T Wave (18 page)

WEDNESDAY, JULY 25

CHAPTER 46

The following morning, the sun’s glare promised another sweltering day in the nation’s capital. In the woods adjacent to Serenity Hospice, the heat-loving cicadas were already in top form by ten o’clock.

Charity Monroe had been admitted to Serenity Hospice only three days earlier. After an initial rush of visits from friends and family members, only her daughter, Bethany, remained.

The patient wasn’t expected to live more than another week. She oscillated between periods of reasonable lucidity and complete unresponsiveness, spending most of her few remaining hours in a fitful slumber.

Bethany had remained at her mother’s bedside throughout the day. Around dinnertime, she stopped by the nurses’ station. “I thought I’d let you all know I’m gonna step out for a bite to eat. I won’t be gone long, just in case…” She struggled for a moment as her voice faltered.

“Don’t worry, dear,” said Pearl. “We’ll look after your momma while you’re out. You go get you some dinner.”

“Thank you,” said Bethany, making a beeline for the exit. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Moments later, a hospice nurse entered Charity’s room and approached the bed. The patient was unresponsive, and a quick check of vital signs confirmed that death would not be too many days away.

The nurse leaned over Charity, obscuring the view of the nightstand from anyone who might happen to enter the room at that moment. As she smoothed the patient’s hair with her right hand, she used her left to slip a half-empty pharmacy bottle of OxyContin into the pocket of her lab coat.

The nurse also unknowingly triggered the motion detector concealed in the bottle’s cap. The device sent a signal to Mallory’s cell phone, prompting her to read the incoming text. Mallory opened the tracking app on her phone; the bottle was moving but still somewhere in the hospice. The jury-rigged device lacked sufficient precision to tell her the bottle’s exact location within the building.

After sharing the bottle’s sudden liveliness with Peterson, her FBI partner, Mallory called Wiggins. “Chief, the bait bottle is on the move. If one of the staff members took it, which is most likely the case, the perp probably won’t leave until the day shift ends.”

“Roger,” said Wiggins, “Tail them as they leave, but don’t approach the suspect until they’re in their home. We’ll be able to build a stronger case that way. Once they’re in a house, they can’t claim to be transporting the drugs to somewhere else on behalf of the hospice.”

“Okay, Chief.”

“Also, when the suspect arrives back at their house, let me know the address. I’ll send out a couple more agents to help you make the arrest. I doubt a hospice worker will put up much of a fight, but you never know. Most of the drug dealers I’ve arrested have little regard for human life. We’ll just play it safe.”

Mallory passed along her supervisor’s instructions to Agent Peterson. “When the suspect leaves, you and I will need to follow them as unobtrusively as possible. Do you want to go out to your car just before shift change? That way, when I leave, our suspect won’t see
two
people trailing behind them.”

“Sounds good to me,” said her colleague. “It’d be a shame if I had time to check on the Orioles game while I’m waiting out there.”

“Perhaps you should head out there now, then,” said Mallory with a grin. “You can never be too careful, you know.”

“You know, perhaps I should. Text me when our perp is getting ready to leave.”

“Will do. The chase is just about on.”

CHAPTER 47

As Mallory waited for the bait bottle to head for the exit, she received a call from Alton. She used the opportunity to debrief him on the activity of the last few minutes.

“It sounds like you’ll bag your perps tonight,” said Alton once Mallory had concluded. “That’s great. Do you want me there?”

“You know I like your protective side,” said Mallory, “but I’m good on this one. Wiggins is sending in two guys from Controlled Substances to make the arrest. I’ll be joining them, but they’ll lead the charge.”

“Okay. I wouldn’t expect a nurse to put up much fight against four FBI agents.”

“Ha! I hope not.”

“I have something to share with you, too,” said Alton. “I’ve about wrapped up my investigation of the seven patients, and I think I have a better idea of who is responsible for their deaths.”

“So you think they really were murdered, then?”

“Yes, I do now. And if my suspicion is correct, you’re not going to believe who it is.”

He quickly described his theory to Mallory.

“You’re right. It does sound pretty farfetched,” said Mallory. “The question now is, how could we ever prove it?”

“I have an idea on that,” said Alton, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice. “We lay a trap. Even if it turns out I’m suspicious of the wrong person, we could still end up catching the right one.”

“Okay. Why do I have a feeling you know exactly what kind of trap you want to construct?”

CHAPTER 48

Thirty minutes later, Mallory rested in a chair in Serenity’s lobby with her eyes glued to her phone’s tracking application. She thumbed the phone screen as if scrolling through e-mail or a social app. The screen’s actual contents didn’t react to her movements, but the motion helped disguise her true use of the phone.

Once the day shift ended, several nurses departed through the main doors together and made their way towards the parking lot. Although the hospice’s administration had beefed up security, the nurses all claimed to feel safer leaving together at night. Remembering the ominous note left on her windshield and the attack on Alton, Mallory couldn’t blame them.

Mallory’s phone vibrated as the bait bottle exceeded the first threshold of fifty yards. It would vibrate again at one hundred yards. She checked the phone and confirmed that the bottle was now headed for the parking lot.

Mallory rose and texted Peterson as she headed for the parking lot herself. “Get ready. Bottle is heading towards you.”

As the nurses reached the parking lot, they split up to head to their own vehicles. Meanwhile, Mallory climbed inside her BMW and opened a call with Peterson, who waited in the adjacent parking spot. “Don’t move yet. Let’s wait until they pull out of the lot.”

“I wish the bottle had better range,” said Peterson. “A hundred yards is cutting it close.”

“We only need to maintain that distance long enough to figure out which car it’s in. Once we do that, we can follow them just like any other tail.”

“True. But at such limited range, just getting a bead on the right car in the first place is going to be tricky.”

“We’ll just have to stay close at first and hope the perp doesn’t spot us.”

Mallory kept her eyes glued to her tracking app. “Okay, the bottle’s moving again.” She looked up to observe two cars, a Sentra and Prius, departing simultaneously. The app didn’t have enough precision to identify which car contained the bottle.

“Crap. Follow them both,” said Mallory. “We all have to leave through the same parking-lot exit, anyway.”

Peterson glided out of his spot and pulled up behind the two cars, while Mallory pulled directly behind him. The Sentra reached the parking lot’s stop sign first and halted, waiting for a break in the busy, rush-hour traffic.

“Wait,” exclaimed Mallory as she pulled in behind Peterson. “The signal’s breaking up. It just fell off the scope.”

“There’s a break in the traffic coming up,” warned Peterson. “You gotta get that signal back or we’ll lose them.”

Mallory selected the “track” option in the app several times, but the screen appeared frozen. “I don’t think it’s the bottle. I think it’s the app.”

“Hurry,” said Peterson as the Sentra nosed a few inches ahead, anticipating an upcoming opportunity to pull out.

Mallory closed down the app completely and reopened it. She immediately pressed the “track” option once again.

“Bingo,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief as the Sentra pulled away from the stop sign, taking a sharp left onto the busy avenue.

“Which one?” asked Peterson, swiveling his head between the cars.

“Not the Sentra,” replied Mallory, watching it recede into the distance. “The signal’s not moving in that direction. Follow the Prius.”

“Will do. But if the driver has any clue—and she’s bound to be a little nervous if she’s stealing narcotics—she’s going to spot me. I’m right behind her.”

“I’ll lag back for a couple of miles. When I catch up, I’ll give you the signal to peel off. That should put our perp at ease.”

“Let’s hope it works.”

Peterson trailed the cream-colored Prius through thick traffic. Mallory hoped the car he had allowed to slip in between them would provide sufficient concealment.

Five minutes later, Mallory called Peterson. “Okay, I’m right behind you. Cut to the left at the next light and rendezvous with me when I call in the final address. In the meantime, I’ll alert Agent Wiggins and the guys he assigned to help us bust the perp.”

“Roger.”

About twenty minutes later, the Prius came to a stop outside an older condo. Mallory raised her eyebrows in surprise. It wasn’t the location she had expected, but no matter.

After continuing down the road past the condo and circling back, Mallory parked in a lot across the street. She called in the address to Peterson as well as Sanchez and Conner, the two Controlled Substances agents Wiggins had assigned to lead the arrest.

Once they arrived, Mallory briefed them on the activity of last thirty minutes.

“Are you sure you want to participate in this?” asked Sanchez. “Aren’t you part of the bean-counter squad? This may be a little rougher than you’re used to.”

“I was in the Army,” replied Mallory. “I can take care of myself.”

“Okay,” he said, a new light of respect shining from his eyes. “Conner will guard the rear exit. The rest of us will make an unannounced entrance through the front door. Stay on your toes. Half the time these drug types are completely unpredictable.”

Mallory and Peterson nodded. After donning their navy-blue “FBI” jackets, the agents traveled down the sidewalk to the perpetrator’s front entrance. Sanchez positioned a handheld battering ram in front of the door. “Conner, are you ready?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m in position,” crackled Conner’s voice over the agents’ earpieces.

Sanchez stepped forward and swung the metallic-gray cylinder into the front door. Several decades of weathering had taken their toll, and the door shattered on the third impact.

“FBI,” screamed Sanchez, “Stay where you are with your hands in the air.”

The agents rushed through the front rooms, clearing them with their Glocks raised. Making their way to the back master bedroom, they threw open the door, encountering two disrobed occupants wearing expressions of utter shock. The pair lay perfectly still on the bed, holding their arms straight up like B-movie mummies who had fallen backwards.

“Jeanette Abernathy,” said Mallory, “you’re under arrest for theft and distribution of a controlled substance. You, too,” she said, turning to the male. She read the amorous due their rights.

“What?” exclaimed Jeanette, “I think there’s been some mistake. I didn’t steal anything.”

Mallory walked to the chair over which Jeanette’s lab coat, along with the rest of her clothing, lay draped. Mallory searched the coat’s pockets and removed the bait bottle. “So how’d you come by this?”

Jeanette lowered her head and remained silent for a moment. “Hey, we can cut some kind of deal, right? I mean, I got the stuff, but selling it was all Randy’s idea. He said he’d hurt me if I didn’t steal it.”

“So you’re saying your husband coerced you into stealing the drugs, and then he sold them?”

“Yeah, that’s it exactly.”

Mallory turned to the man with whom Jeanette shared the bed. “Who are you?”

“Max Douglas.”

“That’s right. I thought I recognized you from the hospice. And what’s your story?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about all this drug business. I’m just here for the company, if you know what I mean.” He leered in Jeanette’s direction.

Agent Sanchez, who had been combing through Max’s discarded clothing throughout the conversation, pulled a bottle of pills from a front pocket of the man’s jeans.

“Look here,” said Sanchez. “This is Oxy.” Squinting at the bottle’s label, he continued, “We’ve already established you’re not Andrew Hutchins, the name printed on this bottle. I suppose you have an explanation for having this in your possession, right?”

Before Max could speak, Mallory chimed in. “Andrew Hutchins? That’s one of the hospice patients whose medicines went missing recently. So you two are in this together, huh? Kind of a criminal trifecta: adultery, theft, and drug-dealing, all at the same time. You guys must be the life of the party.”

Jeanette stared at Max with a degree of surprise equal to that with which she had greeted the FBI agents. “How the hell did you get that? I thought Randy had that bottle…” She trailed off, and her knitted eyebrows combined with a fierce frown as realization dawned. She turned towards Max. “That son of a bitch. He set us up. He must of found out about us, and he sold you this shit to plant it on you.” Jeanette turned to Mallory. “Did Randy rat us out?”

“No,” returned Mallory. “We figured this out all on our own. Anything else you’d like to share while you’re in the spirit of confession?”

“What about Randy? If my ass is gonna hang, his had better be right beside me.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to pay him a visit. But two bottles of stolen narcotics were found in your possession, so for the time being, you two—not Randy—are looking at the more severe charges.”

“But he’s the guy who sold it, not me.”

“At the moment, it’s just your word against his. You can make all the accusations you want, but if we find all the stolen drugs on you and lover-boy here, who do you think is gonna be charged?”

Jeanette cursed under her breath, and Max maintained the silence he had adopted once the discovery of the OxyContin in his jeans had been made.