by Wally Duff
“I see.” He pointed to the row we were already in. “Dr. Warren’s locker is right over there.”
I looked at the names on the other lockers as we walked toward it. “It looks like the lockers aren’t arranged alphabetically.”
“They are not. It is a random process except for one man, and his locker is in the row closest to the operating room.”
“Must be the boss, or something.”
“The chief of surgery.”
Alexis heard that. Now all I needed to do was stall Hunter to give her the needed time to search for Fertig’s locker.
101
We reached Peter’s locker. “Is there a lot of stuff in there?” I asked.
“There is,” Hunter said. “Do you need an empty box?”
“That would be most helpful.”
He turned around and walked out of the locker room through the same door we had used earlier.
“You keep him busy,” Alexis said. “I’ll search Fertig’s locker. Tell the guy I left to get the car, and he won’t wonder what happened to me.”
“How are you going to get out of here without him seeing you leave?”
“Maybe there’s another exit. Let me look.”
She ran down to the other end of the locker room and then returned. “There’s another door in the back that leads into the OR. I’ll go out that way when I’m done. I’ll meet you outside the door we used when we came in.”
She quickly moved back to last row of lockers before Hunter returned with a box.
When he arrived, he looked around. “Your assistant seems to have disappeared.”
“Ms. Tetley went to get the car. We had to park in the hinterlands, and I have no desire to haul Dr. Warren’s personal effects that far in these heels.”
“I understand.”
“Why don’t you do this, Mr. Hunter?” I asked.
“It will be my pleasure.”
I watched him carefully stack Peter’s items in the large box. In individual cleaning sacks were a blue blazer, gray slacks, three white shirts, one black suit, one pair of polished black shoes, and one pair of loafers. In a smaller cleaning sack were three Hermes ties.
Huh?
He noticed the puzzled look on my face. “Dr. Warren always kept a change of clothes in case he didn’t have time to go home after work. He would shower and change here before he went out to one of the many social gatherings he attended.”
“But these clothes have all been cleaned.”
“He would drop them off after an event, and I would pick them up and replace them in his locker.”
There’s no hair brush!
“Efficient but I don’t see any hair brush or comb for him to use after he showered.”
“There is no need for them,” he said. “The items the doctors require are provided for them in the bath and shower area.”
“Does the chief of surgery use them too?”
His shoulders tensed. “Why would you want to know that?”
My heart began racing.
Pushed this too far.
“I don’t. I was making stupid conversation. I liked Dr. Warren a lot, and doing something this personal is kind of freaking me out.”
“It is also troubling for me.” He leaned closer to me. “And to answer your question, the chief of surgery does not use those items like the other doctors do.”
He removed clean and folded underwear and over-the-calf black socks from shelves in the back of the locker. Reaching to the bottom of Peter’s locker, he pulled out a pair of black Merrill slip-on shoes and held them up. “These were Dr. Warren’s favorite pair of surgery shoes. He insisted that they be polished each morning.”
Tears glistened in his eyes, and he took a few seconds to gather himself. I touched his arm. “I’m sure he appreciated that. I’ll tell his mother.”
“Thank you.” He put the shoes on the top of the items already in the box. “There is a funny story about these shoes.”
“Funny?”
“It was the only time I ever saw Dr. Warren angry.”
102
“Dr. Warren came in to change for his first case, punctual as always,” Hunter began. “He changed into his scrub suit, and when he slipped the shoes on, he began to scream.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He cut himself on a knife blade.”
“In his shoe?”
“Right here.” He took the left shoe back out of the box and turned it over. I could see a small slit in sole.
“How did the blade get in his shoe?”
“He thought he probably stepped on it in the operating room sometime prior to the incident, and as he continued to walk on it, the blade worked its way through and finally cut him.”
“Was it bad?”
“It was terrible. He bled all over the carpet.” He bent down and ran his hand over the thick dark green pile. “I attempted to get the blood stain out, but I couldn’t. If you look closely, you can see where we had to cut that piece out and patch it.”
“Hard to believe it bled that much.”
“It was from a No. 11 scalpel. Unlike other surgical knife blades, it comes to a point at the end, which allowed it to penetrate first through his shoe and then deeply into his foot. The razor-sharp blade edge caused enough damage that he had to have three stitches. The entire episode made him extremely angry. He told me to throw the shoes away.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I knew he did not mean it. I removed the knife blade and then cleaned and polished the shoes. They were as good as new. It took him a week, but he finally wore them again.”
I put my hand on top of the shoes. “Why don’t you keep them? I’m sure Dr. Warren would want you to have them.”
The tears returned, this time running down his cheeks. “He was a lovely man. He came by my house at Christmas with a present that he shopped for himself. Most of the doctors give me money or a gift card, but he would ask my family what I needed, and then he bought it for me.”
“Did Dr. Warren’s wife come with him?”
The sour look on his face said it all. “No, she did not. The few times I was in the same room with her, she did not acknowledge me.” He straightened his shoulders. “She treated me like a servant. I guess I was beneath her social status.”
I waited.
“The only person she seems to like is our chief of surgery, and truth be told, they deserve each other.”
103
Alexis joined me in the hall. I carried the large box with Peter’s effects. My purse rested on top of it. She had her large black tote hung over her arm. We walked toward the garage exit as fast as our high heels would allow.
“Did you find what we needed? I asked.
“I did,” Alexis said.
“Great.”
We stopped. She opened her tote and pulled out a small baggy with a few stands of hair.
She handed it to me. “Mission accomplished.”
I put the box down and opened my purse. When I put the bag in it, she saw what was inside.
“Is that a gun?” she asked.
“Yeah, I carry it all the time.”
“The way things are going that might not be a bad idea.”
I picked up the box, and we began speed-walking toward the garage.
“How did you do it?” I asked.
“He has all the lockers in the last row. They were open. I kept looking until I found his hair brush.”
“You were lucky. Hunter told me none of the other doctors keep brushes and combs in their lockers because they’re provided for them.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t realize that.”
“Lucky for us, Fertig doesn’t use the free stuff like the other doctors. He’s a different kind of guy.”
“I’ve heard he doesn’t like many people.”
“There is one person he seems to like.”
“Which doctor is it?”
“Not a doctor, a doctor’s wife.”
“Who is
it?”
“Diane Warren.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow. I never would have thought of her.”
“Might need to check that out.”
“I’ll ask around.”
We were ten feet from the exit door when the doors slid open. Two security guards ran toward us.
104
Janet and Tony were right behind the security guards. The group stopped in front of us.
“What’re you two doing here?” Janet demanded.
The two security guards leaned forward awaiting our answer.
“We were in the gift boutique in the lobby.” I displayed the large closed box with Warren’s personal items. “They’re having a sale.”
“No sacks?” Tony asked.
“They ran out, and this is all they had,” Alexis said, patting the box. “I found a cute sweater to go with my new haircut.” She raised her eyebrows at Janet and nodded toward her purse.
“Hair?” he asked. “Sweets, looks the same to me, but now that you mention it, it’s not messed up like the last time I saw you.”
“There was a reason for that,” she said, a slight blush coming to her tanned face.
I glared at my tennis partner. She looked away. I knew she had met with Tony, but maybe it was more than that.
“And love the shoes,” he continued.
“But they’re killing my feet,” she said. “Can’t wait to get home and take them off.”
“What about you guys?” I asked. “Why are you here?”
“Workin’ last name on Alexis’s list,” he said. “Dr. Edward L. Gary.”
“His cell phone went to voice mail when I called him,” Janet said. “I called his office. No answer, and we went to his home.”
“Wife said he wasn’t there,” Tony said.
“She didn’t seem too concerned that he might be in danger,” added Janet.
“Might have to go back and talk to her a little more,” he said.
I turned to Janet. “A hottie?” I asked.
“She’s a short blond who’s had lots of cosmetic surgery.”
“Sounds like she’s a little out of your age range, Tony,” I said.
Tony smiled at Alexis. “Expandin’ my horizons.”
She smiled back. Janet rolled her eyes.
“Not only wasn’t she concerned about him, she didn’t seem all that unhappy that he might not ever come home when we suggested his life might be in danger,” Janet said.
“Hospital gossip has it that he’s a player, and his wife isn’t too thrilled about it,” Alexis said.
“That fits with what we were told too,” Janet said.
“Finally called his answering service,” Tony continued. “Told me he was called back to the hospital a little over an hour ago.”
“They said it was unusual, because he wasn’t on call and he wasn’t scheduled to do any cases until tomorrow,” Janet said. “We’re here to make sure he’s okay.”
105
The security guards and two detectives moved down the hall toward the OR. I saw Tony look over his shoulder at Alexis as the two of us walked toward the garage. He turned and said something to Janet. She elbowed him in the ribs, and they kept walking.
Tony being Tony.
“Did you see Dr. Gary go into the OR?” I asked.
“No, and the nurse who was leaving told me there weren’t any cases on the board,” Alexis said. “I can’t imagine what he was doing there.”
“Why didn’t you use your card to go into the OR and check it out?”
“When that nurse told me the evening supervisor was still in there, I was worried that she might wonder why I was in the OR dressed like this,” she said, as she pointed at her short skirt.
“Good point.”
Alexis kept walking toward her car. I stopped.
“Aren’t you going home?” she asked.
“I’m going back inside and see what they find out about Dr. Gary. Plus, I want to give Janet this hair sample.”
“You’re amazing. Once you start working on a story you don’t stop.”
“I’m known for being a tenacious reporter. It’s what I am — or at least used to be.”
“It’s not for me, girlfriend. Having Hunter catch us in the locker room is all the excitement I need for one day. And these heels are killing my feet. I’m gonna go home, drink a glass of wine, and soak my feet in the bathtub.”
“I’ll let you know what happens.”
“You want me to take the box?”
“That would be great. The cops might wonder why I’m carrying it around.”
She picked up the box and walked to her car.
I turned around and went to the OR. I used my ID card to gain entry into the surgery suite. Everyone congregated at the main desk. A woman wearing a blue scrub suit was on the other side of the counter fiddling with her computer.
“I see no indication that any of our rooms are being used,” she said.
“Humor me,” Janet said. “We have reason to think that Dr. Gary is in here.”
She stood up. “He is not here.”
One of the security guards stepped up to the counter. “Ms. Sorenson, we like to give the Chicago Police Department all the help we can. Please cooperate with these detectives.”
“Could Dr. Gary have come in and you didn’t see him?” Janet asked.
“I was in my office working on next week’s schedule,” she admitted, “so it’s possible I didn’t see him.”
“Would you mind looking around?” Janet asked.
Sorenson fiddled with a paper scrub hat and finally put it on. “I will, but I assure you he’s not here.” She walked away from the counter. “I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder.
Five minutes later, she began screaming.
106
We ran toward the metal doors. They swooshed open. The commotion came from a procedure room to the left of the operating rooms. The OR supervisor sprinted toward us, waving her arms.
Janet grabbed her shoulders to stop her. “What’s wrong?”
Sorenson responded with another ear-blasting scream. Janet handed the blubbering woman off to one of the security guards and pulled out her gun. Tony did the same. The two detectives held their guns in shooting position as they walked into the room.
I followed.
“Ah, shit,” Janet said, when she saw what was in the room.
A man’s body lay on a gurney. A white sheet covered him up to his shoulders. His arms were folded across his chest on top of the sheet. He had an IV in his left arm. The bag hanging from the stand next to him was almost empty. His eyes were closed, giving the impression that he was peacefully sleeping.
Janet and Tony checked the body.
“Gary?” I asked.
“Yes,” Janet said.
“He looks so peaceful,” I said. “Is he dead?”
“Body’s still warm but the dude is gonzo,” Tony said.
“Should we call a code?” the security guard asked.
“This is now officially a crime scene. We don’t want to contaminate it any more than it already is,” she said.
“I hate to disagree, but it looks like a suicide to me,” the other security guard said.
“It was meant to.” She turned to me. “You know the drill.”
“Yep. It’s now a crime scene, and I shouldn’t be in here.”
I stepped out into the hallway and called Carter, who was still at work. “I’m in the OR at MidAmerica Hospital. Another doctor’s been murdered.”
It sounded like he jumped out of his chair. “Are you safe? Are you in danger?”
“No, the killer is long gone.”
“That’s a relief,” he said. “Are the police there?”
“They are.”
“Are they certain it’s a murder?”
“So far, they are. Like with the others, it was meant to look like a suicide.”
