Pete; I’m having fun.”

“I’m glad I was able to amuse you. What did
you find out?”

“We found a PVC coating on the tip of the
Glock 21 as well as on the two slugs we recovered at the crime
scene.”

“I’m not sure why that’s exciting, but I may
wet my pants if you don’t tell me something fast.”

“I was following up to see if a silencer may
have been used, and I think you’re right. Did you know that Glock
makes a disposable plastic suppressor for the 21?”

“Plastic? You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. The factory offers an
oil-filled, plastic noise suppressor. It’s good for one clip, and
then you give it the old heave-ho.”

I knew it!
“That’s fantastic.”

“Now slow down, Pete. We still have to match
the material we found on the barrel tip and slugs to the PVC the
factory uses to make the noise suppressors. We couldn’t find any
locally, so we’re flying some in from the factory in
Deutsch-Wagram,
Austria. The package will be here in
three days.”

“Tommy, I owe you a Big Mac with extra Secret
Sauce.”

“How about a porterhouse steak from
Tellers?”

“You’re a hell of a negotiator. I’ll spring
for the Big Mac
and
I’ll Super-Size the French fries. That’s
the best I can do. Call me when you’ve got more.”

Sampson hung up his phone and stood up. He
was about halfway across the squad room when he yelled into Janik’s
open office. “Double homicide, just like I told you.”

Thirty-seven: Sag Harbor

I
could feel the barrel of Sparks’ gun
in my back as we walked into the Starbucks in Sag Harbor. Sag
Harbor was an eclectic town on Long Island’s East End. It was
populated with artsy types and individuals of extraordinary wealth.
I had not spent a lot of time there, but it was the kind of place
that made you feel as if you were outclassed the moment you rode
down Main Street. We had to squeeze in between a Bentley and a
Ferrari to gain access to the street and enter the coffee shop. The
only non-exotic cars in this town belonged to the hired help.

Sparks handed me a twenty. “Order me a double
espresso. My thirteen-round friend and I will be waiting here for
you. This place has fantastic acoustics, so don’t try any hero
shit, understand?”

“What about me?”

“Get yourself a cool glass of water; I don’t
want you to bloat.” He sat down at a table facing the counter.
“I’ll be waiting for you here.”

I walked over to the counter.
Double
espresso, heavy on the arsenic.
I ordered his drink and grabbed
a FIJI water for myself. I wanted to hock a loogie into his
espresso, but his eyes were glued on me the whole time. I placed
the drinks on the table.

“Here,” he said as he handed me the black
duffle bag he had carried with him from the car. “Lock yourself in
the restroom and change into the stuff in the bag. I spent a
fortune on this getup, so don’t come out until you look like a
runway model.”

“What is the deal here?” I twisted the cap
off the FIJI water and took a sip.

“No questions. Go into the restroom and do as
I say. I bought expensive makeup too, so paint yourself up pretty.
I checked this place out beforehand. The bathroom accommodates one
patron at a time and has no windows.”

“You’re a dickhead!”

“Yes, Sweetness, I’m a dickhead with a gun,”
he whispered. “Don’t forget the part about the gun, and better
still, don’t forget that I’m not afraid to use it.”

“What am I getting dressed up for?”

He took a sip of his espresso. “Now what did
I tell you about questions? I’ll tell you everything you need to
know when you need to know it. Now go be a good little girl and
maybe you’ll come out of this in one piece.” He took his eyes off
me as he sipped from his cup of espresso. He slid the cuff of his
jacket back and checked his watch. “You’re wasting time.”

Thirty-eight: Play it Cool

Sampson
stashed his coupon book back
into the glove box while he waited for his meal on the
drive-through line. It was his indulgence day, and he was taking
full advantage, eating every gram of fat he was entitled to. His
wife had him on a strict diet. She allowed him one day a week to
eat anything he wanted; otherwise, it was rabbit food and portion
control for the rest of the week. The Checker’s server handed him a
banana shake and a straw. He ripped the wrapper off the straw with
his teeth and stuck it through the plastic lid. Sucking the viscous
concoction through the straw took every ounce of suction he could
produce.

He was back on the road in minutes and was
chewing on a mouthful of French fries when the phone rang.
“Detective Sampson,” he said with a full mouth.

“Detective, this is Dr. Sam Rosen, how can I
help you?”

Sampson quickly gulped down the fries.
“Doctor, I’m looking for Alexandra Ameleon. I see that you signed
her out of East Pines Psychiatric Center this morning. Where can I
find her?”

“I don’t know, Detective. I merely signed the
release. We didn’t leave together.”

“Who did she leave with?”

“I believe she left with her attorney.”

“Look, Dr. Rosen, I don’t have time to play
twenty questions with you. Who is her attorney? Where did he take
her? Why was she admitted in the first place?” Rosen did not answer
immediately. “Still there, Doctor?”

“Her attorney’s name is Thomas Sparks. He
asked me to sign a PEC because he felt she was in danger of hurting
herself.”

“Why would she hurt herself?”

“She was extremely agitated.”

“As a result of what?”

Rosen hesitated again. “I don’t know,” he
said, conceding his lack of knowledge about her case.

“You don’t know? Isn’t that something a
psychiatrist might ask a patient who was admitted to a mental
health facility on an emergency basis?”

Rosen paused for the third time. “I’m not a
psychiatrist, Detective. I specialize in orthopedics.”

Sampson was staring at his cooling French
fries. “Orthopedics, are you kidding me? What the hell were you
doing?”

“I have a business relationship with Mr.
Sparks. He called me and said that he feared for his client’s life.
He asked me to sign the PEC as he didn’t know any other doctors who
might help. He told me that any physician could legally sign a PEC.
He’s an attorney, I didn’t doubt what he told me.”