Harmful Intent (30 page)

Jeffrey's exhausted fingers dug back into the wood-paneled door. Devlin had managed to get in! Maybe he had picked the lock. Jeffrey didn't need to hear the sound of the door slamming to know the man was angry.

Jeffrey began to worry again about the stupid mop lying on the kitchen floor like some sort of arrow pointing toward the pantry. He wished he'd pulled it in immediately after it had fallen. Jeffrey's only hope now was that Devlin would go upstairs, giving Jeffrey a chance to flee out the back door.

Light footfalls quickly toured the ground floor of the house, finally coming into the kitchen, where they abruptly stopped. Jeffrey held his breath. In his mind's eye he could see Devlin studying the mop as it pointed at the pantry and scratching his head. With the last bit of reserve strength in his fingers, Jeffrey pushed his nails into the wood of the pantry door. Maybe Devlin would try it and think it was locked.

Jeffrey's arms twitched as he felt the pantry door vibrate. Devlin had his hand on the outer handle and was giving it a tug. Jeffrey strained, but the door still budged. The slight tug was followed by a definite yank that caused the door to open about an inch before slamming shut.

The next yank was overwhelming. It pulled the door open and yanked Jeffrey from the pantry. He stumbled into the kitchen, raising his hands to protect his head . . .

Reeling back from fright, Kelly clasped a hand to her chest and let out a short, high-pitched wail. She dropped the mop she'd picked up from the floor, along with the envelope she'd just brought home from St. Joe's. Delilah shot out of the pantry and disappeared into the dining room.

They stood looking at each other for a minute. Kelly was the first to recover.

“What is this, some sort of a game to scare me every time I
come home?” she demanded. “I came through here tiptoeing around, thinking you might be asleep.”

All Jeffrey could manage to say was that he was sorry; he hadn't meant to scare her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her against the wall separating the dining room and the kitchen.

“What are you doing now?” Kelly asked with alarm.

Jeffrey put a finger to his lips to shush her. “Remember the man I told you about, the one who shot at me? Devlin.” He whispered.

Kelly nodded.

“He was here. At the front door. He even came around back and tried the door to the deck.”

“Nobody was out there when I came in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Kelly said. “I'll check.” She started to leave but Jeffrey grabbed her arm. Only then could she see how terrified he was.

“He may have a gun.”

“You want me to call the police?”

“No,” Jeffrey said. He didn't know what he wanted her to do.

“Why don't you get back in the pantry and I'll look around,” Kelly suggested.

Jeffrey nodded. He didn't like the idea of Kelly facing Devlin alone, but since he was the one Devlin wanted, he thought he'd leave her alone. One way or another they had to find out if Devlin was lurking about the premises. Jeffrey went back to the pantry.

Kelly went to the front door and checked the front of the house. She looked up and down the street. Then, walking around the back of the house, she checked the rear. She found some muddy footprints across the back deck, but that was all. She went back inside and got Jeffrey to come out from the pantry. As soon as he did, Delilah scooted back inside.

Still unconvinced, Jeffrey warily made his own tour around the house, first inside, then out. Kelly tagged along. He was genuinely mystified. Why had Devlin retreated? Not that he wanted to question such an unexpected bit of luck.

Returning inside the house, Jeffrey said, “How the hell did he find me? I haven't told anyone I'm here—have you?”

“Not a soul.”

Jeffrey headed directly to the guest room and pulled out his
duffel bag from its hiding place under the bed. Kelly stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I've got to go before he comes back,” he said.

“Wait a minute. Let's talk about this,” Kelly said. “Maybe we could confer before you just decide to leave. I thought we were in this together.”

“I can't be here when he comes back,” Jeffrey said.

“Do you really think Devlin knows you're here?”

“Obviously,” Jeffrey said almost irritably. “What do you think, he's going around ringing every doorbell in Boston?”

“No need to be sarcastic,” Kelly said patiently.

“I'm sorry,” Jeffrey said. “I'm not too tactful when I'm terrified.”

“I think there is a reason why he came and rang the bell,” Kelly said. “You left Chris's notes in your hotel room. They had his name all over them. He was probably just following up on it, wanting to ask me a few questions.”

Jeffrey's eyes narrowed as he considered the possibility. “You really think so?” he asked, warming to the idea.

“The more I think about it, the more that seems the most reasonable explanation. Otherwise, why would he leave? If he knew you were here, he'd just park himself outside until you showed up. He would have been more persistent.”

Jeffrey nodded. Kelly's argument was making sense.

“I think he may come back,” Kelly continued. “But I don't think he knows you're here. All it means is that we have to be even more careful and we have to think up some explanation for your having Chris's notes with you, in case he asks me.”

Jeffrey nodded again.

“Any suggestions?” she asked.

Jeffrey shrugged his shoulders. “We're both anesthesiologists. You could say Chris and I did research together.”

“We might have to do better than that,” Kelly said. “But it's a thought. Anyhow, you're staying, not going, so put your duffel bag back under the bed.” She turned on her heels and left the guest room.

Jeffrey sighed with relief. He'd never actually wanted to leave. He tossed the bag back under the bed and followed Kelly.

The first thing Kelly did was draw the drapes in the dining room, kitchen, and family room. Then she went to the kitchen and put the mop back in the pantry. She handed Jeffrey the envelope from St. Joe's. It contained the printout of the professional staff and employee roster at St. Joe's.

Jeffrey took the envelope over to the couch and opened it. He slipped out the computer paper and unfolded it. There were a lot of names. What Jeffrey was interested in doing was reading over the professional staff to see if any of the people he knew at the Memorial had privileges at St. Joe's.

“Should we make some dinner?” Kelly asked.

“I guess,” he said, looking up. After the episode in the pantry he wasn't sure he'd be able to eat. A half hour earlier he never would have guessed that about this time he'd be relaxing on the couch, thinking about dinner.

“Excuse me,” Devlin began. A sixty-some-year-old woman with white hair had opened the door of her Newton home. She was impeccably dressed in a white linen skirt, a blue sweater, and a simple strand of pearls. As she tried to focus on Devlin, she reached for her glasses, which were dangling from a gold chain around her neck.

“My word, young man,” she said after giving Devlin a good once-over. “You look like a member of the Hell's Angels.”

“The resemblance has been noted before, ma'am, but to tell you the truth, I've never set foot on a motorcycle. They're just too darn dangerous.”

“Then why dress in this outlandish style?” she asked, clearly puzzled.

Devlin looked in the woman's eyes. She seemed genuinely interested. Hers was a far cry from the reception he'd gotten at the other Everson residences. “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

“I'm always interested in what motivates you young people.”

Being considered a young person warmed Devlin's heart. At forty-eight, it had been a long time since he'd thought of himself as young. “I've found this manner of dress helps me in my work,” he said.

“And, pray tell, what work do you do that requires you to look so . . .” The woman paused, searching for the right word. “ . . . so intimidating.”

Devlin laughed, then coughed. He knew he should stop smoking. “I'm a bounty hunter. I bring in criminals who are trying to evade the law.”

“How exciting!” the woman said. “How noble.”

“I'm not sure how noble it is, ma'am. I do it for money.”

“Everyone has to be paid,” said the woman. “What on earth brings you to my door?”

Devlin explained about Christopher Everson, emphasizing that he wasn't a fugitive but that he might have some information about a fugitive.

“No one in our family is named Christopher,” she said, “but it seems to me someone mentioned a Christopher Everson a few years ago. I believe the man I'm thinking of was a physician.”

“That sounds encouraging,” Devlin said. “I had an idea Christopher Everson was a doctor.”

“Perhaps I could ask my husband when he comes home. He's more acquainted with the Everson side of our family. After all, it's his. Is there some way I could get in touch with you?”

Devlin gave his name and Michael Mosconi's office phone number. He told her she could leave a message there. Then he thanked her for her help and went back to his car.

Devlin shook his head as he circled Ralph Everson's name on his list. He thought it might be worth a call back if no better leads turned up.

Devlin started his car and pulled out into the street. The next town on his list was Dedham. Two Eversons were listed there. His plan was to sweep around the south of the city to hit Dedham, Canton, and Milton before heading back into the city limits.

Devlin took Hammond Street to Tremont, and eventually to the old Route One. That would take him directly into the center of Dedham. As he drove, he laughed about the range of experiences he was having. It was going from one extreme to the other. He thought about the episode at Kelly C. Everson's. He'd been sure someone was at home, having heard a clatter of something hitting the floor just beyond the door. Unless it was a pet. He'd circled that address as well. He'd go back there if nothing better turned up elsewhere.

Finding this doctor was definitely not the easy job Devlin had thought it would be. For the first time he began to wonder what the circumstances were concerning Jeffrey's murder-two conviction. Normally he never bothered to find much out about the nature of the crime involved unless it suggested the type of firepower he'd need. And somebody's guilt or innocence was not a concern for Devlin.

But Jeffrey Rhodes was becoming a mystery as well as a challenge. Mosconi hadn't told him much about Rhodes except to explain his bail situation and to say that he didn't think Rhodes
acted like the criminal type. And all of Devlin's requests for information that he'd put out through his network of underworld connections came back blank. No one knew anything about Jeffrey Rhodes. Apparently he'd never done anything wrong, a situation unique in Devlin's bounty-hunting experience. So why the huge bail? Just what had Dr. Jeffrey Rhodes done?

Devlin was also baffled by Rhodes's behavior since he'd tried to hightail it to Rio. Now Rhodes seemed to be altogether different. He wasn't acting like the usual fugitive on the run. In fact, since Devlin had taken away Jeffrey's ticket to South America, Jeffrey didn't seem to be running anyplace. He was working on something—Devlin knew it. He felt the papers he found at the Essex proved it. Devlin wondered if it would help to get one of the police surgeons to take a look at the material. With the Eversons not panning out, Devlin could use another angle.

 

Despite Kelly's insistence to the contrary, Jeffrey helped with the cleanup after their dinner of swordfish and artichokes. She was at the sink, scraping the dishes as he ferried them from the table in the family room.

“The OR wasn't the only place that had a tragedy today,” Kelly said as she tried to wipe her forehead with the back of her forearm that showed above the rubber glove she was wearing. “We had our problems in the ICU as well.”

Jeffrey took a sponge to wipe off the table. “What happened?” he asked absently. He was preoccupied with his own thoughts. He was worrying about Devlin's inevitable next visit.

“One of the hospital nurses died,” Kelly said. “She was a good friend and a good nurse.”

“Was she working when this happened?”

“No, she worked evenings in the OR,” Kelly answered. “She came in this morning by ambulance sometime around eight.”

“Auto accident?”

Kelly shook her head and went back to scraping the dishes. “Nope. Near as they could figure, she'd had a seizure at home.”

Jeffrey held up from his sponging and stood upright. The word “seizure” evoked the memory of the whole sequence with Patty Owen. As if it were yesterday he could see her face as she looked at him for help just before her seizure had hit.

“It was terrible,” Kelly continued. “She had this seizure or whatever it was in the bathtub. She hit her head something fierce. Enough to fracture her skull.”

“How awful,” Jeffrey said. “Is that what killed her?”

“It certainly didn't help,” Kelly said. “But it wasn't what killed her. From the moment the EMTs got to her, she had an irregular heartbeat. The conduction system of her heart was shot. She died of an arrest in the unit. We had her going for a little while on a pacemaker. But the heart was just too weak.”

“Wait a minute,” Jeffrey said. He was stunned by the similarities between Kelly's description of this sequence of events and the sequence in Patty Owen's reaction to the Marcaine in her disastrous Caesarean. Jeffrey wanted to be sure he had it straight.

“One of the OR nurses was brought into the hospital after a seizure and some sort of cardiac problem?” he asked.

“That's right,” Kelly said. She opened the dishwasher door and started loading the dirty dishes. “It was so sad. It was like having a member of your family die.”

“Any diagnosis?”

Kelly shook her head. “Nope. They first thought of a brain tumor but they found nothing with the NMR. She must have had some developmental heart problem. That's what one of the internal medicine residents told me.”

“What was her name?” Jeffrey asked.

“Gail Shaffer.”

“Do you know anything about her personal life?” Jeffrey asked.

“A little,” Kelly said. “Like I said, she was a friend.”

“Tell me.”

“She was single, but I believe she had a steady boyfriend.”

“You know the boyfriend?”

“No. Just that he was a medical student,” Kelly said. “Hey, why the third degree?”

“I'm not sure,” Jeffrey said, “but as soon as you started telling me about Gail, I couldn't help thinking of Patty. It was the same sequence. Seizure and cardiac conduction problems.”

“You're not suggesting . . .” Kelly couldn't finish her sentence.

Jeffrey shook his head. “I know. I know. I'm starting to sound like one of those crazies who sees a conspiracy behind everything. But it's such an unusual sequence. I guess at this point I'm just sensitive to anything that sounds even remotely suspicious.”

 

By eleven
P
.
M
. Devlin felt it was time to give up for the night. It was too late to expect people to open their doors to a stranger.
Besides, he'd done enough for one day and he was exhausted. He wondered if his intuition about Chris Everson's even being in the Boston area was correct. He'd covered all the Eversons in the southern suburbs of Boston without any appreciable results. One other person said that he'd heard there was a Dr. Christopher Everson, but he didn't know where the man lived or worked.

Since he was in Boston proper, Devlin decided to pay a quick visit to Michael Mosconi. He knew it was late, but he didn't care. He drove into the North End and double parked, along with everyone else, on Hanover Street. From there he walked through the narrow streets to Unity Street, where Michael owned a modest three-story house.

“I hope this means you have some good news for me,” Michael said as he opened the door for Devlin. Michael was dressed in a maroon, satin-looking polyester robe. His feet were stuck into aged leather slippers. Even Mrs. Mosconi appeared at the top of the stairs to see who this late-night caller was. She had on a red chenille robe. Her hair was in pincurlers, which Devlin thought had gone out with the fifties. She also had some glop on her face, which Devlin guessed was to retard the inevitable aging process. God help any burglar who inadvertently broke into this house, thought Devlin. One look at Mrs. Mosconi in the dark and he'd die of sheer terror.

Mosconi took Devlin into the kitchen and offered him a beer, which Devlin accepted with enthusiasm. Mosconi went to the refrigerator and handed Devlin a bottle of Rolling Rock.

“No glass?” Devlin asked with a smile.

Mosconi frowned. “Don't push your luck.”

Devlin took a long pull before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well? Did you get him?”

Devlin shook his head. “Not yet.”

“What is this, a social call?” Michael asked with his usual sarcasm.

“Business,” Devlin said. “What is this Jeffrey Rhodes being sent up for?”

“Christ, give me patience,” Michael said while looking heavenward and pretending to pray. Then, looking back at Devlin, he said, “I told you: murder-two. He was convicted of second-degree murder.”

“Did he do it?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Michael said with
exasperation. “He was convicted. That's enough for me. What the hell difference does it make?”

“This case isn't run-of-the-mill,” Devlin said. “I need more information.”

Mosconi heaved an exasperated sigh. “The guy's a doctor. His conviction had something to do with malpractice and drugs. Beyond that, I don't know. Devlin, what the hell's the matter with you? What difference does all this make? I want Rhodes, understand?”

“I need more information,” Devlin repeated. “I want you to find out the details of his crime. I think if I knew more about his conviction, I'd have a better idea as to what the guy's up to now.”

“Maybe I should just call in reinforcements,” Mosconi said. “Maybe a little friendly competition between, say, a half dozen of you bounty hunters would get quicker results.”

Competition was not what Devlin wanted. There was too much money on the line. Thinking quickly, he said: “The one thing in our favor at the moment is the fact that the doc is staying in Boston. If you want him to run, like to South America, where he was headed when I stopped him, then bring in your reinforcements.”

“All I want to know is when you'll have him in jail.”

“Give me a week,” Devlin said. “A week total. Five more days. But you have to get the information I need. This doctor is up to something. As soon as I figure out what it is, I'll find him.”

Devlin left Mosconi's house and returned to his car. He could barely keep his eyes open as he drove back to his Charlestown apartment. But he still had to make contact with Bill Bartley the fellow he'd hired to watch Carol Rhodes. He called on his car phone.

The connection wasn't a very good one. Devlin had to shout to make himself heard above the static.

“Any calls from the doctor?” Devlin yelled into the receiver.

“Not a one,” Bill said. It sounded as if he were on the moon. “The only thing vaguely interesting was a call from an apparent lover. Some stockbroker from L.A. Did you know she was moving to L.A. ?”

“You sure it wasn't Rhodes?” Devlin yelled.

“I don't think so,” Bill said. “They even joked about the doctor in not too flattering terms.”

Wonderful, thought Devlin after hanging up. No wonder
Mosconi hadn't felt Carol and Jeffrey were lovey-dovey. It looked like they were splitting up. He had the feeling that he was throwing his money away keeping Bill on the payroll, but he wasn't willing to take the chance of not tailing Carol. Not yet.

As Devlin climbed the front steps of his apartment building that fronted Monument Square, his legs felt leaden, as if he had been through the battle of Bunker Hill. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in his bed. He knew he'd be asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He turned on the light and paused at the door. His place was a mess. Magazines and empty beer bottles were strewn about. There was a musty, unlived-in smell. Unexpectedly, he felt lonely. Five years previously he had had a wife, two kids, a dog. Then there had been the temptation. “Come on, Dev. What's the matter with you? Don't tell me you couldn't use an extra five grand. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut. Come on, we're all doing it. Just about everybody on the force.”