Mercy

by Daniel Palmer

  “We lost her,” Spence said.

  “We lost her?” Lucy flashed anger. “Well, what does that mean?”

  “It means her mic isn’t transmitting.”

  From the front seat, Detective Capshaw slid open a partition so he could communicate with the team in the back of the van.

  “I got nothing in my earpiece,” Capshaw added.

  “Nobody does,” Spence said.

  “What do we do?” Lucy asked.

  “Give it a minute,” Spence said.

  “What if he has her as a hostage, or something,” Capshaw said. “We’ve got no visual and no recording. That doesn’t fly. We gotta get in there.”

  Spence did not disagree. “All right, Red One. This whole operation is a Charlie Foxtrot. We got to go in there. We got a warrant to search Dr. Coffey’s office so we’ll use that. Go! Go!”

  Lucy bit her lip. This obviously was not how things were supposed to happen. She could hear the chatter in her headphones as the police swarmed into the Barstow Building.

  “Red One, we are through the lobby,” came a voice.

  Lucy imagined the scene as best she could: Boston Police in body armor with guns drawn racing through a hospital lobby, flashing badges and shouting orders to gain entry. The sound of echoing footsteps marching up concrete stairs blasted in Lucy’s ears. She heard grunts and the issuing of various commands, most of them unintelligible.

  Spence leaned forward in his chair. Lucy glanced at him. His jaw was set tight and he was grinding his teeth. The tension on his face produced deep creases across his brow. Lucy leaned forward in her seat, her eyes closed, concentrating on every word, every sound she could pick up.

  “Red Leader, there’s a blond woman outside Dr. Coffey’s office. She appears to be fine. Go! Go!”

  Lucy heard a door slam open, then shouting—a lot of shouting.

  “Down! Get down on the floor! Hands behind your head! Don’t move! Do not move!”

  “What’s this about? What’s going on here?”

  It was Dr. Coffey’s terrified voice, Lucy believed.

  “I said down. Get facedown on the floor, hands behind your back!”

  The commanding voice was so loud it distorted in Lucy’s headphones. The commotion continued for some time.

  “Red Leader, we have a situation here.”

  Spence uncoiled in his seat. “What situation?”

  “Sir, it’s the blond woman.”

  “What about her?”

  “Well, she’s got the wig, all right. But it isn’t Julie Devereux. This girl here says her name is Becca Stinson and that she works for Dr. Lucy Abruzzo.”

  “Where the hell is Julie?” Spence shouted.

  “Sir, we don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Julie strode past the desk of Marilyn Bates, where the gray-haired sentry kept watch, and burst unannounced into Roman Janowski’s spacious office. Of course Marilyn followed, a frantic look on her craggy countenance, bracing for a stern rebuke over her failure to guard.

  Romey was hardly amused by the intrusion, but he displayed no outward signs of anger. He simply rose from his chair.

  “Marilyn, would you leave us, please?” he asked. “And close the door behind you.”

  Julie hovered near the door, her hands clenched into fists, electric currents racing through her body.

  “What on earth are you doing here, Julie?” Romey’s tone revealed both puzzlement and annoyance.

  “Surprised to see me, Roman?”

  “How did you get into the building?”

  “I used Lucy’s badge, same as I used Allyson’s badge to get into West.”

  “Clever girl. We’ll have to address that security lapse, won’t we? What is it you want, Julie?”

  “I want to cut a deal.”

  “A deal about what?”

  “A deal that will keep me and my son alive and you out of prison. I think we have a lot to discuss.”

  Romey reclined in his high-back leather desk chair, folded his arms across his chest. Julie found his expression obnoxiously sanguine.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Romey said. “But I do know I’m busy and you’ve been fired from White, which means I’m going to have you forcibly removed.” Romey reached for his desk phone.

  Julie approached with caution, ignoring the fear bubbling in her gut, the tremor in her heart. “I have proof,” she said. “Cetuximab and alpha-gal. I know how it works.”

  Romey set the phone back on its cradle and returned his hands to his lap. He rolled his chair forward and leaned his elbows against his uncluttered desk.

  Julie was intentionally vague, wondering how Romey would respond and what she would do if he attacked, if he pulled a gun on her. She inched forward and got to within a few feet of his desk, close enough so she could read the time on his brass clock. By now Spence and Capshaw would have a big surprise on their hands and the police would be grilling Lucy and Becca for information. With luck, it would all be sorted out soon enough.

  Romey glared at Julie. “What do you want?”

  “I told you, a deal.”

  Romey’s face turned thoughtful. “How do I know you haven’t already cut one?” he asked. With his finger, Romey pointed up and down Julie’s body and then touched his ear.

  This is it, Julie thought. This is the moment. Her excitement began to build, but her fear remained. “Always be three to four moves ahead of your opponent,” Lucy had said.

  “I see your point,” Julie said. She directed her gaze to a white lab coat hanging on a metal coat tree tucked in a corner—something she had noticed on her last visit to Janowski’s office.

  “What if I put on that lab coat,” she said, “and wear nothing underneath?”

  A slip of a smile came to Romey’s face, with a leer Julie found disgusting.

  “I’d say it would work for me if it works for you.”

  Romey rose from his chair, adjusted his suit, and then retrieved the lab coat.

  “I’ll watch,” Romey said.

  “What? You don’t trust me, Roman?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Julie locked eyes with Romey and did not avert her gaze while she removed her car keys and phone from the pocket of her trench coat. She set those items on the corner of Romey’s desk and dropped the jacket to the floor by Romey’s feet. Underneath, she wore a blue blouse and black slacks. She had given Becca the wig and glasses in a bathroom exchange made in the lobby of the Barstow Building, but not the lab coat with the wire in the button. Julie had walked out of the building not wearing any disguise, while Becca stayed behind. On her way to Romey’s office, Julie kept up the ruse by conversing with Lucy in the surveillance van. When it was time, Julie ditched the bugged lab coat in a trash can after crushing the device under the heel of her shoe. Now she was here, about to get undressed, and everything was going according to plan.

  Romey took in Julie’s figure, clearly imagining what was to be revealed to him, reveling in it. The anticipation excited him, Julie could tell. She undid the buttons of her blouse and lowered the zipper of her black slacks. Romey kept his eyes on her the entire time, and it was obvious he found the experience arousing. He dangled the lab coat in front of Julie like some reward she had yet to earn. Julie struck a stolid expression as she stepped out of her pants and took off her blouse.

  “Everything,” Romey said, eyeing Julie’s body with a wolfish grin.

  Julie took off her bra and underwear, anger eclipsing any embarrassment. Once she stood naked before him, Romey handed Julie the lab coat, but pulled it away the second she reached for it.

  “I may never have this view again,” Romey said.

  Julie snatched the coat from Romey’s hands and did up the buttons as quickly as she could with her own hands shaking. Romey stashed Julie’s clothes in a gym bag and walked the bag out of his office.

  “Leave that where it is,” Romey said to Ms. Bates. “And hold all my calls, cancel all my meetings fo
r the day. I’ll be leaving after this.”

  Julie crossed the room toward Romey and stopped halfway between the door and his desk. She circled so that her back was to the door and Romey’s to his desk. It gave her a quick exit, but there was another reason she took up the position. Roman would learn what it was soon enough.

  Julie felt naked even though the lab coat covered most of her body. The chill on her legs was an unpleasant reminder of her vulnerability.

  “So, then,” Romey said, motioning to the conference table. “Do we want to sit so you can tell me about this deal of yours?”

  “I’m fine to stand,” Julie said. “The deal is I want my life and I don’t want anyone to come after me or Trevor. That’s the nonnegotiable.”

  “Who said anyone would?”

  “I could put you away for life with what I have on you.”

  “Then do it, Julie. Put me away.”

  “I don’t know how many Lincoln Cole types you may have employed.”

  Romey set his hands on his hips. “I see.”

  “Why did you do it, Roman?”

  “Who said I did anything?”

  “It was the money, right? You and your bottom line.”

  “You’re making grand accusations now. I’m owning up to nothing.”

  “Cetuximab doesn’t come cheap, but it must have been worth it, or you wouldn’t have done it. So tell me, Roman, how much was Sam going to cost you? How much did you save by killing him?”

  “Killing him? You must be crazy.”

  “How much? Tell me, or I’ll turn in the evidence and take my chances you can’t get to us from prison.”

  “Money is not the point. Is it? You of all people should agree. The point, my dear, is that health care should be just that. Health. Care. At some point in time, we’ve turned it into sick care. We’ve gotten to a place where all we do is spend money to keep people alive. Our job as healers is to heal. Our job is not to simply perform more tests and provide more services on people who will very likely die anyway.

  “You ask what does the death of a patient like Sam save me,” he said. “I ask you, what did it save him? Years of being treated like an experiment, of enduring the next grand hope, the next big promise for the possibility that one day he might get a taste of what a normal life is like again. What would those years have been to him? Isn’t it better to die quickly than to live in misery enduring test after test, treatment after treatment? Isn’t that the right you fought so hard for?”

  “I fought for the patient’s right to choose,” Julie said. “Not for you to make the decision for him.”

  “Maybe some patients need a push.”

  “Just like some politicians.”

  “We all have our motivators.”

  “How much did it take to motivate William Colchester?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My guess is the devoted dad was more devoted to his bank account than to justice. So I want to know how much it cost you to keep Donald Colchester in the ground.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do. When the recording surfaced, you probably felt a little anxious wondering what it might reveal. Lucky for you it picked up a fall guy. When the recording evidence got tossed, you scrambled to make the case against him stick. You knew the mother wouldn’t stop until she got some answers. She’d been fighting for her son from day one. The last thing you wanted was an investigation into Donald Colchester’s death, so you got Sherri Platt to turn on Brandon, and you or your goon planted the drugs in his apartment. But you couldn’t get to the judge who might have agreed to exhume the body. William Colchester had to do that for you. So tell me, what does it take to buy that kind of cooperation?”

  The mention of Colchester’s name disturbed Romey. “He’s a small man.”

  “I want to know how small.”

  “Are you trying to figure out a sum for yourself?”

  “I have no income, no hope of getting a job with Shirley Mitchell hanging over my head. So yes. What did you pay him? Because I think I’m worth more. With what I have on you, I’m confident you’ll agree.”

  Roman gave this serious consideration. It was actually something Jordan had said that allowed Julie to piece it all together. “How did Cole know Sherri was going to come clean to you?” Somebody knew because they were eavesdropping on Julie’s conversations. And that somebody was Lincoln Cole, not William Colchester.

  “Two hundred thousand,” Romey said.

  “Two hundred grand to get William Colchester to bribe the judge?”

  “Yes, that’s what I paid him and that’s what I’m willing to offer you.”

  Julie broke into a smile. “Good,” she said.

  The door to Romey’s office burst open and seven armed agents from the FBI stormed in with guns drawn. They ordered Romey to the ground and he cooperated without resistance. He was immediately handcuffed, brought to his feet, and read his rights.

  “What are the charges?” Romey asked.

  Julie took delight in the fear on his face.

  “U.S. Code 201,” an agent from the FBI said. “Bribing a public official.”

  “What is this? I never—” Romey said. “And don’t trust her. She’s been fired from White. She has reason to hurt me.”

  Julie retrieved her cell phone from Roman’s desk and held it to his face.

  “It might look like my phone’s turned off, but it’s not,” Julie said. “It’s running an app called TrueSpy and recording everything we just discussed. The Boston police weren’t so keen on my using it, so I went to the FBI. They told me they couldn’t get a warrant for murder because it wasn’t a federal crime, but turns out bribing a public official is a different story. Trust me, Romey, you’ll still go down for murder, you son of a bitch.”

  Julie used the bathroom in Romey’s office to change back into her street clothes while her phone was bagged and tagged as evidence, and Romey got carted away in handcuffs.

  The Boston police had given Julie the ultimatum to wear the wire or face arrest, so she played it the only way she could. She’d said yes to their deal, while secretly cutting a separate deal with the FBI to get Colchester. Roman was Julie’s real target, but she needed someone for the bait and switch. Dr. Gerald Coffey had served that need well.

  Neither organization knew what the other was doing, so now the FBI had another job to do—make nice with Spence and Capshaw and get Lucy and Becca out of hot water. Julie had another job to do as well. Somehow Sam and the others were made alpha-gal allergic. But how? She knew someone who might have an answer—someone who knew a lot about bugs.

  CHAPTER 53

  Michelle Stevenson poured a little more wine into Julie’s glass. They were back in Michelle’s nicely appointed living room where a framed beetle hung on the wall near a picture of Michelle’s son, Andrew. Julie had gone to the home of Keith and Michelle to talk arachnids—specifically, the lone star tick. Julie’s theory was that somehow the tick saliva had been synthesized and then injected into the patients to turn them alpha-gal allergic.

  Julie looked at the picture of Andrew with a renewed feeling of gratitude for her own life, for her many blessings, for Trevor, and a sense of peace she felt now that Lincoln Cole and Roman Janowski were no longer threats.

  “Will they charge Roman with murder?” Michelle asked.

  “The police are working on it,” Julie said. “That’s why I need your help. Roman certainly had access to the patients, and giving an injection of cetuximab isn’t so hard to do. What I can’t figure out is how he made them positive for the alpha-gal allergy.”

  Keith, dressed comfortably in jeans and a navy polo, made a sound suggesting that he was at a loss as well.

  “For such a small critter, the tick’s salivary glands are incredibly complex,” Keith said. “I mean, it’s really quite remarkable. It’s certainly a key to their evolutionary success. The bioactive component exhibits a range of pharmacological properties. I’m not
sure how it would be synthesized, but I suppose it’s possible, or elements of it at least.”

  Michelle said, “What was Romey’s motive in all this?”

  “Well, he didn’t come right out and say it, but profit, I’m sure,” Julie said.

  “How so?” Keith asked.

  “Moving from fee-for-service to the accountable care model changed the profitability equation. The extra money an ACO can earn from Medicare kicks in only if the patient’s cost for care is lower than expected. What better way to control costs than get rid of the expensive patients? Hospitals’ revenues are up, but margins are down because of climbing expenses. A patient like Sam could cost up to a half million dollars, maybe more. Get rid of enough patients like him, put a stop to unnecessary tests and treatments, and it combines to make a big difference to the bottom line. We don’t know how many people Roman murdered, but to make it worth his while it had to be a lot.”

  “Judging by the ones we know about, they had a lot of tests and treatments coming their way,” Michelle said, sipping her wine. “Though Very Much Alive would argue those were hardly unnecessary.”

  “I agree,” Julie said. “But it was a point Roman made before the FBI came barging in to arrest him.”

  “Oh, I would have loved to see the look on his face when that went down,” Keith said.

  “You should have seen the looks on the faces of the Boston detectives,” Julie said. “They were none too pleased, and the FBI was gloating a bit, but they got Lucy and Becca out of trouble, thank goodness. I guess intra-agency competition is a normal thing. I’m just glad I was able to put Roman where he belongs.”

  “And poor Dr. Coffey,” Michelle said. “What a scare. I’m surprised he didn’t have a coronary.”

  “He’s a pompous ass with a heart of stone, so I’m not surprised at all,” Julie said. “He had nothing to do with this, but he earned his place in the operation.”

  Keith stood, shaking his head in disbelief. “Crazy. Just crazy. Let’s break for dinner, and then afterward we’ll dive into the nuances of tick saliva,” he said. “I’ve got braised chicken with artichokes in the oven. I’d hate for a lengthy discussion about tiny blood-sucking arachnids to ruin our appetites.”