The Path of Silence

by Edita A. Petrick

  “How did Morris get involved with the patient who came to the Emergency Room?” I asked.

  “I checked it out,” Field said. “Morris was on call. The emergency doctor summoned him when he saw the x-rays and only then paged Quigley, who wasn’t supposed to be on duty but the protocol is to page the Chief. It’s unfortunate that Quigley was also there…and so was Smeddin.”

  “So that night, Morris would have attended anyone with cardiac problems?” I wanted to clarify this.

  Field nodded. “He put in triple shifts. He was a good doctor. That bureaucrat didn’t deserve to have him on his staff,” he finished with a snort. I knew he meant Francis.

  “Stealing drugs is a criminal offence, Field.”

  “I guess that didn’t worry Morris as much as if he let his patients die,” he said.

  I didn’t want to escalate our discussion into a social injustice argument and dropped the issue.

  We ordered pizza. Brenda came in and joined us. Mrs. Tavalho and Jazz finished cleaning the yard and came inside.

  I was taking the beer out of the fridge when the doorbell rang. Jazz rushed to answer it.

  My father said he decided to drop by—for a pizza. Suddenly I had a party in my house.

  I couldn’t remember the last time my house had been filled with so many friends and family. It felt good.

  Chapter 37

  When I saw Bourke, he looked exhausted. His cheeks were sunken. He seemed to have aged ten years in these last few days.

  “Yeah, it was a set-up,” he said when he finished reading our report. “Any idea who’s behind it?”

  “All the victims were tied, one way or another, to Mongrove,” I said. “The night watchman who died in surgery at Hopkins used to patrol the Hellenic Plaza for three years before he retired. It ties him to the Creeslow limo service, like all the rest of the victims.”

  “Do you know what frightens me, Meg?” Bourke asked. I shook my head and he continued, “That all the victims have lived with a bomb in their chest for years and never knew it. Whoever’s the mastermind, he’s damn good.”

  I agreed but I also worried about it differently. “Whoever’s behind it, sir, has set it up years ago and then carried out this far-reaching scheme, carefully and systematically.”

  “Yeah, that would take incredible patience and focus.”

  “It’s the planning and the level of detail that worries me, sir. If you were a part of this scheme would you know that two years down the road you would need a night watchman or a tradesman or a waiter?”

  “You don’t think he implanted these people with an explosive device randomly, whoever he could get?” Bourke’s brows shot up.

  “Opportunity must have played a part, sir but I think he’s a careful planner who visualizes success and achieves is.”

  “Do you think it’s the doctor at Mongrove?” he asked.

  “Agent Mattis is still checking Patterson’s credentials,” Field said. “He’ll have more information in a day or two.”

  “Well, I’m off to another meeting. Keep me posted,” Bourke said and dismissed us.

  Ken went to pick up Brenda and Field left to meet with Agent Gould.

  I did something extraordinary too. I went to lunch with my father.

  “You’re still in Baltimore,” I remarked when the waiter left with our orders.

  “It’s me, Eli…Meg…I’m sitting here,” he murmured with abstraction.

  “Thanks for staying over, with Jazz,” I didn’t know where to rest my eyes and kept looking around.

  “We made friends. She’s like you but she’s also like her father. I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

  “I don’t know how to tell her, or how much,” I said what I’d been fighting to acknowledge.

  “I find that a simple approach works the best.”

  “You like a direct approach—with a hammer,” I grumbled.

  “I’ve never used a hammer on you,” he deadpanned.

  Finally, I laughed.

  “Did she ask you anything?”

  He nodded. “I told her I was an old family friend.”

  I groaned and he continued, “I said that I knew her grandmother then told her about your mother and her family.”

  “Great,” I moaned.

  “Your mother was not a Tavistock.”

  “She was a Hanley, of the Rhode Island shipbuilding empire.”

  “I omitted empires.”

  I laughed again. “How did she take it?”

  He lifted his head and stared into space. “When I finished, she was drawing her grandmother. I think it looked a little like your next-door neighbor. She popped in, a busybody. She saw the limo and wanted to know who died. It’s a start. You can do the rest. I promised her that I would keep in touch. Will you let me?”

  It was a strange lunch. Then again, it was the first of a kind. He told me that the Washington FBI had discreetly and very cautiously started to probe into Blank’s background and cloaked activities.

  “His personal physician is also under investigation,” he said, “but your approach is probably what will work to retire Mr. R. Bishop Blank. I’ll see how far the Justice Department dares to move against him but I’ve already given orders to start implementing your solution. Discreetly, of course.”

  “Why is the FBI investigating Blank’s doctor?”

  “They believe that he may have worked for the IMF.”

  “Dr. Martin,” I said then told him where he fitted into the scheme of things.

  “Blank must have a lot of people involved in this scheme, hidden under assumed identities. I’ve heard what happened at Hopkins,” he said.

  “The doctor who was shot wasn’t a part of it. He was set up. Our prime suspect now is the Chief Resident doctor at Mongrove. We’ll have to pay him a visit soon.”

  “Be careful,” he frowned.

  “I’m a homicide detective,” I groaned.

  “Yes I know,” he said snappily. “And I didn’t worry so much when you were working historical cases. Research is your forte. But this is live.”

  “You’ve kept track of me? Where I was? What I was doing”

  He sat back, stiff-necked. “Well, of course. You’re my daughter. What did you think?”

  I told him—at length. He kept sipping his coffee, listening with a bemused expression. Now and then he shook his head and chuckled.

  Chapter 38

  Ken and Field brought our dinner—a Chinese take-out. Jazz asked whether she could take her plate to the living room and watch TV. Since we would probably discuss business over dinner, I gave her permission.

  Ken was watching the coffee maker, ready to shut it off, because he didn’t like strong coffee. Field spread the paperwork on the table then went to check my e-mail in the living room. We were waiting for Agent Mattis to either call or e-mail information that would give us a legal right to bring Dr. Patterson in for questioning.

  My cell phone chimed. I smiled, thinking that Agent Mattis was bold to call me directly and circumvent his boss and flipped it open.

  “Yes?”

  “Release the frozen accounts or the pediatric nurse is history.” I heard an electronic voice haltingly deliver the message.

  “Who is this?” I demanded.

  “Release the frozen accounts or you’ll be picking up pieces of the pediatric nurse all over town,” the voice said. Its electronic warble wasn’t strong enough to affect the message.

  “Who is—” I started but the line went dead.

  I stared at the phone. “Ken, where is Brenda?” I asked, without looking at him.

  He put down the pot on the table then looked up. “What?”

  “Is Brenda working tonight?”

  “No, she went out with a friend.”

  “Who?”

  “She didn’t say.” He frowned.

  I dialed Joe’s cell.

  “Yeah,” he sounded hoarse.

  “Where are you?”

  “In bed. Where
the hell do you think I am at ten o’clock after spending sixteen hours on my feet? What’s up?”

  “Have you seen Brenda today?”

  “In the morning, when she clocked off her shift.”

  “Did she say what she was going to do the rest of the day?”

  “She clocked off a shift. What the hell do you think she’d be doing? Sleeping.”

  “All right, thanks,” I was about to hang up when I heard him again.

  “Hold on. Yeah, I think she said something about going to see Valerie later on, or someone.”

  “Where?”

  “Mongrove. I think she’s a friend, a nurse.”

  “Thanks,” I hung up and looked at Ken. “Call Sven,” I slashed my hand to stop his questions. “A SWAT team might be a good idea. Covert approach. Extreme caution. We’re going in.”

  “Where?” He stared at me but took out his cell phone.

  “Mongrove,” Field’s quiet voice came from the hallway. He was holding a sheet of paper. “Mattis sent the e-mail. I printed it out. The proximity of four victims to Mongrove makes it a logical target. Morris filed a report at Hopkins about his suspicions when he treated Patricia. Mattis got a hold of it. It implicates Patterson. Patricia was overmedicated and physically abused. Hopkins administrators never followed up but Morris kept trying. A month ago, he approached the Hopkins’ administration. He asked Francis to take action. Patterson must have learned about it. It might be the reason why Patricia suddenly met with an accident. He could have also set up Morris. And you were right,” he nodded at me. “Patterson did work for Lamar-Forest but he left there, at age thirty-nine, to join Doctors without Borders.

  “Where did he go?” I asked.

  “Lima, Peru. He’s also buried there, died of parasitic disease six months after his arrival.”

  “He came back from the dead and is a Chief Resident at Mongrove,” I said, tightening my lips. It was of no comfort to me that I was right about Patterson all along. I worried about Brenda.

  “A ruthless man saw an opportunity and came back as Patterson. Brick must have been targeted when he worked in Peru. He might have left because he felt unsafe. They saw that his talent had potential to cause them problems. Mongrove was a perfect place to carry out their pacemaker experiments, especially on the patients without family. Agent Gould is still tracking down escort services. What did they ask for?” He stared at me, grim and uncompromising.

  For Ken’s sake, I didn’t want to repeat the whole message.

  “They want the frozen funds released.”

  He snorted. “Of course. What’s the threat if we don’t comply?”

  “They’ll execute another victim,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

  “Brenda?”

  I hissed softly.

  “What?” Ken’s hand with the phone dropped. “Brenda’s in Mongrove?”

  “Let’s go,” I waved him on.

  “Where’s Jazz?” Field asked, heading for the door, his cell phone held against his ear.

  “Mrs. Tavalho took her along, to help set up the church bazaar.”

  “Leave her a message. We might be all night,” Field said over his shoulder.

  Chapter 39

  Mongrove was a fortress that could be approached from outside but to get inside quietly through all the screens wasn’t possible.

  It was after ten o’clock. The last light of the beautiful June evening had faded but the hospital guards monitoring the outside cameras would still be able to see dark shapes, darting around and positioning themselves for an unfriendly entry. Field was on the same thought-wavelength because he ordered the SWAT squad leader to hold position. He pointed at Sven Olsen and said, “I saw a pizza place a couple of blocks away. Have one of your men pick up an order. We’ll go the ‘delivery’ route.” He turned back to the squad leader, handing him something. “Pick a man to handle the pizza delivery. Have him stick this into the lock when he enters. It’ll take thirty seconds to burn through, then we go in. Coordinate your squad’s approach. Two-by-two, once inside sweep and secure the main floor. Put staff into rooms and lock them.”

  I leaned over to Field and asked in a low-carrying voice, “Does Brenda have all this time it’ll take to get the pizza here? And what if Patterson’s not inside?”

  He shook his head. “He’ll be in his office.”

  “He can be holding her hostage anywhere in this place.” I worried about Brenda and at the same time felt as if I was going to participate only in a field exercise, not an actual hostage situation. Something felt wrong but I couldn’t define what it was since I was never before a part of this kind of situation.

  “Patterson wants the funds released. He needs a Wi-Fi connection. He’ll be waiting with a laptop ready to transfer the money into offshore accounts,” Field said.

  I pulled him away from the squad commander. “Field—” I started.

  He cut me off. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said, my voice ringing with frustration. “That’s the problem. I feel—”

  “Feelings are not part of the FBI or police protocol in hostage situations, Sergeant,” he said. “Did you or didn’t you receive a phone call, demanding those funds be released?”

  I snorted. “Yes, I did but it sounded contrived. It came conveniently. I felt even as I listened that it wasn’t real.”

  “A criminal’s holding a hostage and he made demands, Sergeant. What’s unreal about that?”

  I raised my hand to show him I was capitulating and he left to confer with the squad leader. He was right. Feelings had no place in police protocol in hostage situations. But I started analyzing the situation as we headed for Mongrove. It’s what I did best. That’s why I chose to be assigned to Cold Case Unit because the job required detailed analysis of historical data and information. As a cold case homicide detective, I’d read hundreds of transcripts, hundreds of police reports taken down by just as many police officers taking statements from victims’ relatives, friends or witnesses. After reading half a page of someone’s deposition I already knew the deposed’s speech patterns and could even visualize the person’s mannerisms. By studying details and analyzing information I’d learned to reconstruct old crime scenes until I could visualize them with clarity as if they were scarcely a few days old. Ken and I practiced “reading” pedestrians every chance we got. Often we would stop the citizen we’d both just “read” to have a friendly chat with him—and to confirm that I was much better at “reading” people than my partner.

  The electronic voice on the phone said to release the frozen funds or the pediatric nurse would die. The caller repeated the message and hung up. No further instructions, no directions. The caller left a lot to Fate. What if we hadn’t been able to find out where Brenda was? What if I hadn’t called Joe? What if Brenda had changed her mind about visiting Valerie and happened to be somewhere other than Mongrove?

  Patterson liked to project an image of a “bright boy”. He dazzled us with patients’ histories in detail. He could have been improvising or lying outright but he was still glib, witty and droll. I could see the reason for the caller to electronically disguise his voice but the message was so terse that the caller had little to worry about the police tracing his call. And I wouldn’t have recognized Patterson’s voice from that sentence alone. During our first visit to Mongrove we left Patterson our business cards. Why would he choose to call me when Brenda’s life was at stake? Why not call Ken? He was the senior partner. Well, maybe Patterson didn’t know about Ken and Brenda’s relationship. Then again, there was that glib recital of patient’s history that found such an easy mark in Ken. It could be just coincidence that the Mongrove patient who resembled Brenda had suffered breakup consequences of a relationship that mirrored Ken and Brenda’s. But what if it wasn’t? Why not call the FBI, since his demand dealt with the funds’ release? How could Patterson possibly know that the Tavistock banker was my father and I was the key person who would be able to get him to do it?

  Was
I over-analyzing because that was the true nature of my job ever since I’d joined the BPD? Field’s sudden appearance in my life had already eroded my emotional stability. What if it had also affected my analytical skills to a degree where I could no longer trust my judgment? Was my instinct such a reliable tool that it should become my professional yardstick for making logical deductions?

  To me, the call sounded more like a tip-off by an informant who wanted the police to clean up for him. I wanted to be right but I also feared being wrong.

  There were many things here that didn’t make sense to me but Field was right about one thing—this was neither the place nor time for feelings, no matter how much they were steeped in analytical thinking.

  “What did the Chairman say about releasing those funds?” I heard Field’s voice behind me and abandoned my reflections.

  I took out a sheet of paper and wordlessly handed it to him. I’d called my father as we headed for Brooklyn. It shocked me that he hardly asked any questions. He inquired whether I had paper and a pen ready and dictated the numbers of frozen accounts. The original three hundred had been grouped into a block of twenty-one. My father said the bank would do as we asked. I thanked him and hung up but not before I heard him say, “Be careful. Take care.”

  Chapter 40

  Field’s “pizza delivery” plan worked. However, even as I moved inside the waiting area, my back to the wall, the feeling of something being wrong washed over me again. I stopped and listened until I figured out what bothered me.

  SWAT teams aren’t expected to wear athletic footwear but they could have used it tonight. The hard clatter of boots echoed like a drumroll through the stone edifice. Suddenly I felt as contrary and cynical as Joe. Why bother with pizza delivery charades? Hell, we might as well have rung the bell and asked to see Patterson.

  Gun drawn and ready, I moved along the wall. I lost track of Ken and Field but I saw Sven and three more colleagues herding those few staff members who’d rushed in, into offices and rooms, locking the doors. The SWAT members took positions and secured each corridor section, before moving ahead. They must have finally realized that softer footsteps were necessary and ran on tiptoes. By the time we were within sight of Patterson’s office, everyone moved quietly, cautiously.