T Wave (19 page)

CHAPTER 49

Mallory called Alton and shared the good news with him.

“That’s great! And everything went smoothly with the arrest?” said Alton, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

“Yes, Sweetie, I’m fine,” said Mallory, who couldn’t help smiling to herself. “It was perfect. We bagged Jeanette Abernathy and Max Douglas. That should put a stop to the drug trade at the hospice.”

“If they’re the only ones involved.”

“True, but we’ll find out soon enough. If the thefts continue, we’ll know we have more work to do. But considering we found Hutchins’ drugs as well as the bait bottle, I think we’re done.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“And have you run your idea by Wiggins?” asked Mallory. “The one about the trap you want to lay down for your murder suspect?”

“Yes. He approved it. Now we just need to wait for a patient who fits the murder’s profile. Maybe you can help me sift through the patient records to ensure we don’t miss anyone.”

“Only if you buy me dinner. I’m too wired to cook a meal right now.”

“You talked me into it. I can’t say that I’m in the mood for my own cooking, either.”

Alton and Mallory enjoyed a round of down-home cooking at Stanley’s, Mallory’s favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant. After dinner, they returned to her apartment to conduct a review of patients currently admitted to a Stokely facility. Invoking a literal interpretation of the “laptop” name, Alton balanced the machine on his knees as he took a seat on the couch next to Mallory.

“This list is the key,” said Alton, pointing to a series of names on the screen. “Anyone on it who becomes a patient is at the highest risk of becoming the eighth victim. I’ll run a search of these people against the list of current patients at Stokely Memorial and Serenity Hospice. I also wrote a nifty little program to help us stay on top of this list once we’ve finished our initial review. It’ll flag anyone on the list who is admitted as a patient in the future.”

“I thought you said you needed my help,” said Mallory in mock indignation.

“Ah—that was just my ploy to get you back here alone.”

Mallory smiled and snuggled closer to him on the couch. “You don’t need a ploy for that.”

THURSDAY, JULY 26

CHAPTER 50

The next afternoon, a nurse moved Ed Kinkaid from Stokely’s Emergency Room to a private room on Five South. His chart indicated that the chronic condition from which he had suffered the past two years had taken a turn for the worse.

Mabel, Ed’s aging wife, worked with the nurse to complete an initial flurry of admissions paperwork and unpack his belongings: clothes, toiletries, his walking cane, and several books.

Eventually, Mabel returned home, and Ed’s doctor made his final rounds of the evening. Once left alone, Ed drifted off to sleep, the silence of his room broken only by the soft electronic murmurings of his IV machine.

Before long, the night shift nurses began reporting for duty, relieving those on day shift. During this shift change, a visitor stepped off the elevator and strolled down the hallway, observing the names on each doorway and stopping in front of Ed’s door. Glancing around, he slipped into the darkened room and approached the bed.

The patient’s even breathing indicated a deep sleep. Whistling a quiet tune, the visitor reached into the pocket of his lab coat, withdrew a syringe, and grasped the tubing of the IV, which fed a steady supply of fluids into the patient’s right arm.

As the stranger poised the needle over the IV tubing, an unusual double-click—a noise not typically heard in a hospital—sounded throughout the room. Mallory cracked the bathroom door just enough to walk through, and the visitor stiffened his back as lights from Mallory’s place of concealment flooded the room.

“FBI. Release the tubing and step away from the patient,” said Malloy in an even voice, “unless you’d like to be admitted for a gunshot wound.”

Alton and Agent Peterson waited for Mallory to step forward so they could also emerge from the bathroom in which they had all been hiding. Alton shifted his weight, anxious to join Mallory as soon as possible and confront the killer himself.

“Put the needle on the floor—slowly,” said Mallory. “Then back up and raise your hands above your head.”

At first, the visitor seemed to comply with Mallory’s demand, but after lowering the needle only halfway to the floor, he sprang up and lunged at her with the syringe. Mallory jumped backwards, out of range of the deadly injection, and collided with her companions, who had begun to rush up from behind her.

The visitor raced from the room into the bright hallway. Mallory regained her balance and bolted for the door.

“Here,” shouted Alton, grabbing the patient’s cane from the bedside and tossing it to her. “Take this. Don’t let him get too close to you with the needle.” Alton wouldn’t have minded using the cane himself to make better time down the hallway but concluded its dense hardwood would serve a better purpose as a weapon in Mallory’s hands.

Once in the hallway, the visitor swiveled his head from side to side in apparent indecision. Staring at the elevators, he turned towards them and broke into a run, all the while maintaining a firm grip on the syringe.

His moment of hesitation had been costly. Within a dozen yards, Mallory caught up to the visitor and used a double-handed swing to bring the wooden cane straight down onto his forearm, sending the needle skidding across the tile floor.

The visitor grasped his arm and turned as a look of despair and fury distorted his face. He took a step towards Mallory while cradling his injured limb. “No, you can’t stop me…not now.”

“Oh, really?” she replied. Assuming a boxing pose, Mallory shifted her weight onto one leg and launched a roundhouse kick with the other, connecting with the visitor’s solar plexus and sending him crashing to the floor. Alton limped up from behind just in time to witness the visitor roll onto his back, gasping for breath.

Making his way around Alton, Agent Peterson rolled the visitor facedown and placed a knee on the visitor’s waist. He then pulled the suspect’s arms backwards and handcuffed him.

Alton stood beside Mallory. “Are you done playing now?”

Puffing from the combined effects of adrenaline and exertion, Mallory replied, “Yeah—you can take a turn.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just collect this instead,” he said, walking over to the wayward needle. Alton turned to one of the nearby hospital employees who had gathered around the scene to gawk. “Would you mind fetching me a pair of latex gloves, the cap off of another syringe, and a baggie?”

The employee left and returned with the requested objects within moments. After donning the gloves, Alton carefully placed the cap on the syringe and sealed it in the bag.

Although shaky, the visitor had recovered enough for Agent Peterson to lift him to his feet.

Mallory turned to Alton. “Just as you suspected: Andrew Powell.”

Mallory called her supervisor to provide an update on the arrest.

“What?” exclaimed Wiggins. “Andrew Powell? The research scientist? Are you kidding me?”

“I’m dead serious. He’s standing here in cuffs in front of me. If we had waited another ten seconds, we would have had our eighth homicide.”

“Okay,” said Wiggins, “I was fine with being in the dark this afternoon since I knew we needed to act quickly, but now I need you to fill me in. It’s…let’s see…eight o’clock. Bring Powell down to detention to book him. When you get here, I’ll need you to question Powell and write up a summary report before you leave. Let’s meet at nine o’clock tomorrow morning for a full debriefing. And try to avoid the press, if you can.”

“Will do, Chief. Say, do you want everyone involved with this case included in tomorrow’s briefing?”

“Yeah, gather whoever you think you need so we can get all the information on the table and file charges as quickly as possible.”

“Okay. I’ll make some calls on the way downtown.”

Minutes later, Mallory lowered the handcuffed Dr. Powell into the backseat of Agent Peterson’s champagne Sonata. As she buckled the seatbelt around him, Mallory noticed Powell’s eyes held a blank, expressionless look.

She walked over to her own car, where Alton waited.

“I’ll call David and Fahima after the meeting tomorrow,” said Alton. “They’ve been asking about this case, but since we didn’t know much, I’ve haven’t said much. But now we can let them know what happened. Based on the evidence, I don’t think Jacob was one of Powell’s victims. After you question Powell, we should know for sure.”

Mallory nodded in agreement. Standing in front of Alton, she smoothed the collar of his polo shirt. “It’s been a good couple of days, huh? We’re two-for-two. We made the arrest for the narcotics thefts yesterday, and today you cracked the murder cases, just like I knew you would.”

Alton shrugged. “I only get an assist on the murder cases. You’re the one who actually took down Powell.”

“I wouldn’t have had anyone to arrest if it weren’t for you. But we won’t argue about who gets the credit, right? It’s a team effort.”

The unease Alton felt must have played across his face, for Mallory said, “You should be happy. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Alton’s lower jaw protruded forward as he struggled with his emotions. “Mallory, you joke a lot about my being your protector, but you know…I really do take that role quite seriously.”

“I know that. I’ve always known that. And…?”

“And I was nowhere to be seen when you confronted Powell.” Alton shook his head ruefully. “Some help I was.”

Mallory rubbed her hands along Alton’s biceps and gazed into his face. “You threw me the cane, right? Do you seriously think I needed more than that to take down an old guy like Powell?”

“No,” admitted Alton.

“Plus, I knew you were behind me. If I’d had any trouble subduing him, I would have waited another ten seconds for you. It just turned out I didn’t need to wait.”

Alton finally grinned. “That’s for sure. That’s quite a roundhouse kick you have there. Remind me not to make you too angry.”

“That’s right, buddy,” said Mallory with a laugh. She assumed the boxing pose once again. “
Who
did you say should do the dishes tonight?”

FRIDAY, JULY 27

CHAPTER 51

The next morning, an eclectic crowd of attendees gathered around a long, oval table in one of the first-floor conference rooms of the FBI’s J. Edgar Hoover building. On one side of the table sat Agent Peterson. The seats on the opposite side were occupied by Nancy Goins, William Cline, Jeanette and Scrubs Abernathy, Max Douglas, and Andrew Powell.

Alton, Mallory, and Wiggins lingered in the hallway just outside the room. Wiggins peered through the door’s glass window at the room’s occupants.

As nine o’clock approached, Mallory leaned over to Wiggins. “I brought in the suspects as well as the parties of interest, Chief.”

“I know you asked to bring in everyone involved in the case,” said Wiggins, “but I thought you meant just our agents. Why bring all these other folks here?”

“Everybody in the room was involved in one or both of our investigations. They all gave individual statements either last night or earlier this morning. The meeting that’s starting now is more for the benefit of you and the cleared persons of interest, who deserve to know what’s happened after being sucked into these inquiries. Plus, with a roundtable discussion, there’s always the chance that one of the suspects may decide to talk a little more, maybe provide some clarifying details, especially if their emotions are roused.”

“Fair enough,” said Wiggins, “You’ve read the suspects their Mirandas?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but I’m still not crazy about having a cast of thousands in a debriefing like this.”

“Do you want me to clear some of them from the room, Chief?” asked Mallory.

“No,” growled Wiggins. “What about the families of the murder victims? Have they been informed?”

“Not yet. We were going to see if any new information came to light in this meeting first, and then schedule individual meetings with each family.”

“I see,” said Wiggins. “Okay, let’s proceed.”

Wiggins, Alton, and Mallory filed into the conference room and took their seats.

Wiggins glanced at the clock, which read 9:02 a.m. “Okay, folks, let’s get started,” he announced. The room fell into a hush.

Turning to Mallory and Alton, Wiggins asked, “Okay, can you get me up to speed on these cases? The last I heard we had a list of four suspects who could be involved in drug trafficking or murder…or both. Now I hear we’ve arrested Andrew Powell, an esteemed research scientist and practicing doctor at several area hospitals. We’ve also booked two registered nurses at Serenity Hospice and an orderly from Stokely Memorial. I have a lot of faith in your investigatory skills, Wilson…and Mr. Blackwell, but I hope you two have solid evidence to back up these arrests.”

“Yes, we do,” reassured Mallory. “As you know, Mr. Blackwell and I split into separate lines of investigation: I looked into the theft of narcotics at both Serenity Hospice and Stokely Memorial Hospital, while he investigated a string of potential murders at the same two facilities. The fact that these crimes occurred in the same two locations and began at roughly the same time led us to speculate on the possibility of a connection between the drug thefts and the murders.”

“And were they connected?” asked Wiggins.

“No,” said Mallory. “At least, we’re pretty sure they weren’t.”

“But the possibility did confound our efforts to learn the truth,” added Alton. He faced those assembled on the opposite side of the table. “Some of you are here because you were arrested for these crimes. Others are here because of your support in helping us solve them and your commensurate right to know what happened—although I have to add that most of you were under suspicion at one point or another.”

A look of surprise flashed across the faces of several attendees.

Mallory spoke up. “Frankly, there are still a few unanswered questions, and we’d like to run those questions by the people gathered here. We can’t compel anyone here to speak up, but we would appreciate it. For those being charged, this will be an opportunity to come clean, and we’ll consider your degree of cooperation—or lack thereof—when we prosecute.”

Jeanette and Max glanced at each other, the latter shaking his head. Andrew Powell maintained a stoic face, not seeming to react at all.

“Let’s start with what we know about the drug thefts,” said Mallory. “Beginning a few months ago, Nancy Goins noticed a pattern of suspicious narcotic disappearances and pointed it out to her boss, William Cline. That’s when I was called in.”

Nancy nodded in affirmation.

“As Ms. Goins and Mr. Cline will verify,” continued Mallory, “I spent quite a bit of time looking into Stokely records, trying to establish a pattern I could use to eventually track down the perpetrator. The long and the short of it is that I eventually established that in the hospice, the patients with suspicious drug disappearances were under the care of Jeanette Abernathy in all cases but one. In the case of that exception, the patient’s chart indicates that Jeanette helped out her coworker by administering one round of meds on the night the drugs disappeared, so even then she had the opportunity to steal.”

“Now wait a minute—,” began Jeanette.

“Keep your mouth shut,” barked Max. “You can only hurt yourself, and me, by yapping now.”

Mallory continued unfazed. “Now, this answered the question of the
hospice
thefts, but we also had a few instances of narcotics disappearing from Stokely Memorial Hospital. In fact, Mr. Abernathy,” said Mallory, turning to Scrubs, “you were the orderly who returned Jacob Dunlow to his hospital room the day his pain medicine mysteriously disappeared from his nightstand.”

Scrubs shrugged without speaking. He didn’t seem inclined to give himself up.

“We have a pretty good idea you were involved,” said Mallory, “but we almost couldn’t prove it.”

Scrubs’ nonchalant expression transformed into one of concern. “‘Almost’?”

“To implicate you, we’d have to find drugs in your possession…or on your property.”

Alton spoke up. “Mr. Abernathy, a few days ago, I took the liberty of swinging by your house. Would you like to know what I noticed in your backyard? There was a break in the coloring of the pine straw in your landscaping. Do you know what causes that?”

Scrubs maintained his silence.

“It’s a result of someone burying an object and using old straw to cover up the hole. After time, undisturbed pine straw fades, but if you use a lower layer of straw to cover up a freshly-made hole, that older layer hasn’t had time to be bleached by the sun and is consequently much darker. You had such a dark spot right in the middle of your backyard landscaping.”

Mallory turned to Wiggins. “Yesterday, after the arrests of Jeanette Abernathy and Max Douglas, we obtained a warrant to search their residences for contraband.” She turned to face Scrubs. “Guess what we found in your backyard? A nice stash of prescription medicines, buried under the pine straw. You must have been quite worried about someone taking it to go to all that trouble.”

Scrubs issued a snort, a tacit confirmation of her speculation.

“Mr. Abernathy,” said Mallory, “Jeanette and Max claim you were the distributor, but we didn’t find any drugs on your person, whereas we
did
find drugs on them when we caught them with their pants down—literally—two days ago. So, you’ll be charged with possession, since the drugs were on your property, but not with distribution, since we can’t prove that charge.”

Alton turned to Scrubs and Jeanette. “Now, since you all were harvesting patient drugs, the next question is, what were you doing with them, when you weren’t burying them in your backyard? Agent Wilson pulled your credit reports, and they’re not pretty. We know you all are on shaky financial ground—late on most of your payments, in a lot of debt. That, plus the quantity of stolen drugs, suggests that you’re probably selling them rather than saving them for personal consumption.”

Alton studied Scrubs. “Tell me again how you acquired the wound on your cheek.”

Scrubs looked uncomfortable. “I told you, man, I was pruning my yard and a big old branch hit me when it fell.”

“Ah, yes,” said Alton, “so you told me the other day. That must have been one heck of a limb to scratch you so deep.”

“Yeah, man,” replied Scrubs. “It knocked my ladder over, too.”

“Your ladder—really? And did you use your own ladder and pruning equipment, or someone else’s?”

Scrubs looked unsure of himself. “My own.”

“Hmm. Frankly, Mr. Abernathy, the explanation behind your facial wound seemed suspect, and when Agent Wilson mentioned your wife’s involvement with the drug thefts, I became even more suspicious of the whole ‘falling-branch’ story. When I went to your house a few days ago, I examined your front and back yards. There’s no trace of any pruning for at least three or four years. A branch as large as the one you claimed hit you would leave a noticeable sheared branch behind. There’s nothing of the sort in your yard.

“Want to know what else you don’t have? A ladder or any kind of pruning equipment. I checked your garage.”

“I let someone borrow them,” claimed Scrubs.

“Really? Who?”

Scrubs hesitated.

“You know we’re going to verify your story, so you might as well fess up now. You didn’t get that injury from a branch, did you?”

Scrubs looked up defiantly. “Okay—fine. I was visiting a friend in a rough neighborhood, and all of a sudden when I’m leaving, these dudes start shooting at me. It ain’t a crime to get shot at, is it?”

Alton narrowed his eyes. “No, but trafficking in drugs is. According to your wife, you were shot by gang members at your buyer’s house, but…I can’t prove that.

“A word of advice, Mr. Abernathy. If you haven’t been walking the straight and narrow, now would be a good time to start. I’m going to recommend to the local PD that they keep an eye on you.”

Scrubs shrugged. “I’m an angel, man. But the cops are gonna have a hard time keeping their eyes on me pretty soon. Even if I don’t serve any time, I’m gonna have to move if Jeanette goes to jail. Like you said, we’re struggling to make the house payments. For sure I can’t make them by myself.”

“What?” exclaimed Jeanette. “Just like that, you’re going to let him get away with it? I’m telling you he’s the one who was selling the drugs to his friend Leroy.”

“We’re not letting him ‘get away’ with anything,” replied Mallory. “He’s being charged with possession. That’s all we can prove, and even then we didn’t find the drugs on him, just in the yard. Do you have any corroborating evidence to support your claim of trafficking?”

“How do you think Max got his bottle of Oxy? He had to buy it from someone.”

“You’re asking me to guess how the man in bed with you came into possession of a bottle of medicine you stole from a dying patient,” said Mallory. “What do you think my answer is going to be? That the bottle went to your husband first, who then sold it to your secret lover? Or that you gave the bottle directly to your lover? Obviously, a judge and jury are going to believe the second scenario over the first.”

“But it didn’t happen that way…” said Jeanette, breaking down into tears.

“Maybe not, but the evidence points to you two more than your husband. And we can only prosecute where we have evidence.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Jeanette continued to weep in quiet frustration.

Alton spoke up. “This is where the relationship between the theft and murder investigations became sticky. We knew that these folks were stealing the drugs,” he said, gesturing to the Abernathys and Max, “but did they have another, more sinister agenda? We wondered…were Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy speeding along patients’ deaths to acquire a new, more reliable source of drugs? Until we discovered the true perpetrator of the homicides, we considered this possibility. However, we now know that although they harvested drugs, they weren’t involved in the murders.”

“Speaking of the murders,” said Wiggins, “you still haven’t explained what evidence you have against Doctor Powell. And what evidence exonerates these other suspects.”

“You’re right,” said Alton. “I haven’t. But I think you’ll find it to be a fascinating tale—one worth the wait.”