The Angel Maker lbadm-2

by Ridley Pearson

  "But if we were to narrow the field," Boldt suggested. He actually crossed his fingers. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. Miles started kicking.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" Shoswitz asked, sensing he was missing something. "Give me a second. just give me a fucking second."

  "Seattle to Vancouver!" Boldt hinted.

  Shoswitz didn't want any hints; he glared at Boldt then snapped his fingers in realization. "Immigration! We can search the fed's Immigration computers-it's a single database. We can search by date, by the names of the clinic employees. We don't have to deal with a dozen different carriers. How hard can that be? How long could that take?"

  "A matter of minutes, if we go in the back door." This was Boldt's moment of glory: Shoswitz had arrived. Boldt said, "It's the federal government. It's red tape a mile long. If we go after it legally, it could take weeks. Months, even."

  "Why not an end run?" Shoswitz asked.

  Boldt thought: Why not! Such tactics were fairly common practice: You asked a contact at a credit agency or the phone company-or Immigration-to do a search for you; if something useful was discovered, you were told to make it a formal request, knowing in advance that the formal request would net what you were after. It saved you from jumping through all the legal hoops only to come up dry. Shoswitz finally understood, finally saw his role in all of this. "You want me to make the call, is that it?"

  For Boldt, it was like fireworks going off. A home run. "You're the only one with the necessary contacts at Immigration. I don't have them. Lamoia doesn't. But you do. I know you don't like this kind of thing, Phil, but we need some help here." Boldt had Daphne to thank for this; this technique had been all her doing.

  Shoswitz said, "You could have just asked, you know."

  Boldt offered an inquisitive expression.

  The lieutenant considered this a moment. "No," he conceded, "I suppose not." Miles squirmed. He clapped his hands against Boldt's chest.

  Boldt said, "Lamoia's working on getting the employee lists.

  Three clinics in all: Tender Care, North Main, and Lakeview.

  With any luck, we should have those names by morning."

  THURSDAY February 9 7 A.M.

  With one day in which to find Sharon alive, Daphne, having slept for only three hours, marched into Boldt's office at seven o'clock Thursday morning and announced, "We overlooked something."

  Wearing the same clothes as the day before, Boldt looked up from his desk with glassy eyes and replied, "I wouldn't doubt it." "I know how to identify the harvester."

  He sat up, suddenly more alert, and watched as she passed by him, heading directly to one of several large stacks of paperwork. "Didn't you pull the drivers licenses on the three Tender Care vets?"

  "Other stack," he directed. "But it's no good.

  Shoswitz agrees that we'd be tipping our hand, that we'd give the harvester a chance to close up shop, to destroy evidence, if we interview them. Although the way Maybeck behaved with the laptop, I'm starting to think we're already too late."

  "It's not an interview I'm after." She dug through the next pile over and extricated three sheets of paper. "He can tell us who he is without our ever asking a question." She added, "The thing is, Dixie told us the harvester is left-handed. Remember? We weren't thinking."

  "But how-?"

  "His signature, dummy." She placed the first sheet in front of him. It showed a poor-quality photocopy of a driver's license, complete with name, address, height, weight, eye color, and identification number. Her fingernail ran across the signature. "Right-handed," she stated. "See the slant to the characters and the way the dot on the T trails to the right?" She placed the next sheet in front of Boldt. She was leaning in close to him, and he could smell the shampoo in her hair. "Another rightie," she declared. "He's the one who retained the Tender Care name, isn't he?"

  "Yeah, but I don't see how-" She interrupted again, "This is my training," Lou. Not yours." She delivered the last sheet to the table.

  Her finger traced along the signature. "A leftie! See the posture of the T and the V? It's him!"

  Reading the name from the license, Boldt asked, "Elden Tegg? How sure are you about this rightie/ leftie business?"

  "Put him under surveillance," she instructed, taking charge. "I am going to find out who the hell this bastard is."

  At eight forty-five she re-entered Boldt's office and took a seat across from him. "Dr. Elden Tegg is Canadian by birth-a U.S. citizen now. You want to guess what city in Canada he's from?" When he failed to answer her she said, "Vancouver," and left it hanging in the air like a bomb. "How do you know any of this?" he asked skeptically.

  She slid the faxes over to him, her heart beating quickly.

  "Just got these." She could feel Boldt's anticipation. "He's a board-certified veterinarian. I obtained his curriculum vitae from the Seattle Veterinary Medical Association. It gets real interesting on page two. Prior to veterinarian school here in Washington, Elden Tegg attended medical school in Vancouver." "As in humans?" Boldt's eyes were as wide as saucers. "As in. He didn't make it through his residency, which is not unusual in itself, the dropout rate being what it is. He came down here to Seattle and studied to be a veterinarian-also not that unusual. But it sure as hell fits the profile. Page three: There's a doctor listed as an attending physician: Dr. Stanley Millingsford. Lives outside Vancouver. I called him. What is unusual about Elden Tegg is that he was at the very top of his class. He didn't leave his residency; he was asked to leave. Dr. Millingsford was reluctant to give me that. In fact, Dr. Millingsford is an ardent supporter of Elden Tegg, or was until I told him about the nature of our investigation." She added, "Would you like to guess Elden Tegg's special interest in residency?"

  Boldt answered, "Transplants?" She nodded. "Transplantation surgery. Millingsford is willing to talk but not over the phone. He has a dislike of phones."

  Understanding her situation, Boldt stated, "You need a travel voucher signed by Shoswitz."

  "You're such a good cop," she said. "We've established surveillance of the clinic and Tegg's residence. You're on your way. Now!"

  She jumped up. They stood only inches apart. It seemed he might try to kiss her. Something inside her hoped that he might at least hug her, but the moment passed. He hurried out the door, running toward the lieutenant's office. "Lieutenant!" she heard him shout, "We've got him!"

  Nestled in a shoreline forest of giant cedar, madronas and pine, Dr. Stanley Millingsford's gray clapboard home was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence with a stone pillar gate. It had a horseshoe driveway made of crushed stone and gave Daphne the impression, of an English manor house. As the taxi dropped her off, she faced a nine-foot-high black lacquer door with a polished brass knocker in the shape of a half moon. The sun shone brightly but was not hot. She tapped the moon gently against a polished brass star.

  Mrs. Stanley Millingsford, who introduced herself as Marion, was in her late sixties, with pale blue eyes. She wore a riding outfit, complete with high black boots. She led Daphne into the cozy living room where a fire burned in the large fireplace. She seemed upset with Daphne coming here, bothering her husband, and she communicated this in a single, intense expression. She offered tea an went o to prepare it before Daphne had a chance to answer.

  Dr. Millingsford walked with a cane. He wore a blue blazer, khakis, white socks, and corduroy slippers. A pair of bifocals protruded from the pocket of his Stewart plaid shirt. He had silver-gray hair and eyes the same color as his wife's. He motioned Daphne to the couch and took the leather wingback chair by the fire for himself. He placed his bad leg on a footstool and leaned the cane within reach. "Sorry to make you come all this way." She didn't say anything. He had that air about him: You didn't interrupt his thoughts. "Your generation is more comfortable with the telephone than mine." He sounded American, not Canadian, but she wasn't going to ask. "Elden Tegg," he said. "Yes.

  "Organ harvesting?" He glanced at the fire. "Which o
rgans?" he asked. "Kidneys. Lungs. We think it is mostly kidneys. Two of the victims are missing a kidney."

  "Victims?"

  "At least three of the donors hemorrhaged and 'died."

  He lost some of his color and looked at her gravely. "He was asked to leave his residency," she reminded him. "Yes." He collected his thoughts. "You don't forget a man like Elden Tegg. There aren't many that good, which makes them stand out all the more. I don't mean just talent. Talent and intelligence abound in the residency programs. But rare is the individual who rolls the two together and achieves something of a higher level from this combination call it creativity, call it confidence-when you see it, you know. "Elden Tegg has as sure a pair of hands as I have ever seen. Brilliant control. He had the eye-that's the thing so many lack. Oh, they've read all the texts, they are founts of technical information, but they can't see. A surgeon must be able to see that which is there. Not just that problem for which he operates, but everything. Elden Tegg has such an eye, and the hands to go along with it. But while he was with us he had something else: ambition. The wheels of education moved too slowly for him. He sensed his greatness. He wanted everything, wanted it all. More than anything, he wanted acceptance from his peers. He wanted to belong. It wasn't difficult to see that. He was the freak, the whiz kid, and he suffered for it."

  Millingsford's wife entered with a rolling tray containing a cozied teapot, cups and saucers, a lemon poppyseed cake and small plates. "You'll have to fend for yourselves, I'm afraid. I'm awfully sorry. We have a sick foal I must attend," she explained. She left.

  Daphne poured them both tea and cut some cake for him.

  He chewed some cake, looking into the fire. "Have you met him?

  Tegg?"

  "No."

  "His problem-and this is a problem with nearly every surgeon, including this one-is his ego. He keeps his nose high. He was quick to put people down. He intimidated most everyone around him. That had its plusses-he effectively controlled everyone, and that sense of leadership is important for any surgeon. The surgeon must be in control. Everyone must know it, must feel it." He glanced at her. Here, he was in control. "The incident that led to his expulsion is what I wanted to talk to you about. We had an, open heart to do. Tegg was to assist. I was delayed by another surgery, across town. The patient was submarining-we were losing him quickly. I was nowhere to be found. "Tegg informed the nursing staff that I had okayed his beginning the procedure without me. He lied: No such conversation had ever taken place. As I have said, he controlled the nurses. They went along with it. Tegg accepted full responsibility. Taking charge was one of his long suits. "When you perform open heart or any invasive thoracic surgery," he continued, "you open the chest cavity with something called a sternal saw. It's a very useful tool-the sawing used to be done by hand. It's tricky, however. You must maintain an upward pressure at all times-that's the way the blade works." His hands flexed as he spoke. "In my absence, Tegg mishandled the sternal saw. He severed the left ventricle, killing the patient.

  "Naturally, Tegg was asked to leave and was told in no uncertain terms that he would never be accepted in any residency program. if he applied, all would be revealed. He went on to veterinarian school-I wrote a recommendation for him."

  "Was he ever charged for that killing?"

  "This is medicine, Miss. Matthews. It wasn't murder. It was a mistake. Mistakes happen."

  "There were no lawsuits?"

  "Yes, there was a lawsuit.

  That's one of the reasons he was dismissed. The school had to dismiss him immediately in an attempt to defend its position on this. To clarify it. That is precisely why no other program would have ever taken him."

  She took some notes while her thoughts were still fresh. She looked up and asked. "Do you remember the patient's name? The one who was killed?"

  "You don't forget an incident like that," he explained. "His name was Thomas Kent."

  She wrote this down as well. She underlined it.

  Thomas Kent 3 P. m.

  When Daphne cleared the jetway at SEATAC airport she saw Lou Boldt and an airport security patrolman anxiously awaiting her, standing away from the steady stream of departing passengers.

  Boldt reached out, took her briefcase in one hand and her upper arm in another. They walked fast. He steered her over to a shuttle cart that was waiting for them. The air was electric with urgency. Sharon's time was running out.

  Boldt said, "Maybeck's cooling his heels in Interrogation.

  Shoswitz wants you part of it." Before she had a chance to ask, he answered, "He was busted at a dog fight by the County Police who weren't aware of our investigation or our surveillance. It's a mess. There's a lot of screaming going on."

  They climbed onto the cart, and it hurried off almost before she sat down, throwing her into the seat. She said, "We're running out of time. You know that, don't you?"

  "We're taking an amphibian to Lake Union to save time. Tractor trailer carrying chemicals overturned on 1–5. Traffic's been diverted to 99. Nothing is moving. There's an hour delay at least. Don't look at me, it was Phil's idea."

  "The lieutenant spending money?" she said over the repetitious beeping of the cart's pedestrian warning system. "There's a rumor going around that one of the church groups pressured the mayor about Sharon's whereabouts. Whatever happened, the lid is coming off this thing. KING radio ran a story about our finding remains along the Tolt. They're trying to draw Green River comparisons. We're sitting on the rest of it, but Phil suddenly.wants results."

  "It's about time." Boldt said, "Yes. That is what it's about." The cart pulled up at gate A-7, where a charter pilot awaited them. Daphne handed her keys over to the airport security man who was going to return her car to the department. Boldt and the pilot shook hands. The three. of them hurried down a flight of stairs and out to the waiting plane with its overhead engine, wheels and short pontoons. The plane looked so tiny compared with the huge jetliners.

  Daphne shut her eyes in terror as they landed on Lake Union seven minutes later. From the plane, they were chauffeured in a patrolcar, sitting in the back, contained by a cage, the doors without handles. "You know, in seven years I've never ridden back here," she said.

  It had been too loud to talk on the plane. in a strained voice Boldt informed her, "Immigration's computers kicked dozens of names. We failed to realize how many commuters travel between the two cities on a daily basis. It's a long list and it's going to be a bitch sorting it out. To make matters worse, we've been unable to get a list of the various employees, and that's the first list we wanted to check Immigration against."

  "One step forward, two steps back." "Doin' the policeman's polka," he said, making her smile.

  The car braked severely. She looked up to see they were already at the Public Safety Building. The driver let them out. Boldt was still carrying her briefcase. The frantic pace lent an urgency that she now felt physically as well. She was taking short, quick breaths. Her heart was racing.

  Shoswitz met them on the ground floor; the driver must have called in their position. This kind of treatment was heady. Shoswitz wouldn't allow anyone else on the elevator with them. As the three of them ascended, the lieutenant asked Boldt, "Well?"

  "She's pretty much up to date."

  "What can you tell us about Tegg?" the lieutenant asked her. "And I want it all. Guesses, hunches, anything. I've got a meeting with the captain in-" he checked his watch, "ten minutes. Go!"

  She had tried to bring her thoughts together on the flight down from Vancouver. These last few' minutes had rattled her. The elevator car reached the fourth floor. Shoswitz hit the stop button, preventing the doors from opening. He was waiting for her to brief him.

  She said quickly, "Tegg is a paranoid. He's running from his past, trying to prove himself. In his mind, he's better than everyone, yet everyone's against him. Outwardly he could very well be Joe Normal, a good doctor, a good husband, a good father. But inside he's paranoid. He thinks of everyone as inferior
to him; he tolerates them, but that's all. He's quick to blame, and he has an explanation for everything. He's Mr. Right. Mr. Perfect. By now he's found some way to put a twist on his killing a man named Thomas Kent-killed him in surgery-but half of him knows that this twist is a lie, that he's lying to himself, and that's been eating away at him a long, long time." "How dangerous?" Shoswitz asked. "To our people?"

  "Violent?

  I doubt it. But he's worth being afraid of. He was at the top of his class, so he's plenty brainy. He has a scientific mind, which means he'll think in patterns and subsets, very linear and logical. He's always two or three steps ahead-in his thoughts, in his surgery, in his life. He's likely to be obsessive-very few hobbies or distractions to take him away from his work.

  He's a control freak. Millingsford said he used to intimidate the nurses, that they were afraid of him, and that fits with what I'm thinking. He still intimidates his coworkers. He's Likely to be exceptionally strong-minded, strongwilled. But psychologically speaking, his strengths are his weaknesses. They can be exploited."

  The lieutenant nodded and looked up at Boldt. "Okay?" he asked.

  "Any questions?"

  "Okay with me." She grabbed Shoswitz by the arm. it was the wrong thing to do. "We have to bypass the red tape, Lieutenant. We have to go straight at this guy. And fast." Shoswitz pulled his arm free, reached down, and punched the Emergency Stop button. The doors slid open. Unexpectedly, they were showered in a blinding array of camera flashes and a dozen questions being shouted at them simultaneously. Shoswitz and Boldt contained Daphne between them, and the three of them, arms raised fending off the lights, surged through the throng of reporters. "No comment," Shoswitz kept shouting back.

  As they pushed into Homicide, the press was kept at bay.

  Shoswitz issued orders to the first patrolman he encountered, "I want them kept in the press room, understand? Not up here." To Boldt he said, "I gotta leave you two now." To Daphne he said, "This is where you earn your meal ticket, Matthews. We need to break this guy. We need for him to give us Tegg in a handbasket. You're the one who said it: Your friend Sharon is running out of time."