by Sarah Makela
“I didn’t say that,” Bernard replied smugly as he pulled the vegetable drawer open in the fridge and shuffled through his variety of homegrown, too-big-to-be-real vegetables and fruit. He finally picked a turnip.
“Okay, so, now that you’re home, how about helping getting the wards back to full strength? I’d hate to come around one day and find that we’ve been robbed blind,” Ian said to the gnome and headed toward the computers in the corner.
“Ian, what are you up to?” Hannah asked, keeping an eye on Bernard.
“Just curious to see if we can get any details from Dr. Grant about those other patients. I have a hunch we weren’t given the full list of details to begin with. One sec,” he said as he started to type furiously on the keyboard.
With the gnome in the kitchen and Ian on the computer, she decided it was a good time to cool off. Heading to the bedroom, she sought the book she’d been trying to find time to read for the last week. The book rested on her nightstand, and she thumbed to the spot she had last left off. Barely a chapter in, there was a knock on the door.
“I think we may have something,” Ian said and pulled out a printed sheet of paper with organs and numbers. “I got these from Dr. Grant. It’s the list of patients from the hospital with the patient IDs matching the organs. Seemingly, some of them wanted the list to be kept under the radar. However, that’s not all. Dr. Grant sent me a classified document on the organs. I skimmed it through, but it would appear that in some cases the organs function so well compared to the previous ones, that the body creates a type of a bond to the new bio-organ. In a few trials with the military, this resulted in one marine having to go to psychiatric care due to, and I quote, wanting to get injured to get more bio-organs. Only treatment they found that worked was similar to that of a drug-abuser. Cutting him cold and replacing the organ with a natural, real one, instead. Even then, he’ll probably spend years in recovery,” Ian said, eyes beaming.
“So, what are you saying?” Hannah said, placing the book to the side.
“I think one of the patients found a way to replace the organs. One of them maybe knew the others and wanted theirs?” Ian said and gave her a list of the patient IDs.
“We have kidneys that we know belong to Hendrickson. Ingrid had the small intestine. That’s two out of the list. Look at what remains. Liver, lungs, pancreas, heart, stomach, large intestines, eyes, and a spleen. I’m tracking down the rest of the people now,” Ian said. “From what I know right here, the previous four victims, according to the autopsy report, had lost the large intestine, eyes, spleen, and a pancreas. Two middle-aged businessmen from a well-off neighborhood, a banker, and one dentist from downtown. Therefore, that leaves us with a killer, five dead bodies including Ingrid. Meaning there are six other innocent people. The seventh will be the killer.”
“If that’s true, we need to be quick, or the other patients might become victims faster than we can figure out who is behind this, especially if they know we’re on his or her trail. Could you get backgrounds on these patients that were killed first?” Hannah pointed at the names on top of the list.
“Sure. I’ll get started on it and look up the medical reports,” Ian said and then walked out of the bedroom.
Chapter Nine
It had taken him a few hours, but finally, he was ready to show Hannah his conclusions. He tapped on the bedroom door and waited for an answer. Getting no response, he opened the door to find she had fallen asleep while reading her book, her hand in between the pages.
Smiling at the sight, he got closer and picked the book up, placing a bookmark in it. Moving closer, he inhaled the floral scent of her hair and let it permeate his senses.
“Good evening, sweetie.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead.
With a slight grumpiness, she slowly woke up and stretched. Giving her a hug, he felt again the tender urge to keep her from harm. Their profession might have its risks, but they both accepted them. Still, he tried his best to ensure she was protected.
“What’s up, Ian? I think I might have fallen asleep.” She yawned again and turned on another light in the bedroom.
“What’s going on over there? Any POKEY-POKEY FUN GAMES? Why wasn’t I invited? Uncle Bernie knows all the sweet spots. Trust me, I’m a gnome.” Bernard gave a loud, cackling laugh from the hall as he poked his head around the corner, obviously disappointed he hadn’t caught them in action.
“Oh, shut it. Hannah, I think we have a lead who this guy might be.” Ian gave her a stack of papers.
“What are these?” She flipped through the first few pages.
“The details Grant sent over regarding the dead patients. I wanted to double check for more details, just to verify if anything was changed. After the comparison and adding material in that seemed to have been discarded by the hospital staff, we have a better, fuller picture of the patients. You know that nowadays a lot of the doctors keep their notes on their tablets? Well, in this case, one of them kept their notes there and printed them out.” Ian grinned.
“I thought it was nearly impossible to hunt down those portable little things,” Hannah said, slowly waking up.
“Here is the beauty of it. I didn’t check the tablets. I hacked their printers. Over three quarters of those these days have a small disk inside that keeps track of every single document coming in and out. So, it was just a matter of getting the data out of them all and going over it,” Ian said, smiling widely.
“And what are you so happy about?” Hannah sat up and crossed her legs under her.
“We can basically rule that the killer we are after is male, right?”
Hannah nodded.
“Don’t listen to him. Women are capable of ALL kinds of things.” Bernard climbed on the bed and crawled toward Hannah.
Ian grabbed the gnome by the belt and set him on the ground. “I know. Just bear with me. So, I’ve ruled out the females from the hospital records. That dropped three names out from the seven. We have a banker, a fitness trainer, a lawyer whom we happen to know and finally an executive of an oil drilling company. The banker was pulled aside for questioning related to the MAX Home Security case, and he is now in jail. The fitness trainer left the country with his hockey team to train in Switzerland,” Ian said and waited.
“And what about the remaining two?” Hannah tilted her head to the side.
“Well, the CEO is 89 years old, and he got an eye replacement. Which means, unless he is secretly the son of Hercules, we can rule him out. And, lo and behold, the lawyer is none other than William Redmoore,” Ian said victoriously.
“Let’s pay him a visit then, shall we? Leon’s counting on us.” She rolled out of bed.
They walked to the curb and waved down a cab, not wanting to waste any more time than necessary to get to the hospital. Who knew if Redmoore was even there, but if they called to find out, it would give him a sufficient warning to flee and kill Leon, or worse. They knew what he was capable of; they just needed to take him down before he hurt anyone else.
Ian’s cell phone rang, and he answered. “Hello?”
“Ian, I’m glad you answered,” Mrs. Hendrickson said, panic flooding her voice. “I need your help! Please, hurry. He’s trying to get into my—” She screamed through the phone, and adrenaline kicked Ian in the gut.
“We’ll be right there. Barricade the door. Lock yourself somewhere safe.” Ian ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. “Driver, change of plans.” He gave him Mrs. Hendrickson’s address. “Hurry. It’s life or death.”
The cabbie grunted and slammed his foot on the gas pedal, knocking Ian back in the seat. They swerved and vroomed off, darting in and out of traffic.
Hannah’s face paled, and she raised an eyebrow at Ian in confusion.
“That was Mrs. Hendrickson. She said he’s breaking into her apartment, and the call ended on her screaming.” He held Hannah’s hand, trying to comfort her, but he couldn’t help the tension running through him at the fact that they might not make it i
n time.
He stared out the window, watching the city fly by as the cab driver went all out to get them to their destination. The cityscape changed at last into the middle- to lower-class neighborhood where Mrs. Hendrickson lived. A police car and an ambulance were parked in front of the apartment building. Someone must have called 9-1-1. Good.
He paid the cabbie and mumbled his thanks before getting out and crossing the lawn.
“Excuse me, sir. You can’t go in there,” a police officer said, coming closer to him.
“Is Mrs. Hendrickson okay? Can you at least answer that?” Ian said with a huffed tone. He still didn’t want to anger the police if he could avoid it.
“Step back. We are not able to tell anything to anyone right now,” the officer said forcefully and looked around at the small, gathered crowd. “Stay behind that line there. We don’t want people messing around the area and destroying possible evidence.”
At the sound of that, his heart sank. The police were almost dismissive about Mrs. Hendrickson, and already treating her as if she were dead. He had to know.
They saw a pair of medics walk to the ambulance with a body bag on a stretcher between them.
“I’m sorry, Ian,” he heard Hannah say. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gently turned him around for a hug.
The world around him closed to encompass only Hannah and the brief grief they shared. If they had been more effective, could Mrs. Hendrickson still be alive? The thought haunted him. He fought back the tears he knew were already starting to form and tried to calm himself.
Looking around, they saw a white van with the St. Gregory’s logo on the side pull up before the ambulance left. Reeves and a few of his coworkers departed from the vehicle and headed inside.
“What now?” Ian asked, and looked around the scene. “I can’t shake the feeling that it was our fault, you know?” He turned to Hannah and lifted her chin toward him, seeing the tears in the corners of her eyes.
Hannah shook her head, but suddenly looked a little off to the side, where the angry neighbor who previously snapped at them was standing. “Hey, did you see anything?” Hannah said as she walked toward the man. The guy turned to leave, but Hannah ran to him and turned him around. “Did you see anything? One of your neighbors just got killed, you idiot.”
“Take it easy. I didn’t see anything. I mind my own business, stick to myself, and close my eyes and ears from the rest. Okay, maybe I saw some guy in a jogging suit walking around earlier,” the man said and pulled away from Hannah. “That’s it.”
Ian reached Hannah and tugged her toward the side. “What are you doing? Don’t draw attention. Last thing we need is to spend a day being questioned by the police.” He walked farther off. “Besides, we’ll get the details we want from Reeves.”
He glanced toward the entrance of Mrs. Hendrickson’s building to see Reeves walk out. Now was his chance. He headed in that direction, determined to speak with Reeves, regardless of the police.
It was time to take this game to Redmoore’s doorstep, and to do that, Ian needed to know where the bastard lived.
“What are you doing?” Hannah asked, touching her hand to his shoulder as she tried to keep up.
“Finding out where we need to head next.” He grabbed her hand and held it in his own.
The police officer stepped up and grimaced. “Sir, I said you need to stay behind the line. We can’t tell you anything about what happened in there.”
“Reeves,” Ian called out, holding up his free hand.
Reeves turned his head and waved at them. Next to him a man in white overalls, with a nametag that said Grant, started to walk toward them. “Ah, Ian Bradley and Hannah Franklin, it’s nice to see you both in person. It’s a shame it’s under these circumstances. I hope you’ve found the information I’ve given to be useful. My name is Dr. Daniel Grant. I was the one that contracted you two for this case.” He held the tape up for them to pass under.
The police officer opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it with a sour grimace. He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at the forming crowd.
“Yes, we did,” Ian said. He walked out of earshot of the crowd and lowered his voice. “We need to know where Mr. Redmoore is. Maybe his home address? We have a few urgent questions for him.”
Dr. Grant looked at Reeves, who shrugged slightly. Turning his gaze back to them, he continued, “Well, he should be in his office. It is work hours for him, after all.”
A petite young woman walked toward them. “Actually, sir, he left before lunch. He left a few legal documents for you to sign before heading out. He said something about having a few important errands to run, and that he’d be back tomorrow.” She frowned and started to say something, but shook her head.
“What is it?” Ian asked. If he could pinpoint that there was something wrong with Redmoore’s behavior, then perhaps Dr. Grant would get to the point and give him what he wanted.
“He didn’t seem like himself. I asked him if there was anything I could do, and he started yelling at me.” She wrung her hands and lowered her gaze.
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier, Maggie?” Dr. Grant asked.
“I just didn’t want to cause any problems, you know? You’ve been busy with all of this. I didn’t feel comfortable mentioning it.” She shrugged a slim shoulder and forced a smile.
One of the police officers stepped just out of range and nodded at Dr. Grant.
“I need to go speak with the officers. I’ll get with you two later. Of course, feel free to email me if you need anything.” Dr. Grant shook hands with Ian and then Hannah. “Please pull up Mr. Redmoore’s address for Mr. Bradley and Ms. Franklin.” He walked off and started talking with the police officer, who led him toward one of the cars.
Maggie nodded and pulled out an e-ink pad, which was even fancier and more top of the line than the one Hannah had. Must’ve cost a fortune, but then again, with the hospital, they probably could get away with some of those expenses. She typed on it efficiently and then glanced up. “Okay, would you like me to write it down?”
Hannah shook her head and pulled her own e-ink pad out. “I’m ready for it.”
* * *
Hannah and Ian stood on the sidewalk in front of Redmoore’s home. The concrete facade of the building reminded them more of industrial housing as opposed to something a lawyer might live in. The heavy outside seemed like a bad premonition about things to follow. The air was still cool from the night, just adding to the mood.
There were no cameras, no visible mailbox, and nothing on the outside other than a door and a few windows overlooking where they stood. The roof was worn from the acid rains, but seemed to be still able to shrug off the effects of age.
“Guess this is it,” Ian said, probably for the third time, as he checked the old map of the area, a small section of the city outskirts where the GPS did not function properly.
“You said that about that tiny shack a few hundred feet back. You better be right this time.” Hannah walked slowly toward the door.
The carved, cedar door held images from Greek mythology, finely detailed and contrasting against the otherwise plain building. There was no doorbell, but Ian slammed the heavy brass knocker a few times.
The sound of the knocking penetrated the air in all directions, like gunfire, echoing a few moments after Ian had let his hand go. They waited a moment, but nothing happened.
“Okay, it seems no one is home, or at least bothering to open the door,” Ian said and tried the doorknob to find it was locked.
“This will only take a moment.” Hannah searched her backpack for a set of lock picks she had obtained for a case a few weeks back.
The lock itself was simple, but significantly older than the one she had been working with before. It took significant effort just to turn the tools properly in the lock. All the time she was worried about breaking the tools, or the worn lock itself. Nearly ten minutes later, the lock made a clunking sound, and they wer
e able to push the door open.
Inside, the view was completely different. The floor was warm, dark oak, the walls white with a solid blue stripe at the knee-height. The air was cool, but no air vents were visible from the door.
The hall they were in split in three directions, one to the right, one front, and one upstairs via a small set of stairs that were on the left. They silently decided not to split, in case Redmoore was still in the house.
Heading first to the right, they found a well-equipped kitchen with a marble preparation island in the center. It was all industrial steel, white ceramic and plastic appliances. A set of knives sat near the sink, and Ian took a hefty looking cleaver, weighing it a few times in his hand.
She cast him a disapproving glance. Ian just mouthed, “What, it might come in handy,” before they returned to the main hall and ventured to a room that was a mix of library and living room.
The TV was the only thing not covered in bookshelves, books, recordings, or paintings. A small window gave light from outside, landing on a small, Victorian-style chair that sat in front of an old, heavy writing desk that would have been more at home at a monastery than in the home of a lawyer. Most of the books regarded legal, medical or classical works. Some were mathematical, but most were solely dedicated to Redmoore’s career, practicing law.
“This makes sense. Well-educated, versed in medical practice due to learning his own career in and out,” Ian mused to himself as he browsed over the books eagerly. “Some of these have been banned from the public eye since the 1500’s. Where he got these I have no idea, but he must have paid a small fortune.”
Leaving the library/living room behind, they made their way upstairs, careful not to make a sound on the steps up. Upstairs held a small hallway, branching into five similar rooms, all with their doors closed. The air was still, except for a small trickle of water coming from the door on their left.
Creeping to it, Hannah opened the door to find a small fountain of fresh water, continuously replenishing itself by an invisible pump. Beyond that was an extravagant bathroom with a half-wall long mirror, garden tub, and a one-person infrared sauna.
