T Wave

by Steven F Freeman

  Upon arriving at the hospice, Alton limped down the empty corridor until he reached room 117, the tiny office housing the automated narcotics-dispensing system and serving as Mallory’s temporary work site. He poked his head inside the door and found Mallory typing notes into her laptop: “Exhibit 32: Line 14 in chart states patient complained of no medication between the hours of 1300 and 2400 on the date in question.” She seemed to be putting the finishing touches on her day’s research.

  As Alton entered, Mallory glanced up and beamed at him. Although he had seen her smile hundreds of times, it was only at the conclusion of their first investigation together that he had come to recognize it as one of love rather than mere friendship. Even now, it seemed a bit surreal.

  Mallory stood to greet him. In his haste to reciprocate the greeting, Alton approached her and pushed the door from behind his back, leaving it slightly ajar. He walked over and kissed her gently. Away from prying eyes, there was no need to end the kiss too quickly.

  “How’s the case coming along?” he asked.

  “Really well,” said Mallory. “I can see what’s happening with the thefts, but I need to document every piece of evidence I find. Having a large quantity of evidence all pointing towards the same guilty party will be essential to obtaining an arrest warrant now and sealing a conviction down the road. I have to document everything by the book, so it’s taking a long time.

  “I got a call from Wiggins about the note left on my car. Unfortunately, there’s not much to tell. The perp wore gloves. There were traces of latex but no fingerprints or organic residue. The paper itself was standard stock. You could buy it anywhere. So, we’re at a bit of a dead-end there.”

  “Except for the fact that the author needs a grammar lesson,” said Alton, “‘…become one of it’s—apostrophe s—patients.’”

  “Ha!” replied Mallory. “That narrows the search down to about half the population.” After putting both palms at the base of her spine and arching backwards, Mallory returned to her chair, while Alton took a seat on top of the room’s small desk.

  “How’s your investigation going?” asked Mallory.

  “Remember how I was skeptical at first?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, now I’m not so sure. As of yesterday, there were two hospice deaths and four hospital deaths that seem suspicious. In each case, the patient was admitted for one malady but expired from a completely unrelated cause. That happens occasionally, but six deaths in the space of a couple of months is a much higher incident rate than usual, according to William Cline.”

  “And as of today…?” asked Mallory, noticing how Alton had prefaced his statement.

  “As of today, we have a new suspicious death, and you’re not going to believe who it was.”

  “Who?”

  “Ken Goins, Nancy’s husband.”

  “What! Holy smokes—really?” she exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. “What happened?”

  “He went in for surgery this morning but died this afternoon, just a couple of hours ago. I asked Doctor Burns, his surgeon, the cause of death, but he couldn’t say. He wants to wait for the autopsy results. But if this case is like the others, the diagnosis will be inconclusive.” Alton went on to summarize the information he had gained via the conference with Ken’s surgical and code teams as well as his ad lib conversation with Donna White, the unit secretary with Day-Glo nails.

  “Poor Nancy,” said Mallory. “How is she taking it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her all day. I assume she’s at home or with family. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

  “No, not at all. But she doesn’t normally work Saturdays anyway, so I wasn’t expecting her to be here. Ken Goins dying…how strange.”

  “Yes, it’s a head-scratcher. “Yes, it’s a head-scratcher. Anyway, enough about my investigation. How much longer are you going to work tonight?”

  “Probably just until shift change,” replied Mallory, checking her watch, “which should be in about ten minutes. I want to grab a nurse for a few questions when she comes off shift, then I’m gonna call it a day. What about you?”

  “Well, I didn’t wrap up my Kruptos work until just before five, so I’ve only been working this case for a little while. Given everything that’s happened today, especially with Ken Goins’ death, I’d like to spend a bit more time comparing the hospital records of these seven patients.”

  “Can you do that at my place?”

  “I’d like to, but the only research materials I have with me are these paper records.” He lifted them up and let them drop to the desk. “They’re not terribly thorough, so I’m constantly referring to different Stokely IT systems to pull the information I need. I could hack the Stokely servers from your place, but since I’m acting in an official FBI capacity, perhaps I should stay by the book. I don’t want to compromise the case.”

  “Look at you,” teased Mallory. “Give the man a little authority and he starts walking the straight and narrow.” After giggling, she smoothed the collar of his polo shirt and raised her gaze to his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to pack up now so I’ll be ready to interview my nurse in a minute. I’ll see you in a little while. Don’t stay too long.” She kissed him all-too-briefly and began shutting down her laptop and packing up her research materials.

  Mallory left, and Alton remained with three of the patient folders spread out on the small desk before him. He accessed Stokely’s patient databases and began to search for trends in the patients’ deaths or backgrounds. What elements did they have in common? What dissimilarities did they possess? His fingers danced over the keyboard as he toggled between a handful of Stokely IT systems, searching for patterns, much as he did in his role as a cryptologist for Kruptos.

  After just under an hour of investigation, Alton reached a good stopping point in his research and decided to call it a night. He logged out of the company servers and stuffed the manila folders into his backpack, which he slung over his shoulder on his way to the exit.

  “Good night!” he shouted to Pearl over at the nurses’ station as he rounded the corner to depart through the main entrance.

  “You, too!” she called.

  Alton passed through the building’s automatic doors and into the warm humidity of the summer evening. He limped through the patient drop-off area and headed into the parking lot, an expanse of asphalt bordered by a sidewalk, beyond which lay a dense grove of trees. On previous visits to the hospice, he had often observed squirrels darting through the underbrush, but the parking lot’s faux-antique streetlamps couldn’t begin to illuminate the interior of the dark copse now.

  As he walked down the sidewalk towards his Explorer, Alton ruminated over the curious series of patient deaths. The evening’s investigation had only strengthened his inclination to believe them to be more than the result of chance.

  With no distractions beyond the soothing symphony of crickets, Alton seemed to think more clearly in the moist night air than he had in the hospice’s cramped office. He slowed his pace as the outline of a pattern began to penetrate his thoughts. His mind was on the cusp of forming a connection, of recognizing a common attribute shared by all the patients. The noise of squirrels rustling underneath the trees proved a momentary distraction, but he quickly resumed his attempt to identify the solution which lay, tantalizingly, just out of reach.

  As Alton struggled to complete the intuitive leap, a blur of motion appeared at the periphery of his vision. His world exploded into a thousand bright lights, then turned utterly dark.

  CHAPTER 32

  With Ken in the hospital, Nancy Goins welcomed the opportunity to spend uninterrupted time with Dennis at his place, a sleek condo located in the tony suburbs of Loudoun County, Virginia.

  Nancy and Dennis had enjoyed a dinner of pan-seared scallops and now reclined in the den, each holding a glass of Argentinian Malbec wine. They were now engrossed in conversation, scarcely noticing the quiet strains of Harry Connick Jr. playing in the b
ackground. Neither had spoken of Ken that evening, choosing instead to focus on each other rather than the considerable obstacle Nancy’s husband represented to their future relationship.

  As Ken set his glass of wine on the coffee table, he noticed a strange humming sound. “What’s that noise?”

  After staring blankly for a second, Nancy’s expression changed to one of recognition. “Crap—that’s my phone. It must still be on mute from the movie this afternoon.” She padded softly to the kitchen counter and retrieved the phone from her purse.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello, Mrs. Goins?” asked the caller.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Doctor Burns, your husband’s plastic surgeon. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours.” He paused. “Mrs. Goins…can you come down to the hospital? We need to talk.”

  As a seasoned hospital veteran, Nancy understood the ominous implications of the doctor’s vague request. “Doctor Burns…Robert…I know you don’t normally divulge bad news over the phone, but I assure you I’m ready for whatever you have to share with me. Please don’t make me drive in to tell me whatever it is you need to say.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Dr. Burns continued. “Nancy…Ken died this afternoon. I’m so sorry.”

  Nancy’s expression scarcely changed. “What?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Can you come to the hospital? I’m not comfortable talking about this over the phone.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Nancy, ending the call. She turned around to face Dennis, who regarded her with curiosity.

  “Who was it?” he asked.

  “Ken is dead,” said Nancy in an even voice.

  Dennis studied his wine glass for a moment. “What happened?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t know. His surgeon just called and told me. I need to go to the hospital.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand,” said Dennis. “Nancy, if there’s anything I can do…”

  “No, Dennis, but thank you. I…know you’re behind me.”

  Dennis arose from the couch yet remained frozen in place as Nancy approached. After placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, she left him—still immobile—in the middle of the den.

  Nancy arrived at the hospital and headed straight to Ken’s room. A somber Dr. Burns greeted her at the door. “He’s not here. Mrs. Goins…” He struggled to continue, clearly distraught.

  “What happened?” asked Nancy.

  “We don’t know yet,” admitted the doctor. “All his vitals were fine until the last time the tech came in to check on him around six o’clock. Everything went south so fast. This isn’t normally a high-risk surgery.”

  Nancy nodded but remained silent.

  The doctor ran both hands through his dark hair. “We won’t know what happened unless we perform an autopsy. Do I have your permission to move forward with that?”

  Nancy snapped out of her reverie. “An autopsy? What’s the point? It won’t bring Ken back.”

  “But we won’t get to the bottom—”

  “Just…let me think about it,” said Nancy.

  “Sure. You’ll let me know, right?”

  “Yes, I’ll be in touch.”

  With an air of dead calm, Nancy stepped into the hallway and walked back to the parking lot. She doubted her manner would suggest that her husband had just experienced a sudden and unexpected death. She walked until she reached her Rav4, climbed into the seat, and slowly exhaled.

  CHAPTER 33

  As Alton came to, he could just discern the blurry outline of his attacker shrinking into the distance. The perpetrator wasn’t moving away at a particularly quick speed, but even if Alton hadn’t been saddled with a permanent limp, he was too dazed to give chase. Within seconds, his assailant disappeared into the darkness.

  Alton sat up and shook his head to clear the remnants of haziness from his mind. As he regained his senses, he realized he was sitting in the grass bordering the sidewalk. He recognized his good fortune in falling in that spot rather than on the sidewalk itself or the parking lot’s rough asphalt, knowing that after such a severe impact, he might never have awoken.

  Alton placed his hand on the nape of his neck. Beneath the blood oozing from a fresh wound, he could feel a lump already beginning to form. Realizing he needed ice, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way back to the hospice.

  Alton reentered the building and approached the nurses’ station. “Can I get some ice in a plastic bag?” he asked as he laid his book bag on the floor.

  “Just a second, honey,” said Pearl as she typed at a computer monitor without lifting her gaze. She glanced up from her work just as Alton leaned both elbows onto the counter to steady himself.

  “Oh, my Lord—what happened?” she exclaimed, moving from behind the desk to stare at the gash and the crimson trail leading down Alton’s neck and staining the collar of his shirt. “Sit down over here and I’ll get an ice pack for you.”

  “Can you also round up a couple of ibuprofen?” asked Alton. “I have a…splitting headache.” He couldn’t help but grin at his own morbid humor.

  “How can you make jokes at a time like this?” scolded Nurse Corroto, who had just rounded the corner.

  Alton smiled a little broader. He had experienced worse in Afghanistan—much worse—but declined to elaborate to the hospice’s friendly staff.

  “I hate to break it to you, but we’re going to need to clean that wound before we put ice on it,” said Nurse Corroto.

  “Yes, that would be best. Thanks for your help.”

  While Corroto left to retrieve the necessary supplies, Alton placed a brief call to the police to report the assault. The dispatcher told Alton that detectives would be on scene within minutes.

  Nurse Corroto returned as Alton concluded the call. She used a piece of gauze soaked in peroxide to swab the injury. As she tended to the wound, she issued a grunt of surprise. “Huh? What’s this?” Using forceps, she extracted a sliver of wood from the gash and held the prize in front of Alton’s face. “This was embedded in your wound. Do you want a souvenir?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. That’s the only hard evidence we have that indicates the attacker’s weapon—and I do mean hard.”

  As Corroto rolled her eyes once again, Alton plucked the bloody splinter from the forceps and examined it.

  Pearl returned with an ice pack, which Alton placed gingerly on his neck. While waiting for the police to arrive, he phoned Mallory.

  “Hi, Sweetie,” said Mallory. “Are you still at Serenity?”

  “Yeah. I’m running a little late. Someone took a swipe at me in the parking lot when I was leaving, so I’ll be here a few minutes longer.”

  “You got in a fight?”

  “Not exactly. Someone hit me from behind with a tree branch, I think. I never heard them until it was too late.”

  “Holy crap! Are you okay? Where did they hit you?”

  “On the bottom of my head—in the back.”

  “On your head? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. You know, it’s really not that bad.”

  “Alton, why would they do that? Your investigation?”

  “Probably. I think someone was just trying to rattle me, like they did with you and that note on your car.”

  “They rattled you all right—your cranium, to be exact,” said Mallory in a trembling voice. “I can’t believe—”

  “Honey,” soothed Alton. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m going to stay here and give a statement to the police. Then I’ll come straight to your place.”

  “Don’t you want me to come out there…to be with you?”

  Alton smiled at her concern. Despite the dull pounding on the back of his head, he considered himself to be, all in all, a lucky fellow. “Thanks, but by the time you arrive, I’d already be leaving. Let me give the police a quick statement, and I’ll come straight home.”

  “Okay,” conceded Mallory, “but be careful.”

 
The police arrived within minutes. Detective Donahue took Alton’s statement.

  “Did you get a look at your attacker?” asked the detective.

  “No, I never saw him—or her—at all. I just saw a blur out of the corner of my eye, and then everything went black for maybe twenty seconds or so, judging from the distance the attacker covered before I came to.”

  Donahue scribbled in a small notebook as Alton spoke. “Is anything missing from your person?” he asked. “Wallet? Phone? Watch?”

  “No, nothing. But whoever attacked me did leave something behind. Take a look at this.” After presenting the splinter that had been embedded in his neck, Alton explained its origin.

  “Wood…not what I would have expected,” remarked the detective, rubbing his cheek with the eraser end of his pencil. “It points to a crime of opportunity. If the perp was hiding in that grove of trees next to the parking lot, he might have grabbed a nearby branch if it was the only thing handy.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t explain why he decided to take a swing at me. We’ve already ruled out robbery.”

  “True,” acknowledged Donahue. “In any case, I’m going to have my men search the area near the parking lot for a piece of wood with blood on it. We find that, and we should have our weapon. Can you describe exactly where the attack occurred?”

  “On the sidewalk about thirty or forty yards shy of my car, a black Explorer. I believe I decorated the sidewalk with the blood on my hand as I pushed myself up, so it should be pretty easy to find.”

  “Okay. We’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, here’s my card in case you think of any more information.”

  “Thanks,” said Alton. “If you don’t have any further questions, I’ll be going now.”

  “Sure—no problem. Hey, why don’t you let Harris here walk out with you? The perp should be long gone, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have someone accompany you to your car, just in case.”

  “Thanks, Detective—good idea. If I went out there alone and let myself get attacked again, my girlfriend would finish the job if the perp didn’t.”