Authors: Shawn Grady
Tomorrow We Die (24 page)
I found myself in the ambulance entrance breezeway – a narrow corridor with a stash of backboards leaning against one wall and a door to a small room with a desk for charting by paramedics. Behind me were the sliding doors to the emergency room, in front, the automatic doors to the ambulance parking.
I’d been marked in the scrubs I now wore. Inside the hospital I’d show up on every corridor security camera. The outside grounds and parking lots were too wide open.
“Jonathan.”
My muscles tightened.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bones emerge from the charting room.
“Bones.”
“What are you doing here?”
I escorted him back to the room.
“Hey, Jonathan. What’s going on?”
My heart drummed. I locked the door behind us.
He shook loose and sat on the desk. “Nice scrubs.”
“Give me your uniform.”
“What?”
I pulled off my shirt. “Just do it.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I know I said if you ever need anything . . . But I kind of need this outfit right now. I’m on until midnight.”
I kicked off my shoes and dropped my pants, shoving the scrubs in his chest. “Tell dispatch you’re out of service for biohazard. You had a call with a ton of blood and emesis, and you need to swing by Aprisa to retrieve another uniform from your locker.”
“You’re serious.”
“Never been more.”
“And now what? Where are you going?”
“I have to find Naomi. Then Dr. Eli.”
“I actually just saw her.”
“Where?”
“A guy from transport was wheeling her out of the ER.”
“Do you know where to?”
“Yeah.” He looked down and to the side. “Yeah. I said hi and asked her if she was all right and what happened. She said it was a long story but that she’d be okay.” He looked up. “She said they were taking her to the floor for overnight observation.”
“Third or fourth level?”
“Not sure.”
“Okay. Great. Now take off your clothes.”
He started unbuttoning his uniform shirt. “I’ve had nightmares about this. Only we’re in the ambulance and you have a Swedish acc – ”
“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips. Conversation carried in from the hallway and then dissipated.
He tossed me his shirt and I squeezed into it. His brass name badge showed his last name only.
He unbuckled his pants and paused. “You know, if it ever gets out about us being in here like this, I – ”
“Bones, would you just – ”
“Okay. All right.” He pulled out his wallet, keys, and cell phone.
I eyed the phone.
“What?” His shoulders slumped. “You want my cell too, don’t you?” He stood in his tighty-whities, hands on his hips, and stared at the ceiling. He looked the diving figure in Mousetrap. He handed me his cell phone and two twenties from his wallet.
“You’re a true friend, Bones.”
I tucked in the shirt but had to leave the pants unbuttoned and secured with the belt. I turned the doorknob. “Hey, Bones?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have your Aprisa ball cap?”
“Sure. Back in the rig.”
“In your backpack, front-side compartment?”
“That’s it.”
“Thanks again.”
He waved a hand, still in his underwear. “Ah, don’t mention it.”
I walked with head bowed out to the ambulance, opened the compartment door, and retrieved the hat from Bones’s bag. I seated it low on my brow and reentered the hospital through a different set of doors, ones that led through the patient waiting area.
I avoided eye contact and kept my hands pocketed, bypassing the elevator and opting for the stairs. At the third floor I exited and approached a nurses’station, where a blond-haired woman in scrubs sat with her back to me, sorting through files.
I stepped to the counter. “Excuse me. I’m looking for a patient named Naomi Foster.” The nurse spun around, and I recognized her at once. “Bobbi?”
“Hey!”
“Hi. I thought you – ”
“Worked at Saint Mary’s? I still do. But I was offered a good per diem gig here. It’s floor nursing, but hey, easy money, right?”
“Right.” I adjusted the ballcap.
“What about you? You must’ve cleared up all that trouble with Aprisa and everything.”
“Yes. Yeah. All that.”
“That was fast.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I never believed it. Just didn’t sound like you, you know?”
“I do.”
She leaned back and played with a pencil. “I bet you didn’t just come here to chat with me, did you? Who’d you want to see again?”
“Naomi Foster.”
She rolled the chair back and shuffled through files behind her. “She just come in?”
“Had to’ve been within the last hour or so.”
Bobbi shook her head. “I’m not seeing her. You sure she’s on the third floor?”
“Could be upstairs.”
“Hold on, let me check.” She typed on a keyboard and hunched her shoulders. “There she is. Room 424.”
“Excellent.” I checked the corridors and lowered my voice. “And hey, Bobbi?”
“What’s up?”
“My supervisor doesn’t know I came up here to check on a patient, and they’ve been super strict lately. So . . . if anyone asks . . .”
“I never even saw you.” She grinned.
I tapped the counter and backed away. “Thanks so much.”
“Sure thing.” She glanced at my name badge, paused, and then smirked. “Good talking with you . . . Mr. McCoy.”
I froze midstep, remembering that I had Bones’s uniform on. My mouth hung open, not sure what to say.
“Go.” She waved a hand. “I don’t even want to know.”
A hive of security officers buzzed around the fourth-floor elevator lobby.
It made sense that, since I arrived with Naomi, they’d expect me to try to visit her. I took a second glance through the window in the stairwell door. There was no way to get through that without being stung.
I wanted to punch the wall, to break something.
I descended in a slow simmer, each flight adding to my anger. If Naomi couldn’t be reached, then I’d have to meet up with Eli on my own. Perhaps he could get her discharged.
I crossed the parking lot and descended the morgue stairs. I remembered the code thanks to Eli’s gallows humor. Standard casket dimensions – eighty-four inches by twenty-eight inches.
A metal click coincided with a green light. I pressed against the door and took a last look up the stairs that led to the parking lot. Most spaces up there were empty, office employees gone for the night, brightness from the light standards washed out the evening sky.
Shadows filled the basement hallway. A single fluorescent security light shone in the middle of the exam room. Through the glass wall the space looked deserted, sterile, and cold. I opened the steel-framed door. The air inside was quite different than I expected.
Hot.
Oven hot.
I stepped in, letting the door ease shut. “Eli?”
The exam tables were empty, Eli’s office dark and decorated by small glowing lights of computer peripherals.
Something tapped.
I shot a glance at the wall of body drawers.
“Hello?”
I heard it again. Like a pebble in a dryer.
My throat was parched. I couldn’t swallow.
Where was the light switch?
The entry wall was all glass. I couldn’t make out a switch on the others.
I shouted. “Eli?”
The tapping stopped.
I froze.
It started again.
I leaned my ear to it, trying to isolate it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The refrigeration drawers mocked me. Stacked four high, five wide. Carcasses waiting for examination.
All dead bodies.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I moved closer.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Past the exam tables.
Up to the drawer wall. I put my hand on it. “Eli?”
The sound ceased.
I looked around, searching for anything out of place. Any sign of struggle, any clue.
The tapping came again. A glint caught my eye.
At the far end of the exam room. By the crematory oven.
On the floor.
I inched toward it, away from the drawers. The sound grew louder. The object was small, metallic, and if I turned my head just right, it reflected the security light.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I didn’t realize what it was until I picked it up and held it in my palm.
I brought a shaking hand to my mouth and stared at a brass pendant with singed and discolored edges – the etched type still legible. . . .
Do No Harm.
“Eli!”
I spun toward the crematory oven, now comprehending the tapping and knocking to be coming from it, like a car engine cooling down in a garage. I seized the lever for the oven doors and cranked open its steel jaws. Heat dispersed. And through the waving glow within I saw a flat body tray on the rollers. A long pile of ashen remains lay upon it.
I squeezed my fist tight. The pendant dug into my palm. Breath escaped me. My head became light. I stumbled backward, catching myself on an exam table.
My grip loosened, blood trickling from my hand.
Murderers!
I collapsed as if someone had struck me in the gut
.
What now?
Focus.
Think.
I strode to Eli’s office and shoved through the door. My fingers found a light switch.
Computer, microscopes, a specimen fridge, a small safe. He’d said he was on to something, that he was nearing a conclusion. That he needed to be
sure
.
I forced myself to concentrate and sat down at the keyboard. I tapped the space bar. A log-in screen materialized. Wiggling fingers over the keys, I thought of obvious passwords.
eli123
elipetrov123
His deceased wife –
Maureen
maureen123
Casket dimensions –
8428
No luck. I could be there all night and still not get it. Even if I was close with any of my attempts, the variations alone . . .
I tilted my head back on the chair. Eli’s pendant twin fell into my sternal notch. I lifted it up – brilliant brass, its edges unmarred. The Hippocratic Oath.
Maybe . . . .
I typed
hippocrates
into the password field.
The entry screen flicked with a start-up tune. A desktop image of Eli and Maureen appeared. They held glasses in toast – their fortieth anniversary. It had been a great party.
Icons appeared. The third folder down read
Poisoning Analysis.
It held dozens of files. Many were filled with lab values and data. But one was entitled
Letell_Conclusions
. It had the current date. I opened it and skimmed to the end. The last sentence said it all.
Therefore, based on the poisoning data collected and evaluated from Simon Letell’s liver and kidneys, there can be little doubt that the primary cause of death was secondary to morphine sulfate overdose.
Morphine.
Of course.
When I first worked on Letell, I’d injected just enough –Narcan to reverse the opiate effects and illicit consciousness, however brief.
I scrolled down, expecting to see more. But that was it. The end of the report. I closed it out.
One more file stood out, simply titled
JT_NF
.
I let the cursor rest atop it. Jonathan Trestle and Naomi Foster? I double-clicked. Gone were any semblances of legal format and data documentation. This was a personal note.
Dearest Jonathan and Naomi,
If you’re reading this, then we’ve likely been separated and the situation further devolved.
Time runs thin. There’s much to explain, but understand this – the murders happened by means of morphine sulfate overdose. After all my searching for some complex and obscure poison, it turned out to be a common opiate. The evidence suggests that it was injected – I’ve found points of insertion at jugular veins in two of the bodies, though I’m sure an intramuscular injection of the same massive quantities would prove just as lethal.
As a precaution I’ve locked two vials of the antidote Narcan in the lab safe – one for each of you. The safe code is 5–12–9, the alphabetical-numeric equivalent to my name.
The note ended there, as though he intended to write more but had been cut off. I walked over to the safe, spun Eli’s code, and pushed down the lever. Inside were two vials of Narcan next to two needled syringes. I held one of the small containers up to the light.
In the back of the safe lay a handwritten note.
J and N,
I leave these with the hope that they’ll never be needed.
A scream shot down the stairs.
Scuffling, and the sound of footsteps. A muffled cry.
I flicked off the office light and scampered down behind Eli’s desk. I pulled back on the syringe plunger, uncapped the needle, and held a vial of Narcan over it. My hands trembled so hard I couldn’t land the sharp on the rubber membrane. I poked my hand twice before inserting the needle into the vial.
A muted scream.
A man’s voice.
I injected air in the vial and drew up the liquid.
The exam room door slammed open. Feet shuffled.
I capped the needle and palmed it like a knife. From the desk’s edge I peered out.
Dr. Kurtz cupped a hand over Naomi’s mouth. In his other hand he held a needled syringe by her neck. He jerked Naomi into the exam room. She hobbled, eyes wide and frightened.
Kurtz tightened his grip on her face. He forced her head back, exposing her neck. “It’s not that big of a morgue, Jonathan.”
He stopped out of sight near the center of the exam room. “It may help you to know that I have a rather sharp object pointed at a cohort of yours.”
Naomi yelled.
“Pipe down.”
Scuffling.
“Stop. Now.”
She quieted.
I slipped the Narcan syringe into the side pocket of Bones’s medic pants and stood in the doorway to Eli’s office. “Here.”
Kurtz smiled, hair hanging wild, his round glasses stained with dried sweat spots around the edges. A vein bulged at the side of his forehead. “Jo-ha-nathan. There you are. Took you a bit.” A scarlet trail trickled down Naomi’s neck.
I locked eyes with her. “What’re you doing, Kurtz?”
“It isn’t obvious by now? I honestly expected more from you. Maybe you really did cheat on your MCATs.”
His focus shifted to Eli’s computer screen in the office. A flash of concern broke his air of confidence. He sidestepped with Naomi, positioning himself between me and the exit. “Been doing some reading, have you, Jonny-boy? Like a good med student? Catching up on a little research?”
Naomi torqued the pinky finger of the hand covering her mouth.
Kurtz shouted.
“Jonathan!” she said. “He’s going to kill us both. Don’t – ”
Kurtz jerked her back by the hair and kicked behind her knees. She hit the floor. I lunged forward.
He waved the syringe. “Back off. Off!”
I took two slow steps backward.
“Farther.”
I took two more. He stepped on Naomi’s calves and kept a violent grip on her hair. Her neck craned, forcing her to stare at the ceiling.
His face shook, covered with sweat. “It was working.”
“What was?”
“Aprisa. All of it. Half a dozen cities all lined out.”
“What are you talking about?”
He grinned. “Who do you think made Aprisa everything it is?”
“So being medical director was a front.”
“A bonus. The company has to look like a community endeavor, not a corporate one. It benefits the many.”
“You’ve been lying about the true costs.”
“I do more with less. That’s good business.”
“You mean it’s lucrative.”
“And going nationwide, Jonathan. The public loves it. It’s cheap, not tax subsidized, and an ambulance will always be there.”
“Eventually.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Tell that to Letell. Who’d you bribe to get the county to sign off on it, Kurtz?”
He jutted his lower jaw.
I walked to an exam table. “You have a business model that could make you a fortune, but with one hiccup – you have to cover up the fact that it doesn’t actually work.”
“There’s no turning back. Didn’t we talk about this? About what it takes to succeed? You were on your way. You had it all laid out. But you just couldn’t shut up.”
“Is it just the hope of riches, Kurtz?”
His eyes squinted.
I ran my fingers over the cool flat metal. “No. No, you need the money now, don’t you? You owe somebody.”
He huffed. “Some folks are not very forgiving of their debtors.”
“I used to look up to you. I thought you cared about people, but what you cared about was buying your way into power. Is that how you became the med school’s youngest dean?”
“Don’t pontificate to me. Self-interest drives us all.” He yanked Naomi’s hair. “The shrewd will always rule the ignorant.”
“You bribed and borrowed, and now your plans are falling apart. That’s it, isn’t it? Took a fat loan from some shady characters, and now your neck is on the line. How were you going to repay it, Kurtz?”
He shifted his head and swallowed.
Sweat rolled down my spine. “You’re siphoning off Aprisa profits to pay the man. Easy money when you can doctor the response times.”
He shook his head. “I was wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “I was wrong, Jonathan. You actually are a bright fellow.” He cracked his neck.
“You’ve lied and murdered. How much did Trent get paid, only to sacrifice his own life?”
Kurtz pulled a syringe from his shirt pocket and slid it on the floor toward me. “You know, it’s been
so
pleasant chatting like this. But what you need to do now, if you want your girlfriend to live, is uncap that needle and shoot yourself up with its contents. No questions asked.”
An air bubble floated near the plunger. “What is it?”
“Ah, ah. No questions.”
“You expect me to inject myself with this? Why should I believe that you won’t kill Naomi?”
“A narc-popping paramedic suicide is easy to establish. You’re a criminal now. Who’s going to question your death?” He twisted his grip on Naomi. “As for this one, I’ve taken persuasive measures with her family to make sure she stays quiet, indefinitely.”
I brushed my hand over the pants pocket with the Narcan. I had to hope Kurtz’s syringe held only morphine.
“It’s simple, Jonathan. If you want her to live.”
Naomi jerked and shoved his hand away. “He’s lying. He’ll kill us b – ”
He jabbed the needle into her neck.
“No.” I threw out my hands.
He set his thumb on the plunger. “Do it.” He started depressing the syringe. “Pick. It. Up.”
“Okay. Stop. Okay. I’ll do what you say.”
I reached for the needle on the floor.