Marker (61 page)

"It is the only door," Caitlin assured him.

Glad to have some direction, the two policemen took Jack's advice and were soon sitting on either side of the unit's double doors. Jack felt their presence was imposing, if nothing else. It was the busy CCU itself that provided the safety.

"I've got rounds to do," Caitlin said. "So I'll leave you here on your vigil."

"Thanks for all you did," Jack said as sincerely as he could. "You were terrific."

"Your tip about potassium was key," Caitlin said. "Maybe you should think about taking a cardiology residency. We'd make a good team."

Jack laughed and wondered if the youthful woman was flirting with him. Then he smiled at his own vanity, thinking he was trying to compensate for how old she made him feel. He waved as the woman walked out of the waiting room.

After Caitlin left, Jack settled back in the sofa. He wasn't about to fall asleep again, since he'd gotten a shot of adrenaline when she'd awakened him. Instead, he began musing about what it really meant for someone to be killing patients who had positive markers for bad genes. It was immediately obvious to him that the explanation for such an unspeakable villainy couldn't simply be a person with an antisocial personality disorder, although the person who was actually injecting the potassium surely had to have such an affliction. Jack knew intuitively that it had to be a more extensive conspiracy, with the involvement of some higher-ups in the AmeriCare organization. In his mind, it was a horrid example of how the practice of medicine could be distorted from having evolved into big business with business interests in the ascendancy. He was personally aware that there were people hidden in the top-heavy administrations of these huge, sprawling managed-care and hospital-management companies similar to AmeriCare that were so far removed bureaucratically and often geographically from the professed primary mission of the organization that they could easily be blinded by the needs of the bottom line, and ultimately, the share price.

A commotion in the hall interrupted Jack's thoughts. A group of nurses had arrived, and there was a great titter about the presence of the police, who were checking IDs before letting them into the CCU. Jack watched them laugh and joke, and he wondered if they would be carrying on as they were if they knew what was going on behind the scenes in their hospital. Even more than the doctors, the nurses were in the trenches on a daily basis, involved in hand-to-hand combat with disease and disability. He was certain they would be outraged if they heard that one of their own was suspected of such treachery.

Such thinking brought Jack's mind back to Jasmine Rakoczi. If she was the culprit, as he thought was possible, then she surely had to be severely antisocial. Jack couldn't help but think he had to be wrong about her. How could someone who is antisocial be a nurse? It seemed an oxymoron to him. But, in the unlikely case she was antisocial, how could she have gotten a nursing job at such a prestigious hospital? It didn't make any sense, especially with the idea that some bean counter buried deep in the fabric of AmeriCare's organizational structure had to tell her who to pump full of potassium.

The door to the CCU burst open and another group of both male and female nurses emerged. They were equally surprised and curious about the uniformed police. The police were polite but noncommittal, and within a few minutes, the nurses' voices trailed off as they disappeared down the hallway.

Jack's eyes wandered up to the wall clock. It was a little after seven in the morning.

All of a sudden, it dawned on his tired mind why the group of nurses had come in and another group had gone out. It was the shift change. The day people were taking over from the night people.

Jack leaped off the sofa. It hadn't even occurred to him that Jasmine Rakoczi would be getting off before Lou got there. If she was the culprit and if she sensed that Jack knew it, she might disappear for good. Several strides took him out into the hall, where he quickly told the two police officers that he was going up to the sixth floor. He said that if Detective Lieutenant Soldano came in while he was away, they should tell him where he had gone and send him up there.

Then Jack rushed down to the elevator lobby, where it was apparent that the hospital had transformed itself: The busy day had begun. There were at least a dozen people waiting for an elevator, which included a number of orderlies with gurneys on their way to fetch patients for their scheduled surgeries.

The first up elevator that arrived appeared full when its door opened. Several people boarded just the same, and, not to be deterred, Jack literally pushed on as well. He could sense people's indignation as the door was barely able to close. Pressed cheek to jowl, no one spoke as the car rose.

To Jack's chagrin, the ascent was frustratingly slow. The elevator stopped on every floor and disgorged passengers, more often than not, from the rear, making Jack and a few others step out at each successive elevator lobby. By the time the elevator got to the sixth floor, Jack was having trouble controlling his impatience, and when the door opened, he was the first one out. His plan was to rush to the nurses' desk to inquire about Jasmine Rakoczi. He hoped by chance she'd been delayed so he could catch her before she left.

Directly opposite from Jack's elevator was another whose door was in the process of closing. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack thought he caught a glimpse of the nurse with her rather striking features. It had been a fleeting image, and by the time he had jerked his head around to look again, the elevator doors had closed.

For a second, Jack debated what to do. If he ran down the stairs, he had a good chance of beating the elevator. But what if he was wrong, and it hadn't been Rakoczi? After several false starts, Jack impulsively reverted to plan A and ran toward the nurses'

station. There were a number of nurses in sight, some of whom he recognized, which he thought was encouraging. There was also a ward clerk who had just come on duty. He was busy straightening up the litter on the desk, a lot of which had resulted from Laurie's resuscitation.

In a rapid-fire manner, Jack introduced himself as Dr. Stapleton and asked for Jasmine Rakoczi. The ward clerk, who was a slightly built blond fellow with a ponytail, told him that Jazz Rakoczi had just left two seconds ago. He tried to look around Jack to see if he could see her in the elevator lobby.

"Do you know where she goes?" Jack demanded quickly, guessing that it had indeed been her in the elevator. "I mean which door she goes out or which direction she walks. I need to talk to her. It's important."

"She doesn't walk home," the clerk said. "She's got a cool, black H2 Hummer, which she actually showed me once. It's got a sound system you wouldn't believe. It's always parked on the second floor of the garage across from the door to the pedestrian bridge."

"What floor do you get off the elevator for the pedestrian bridge?" Jack hurriedly asked.

"The second floor, of course," the clerk said, making a face as if it had been the stupidest question he'd ever heard.

Jack took off at a run for the stairs. Earlier, he thought he could have beat Rakoczi's elevator, but now, having spent the time going to the nurses' station, he knew it was out of the question. But he didn't regret his decision, since he would have missed her anyway. He would have run all the way down to the first floor to try to catch her going out the front door. As things turned out, he felt he still had a chance of catching her; she had to walk across the pedestrian bridge and then start her car. Knowing what kind of car she drove might turn out to be key.

The stairwell was painted gunmetal gray. The stairs themselves were steel, and each step sounded like a drum as his shoe thumped against it. The repetitive booming reverberated around the enclosed space. There were two flights for each floor, causing Jack to continually turn as he spiraled down clockwise. He was dizzy by the time he reached the second-floor door, and he staggered a bit when he entered the hallway.

As unshaven and disheveled as he appeared, coupled with his momentary careening, people gave him a wide berth as he hurriedly tried to get directions for the pedestrian bridge. Finally, someone took pity and responded by pointing, and Jack took off, moving as quickly as he could. While saying "excuse me" over and over, he pushed his way ahead in the stream of hospital personnel heading toward the parking garage. After a pair of doors, he could tell he was on the pedestrian bridge, as he could suddenly see up and down Madison Avenue. There was another pair of doors on the garage side that led into a small lobby area, which was crowded with people waiting for an elevator. Jack was reduced to squeezing through until he could push open the heavy door out into the garage's second level. The garage was alive with cars coming and going with their headlights crisscrossing in the exhaust-filled dim light. Outside, the dawn was just bleaching the night sky, whereas infrequent fluorescent lights poorly illuminated the interior of the garage.

Knowing the make of Jazz's vehicle was indeed key, and he was able to pick it out from all the others immediately. As the ward clerk had said, it was parked directly opposite the door to the connecting pedestrian bridge. Elevating himself on his tiptoes so he could see over the cars passing between him and the Hummer, Jack saw Rakoczi!

She'd just made it across to her car. Jack could even make out what he guessed was a remote in her hand, which she was aiming at the car as she squeezed along its driver's side. It was separated by a little more than two feet from the neighboring vehicle.

"Miss Rakoczi!" Jack yelled over the sound of the car engines. He saw her turn and look in his direction. "Hold up a second! I need to talk with you!" For an instant, Jack's tired mind questioned the rationale for approaching a woman he suspected might be a serial killer. Yet his desire to keep her from leaving trumped his concerns. With all the commotion of people and cars, he felt reasonably safe, especially since he had no intention of being confrontational in any way or form, just firm.

Jack looked left and right, gauging his crossing with the comings and goings of the traffic. The exhaust as well as noise was unpleasant. Jack got over to the opposite side.

Jazz was standing by her car with the driver's-side door ajar. The remote was gone and apparently in her pocket. She was dressed in an oversized, olive-drab coat over her scrubs. Her right hand was in her pocket. Her expression was haughty to the point of being challenging.

Slipping between Jazz's car and the one right next to it, Jack walked right up to the nurse, whose eyes narrowed the closer he got. Jack sensed that there wasn't a lot of human warmth in this person.

"You're needed back in the hospital," Jack said, speaking loud enough to be heard over the roar of the traffic. He tried to sound authoritative to avoid an argument. He even pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "There are some people who want to talk with you."

"I'm off duty," Jazz sneered. "I'm going home."

Jazz turned and put a foot up into her SUV, with the obvious intention of swinging herself up behind the steering wheel. Jack caught her right arm just above the elbow and gripped it hard enough to keep her where she was.

"It's important you talk with these people," Jack said. He started to say something else about coming with him, but he never got it out. With totally unexpected swiftness, Jazz used a karate-like blow to free her arm and practically simultaneously kneed Jack in the groin. Jack doubled over, clutching his genitals while an involuntary groan escaped from his lips. The next thing he knew, the cold barrel of a gun was pressed against the back of his neck.

"Stand up, asshole," Jazz scoffed loud enough to be heard. "And get in the damn car."

Jack raised his head. He was squinting with pain and wasn't entirely sure he could walk.

"This gun's going to go off if you don't get the hell in there," Jazz hissed.

Jack moved forward as Jazz backed up a step. Still supporting his genitals with his right hand, he used his left to help him get up behind the steering wheel. The pain was like nothing else he'd ever experienced. It made him feel weak, as though he were made out of rubber.

"Climb over into the passenger seat," Jazz ordered as she took a quick glimpse around to see if anyone had noticed what had happened. With all the confusion and noise in the garage, no one paid the slightest heed. "Come on!" Jazz snapped. As an added incentive, she poked the side of Jack's head with the tip of the gun's suppressor.

With the vehicle's gear box in the way, Jack wasn't sure he could physically do what Jazz was ordering, but he felt as if he had no choice but to try. He sagged over the median console into the passenger seat, rotated onto his back, and with his knees bent, brought his feet over. He was now in a tight ball, more or less on his back.

Jazz quickly climbed in behind the steering wheel and pulled the driver's-side door shut, eliminating most of the garage's noise. She kept her gun pointed at Jack's face, just inches from his forehead. "And what do these people want to talk to me about?" Jazz demanded with obvious derision.

Jack started to answer, but Jazz cut him off. "Don't bother answering, because it doesn't matter. What matters is that you've managed to get yourself killed."

The sound of the gun going off despite its suppressor was loud enough within the confines of the vehicle's cab to cause ears to ring. Jack's eyes, which had reflexly blinked closed at the noise, popped open in time to see Jazz's head sag forward and bump against the steering wheel. A rivulet of blood appeared and ran down the nape of her neck. To add to his confusion, Jazz's gun fell onto his chest.

"Excuse me," a male voice said from the dark depths of the backseat. "Would you mind handing Miss Rakoczi's Glock back to me? I prefer that you do it by holding on to the suppressor, not the butt."

Jack picked up the gun as he was directed, and then, by wiggling himself backward, he was able to partially right himself so that he could raise his head high enough to see over the back of the passenger seat. The view was limited because of the heavily tinted windows. All Jack could see was the mere outline of a figure sitting in the backseat directly behind the driver's seat. There was a heavy smell of cordite in the air.