Deadly Errors (34 page)

After climbing out of the Underground, he’d caught a bus uptown and spent fifteen minutes limping around the perimeter of the building housing Med-InDx before heading back to his apartment to dump his soiled clothes into the washer and stand under a hot driving shower for ten minutes before tending the various scratches over his face and hands. He’d taken 600 mg of ibuprofen, iced his ankle and elevated it.

Then he’d tried to nap but couldn’t sleep, worrying instead about how the killers knew where to find him in the café. Obviously, someone told them. Who? Only three possibilities existed: Jim Day, Jill Richardson, and, unwittingly, himself. Day was the obvious choice since he had the best motivation: to save Med-InDx’s reputation. But if that was the case, why give Tyler the key? To set him up to get caught breaking into Levy’s office? If so, why tip off the killers to come for him in the cafe? Didn’t make sense.

What about Jill? She knew he was going to meet Day. But if she wanted him killed, why rescue him from the overdose and then the hospital?
Why not just have the killers pull her car over after picking him up?

Which left himself. Had he inadvertently tipped off the killers?
Was someone listening in to his cellphone? A bug in his apartment?

The telephone rang. Tyler debated answering it. The killers checking to see if he was home? He picked up. “Hello.”

“Doctor Mathews, Christine Dikeman. Sorry to bother you at home, especially this late on a Sunday evening.”

“No problem.”

“I just heard from the charge nurse that Toby’s been scheduled for the marrow transplant tomorrow morning. She just received a consent signed by a judge. Have you been able to find out anything yet?”

Tyler glanced at Jill who seemed to be watching him closely. “Not yet.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you can think of that I can do? The thought of that poor kid undergoing …”

“Tell you what. I might have something tomorrow. I’ll call you then. Can I reach you on the ward?”

“Yes,” she said hopefully. “I’ll be there from 7 o’clock on. If anyone says I’m busy, just have them pull me out of whatever it is.”

“Talk to you then.”

“Who was that?” Jill asked when he’d hung up.

“One of my partners. Wants some information I’d promised him before he does a case in the morning.”

Jill paced a tight circle, nervously rubbing both hands together. “Tyler, I don’t like this … it’s too dangerous.”

“Stop it. You’re making me nervous. Besides, we’ve been through this. I don’t see any other way out of this. I’m totally screwed without proof there’s a software flaw.” He thought of Ferguson’s threat.
Why were you so stupid to forge your own prescription, pal?

He slipped the rucksack over one shoulder. “Your cellphone turned on?” He popped a TUMS in his mouth and pocketed the rest of the roll.

She flashed exasperation. “Yes.”

“Good.” He patted his pockets for one final check. He had everything. “I’ll call soon as I’m out and away from the building.”

“Why don’t you just come over to my place?”

He opened the front door. “I don’t know how long this is gonna take.”

“Oh right! Like I’m going to be able to sleep tonight!” She followed him out.

He locked the door, wondering when or if he’d see his apartment again.

They walked the stairs to the first floor, neither one saying a word, Tyler already worrying about getting into the building undetected.

Once through the lobby and out the front door, they stood for a moment of awkward silence on the sidewalk. She came to him, stretched up on tip toes and kissed him. “Be careful.”

He kissed her back. “I will.”

She turned and walked away. Tyler headed in the opposite direction.

J
ILL TURNED THE corner and moved along the street to her car. She thumbed the electronic key, snapping the locks open, and slid into the front seat.

From the shadows of the back seat Arthur Bensons asked, “He on his way?”

She nodded. “The fool.”

Benson glanced at his watch. “What say we give him ten minutes before going back in.”

She thought about this a moment. “Sounds about right.”

N
ANCY FAN LISTENED once again to the telephone ring and combed anxious fingers through her hair.
Damn him, why won’t he answer?
She checked the clock. Quarter after 9. Six hours she’d been trying. She’d even checked the hospital. He wasn’t on call and wasn’t in surgery. Just to be sure, she’d had the operator page him overhead. Nothing. And another thing, his answering machine wasn’t on and his cellphone responded with, “The Verizon customer you are trying to reach is not available.” Both alarming. For as long as she’d known him he’d been compulsive about being reachable 24/7—even when not on call.

She’d not been to Tyler’s apartment, but had the address. Perhaps the manager would let her in. After all, she
was
Tyler’s wife.

She grabbed her coat off the davenport arm but stopped.
What if he’s with another woman?
Barging in on him would be embarrassing.
Goddamnit Tyler!
But if that were the case, she needed to know it now. Didn’t she?
I mean, if we’re serious about getting back together?

With her roommate out on a date, there was no one to tell where she was going or when she’d be back. She slipped on the lightweight coat, tossed her keys in her purse, and slammed the apartment door behind her. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. But doing something was better than just waiting around an empty apartment doing nothing.

T
HE SKY HUNG low and black, stars masked by clouds swollen with potential rain, leaving the sidewalk aglow with the sickly hue from mercury vapor streetlamps. Hidden in the doorway to an auto repair shop, Tyler studied the front entrance across the street as occasional cars sped past. Tall plate glass doors and matching windows provided an almost unobstructed view into the lobby where a security guard perched on a swivel chair behind a desk. Tyler remembered the layout from his appointment with Bernie Levy. He’d noticed the back side of the guard’s desk, remembered seeing it filled with two parallel rows of CCTV monitors where some views probably switched between several cameras while others were probably dedicated to security-sensitive areas like the garage entrance. Every now and then the guard picked up what looked like a hand-held radio and appeared to say a few words—most likely checking with other guards roaming the building.

Tyler noticed a young man hurrying down the opposite side of the street carrying two large pizza boxes stacked one atop the other. He waited until he started up the three concrete steps to the entrance before running across the street after him. Balancing the boxes in one hand, the kid pulled a swipe card from a retractable cord on his belt and ran it through a reader.

Tyler reached the door just as the lock snapped open. “Here, let me get the door for you.”

“Thanks.” The man passed through the doorway.

Just as Tyler was about to follow, another guard stepped from an alcove into the lobby, giving him a scrutinizing once over. Tyler got a strong gut premonition to not challenge the man and let go of the door, turned and walked away. So, much for going in the front.

Back onto the sidewalk he headed south to the end of the block, turned the corner and approached the downward-angling driveway into the basement garage. The entire concrete slope was ablaze from two high intensity spotlights mounted on the header just above the rolled down security door. Casually he sauntered down to the door and peered through the slats. Sure enough, on the ceiling twenty feet away, a TV camera angled directly at him. So much for the strategy of following a car in before the metal door could roll back down. Sure, there was a small chance of getting away with it, but the odds were against him. He needed something better.

He returned to the sidewalk and continued on to the alley down which he’d walked earlier in the day. He’d noticed the loading dock, figuring it had possibilities. He stopped to peer into the darkened narrow passage. All the light in the alley came from the loading dock. With a slow, casual stride he entered, eyes searching for a back door or alcove from which to watch. He found it a quarter of the length in; a recessed back door. Perfect. Close enough so that the viewing angle included ninety percent of the dock, yet sufficiently out of range of the high ceiling lights to remain hidden. On his right a large green dumpster blocked any view into his hiding place from the street. Even so, with his dark clothes he’d probably remain invisible if someone walking past looked directly at him.

Two workmen in denim overalls were sitting on the dock, legs dangling over the edge, smoking and talking. He was close enough to hear most words. One cracked a joke. The other laughed, then, after a deep drag, flicked his cigarette into the center of the alley where it hit with a shower of sparks.

Tyler dropped down on his haunches, back against the door, and waited.

Five minutes later, the other man mashed his cigarette ember against the metal edge of the dock sending another shower of sparks to the ground. Both workers stood, brushed their hands on their gray overalls and reentered the building through a steel fire door.

Tyler waited two minutes before sliding from his hiding place. To the left the dock stairs led up from the alley to the deep loading platform backed by a set of roll-up steel doors. Near the top of the stairs was the single pedestrian door the workmen had used. Heart pounding, he climbed the stairs. And tried the doorknob. Locked. He looked down at a small hunk of wood lying just to the side of the jamb.
Must’ve used it to prop the door open.

What now, pal?

Tyler returned to the shadowy doorway, hunkered down and waited.

Twenty minutes later a man wearing a security uniform came through the same doorway. This time Tyler saw him kick the block of wood into place with the tip of his shoe, letting the edge of the door come to rest without quite closing. The rent-a-cop pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, tapped out a smoke, and lit up with a clanky Zippo. About two drags into it his radio squawked. After several staccato words into the mike, he pinched off the ember, replaced the cigarette in the pack, opened the door but either forgot or did not bother to remove the block from the jamb.

Tyler stepped tentatively into the alley and was about to take his first step toward the loading dock when a familiar voice behind him ordered, “Stop.”

He turned. Yusef Khan stood next to the dumpster aiming a gun at Tyler’s heart.

“F
UCK! WHERE IS it?” Benson threw a CD case on the floor.

Jill Richardson shot him a hard look. “If I knew where he hid it, we’d have it by now, Art.” She continued surveying Mathews’s small living room/dining room combination looking for another spot to check. They’d been through the small desk and the PC—the most likely place to start.

“You sure he said it was here? I went through these with a fine tooth comb,” he said, picking up another music CD.

“Damn it, Art, must you always use such tired, old clichés? Come up with something more original once in a while, for Christ’s sake.” Her eyes continued searching the room. “How about the DVDs … we haven’t checked those yet.” She crossed the room to a small TV and DVD player, a small stack of DVDs immediately to the right. She picked off the top box, opened it, threw it on the floor. Then the next.

A knock came from the door.

Jill’s arm stopped in the middle of tossing another container. She locked eyes with Benson. He mouthed the words, “Who is it?”

Jill shrugged.

Another knock. This one harder, more insistent. From the other side of the door came, “Tyler? I know you’re in there. I can hear you.”

Jill kicked off her shoes, moved to the door to peer through the security hole. An Asian woman with determined eyes raised her knuckles to knock again. It clicked. Jill had noticed the silver framed portrait on Tyler’s desk. The same woman. Presumably his estranged wife.