Alpha Kill - 03 (13 page)

“Huh.” Harmony thought about it. “Is that Drake’s MO? Garrotting?”

“Not particularly. He’s not some psycho killer who gets off on it. At least, that’s not the way he comes across. He’ll use whatever method comes to hand. But the sighting, then the dead kid... it’s no coincidence.”

“Pennsylvania,” said Harmony.

“Yeah. My FBI guy says he thinks Drake’s heading for New York. No real reason, but he’s out east, and New York’s one of the obvious destinations. Could be somewhere else. Could be Philly, or Boston, or Baltimore.”

After a few seconds’ silence, Harmony said, “You think he’s coming after you?”

Venn raised a shoulder. “It’s easy to get melodramatic. Paranoid. You’re a cop, you know how it is. These guys break out, and all they’ve got on their minds is the cop who put them away. Even if it means they’ll get caught, and spend the rest of their lives in solitary, for good this time. But it’s a hell of a stretch to assume Drake’s looking for me, just because he was sighted somewhere east of where he bust out.”

“I guess,” said Harmony. “Not least because Drake wouldn’t necessarily know you were in New York.”

“Yeah.”

After another spell of silence, longer this time, Harmony said, “You okay about the other thing?”

“What’s that?” said Venn. Though he knew what she was getting to.

“Helping Beth out.”

Venn sighed. “Do I think this is a valid avenue of investigation for us? Yes, without reservation. It’s exactly the kind of thing we were set up to take care of. Am I comfortable working with my ex? No.”

Harmony looked out the window. “I guess I’m just wondering...”

When she didn’t speak further, Venn said, “Come on. Spit it out, Harm.”

She angled a glance at him. “I’m wondering exactly how much you’re doing this because you think you have a shot at winning her back.”

“Hey.
Hey
,” Venn said angrily. He braked, a little later than he intended, to avoid tailgating the car in front. “Don’t you damn suggest that I’d be unprofessional about this. Like I said, this is a case that warrants investigation. There’s no ulterior motive.”

“Whoah there.” Harmony held up her hands. Anybody else would have backed down, but not her. “Touched a nerve there, much?” She sighed, shaking her head. “Face it, Venn. You’re still nuts about her. Doesn’t matter whether or not your head’s accepted the reasons she gave for leaving you. She’s still there, inside you. In your gut. And other places, too.”

Venn shrugged. “Sure. I’d never deny that. But she’s come to me as a cop, not as a former lover. And I’m responding as a cop.” He looked over at Harmony. “What does it matter, anyhow? Even if I was doing this to try and impress her... what the hell difference would it make?”

“Because, shit for brains,” said Harmony, “people tend to make mistakes when they’re approaching a job with other stuff going on. They start seeing clues where there aren’t any, and on the other hand missing them when they’re there. I need to know I’m working alongside a partner who I can rely on to watch my back.”

Venn rolled his eyes. “Okay. I tell you what. You have my absolute permission to tell me if you think I’m screwing up, if I do anything that suggests my personal issues are getting in the way of the investigation. How’s that?”

“Big deal,” said Harmony. “I’d do that anyway, with or without your so-called
permission
.”

“And another thing,” said Venn. “We’re not
partners
. You work for me, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand. “Whatever.”

––––––––

I
t was a little after five-ten when Venn turned the Jeep into the driveway of the clinic. A lowered boom stretched between two gateposts, and a security guard leaned out the window of the one nearest to Venn.

“May I help you, sir?”

“James Caldwell,” said Venn. “I have an appointment with Dr Douglas Driscoll.”

The guard checked something out of view, probably a computer monitor, and said, “Yes, sir. Go right on through. Parking lot’s on the right, and reception will direct you further.”

The boom swung up and Venn headed down the drive.

The Bonnesante Clinic was situated in ten acres of rolling woodland and meadow, walled off around the perimeter. The main building itself was a low, modern-looking steel-and-glass structure with three or four floors, extending horizontally more than vertically. Exquisitely manicured flowerbeds lined the driveway, and signposts promised a variety of facilities in smaller buildings dotted around the lawns: a heated swimming pool and saunas, a sports center incorporating the physical therapy department, and, discreetly off in a far corner of the grounds, a morgue. This last featured the tallest structure of the entire clinic: a chimney, through which the incinerators no doubt fed their waste.

“Place creeps me out,” Harmony muttered, as Venn swung into the parking lot. It was around half-full, many of the staff probably having left for the day.

“Why?” said Venn. “Looks pretty relaxing to me.”

“Hospitals aren’t supposed to be
relaxing
,” she said. “Places like Bellevue, Harlem Center... they’re noisy, chaotic, and everybody rushes around looking stressed as hell. But you get the sense that it’s life or death there, that there’s a real battle going on to save your ass. These squeaky-clean private places - it’s like you come here to die.”

“Your prejudiced attitude doesn’t become you,” Venn growled. But he kind of knew what she meant. Beth had expressed a similar view.

The receptionist was as cool as the airconditioned interior beyond the sliding glass doors at the entrance. She gave a brilliant smile.

“Mr Caldwell,” she said. Her eyes shifted to Harmony, her welcoming demeanor not slipping in the least.

“My fiancée, Marie,” said Venn smoothly.

They’d discussed it in the car on the journey up, he and Harmony. She’d been predictably opposed to the idea.

“You look like a cop,” she’d said. “But you could pass as a veteran, which you are. Me, I don’t look like your type. Not in the slightest. Nobody’s going to buy it. And it’ll screw up your own cover. A big tough white guy and a sister from the Projects? We might as well get matching tattoos on our foreheads, saying ‘Bad Cop’ and ‘Seriously Bad Cop’.”

“Then we’ll just have to turn our bullshit generators up a couple of notches,” said Venn. “Look. Even if they get suspicious, we’re taking a low-key approach. They can’t risk stonewalling us completely, just in case we really are potential customers. Word-of-mouth is real important for this kind of place and its reputation.”

The receptionist murmured into her phone, then turned her expensive orthodontic work on Venn again. “Dr Driscoll will be down in just a moment,” she said. “Please take a seat. May I get you coffee? Water? Soda?”

Harmony started to say no, but Venn interrupted. “Water would be great. Thanks.”

Cops didn’t usually accept offers like that.

‘Just a moment’ turned out to be ten minutes. The doors to one of the elevators off to the left opened suddenly, smooth as a whisper. A man came striding out.

He was around fifty, dressed in a beige silk three-piece suit. His bouffant hair was suspiciously black, and his walk had a certain fussiness. But his face was open and genuine enough.

“Mr Caldwell,” he said, extending his hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Doug Driscoll.”

Venn shook, as did Harmony. He winced inwardly at Harmony’s surly expression. She was great at undercover work, one of the best he’d ever encountered. But she didn’t do this kind of schmoozing all that well.

Driscoll led them into the elevator and up to the third floor. On the way he inquired about the distance they’d traveled, the traffic conditions along the way, and the weather back in New York City. It was only when they were seated in his office, which was plush in an understated way, that he said, “So. What can I do for you?”

“My PA mentioned my circumstances when he called, I hope,” said Venn. “My mother has type I diabetes. She’s having difficulty controlling her blood sugars, and she has extensive end-organ damage. Eyes, kidneys, and peripheral neuropathy which has caused two foot ulcers which are failing to heal. I’m not satisfied with the treatment she’s getting in her local hospital, and I’d like to explore the possibility of her care being transferred to your clinic.”

Driscoll nodded sympathetically. “I don’t see a problem,” he said. “However, the best approach in the first instance is for your mother, or you, to ask her family physician to make a referral -”

“Her family doctor is, to put it bluntly, worse than useless,” Venn cut in. “We don’t trust him. I’d prefer to make a direct request to you.”

Driscoll folded his hands on the desk, nodded. “I fully understand, Mr Caldwell.”

Venn said, “I’d be paying straight. No HMOs. I’m a Marine, honorably discharged and running my own security company. I’m a man of means, Dr Driscoll. Not spectacular, but more than enough to meet whatever costs are incurred.”

Driscoll stared at Venn.

In his time as a cop, both on the Chicago force and in his present job, Venn had been struck by how nakedly the most primal of human emotions shone through in people’s eyes, even in people who were otherwise expert at disguising their inner motivations. Complex notions such as religious zealotry, intense patriotism, commitment to an extreme political ideal... these were all relatively easy to conceal, in the case of a consummate actor.

But it was near impossible to mask the rawest drives of all.

Jealousy.

Revenge.

And
greed
.

It was this last that Venn observed in the level gaze of Driscoll. In his stock-still face, his slight, fixed smile.

“Mr Caldwell,” he said softly, amiably, “I think we can come to an agreement. We would be delighted to accept your mother here at the Bonnesante Clinic.”

Venn nodded, leaned back in his chair.

Driscoll put his hands together – he managed to refrain from rubbing them – and said, his tone now businesslike: “Perhaps we could begin with a tour of the facility.”

Venn looked at Harmony. “If it’s all the same, my fiancée is the one best placed to judge the esthetics. Could somebody show her around? I’d like to talk business with you, Dr Driscoll.”

Driscoll’s eyes flicked to Harmony, then back to Venn. “Of course.” His slight smile never wavering, he picked up the phone. “Could you see if Jane’s still around? There’s a client who would like a guided tour.”

He listened, then put the phone down. “Jane Clemmons is one of our senior nurses. She’ll be more than happy to show you everything.”

“Cool,” said Harmony. Again Venn felt a twinge of desperation. What was she going to start doing next, chewing gum? Driscoll’s eyes met his. Venn thought he saw a hint of sympathy there.

He didn’t like that.
The goddamn snob.

Jane Clemmons must have been only a few doors down, because she appeared almost immediately. She was a homely woman in her late forties, pleasant and brisk.

Driscoll said, “Mr Caldwell is interested in considering his mother for Bonnesante, Jane. Could you kindly show his fiancée, Ms – ?”

“Jones,” said Harmony. She shook the other woman’s hand. “Marie.”

“ – Ms Jones around the facilities?” Driscoll finished.

The two women left.

Venn shrugged himself into an upright position in his chair, his manner suddenly more businesslike. “I’ve got to tell you first off, Dr Driscoll, that my mother’s very sick. The physicians at the hospital where she’s currently being treated aren’t optimistic. As I said, I’m not exactly bowled over by the care she’s getting. But that might just be me, because it’s my mother. The doctors may have a point.”

Driscoll looked grave once more. He spread his hands.

“We do our very best here, Mr Caldwell. Our staff are some of the finest experts in their fields that you’ll find anywhere in the state, possibly anywhere in the eastern US. I can supply you with a full list of them, together with their qualifications and credentials. We’re talking Harvard, Yale, Princeton, UCLA. A couple of former Mayo Clinic doctors. Serious heavyweights.”

Touchdown
, thought Venn, trying not to let his triumph show. He said nothing, allowed Driscoll to continue.

“Of course, there are no guarantees. We don’t pretend we’re God, Mr Caldwell. We’re bound by the restrictions of what medical science can provide at the current time. But your mother has a better chance here than anywhere else you might consider.”

Venn said, “That sounds encouraging, Dr Driscoll, and I’ve certainly heard good things about the Bonnesante Clinic. Naturally, I’ve been exploring several options, looking at several other facilities.”

“Naturally,” Driscoll replied smoothly.

“And one aspect I’ve been studying with particular interest is the mortality statistics of the various places. The death rates, to put it bluntly.”

Driscoll watched him, his face betraying nothing.

Venn continued, “I know it may seem a crass thing to do, and I know it may have little bearing on my mother’s individual case. But on the whole, if a hospital or a clinic has a mortality rate significantly greater than the mean, I’m wary of it.”

Driscoll’s smile broadened. “That’s a difficult statistic to rely upon, Mr Caldwell, as I’m sure you realize. Mortality figures can vary widely, depending on regional prevalences of particular diseases, random outbreaks of infection beyond human control, and of course the type of conditions a facility may specialize in treating. Among numerous other factors.” Again he spread his hands. “But we’re very open here. Yes, of course I’ll provide you with the data you require. Our annual mortality figures are no greater than the mean, certainly, and considerably better than most.”

He reached along the desk and tugged a laptop computer closer to him. “In fact,” he said, “I can give you a whole lot more data which might be of interest. Figures comparing our post-operative infection rates with those of other hospitals in the state. Quality measures looking at the three-year outcome for our patients with a wide range of illnesses. You’ll find that in these areas we perform well ahead of the rest.”