T Wave

by Steven F Freeman

  CHAPTER 34

  That same evening, William Cline pulled into his garage, once again staring at the rake and shovel hanging in front of him on the wall. After exiting his Cadillac, he stepped from the garage into the kitchen and dropped his briefcase on the floor next to the connecting door.

  “My goodness, there you are!” exclaimed Sally as she bustled in from the living room. “I thought you’d never get home.”

  Not knowing exactly how to respond, Cline raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and replied, “Well, here I am.”

  “Yes, here you are—finally. I was worried about you.” Sally advanced and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Are you hungry? Would you like a bite to eat?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have worked up a bit of an appetite. What do we have?”

  Sally scooped a portion of the evening’s meatloaf and potatoes onto a plate and placed it in the microwave. As the meal warmed, she studied her husband in the bright light of the kitchen.

  After hesitating briefly, she observed, “You seem a little more relaxed tonight. Did you have a good day?”

  “Yep,” replied Cline, nodding for a full ten seconds. “Do you remember my telling you about the project to improve Serenity’s profitability? Well, I think things are starting to look up.”

  The microwave buzzer sounded. “Looking up?” asked Sally as she used hot pads to remove the steaming plate.

  “Yep—I’ve put some wheels in motion,” replied Cline as he placed his dinner on a tray and headed for the den. “It’s been a lot of work, but I think I’ve…I’ve done what I needed to do to head Serenity in the right direction—towards profitability.”

  Sally seemed on the verge of asking more questions, but Cline planted himself squarely in front of the television. He hoped she could take a hint that he wasn’t in a talking mood.

  Rather than interrupt the stream of business news pouring from the television screen, Sally merely observed, “That’s nice, dear.”

  After watching the news program with her husband for five minutes, Sally rose and exited the room, leaving Cline to his meal and his improved outlook on Serenity’s future.

  CHAPTER 35

  Alton pulled into the parking lot of Mallory’s immaculately-maintained apartment complex. As he switched off the car’s engine, he paused for a moment, remembering a time just over a year ago when he had fled for his life from that very spot. At that time, he and Mallory had not yet shared the depth of their feelings for one another. He shook his head and smiled, grateful for the profound changes the past year had wrought.

  Alton exited the Explorer and headed for Mallory’s apartment. As he entered, Mallory stepped up to him wordlessly and wrapped her arms around him. While they embraced, she raised her head and leaned into a deep, lingering kiss. Closing his eyes, Alton wondered—as he had so often before—what he had done to earn such a reward as this.

  They slowly pulled apart, and Alton noticed Mallory’s eyes were red, a sign she had been crying.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes…no. I was worried about you. I shouldn’t have let you drive home with an injury, especially one to your head. What if you had blacked out and had a wreck?”

  “I’m fine.” He touched the nape of his neck. “It’s sore, but there’s no permanent damage. It’s just superficial.”

  “It’s not just that,” said Mallory, nearly distraught. “I dragged you into this case, and now look what’s happened.” She gestured in the direction of his injury.

  “You didn’t ‘drag me in’,” said Alton as he held her in a steady gaze. “I volunteered, remember? I’m glad I did. Between the note on your car and my…event an hour ago, it’s clear that someone is willing to take significant risks to stop both our investigations. I wouldn’t want you to face that kind of danger alone—not while I’m here to help.”

  Mallory nodded and exhaled deeply, struggling to avoid a fresh bout of tears. Alton recognized Mallory’s reaction as one born of strength rather than weakness. She was strong enough to feel responsible not only for herself but also for those around her. After losing a squad of soldiers—men under his direct command—to an improvised explosive device in Afghanistan, Alton understood exactly how the burden of such responsibility could wear a person down. His girlfriend was as tough as nails.

  “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

  “No—I’ve been waiting for you, worrying…”

  “I’ll tell you what…I know it’s late, but why don’t we go out for dinner?”

  “What about your head? Don’t you want to stay here, rest…?”

  “Honey, what I want is to be with you. I really am fine. I blacked out for maybe twenty seconds at the most. Other than having this goose egg for the next couple of days,” he said, touching his neck, “I won’t even be able to tell it happened.”

  He stepped close and took her in his arms once again. “I don’t feel like cooking right now, and I’m betting you don’t, either.”

  “No,” admitted Mallory.

  “And are you hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” she laughed, relaxing at last as she observed Alton to truly bear no serious injury from the attack.

  The exquisitely-prepared meal and peaceful surroundings of Gadsby’s Tavern worked wonders for both investigators. The candlelight’s warm glow seemed to permeate their hearts and minds, replacing the fatigue of the eventful day with a soothing tranquility. For a few blessed minutes, the universe consisted of only the two soul mates, beyond which nothing else existed. As Alton reached his hand across the table and laid it atop Mallory’s, the warm reassurance of mutual love and esteem superseded all talk of crimes and criminals.

  As the meal progressed, Mallory relaxed into her normal inquisitive bent. Upon the arrival of dessert, she broached the subject of their investigations once again. “So did you discover anything useful at Serenity tonight after I left, other than the fact that your head isn’t indestructible?”

  Knowing Mallory’s teasing indicated a return of her high spirits, Alton snickered and shot her a rueful grin. “Yes, a little. I can’t prove anything yet, but the deaths of all the patients I’m investigating seem out of the norm. The research I conducted earlier provided more solid evidence that every death was the result of an immediate cause not associated with the condition for which the patient was admitted to the hospital. The hospice doesn’t perform autopsies, but even in the hospital, where they were performed, the immediate cause of death couldn’t be explained.”

  “Couldn’t be explained? Really?” asked Mallory.

  “That’s right. Take Andrew Hutchins, one of the hospice patients that died. He was diagnosed with a colon disorder and COPD but died suddenly of a heart attack. I read his chart online just before I left Serenity. Like the other cases, the docs couldn’t figure out exactly what happened to him to trigger the heart attack.

  “Ken Goins is another example. He wasn’t even sick. He was simply in the hospital for plastic surgery. His official diagnosis was myocardial infarction—a heart attack, in other words—but they don’t know why an otherwise healthy thirty-nine-year-old’s heart would suddenly conk out eight hours after surgery. Still, even his death wouldn’t be so suspicious if the same thing hadn’t happened to six other patients within the past couple of months.”

  Alton shook his head in mild frustration. “Just before I was knocked on the head, I was close to putting together a pattern in the deaths. Now I can’t remember what it was.”

  A concerned expression crossed Mallory’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay? Could you be experiencing some kind of retrograde amnesia?”

  “No—it’s not that. I remember struggling to put my finger on it just as I heard the perp coming up behind me. I just wish I could figure out the pattern now. But really,” he said, leaning back in his chair and savoring a bite of strawberry cheesecake, “I’ve only scratched the surface of this investigation, and I’ll keep digging tomorrow. Since I was close to figuring i
t out earlier, I imagine I’ll connect the dots at some point.”

  “Do you have any evidence you can take to Wiggins?”

  “No, not yet—certainly nothing that would stand up in court. But overall, if I had to place a bet, based on the anomalies I just described and what I’ve seen in the patients’ charts, I’d say Nancy Goins was right to be concerned.”

  Mallory stared at the shared dessert, lost in thought. “Let’s assume for a minute that you’re right, that somebody is killing these patients. If so, could the drug thefts and the murders be connected somehow?”

  “I don’t see how we’ll know the answer to that question until we know more about the murders…if there truly are any.”

  “True. Like you said, we still don’t know for sure that any murders have occurred. On the other hand, I can prove the drug thefts have taken place. I just don’t know all the culprits—not yet, at least. For the Serenity thefts, a lot of evidence points to a specific hospice worker. But in the hospital theft cases, that same hospice worker was on-shift and couldn’t have stolen the meds. There must be someone else in the hospital, but I don’t know if they’re working together with the hospice employee or if it’s just a coincidence.”

  “Are you seeing the same pattern in all the thefts? The pattern you described previously?” asked Alton.

  “Yep—the record-keeping discrepancies associated with the thefts always involve narcotics with a high street value and in all but two cases occurred at least forty-eight hours before the patient died. In the hospice, I’m still not seeing any thefts associated with deceased patients. The only time the drugs of deceased patients went missing, the patients were in the hospital, where the tracking of post-mortem narcotics isn’t nearly as rigorous as it is in Serenity Hospice.”

  “Why is the hospital less rigorous than Serenity?”

  “I asked Nancy that same question. She said Serenity patients, most of whom are on narcotics, die all the time, so there’s a pretty steady flow of drugs that have to be accounted for. On the other hand, hospital patients die less frequently and aren’t on narcotics as often, so it’s not worth the hospital’s time and money to implement the extra tracking.”

  “Makes sense,” said Alton. The pattern Mallory had described sparked an idea in his mind. “Say, do you remember back in Afghanistan how we’d plant dummy ordnance in outposts with low security for the terrorists to steal? We’d embed GPS tracking devices in the rounds and follow the stolen goods back to the terrorists’ camps.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” said Mallory. “We did the same thing a few times with Army supplies that someone on the inside was stealing.” The light of understanding dawned on her face. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”

  “Yep—why not plant a bottle of narcotics with an embedded GPS tracker in the room of a patient as bait?”

  “Would it be too late to use Ken Goins’ room?” asked Mallory. “Maybe our thief will go for the hospital trifecta—try to swipe anything left in his room.”

  “Good idea. It’s not too late, as a matter of fact. Since Goins’ death was under a cloud of suspicion, Alexandria PD locked and taped off his room. If we were to unlock the room and make a point of mentioning that it hasn’t yet been cleared of Goins’ personal effects, perhaps our thief will come looking for goodies.”

  Mallory nodded. “I’ll talk to Wiggins tomorrow. He can see what kind of bait bottle the tech guys can rig up.”

  A few minutes later, Alton paid for the meal, and the two headed back to Mallory’s condo.

  During the drive, Mallory asked, “Have you heard from David or Fahima today?”

  “Yeah,” said Alton. “They both texted me this afternoon.”

  “And how are they doing?”

  “Probably as well as could be expected. You know how close David and his dad were. A person doesn’t recover from that kind of loss in just a few days.” He thought back to his Army days. The deaths he had experienced, although devastating, hadn’t involved the loss of a family member. How much worse must David’s suffering be?

  “Do you think we should pay them a visit?” asked Mallory.

  “I asked David that. He asked if we could wait until the weekend, and naturally I told him yes. I think he just wants time with Fahima right now. She seems pretty broken up, too. First her father, and now his…” He stole a glance at Mallory and noticed an unusual glistening in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  Mallory responded with a loud sniff. “Yeah, I guess I’m still sorting through Jacob’s passing, too. He was such a stand-up guy. Not like a comedian, I mean—although he was certainly that, too.”

  “I know. We all loved him. He was an honorable man.”

  “I know it’s silly, but when we talk about Jacob, I keep thinking about my own dad,” confessed Mallory.

  “It’s not silly. It’s an expression of how much he meant to you.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I just wish I could have had more time with him.”

  “And I wish I could have met him,” offered Alton.

  “You two certainly would have hit it off, despite your being my boyfriend and him being the classic protective dad. That’s why he would have liked you—you take the ‘protector’ role very seriously.”

  Alton smiled at her yet said nothing more. In his heart, he agreed with Mallory’s sentiment. He did take that role very seriously.

  Once they reached Mallory’s condo, Alton brewed a half-pot of decaf and poured two mugs of coffee, adding a dash of sugar and two tablespoons of French vanilla creamer—Mallory’s preferred recipe—to his girlfriend’s cup.

  As Alton approached the couch, his cell phone rang. He placed the mugs on an end table and answered.

  “This is Detective Donahue,” said the caller. “Just thought you might like to know that we couldn’t find a tree branch—or anything else, for that matter—with blood on it in the area near Serenity’s parking lot. We’ll take a look again tomorrow in the daylight, but I doubt we’ll find anything. I was worried it might rain tonight—there’s a sixty percent chance. If it did, it’d wash away the blood evidence. So, we brought in a K-9 and had it use your blood on the sidewalk as the priming sample. The dog scoured the area but didn’t pick up the scent anywhere else.”

  “Thanks for the update, Detective,” said Alton, musing as he hung up the phone.

  “What is it?” asked Mallory.

  Alton shared the information from the call. “The attack may have been one of opportunity, but the perpetrator had the presence of mind to take the weapon with him. I guess we’ll have to be satisfied with the splinter.”

  Alton retrieved the cups of coffee. He and Mallory then ensconced themselves on the couch and sank into its comfortable depths. Buster approached, and Alton scratched the Labrador behind his ears. A waving tail soon gave way to soft, regular breathing as the canine curled up on the floor near his feet and nodded off.

  “I’ll need to call Wiggins tomorrow and let him know what’s happened,” said Alton. “Until we get that bait bottle from him, I’ll proceed with my research where I left off today.

  “If possible, I should also have a chat with Nancy Goins tomorrow, too. I’d like to talk with her about the specific patterns she observed that caused her to be concerned in the first place. She may have noticed something I didn’t. Normally, I wouldn’t bother a widow the day after her husband died, but this is potentially a criminal investigation, and time is of the essence. Plus, with her husband being the latest fatality, she’ll probably be eager to see me to get to the bottom of his death and bring the culprit—if there is one—to justice.”

  “You know,” said Mallory, rubbing her ear, “I didn’t get the sense that Nancy and her husband were all that close. When she and I were working in her office, she had a phone call with Ken that was pretty harsh and a couple of other calls with…someone else—someone with whom she seemed to be on friendlier terms, although she seemed to be trying to hide it. I certainly wouldn’t have pegged her and Ken
to be in the running for Married Couple of the Year.”

  While Alton paused to assimilate this information, Mallory flashed a mischievous smile and grabbed his coffee cup, placing it and her own on the end table once again.

  Alton opened his mouth to ask a question, but before he could speak, Mallory placed a forefinger on his lips. “No more work tonight,” she said. “Nancy Goins is quite a looker. She’s bound to make a good impression on you. So, before you visit her tomorrow, I’m going to make my own impression first.”

  Alton could only smile and shake his head. “You already have made an amazing impression on me…every day since we met.”

  Mallory pulled Alton towards her, wrapping her arms around him. He responded in kind, holding her face with both hands, and their lips met hungrily. In a flash, Alton’s mind fled as far away as possible from criminal investigations, focused instead only on his beloved.

  CHAPTER 36

  Scrubs wiped his brow and leaned against the shovel. The view from his back yard wasn’t inspiring, but on the other hand, the ugly wooden fence encircling his property provided an effective screen from the neighbors’ curious eyes. Of course, the likelihood of a neighbor being outside at 12:30 a.m. was small, but waiting until the cover of nighttime to bury the object added an extra degree of security.

  Scrubs resumed digging. The screech of cicadas rising in the background blended curiously with the scrape of mud and stone against the flat surface of the tool. The fecund aroma rising from the mound of newly-turned earth possessed an alien quality to Scrubs, whose olfactory experience largely consisted of the antiseptic hospital environment and Camel Cigarettes.

  Despite the late hour, Scrubs continued to sweat in the muggy evening. Ignoring his fatigue, he redoubled his efforts to bury the object without delay. He didn’t want anyone getting a look at it.

  Three minutes later, Scrubs completed the hole. It wasn’t particularly deep, but it didn’t need to be for his purposes. After depositing his object into it, he replaced the soil and smoothed it over with the shovel. A scattering of pine straw over the freshly-turned soil provided the final measure of concealment.