Code 15 (12 page)

A stocky man seated on a tan leather sofa and wearing a blue denim shirt worked at his laptop. Having excellent peripheral vision, Gideon watched as Morgan disappeared into the parking lot. He then took a few moments to shut down his computer and snap the screen closed. When he finished, he slid it into a black leather computer case, stood up, and headed for the door.

Morgan arrived at North Perry Airport at five minutes to three. The airfield, located in West Hollywood, was the busiest general aviation facility in Broward County and the one Ben had selected to open his flight school.

Morgan pulled up behind her hangar, a glorified prefab garage in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, parked on a dusty patch of barren ground, and stepped out of her car. When she hoisted the door and saw the sun reflect off the propeller of her red, white, and blue Cirrus, her mood was immediately elevated. A born aviator, Morgan first experienced the ecstasy of flight as a freshman in college. Once bitten by the flying bug, she flew every chance she got. Six months after her first flight, she earned her private pilot’s license. By the time she finished her internship, she was an instrument-rated instructor with a multi-engine certificate.

Morgan made her way around the airplane to the far end of the hangar where she kept a gas-powered dolly. After securing it to the nose wheel, she gave the rope a quick tug, bringing the dolly’s two-horsepower engine to life. She then flipped the dolly into gear and guided the plane out of the hangar onto the tarmac.

Before beginning the preflight, she opened the passenger side door and tossed her leather flight case and thermos of coffee on the backseat. Just as she stepped down off of the wing, she saw Ben pull up in his twenty-year-old black Porsche coupe. The car, which Morgan suspected he treasured more than life itself, looked as beautiful now as the day his father had driven it out of the showroom.

“Looks like we have a perfect day for flying,” he yelled as he maneuvered his way out of the car.

Joining her in front of the left wing, Ben slipped on his sunglasses. Morgan ran her hand over the leading edge of the wing and asked, “Where do you want to go?”

“Your call.”

“Why don’t we head out over the Everglades and then circle back over Key Biscayne?” she suggested.

“Are you sure? There’s a bunch of thunderstorms to the west.”

She looked at him sideways and then smiled. “Would that be according to your trick knee? Because I just checked with flight services and there isn’t any weather between here and Naples.” She shook her head. “You act like I’m one of your students. Since you opened that flight school you’ve become intolerable.”

“I just want to make sure the person I’m flying with is on her toes.”

“If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I got my instructor’s ticket before you did.” They walked around to the back of the wing. Ben tested one of the ailerons by carefully raising and lowering it.

“Anything new with the pacemaker case?”

“I went to see Mira Ramon this morning. I wanted to talk to her about the cross.”

“How come?”

“I remembered that magnets are sometimes used as a means to change pacemaker settings. I wanted to ask her if she thought it was possible that the cross could have altered Alison Greene’s pacemaker and caused the ventricular tachycardia.”

Ben nodded a couple of times. “Interesting idea. What did she say?”

“She felt in the absence of another reasonable explanation, it was quite possible. So I called the pacemaker manufacturer to get their opinion.”

“Let me guess,” he said with a chuckle. “They said it was an impossibility.”

“The rep I spoke to didn’t categorically deny it could happen, but he was quick to point out that they had never received a single report of such a malfunction.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with biotech executives. Admitting liability for their products is not exactly their strong suit.” Ben knelt down like a catcher and inspected the landing gear. “Have the police come up with anything regarding the note Gideon left?”

“If they have, they haven’t shared the information with me.”

“What about the Tony Wallace case? Have you made any progress figuring out what went wrong?”

“None.”

Ben stopped fussing with the landing gear and watched as Morgan looked overhead for a few seconds. The disappointment in her face couldn’t have been more apparent. She knelt down next to him and began examining the landing gear.

“I just did that,” he said patiently.

Slapping her hands together to shake off the dirt from the tire, she said, “Now, we’ve done it twice.”

Morgan stood back up. Ben followed.

“Did you speak to Bob Allenby about—”

“I have an idea,” Morgan announced, bringing her index finger up to her lips. “Let’s forget all this hospital stuff and go flying.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Whose turn is it in the left seat?”

“Yours.” Morgan pointed to her lower belly. “If this kid’s going to fly solo by the time she hits her first birthday, I want to get her up flying as soon as possible.”

Ben grinned and then without giving it a second thought, gave Morgan a huge hug. Standing there in silence, the impulse to kiss her swept over him. But even as awkward as he was when it came to affairs of the heart, he knew the timing was wrong.

A few more seconds passed and he stepped back. “Let’s get going.”

Morgan followed Ben into the plane and settled into the right seat. After putting his headphones on, he looked out the window to make sure the area around the plane was clear. He then started the engine and taxied out to the active runway. When he received clearance from the tower, he took one final look around, pushed the throttle forward, and started his takeoff roll.

With very little encouragement from Ben, the Cirrus lifted off of the runway. Climbing out to the west, they crossed Broward County, cleared Route 27, and then headed out over the Everglades. It was a cloudless day, and from twenty-five hundred feet, the endless waves of saw grass loomed over the dull earth tones of the wetlands.

Morgan unscrewed the cap of her thermos and poured herself half a cup of coffee. For the next hour, they talked about many things, but not a single word was uttered about Code 15s, her father’s death, or hospital politics. When he made a gentle bank over Key Biscayne, Ben, who was an avid tennis player, pointed out the nationally renowned tennis center.

“If you’ll give up the controls, I’ll take us in,” she told him.

“Even though you own this little beauty, I’m not sure you can fly a plane as demanding as this one.”

She laughed. “I could fly the box it came in. Just sit back and observe.”

Concentrating on her flight instruments, Morgan descended through some broken clouds and entered the landing pattern at North Perry. A few minutes later she set the plane down on the centerline and taxied back to the hangar.

Ben walked Morgan to her car.

“Have you given any further thought to taking on a few students?” he asked her. “You have an instructor’s rating. It seems like a shame not to use it.”

“I’d like to . . . it’s just that I have so much going on right now. Why don’t you ask me again in a few months?”

“The offer’s always there. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Morgan got into her car and started the engine. “Call me later.”

Thinking about Ben the entire time, she followed the perimeter road toward the airport exit. Perhaps it was because she had given herself permission to move on, but whatever the reason, her romantic feelings for him were soaring. At the moment, other than her pregnancy, it seemed as if Ben Docherty was the only bright spot in her otherwise disastrous life.

Morgan wasn’t more than a mile from the airport when her cell phone rang.

“I just thought of something,” Ben said. “I was wondering if you had spoken to Dana McGinley again?”

“Not since we met for drinks. Why?”

“It may be just a coincidence but you mentioned that the man who left the cross told Dana he was a professor at Broward College.”

“That’s what she said,” Morgan stated, reaching forward and turning the volume down on her radio. “What difference does it make?”

“I was just thinking that we’re seeing a more learned group of murderers these days.”

Morgan shook her head. “What are you talking about, Ben?”

“You also told me the man who attacked your father told Carrie that he taught at the University of Miami. I just thought it was a bit coincidental that both of these guys were college professors. It’s not exactly the profession that conjures up an image of a homicidal lunatic.” Morgan didn’t answer immediately. Her mind flashed back to her conversations with Dana and Carrie. “Are you still there?” Ben asked after a few more moments of dead silence.

“I’m here. I was just thinking about what you said.”

“Maybe it’s nothing. I just thought it was a little strange. I’ll call you later.”

Morgan tossed the phone down on the passenger seat. Thinking about the two men, it didn’t take her long to remember that Dana had described the man who visited Alison Greene as husky. Carrie had said that the man who killed her father was athletic in appearance. Two men with no apparent relationship: both with noticeably good physiques and both claimed to be college professors. Morgan rolled to a stop behind a city bus puffing a thick gray exhaust. Prodding her memory even harder, she then recalled Dana mentioning that the man had a gap between his two front teeth. At the time, she had dismissed the coincidence immediately, but she now recalled Carrie saying something about Gideon’s teeth as well.

The light changed. Morgan slowly accelerated. Squinting from the rays of a bright orange sun low in the western sky, she flipped her visor down. Her mind remained fixed on the two men. With a mounting sense of uneasiness, she cautioned herself not to jump to any unsubstantiated conclusions. But after another few minutes passed, Morgan knew she couldn’t dismiss her suspicions without knowing for sure—especially since the answer to her question was a single phone call away.

With each ring, Morgan tapped the steering wheel with increasing impatience. She was just about to hang up and redial when Annalisa answered.

“Orthopedic Partners of South Florida. May I help you?”

“Hi, Annalisa. It’s Morgan.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. I was wondering if Carrie was working today?”

“She sure is.”

“Do you think I could speak to her for a sec?”

“Of course. Hold on. I’ll connect you to her portable,” Annalisa said. “You sound upset. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Everything’s fine, but something’s come up and I have to ask her a quick question.”

“No problem.”

After a few moments passed, Morgan again found herself tapping the steering wheel. The elevator music was beginning to grate on her nerves. Finally, Carrie picked up the phone.

“Hi, Dr. Connolly.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I wanted to ask you about something you said the other day.”

“Sure,” came Carrie’s immediate response.

“I seem to recall you mentioning something about the man who attacked my father having something wrong with his teeth.”

“I said he needed a good orthodontist.”

“You mean his teeth were crooked?”

“Not exactly. He had a big gap between the two front ones.”

Morgan inhaled sharply. Without realizing it, her grip on the phone suddenly tightened.

“You’re sure?” Morgan asked.

“Positive.”

Morgan swallowed hard. “Thanks a lot, Carrie. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll speak with you soon.”

She flipped her phone closed and tossed it on the passenger seat. As far-fetched as it seemed, Morgan couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Alison Greene and her father were the victims of the same man. If her suspicion was correct, it begged a vexing question: What possible connection could there be between a young woman who needed a pacemaker and a semiretired orthopedic surgeon that would provoke someone to want to kill them both?

DAY SEVEN

 

 

From the sidewalk, Morgan stared up at the four-story North Miami Police Headquarters.

With mounting trepidation, her decision to speak with Detective Wolfe didn’t seem as irrevocable as it had twenty-four hours earlier. In spite of Ben’s words of encouragement, she was pessimistic regarding the chances of Wolfe embracing her theory that there was a connection between the death of her father and Alison Greene.

Still teetering on canceling her appointment, Morgan continued to stare at the building.

“Sometimes you just have to hold your nose and jump,” she whispered to herself with a half grin, realizing that’s what her father would say if he were standing next to her.

She walked through the main entrance and into the lobby. After checking the directory, Morgan climbed the three flights of stairs and followed a short hall to the homicide division. A little winded from the effort, she stopped for a minute to catch her breath. Jenny Silverman’s constant reminders to continue to exercise reverberated in her mind. When her breath returned, she continued down the hall until she reached the homicide division. Gathering the last bit of courage she needed, Morgan opened the door.

Sitting behind a desk, a young woman with puffy cheeks and thick glasses stared at her computer screen. After a few moments, she looked up.

“May I help you?”

“My name’s Morgan Connolly. I have an appointment with Detective Wolfe.”

The woman picked up her phone and tapped in a four-digit extension. “There’s a Ms. Connolly here to see you.” She nodded twice as she listened. She then hung up the phone and gestured to a wooden bench a few feet away. As her head disappeared back behind her monitor she added, “Detective Wolfe will be right out.”