Most Wanted

by Lisa Scottoline

  Christine sat back in her chair, trying to regain her composure. His outburst rattled her because it was so sudden.

  “I’m sorry,” Zachary said, seeming to recover. He exhaled loudly, pushing his blond bangs from his cut. “I’m at the end of my rope. I’m losing it. I didn’t mean to snap. I have to get out of here. I don’t know what to do.”

  “It’s okay,” Christine said, though it was anything but.

  “You don’t believe me? Is that why you asked? Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I need you to tell me the truth,” Christine said, because it was exactly how she felt.

  “I told you the truth,” Zachary shot back, but Christine could see him avert his eyes for a moment.

  “If you’re lying, come clean with me now. We can’t help you if we don’t know the facts. Is the neighbor right, that she saw you?” Christine kept her tone soft. If she had learned anything as a reading teacher, it was to create an atmosphere that was safe enough to make, or confess, any mistake. “Tell me the truth, Zachary.”

  “Okay.” Zachary swallowed hard, pursing his lips. “I did see Gail Thursday night, but that was the first time, ever.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “The exact same way I told you. I met Gail in the cafeteria on Thursday, that was the first day I met her. Same time, all else the same. I was trying to get Dr. Malan-Kopelman in the morning, but I missed him in surgery. I didn’t get the order until Sunday, I kept at it.” Zachary rubbed his face, wincing. “I saw Gail again on Sunday, but Sunday wasn’t the first day we hooked up. Thursday night was.”

  “Why did you lie?” Christine kept the judgment from her tone.

  “Because of Hannah, my girlfriend. I didn’t want her to know that I cheated on her twice.”

  “What difference does that make? Cheating once is bad enough, isn’t it?”

  “Once could be, like, a slip-up, a mistake. But twice, I don’t know, I knew she’d think it was worse. Not that it matters now.” Zachary paused, his shoulders letting down. “I knew we were in trouble when she went to med school and I didn’t. She got distant. At first I thought it was that our schedules were different, she was working all the time or in the lab, but it wasn’t that.”

  “What was it?” Christine didn’t know if he was deflecting or being honest.

  “A medical sales rep isn’t the same thing as a doctor, not to women. Especially not to women doctors, like Hannah. I felt like I got demoted in her eyes, and she looked for the upgrade.” Zachary slumped. “Hannah’s gone, so maybe I got what I deserved.”

  “I don’t think that,” Christine said, wanting to build on their rapport. “But I’m surprised that given the break-up, she would lend you the money for your retainer. She dropped it off last night, a cashier’s check.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Zachary managed a smile. “She really cares about me, or she feels guilty because she dumped me. I’ll pay her back, and she knows that, if I get out of here. I loved Hannah, and if I could’ve had her back, the way she used to feel about me, I would’ve been totally happy.”

  “How can I reach her? I’d like to speak with her.”

  “Why?” Zachary frowned.

  “She was your girlfriend. Who knows you better than your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t see the point.” Zachary frowned again. “She’s done enough for me, lending me the money.”

  “I’ll know the point after I speak with her. I’m trying to turn over every stone for your case. She might have facts to help your defense.”

  “Christine, if you want to help my defense, talk to my boss. His name is Tim Foster and he’s right in town. The Brigham offices are right outside of West Chester on Cardinal Street.”

  “Okay, I’ll see him first then.” Christine made a mental note to squeeze him in before she went to Zachary’s apartment. “But how do I reach Hannah? I’d still like to speak with her.”

  “No, don’t, please.”

  “I have to.” Christine thought a moment. “You were dating her during the time of the other murders, weren’t you?”

  “You mean the other two nurses?”

  “Yes.” Christine felt bothered he didn’t say their names, which she remembered. “Did you know them?”

  “No, not at all. Bethesda General and Newport News are my accounts, but I didn’t know those nurses. I never met them.”

  Christine couldn’t tell if he was lying, but his plaintive expression looked so genuine, especially with the bruises. “Did you hook up with nurses at Bethesda General and Newport News Memorial?”

  “I don’t know, I’d have to think about it, but not those nurses.” Zachary spread his hands, palms up. “Look, I’m not perfect. I’m a single guy, I hooked up on the road, when I was with Hannah. She was the one who turned away from me. I was just hanging on because I wanted to be with her. Sometimes you don’t get what you need from someone you love. That’s the truth.”

  Christine felt the words resonate but tried not to let it show. She knew exactly how Zachary felt, now that Marcus was turning away from her.

  “I’m not proud of it, but I’m not going to apologize for it, either. But I didn’t kill Gail or anybody else. I’m not a serial killer. I love nurses, I would never kill nurses.”

  “McLeane was killed in January and Allen-Bogen in April.” Christine didn’t have the exact dates since she didn’t get to finish her bulletin board. “You were with Hannah during that time, and at some point, I’ll have to talk with her about where you were those nights and establish an alibi.”

  “But she might not meet with you. Her parents want her to distance herself from me, and she’ll be hard to get ahold of. Med school is super busy. You’ll have to catch her between classes.”

  “Where does she go to school?”

  “Temple. It’s all the way in town. Philly.”

  “I’ll drive in.” Christine got her golf pencil and notepad from her pocket. “What’s her number and email?”

  “But please, don’t push it if she doesn’t want to meet you.” Zachary rattled off a number and email address, then glanced behind him as the guard approached, signaling the end of their visit. “Christine, just know, I didn’t kill anybody. I would never kill anybody. I’m completely innocent, and I need you to believe in me and get me out of here. It’s worse than before, in ad seg.”

  “I understand,” Christine said, believing him, in the end.

  “Christine, please, help me. I’m counting on you.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Brigham Instruments was housed in a boxy new building of red brick, shaped like an L, and Christine stepped inside, glancing around the reception room. It was modern, with cheery blue wainscoting and an off-white wall covered with framed covers from the Brigham Hospital Catalog, General Surgery Edition, next to framed Better Business Bureau certificates and laminated newspaper articles. Two blue padded chairs flanked an end table that held an artificial plant, and to the right, Christine passed an open French door that read SALES/SERVICE over the top. She walked to the reception desk.

  “May I help you?” an older receptionist asked, sitting at a panel counter about shoulder height. Her hooded eyes were gray-blue, almost the same shade as her straight gray hair, which she wore closely cropped with dangling silver earrings.

  “I’m Christine Nilsson, the one who called about a meeting with Tim Foster.”

  “Of course, I was so happy when your call came in.” The receptionist’s expression changed, falling into concerned lines. “Please do everything you can to help Zachary. I know they have the wrong man.”

  “You do?” Christine’s ears perked up.

  “Absolutely, we all do, all the girls in billing and the ones in back, in the warehouse.” The receptionist gestured behind her. “We think it’s terrible that they arrested him. He didn’t do it, we just know it.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I know that boy. I tell him, ‘you’re the grandson I never had.�
�”

  Christine smiled, warmed. “How long have you known him?”

  “Two years, since he started here. He’s so handsome and so sweet, he does the nicest things for everybody here. We all love him. And he’s so good-looking!” The receptionist’s aged eyes flared. “My granddaughter calls him dreamy. The girls in back have a crush on him, and I don’t blame them. It’s not just that he’s handsome. He’s a good person, inside.”

  “What makes you say that?” Christine realized it was the first time she’d heard something nice about Zachary, and her heart lifted.

  “He’s so thoughtful. He remembers things about us. He knows I have a Chihuahua, Rico, and he always brings a box of dog treats for him, special for small dogs. And when he pays a call on his accounts in Delaware, he always brings Millie in the warehouse a box of salt water taffy. Oh, we all just love him.” The receptionist’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not like some of the account managers, who are only nice to the bosses. He’s nice to everybody, no matter whether they’re a big shot or not. In fact, just last week, he visited one of the other girls in the hospital when she broke her arm. He knows she likes mysteries, so he brought them.”

  Christine made a mental note to talk to Griff about whether they could call these women as witnesses to Zachary’s character at trial. “Does he have any friends here, like other account managers?”

  “He was friendly with Tim, most of all, so he’s probably the one you should talk to.” The receptionist shifted her gaze to the open French door. “Oh, here he is. Tim?”

  Christine looked up as a heavyset African-American man appeared in the sales/service door, motioning to her. He had a broad grin and large dark eyes set far apart behind gold-rimmed glasses. He crossed the room to shake her hand, dressed in a Brigham-blue polo shirt and neatly pressed khaki pants, with the perfect break over his shiny loafers.

  “Christine, hello, I’m Tim Foster.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Christine shook his hand. He had a strong grip, and such a convivial way about him that she liked him instantly. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

  “Happy to. Come this way, we can talk. I have a half an hour before I have to leave. Everyone’s at lunch, and I wanted to fit you in.”

  “Thank you so much.” Christine followed him through the open door and past a row of tall blue cubicles, which were empty except for family photos, Eagles and Phillies sports schedules, and miniature American flags.

  “This is where our inside salespeople sit.” Tim spoke freely as they walked down the hall. “They’re the only ones who get cubicles. Brigham has fifty-five employees and fifteen account managers. We supply medical instruments nationwide and we’re a medium-sized player. It’s a family-owned business, started by the Brigham family about sixty years ago.”

  “Did Zachary have a cubicle?”

  “No, he was an account manager. His office was in his house. We mail our account managers anything they need, so he only comes into the main office one to three times a month to pick up samples, supplies, or for a meeting. We do send the big paper catalog home, but we’re encouraging more of our accounts to order online, as you can imagine.”

  “Yes,” Christine said, as Tim let her into a small corner office with a dark wood desk and a narrow window that overlooked a loading dock, where a white container truck was reversing in. A stack of blue Brigham catalogs sat on the corner of his desk, next to a flat monitor, and Tim gestured at a wall chart that read BRIGHAM PREMIUM INSTRUMENTS, above PREMIUM GRADE, MIDGRADE, AND FLOOR GRADE, with an array of shiny, stainless-steel instruments.

  “We make fifteen thousand medical instruments of all types. Three different product lines, each with its own scissors, hemostats, forceps, needle holders, retractors, and whatnot. We manufacture instruments for all surgical fields. Cardiac, gynecology, rectal, urology, ophthalmology, microsurgery, you name it. We even make instruments for plastic surgery, which change fairly often. Please, sit down.”

  “Thanks.” Christine sat and slid her pad from her purse. “Do all the account managers sell all of the types?”

  “Yes, they do.” Tim eased into his desk chair. “That’s what’s difficult about the job. It’s a challenge to keep abreast of the product lines. We make twenty-seven different types of scissors, alone.”

  “I was curious what kind of an employee Zachary was.”

  “He was the best.” Tim nodded. “He really was. He was the golden boy. No pun. Yes, he’s a good-looking kid, he’s been employee of the month more than anybody else. Eight times in two years.”

  “Does he report directly to you?”

  “Yes, and I report to the vice president of sales, who reports to the president of sales. They’re not in today. I knew Zachary better than they do, so you’re not missing anything.”

  “Did you review his performance?”

  “Yes, he’s gotten a bonus for going beyond his quotas, every quarter.”

  “Could I see his personnel file?”

  “Unfortunately, not. I thought you might ask that, so I checked with Legal, and they said no. You need to have his lawyer write us a letter.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Good. Legal said I could talk to you, and we’d like to help Zachary if we can. No way in the world is he guilty.” Tim puckered his lower lip, shaking his head. “No damn way.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “He’s a good guy, all around. He always worked without complaint, he filled in when guys got sick. Like when Stan, one of our other account managers, got prostate cancer, he filled in for him while he was in the hospital. Zachary’s just that kind of a kid. He’s the youngest account manager here, and he’s interested in medicine. He got into med school but didn’t have the money to go. It helps him with the doctors and the purchasing people. It’s all good.”

  “Did you know that he was dating nurses who worked at these hospitals?”

  “No, but that’s his business, he’s single. I don’t blame him. I met my wife on this job. She’s a bookkeeper at Riddle Memorial.” Tim shrugged his heavy shoulders. “That’s who we meet at our accounts. Doesn’t mean he killed anybody. I can’t picture him doing that.”

  Christine wanted to believe him, but she remembered that flash of anger she’d seen today. “Did he have a temper?”

  “No, not that I saw.”

  “Did you trust him?”

  “Absolutely. I like him and trust him.”

  “How about the accounts?”

  “They all did. The docs, the purchasing people, everybody. I’ve been getting calls since he was arrested, and none of them believe that he did it.” Tim spoke with conviction. “He’s such a good guy. Did what I asked, even the things that I get pushback on from some of the others.”

  “Like what?”

  “Perfect example, I ask my account mangers not to have a Facebook page. I don’t want our accounts looking up my managers, finding out whether they’re Republican, Democrat, or anything about them, personally. You never know who you turn off these days.”

  Christine thought it explained why Zachary didn’t have a Facebook page, which Lauren had thought was strange. “What about the fact that the killer used your instruments?”

  “So what?” Tim’s dark eyes flared. “You know how many people come in contact with those instruments in the hospital or doc’s office? Everybody from the docs, to the nurses, to the orderlies, to the techs, to the people who unpack the boxes. Anybody could use our instruments.”

  “What was his region?”

  “Mid-Atlantic. Maryland, Virginia, Delaware, and Pennsylvania. It’s a big region, but he handled it. I was grooming him to succeed me. He was a real go-getter. Look at this.” Tim turned to a black bag on the floor, then lifted it onto the table and opened the top flap. “This is what they called his ‘kill bag’ or ‘hit kit’ in the papers. It’s the sample bag we give to our account managers. They said in the paper that it was a plain black bag, that’s intentional. It doesn’t say Brigham be
cause these instruments cost a couple hundred bucks a pop. We don’t label the bag so they don’t get stolen.” Tim extracted a black nylon folder from inside the case and opened it to reveal an array of different tweezers on a field of blue velvet, held in place by black elastic bands. “This is what it looks like inside.”

  “And these are … tweezers?”

  “No, forceps. Top line of forceps, tissue forceps, Adson forceps, Adson-Brown forceps. It’s a typical sample bag for forceps.”

  “Was this what Zachary had in his car?”

  “Not specifically. He had our surgical general kit for top-of-the-line operating rooms. It includes a Langenbeck metacarpal saw, named for a Bernhard von Langenbeck, a Prussian army surgeon. Unfortunately, many surgical advances and instruments come from wars.”

  Christine remembered what Zachary had said. “Was that the murder weapon? A saw used by hand surgeons?”

  “Yes, I have one to show you.” Tim stuck a hammy hand into the bag and pulled out a long, shiny saw that had a serrated edge, then handed it over with care. “Watch out, it’s sharp.”

  “Yikes, and it’s heavy.” Christine eyed the jagged edge, which gave her the creeps.

  “It has to be. It’s nine and a half inches long, including the blade, which is four and a half inches long. The tip is part of the blade, the saw has no curvature, it’s straight. It’s stainless-steel, reusable, rigid, and strong enough to saw through small bones. It can also punch through a chest, but anybody could’ve had this.” Tim pointed to the saw. “This is a very common saw in an OR, and any trauma surgeon, hand surgeon, orthopedic surgeon, or podiatric surgeon could have these instruments. It costs about $160, so it’s not even as expensive as many medical instruments. So you see, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for Zachary’s having it in his car. It doesn’t mean he’s a serial killer.”

  “How about the tourniquets?”

  “Same, very common, everywhere. I pulled those for you, too.” Tim dug in a pocket of the sample bag and extracted a roll of bright turquoise bands. “You can find these a zillion places. We sell them, and so do a lot of other people.”