Resuscitation (49 page)

“Nope. He didn’t follow procedures, which is not uncommon for doctors. Some are a real pain in the butt. I asked a bunch of nurses if they knew who performed the pre-op, but busy as they are, no one remembered. That’s why we keep patient charts, but they’re worthless if we don’t play by the rules.”

“Then how do you propose we track down this phantom doctor?” Al said.

“Doctor Hastings would know, but he’s knee-deep in surgery. And I can tell you firsthand, the surgery he and his team are performing on that young girl requires his undivided attention.”

“Do you have any idea how long Ms. O’Neill will be in surgery?” Al asked.

“I’ve seen valve replacements and heart pumps installed, but never at the same time. My guess would be that they won’t be out of there for another seven or eight hours. I’m really sorry, Detectives, I feel like an incompetent boob.”

“It’s not your fault,” Al said.

“Now what?” Sami asked.

“I guess we wait until O’Neill is out of surgery,” Al said.

“Something just occurred to me,” Nurse Oliver said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier. There is an observation tower that overlooks the operating room. When a team of surgeons, nurses, and surgical techs work together on such a complicated procedure, each of them will take a short break now and then, even the head surgeon. No one can remain alert and on top of things for ten hours straight without a break. They all share responsibilities, so no one member of the team does it all. I’m sure there are three, maybe four surgeons working on the patient. There are windows of time when all they’re doing is observing. I can get you into the observation room and find out if Doctor Hastings can break free just long enough to tell you which doctor performed the pre-op tests. What do you think?”

“Excellent idea,” Sami said. “Show us the way.”

For the moment, Julian was finished with his part of the procedure. Doctor Hastings was now exhibiting his surgical talent. As Julian watched closely, he admired Doctor Hastings’s ability and meticulousness. Over the years, he had seen his share of sloppy surgeons, those that seemed like they were racing the clock with little regard for the comfort and well-being of the patient. He appreciated a real craftsman, and that is exactly what Doctor Hastings was.

Julian guessed that Doctor Hastings would complete the valve replacements—a tedious, labor-intensive procedure—in another three hours. At that time, Julian would have the opportunity to make his final adjustments, alterations that he felt certain would once and for all free him to continue with his research.

He’d had quite enough of McKenzie O’Neill, and couldn’t wait until she was out of his life.

Nurse Oliver, walking swiftly and swinging her arms as if she were engaged in cardio exercise, led the way to Surgical Room One. Of the six operating rooms, Number One was the biggest and most technologically advanced. They walked up a stairway to the second level and entered the observation area overlooking the operating room. To Sami, it looked like a sky booth you might find at a football stadium.

Nurse Oliver pointed. “The surgeon in the middle is Doctor Hastings. I have no idea who the other two are. I’m going to get into some surgical scrubs, pop my head in the operating room, and speak to one of the nurses. Wish me luck.”

Sami counted heads, finding it hard to believe that the surgical room was crowded with over fifteen medical professionals. All were wearing surgical masks and caps, so it was hard for her to see their faces. One of the surgeons turned his head toward the observation room and she recognized that he was Doctor Templeton. Thus far, they recognized two of the surgeons, but hadn’t yet identified the third one. Sami did notice that Doctors Hastings and Templeton seemed to be working together on a procedure, while the third, unidentified surgeon observed.

“So that’s what goes on in an operating room, huh?” Al said.

“Sure doesn’t look anything like
Grey’s Anatomy
.”

“Is it any wonder health-care costs are through the roof?” Al said. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy that they’re pulling out all the stops to save Ms. O’Neill, but can you even imagine what the tab is going to be?”

“No, I can’t,” Sami said. “I just hope the poor girl makes it.”

Sami noticed the door to the operating room open and Nurse Oliver walk in. She tapped another nurse on the shoulder, and the two of them disappeared through the door.

From this distance Sami couldn’t quite make out what was going on inside McKenzie’s chest. She saw plenty of blood-stained scrubs and sheets. She imagined that witnessing open heart surgery was a lot more difficult than witnessing an autopsy.

Sami saw the door to the operating room open and a nurse, presumably the one Nurse Oliver had spoken to, made her way through the group and approached the unidentified surgeon. He looked up at the observation room for what seemed like a long time. He nodded a couple of times and followed Nurse Oliver out the door. A few minutes later, the door to the observation room opened and in walked the surgeon.

He loosened his surgical mask and removed the nitrile gloves.

“Nurse Oliver had to return to the ICU. You wanted to see me?”

Sami thought it odd that he didn’t introduce himself. Then again, he’d been in surgery for the last few hours trying to save a young girl’s life. She guessed that etiquette was the last thing on his mind.

“Thanks for taking the time, Doctor. I’m Detective Rizzo and this is my partner, Detective Diaz.” The moment the word “partner” slipped off her tongue she cringed.

“I’m Doctor Youngblood. How can I help you?”

“I realize you have more pressing issues to deal with, so we’ll try to make this as brief as possible,” Sami said. “We’re trying to determine who performed the pre-op tests on Ms. O’Neill.”

“Look no further, I performed the tests.”

“You ordered the sedative when she regained consciousness?” Sami asked.

“She wasn’t really conscious—at least not in the traditional sense. She was, however, clearly in distress and needed to be calmed down quickly.”

“Were you aware that we left explicit instructions to contact us the moment she showed any signs of consciousness?” Sami said.

“With all due respect, Detectives, my primary concern was for the welfare of the patient, not following police protocol. If she had been stable and I wasn’t concerned that her heart might arrest, of course I would have kept her conscious. But the situation called for an immediate medical decision.”

Sami couldn’t quite figure out why he was so defensive. In spite of his lecture, his voice remained calm.

“Before you sedated her,” Al said, “we understand that she mumbled a few words. Can you tell us what she said?”

“Unfortunately, they were incomprehensible.”

“Was there anyone else in the room that might have heard what she said?” Sami asked.

“Only Nurse Oliver and the officer, and they were farther away from her than I was.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Sami asked.

“Only that I have to get back into surgery.” He extended his hand first to Sami, then to Al. “I’m sorry I can’t help. And equally sorry if I came on a little strong. But this is a very difficult surgery and I’m running on reserve power.”

He smiled.

At first, Sami didn’t notice, but then she focused on his left dimple.

His
only
dimple.

She could feel her face getting hot. Was it merely a bizarre coincidence? The more she studied his face, the more he resembled the composite drawing. Was she standing inches away from the Resuscitator?

If he
was
the killer they’d been searching for, he remained remarkably composed. Too composed actually. His surgical cap was soaked through with perspiration, but he showed no signs of nervousness or fear. Could a serial killer occupy the same space as the detectives trying to track him down without showing even the slightest sign of anxiety? Could anyone’s blood run that cold?

Sami’s brain kicked into overdrive. She tried to fit together all the pieces of a very complicated puzzle. Sure, he resembled the composite drawing and fit the description two eye witnesses had shared with her, but that was still circumstantial evidence. He was extremely handsome and his build appeared to be average. He was also the right height. What else did she have? As a cardiologist, he was perfectly capable of performing the same experiments the killer had performed on each of the five victims.

Sami focused her eyes on the ID badge clipped to his scrubs, and there it was: the caduceus symbol.

“Before you leave, Doctor,” Sami said. “I’d like to know if you’re acquainted with a private investigator by the name of Peter Spencer?”

She studied him closely and could see tension in his eyes. The cool and composed doctor showed signs of nervousness.

“Well…Um…The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Al grabbed Sami’s arm. She could see that he was confused with her line of questioning. Obviously, he had missed it. She eyeballed Al and ever so slightly shook her head, signaling, hopefully, for him to let her continue without interrupting. Her lips tightened to a thin line.

“What would you say if I told you Mr. Spencer was on his way to the hospital?”

“I fail to see what relevance that has to anything,” Doctor Youngblood said. “Now if you would
please
excuse me—”

“Are you sure you never met him?”

“I don’t have time to play these foolish games, Detective.”

“Okay, Doctor Youngblood. That is your name, isn’t it?”

“I don’t appreciate this harassment—especially when I have a critical patient lying on a surgical table.”

“My apologies,” Sami said. “I just have one more question. Would you prefer to be called Doctor Youngblood or John Smith?”

Sami looked into Doctor Youngblood’s eyes and saw the same eerie darkness she had seen in Simon’s eyes. She had little doubt that he was the killer. About to arrest him, she reached for her Glock, but before she could draw her firearm or even form a word on her lips, Doctor Youngblood did a hundred-eighty-degree turn and was out the door before either Sami or Al could react. Sami didn’t have to explain. Al finally figured out exactly what was going on. They bolted out the door after him, lagging behind the doctor by a long distance. He must be a gazelle, Sami thought.

Doctor Julian Youngblood dashed down the hall like an Olympic sprinter, past the nurses’ station and past the doctor’s lounge. Out of shape, running as fast as he could, he was out of breath. What now? Where could he run? Where could he hide?

As he dashed down the corridor, grazing people as he kept up a blazing pace, he suddenly felt as if everything moved in slow motion. It was like a dream, when you’re trying to get away, but your body just can’t move.

He pushed on.

Sami and Al ran down the corridor shoulder to shoulder. They’d lost sight of the doctor and were pursuing him blindly.

“Better call for backup,” Sami yelled.

Al flipped open his cell phone and dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“This is Detective Diaz. I’m at Saint Michael’s Hospital on Hillside Avenue and am in pursuit of a suspect in a murder investigation. I need backup to secure all exits as soon as possible. Last seen, the suspect was wearing green surgical scrubs. Subject is a Caucasian male, approximately six feet tall, with an average build. He has dark hair and his name is Doctor Youngblood.”

“Got it, Detective,” the operator said. “Help is on the way.”

Julian two-stepped it up the stairway where an alarmed door offered access to the hospital roof. He realized that if he triggered the alarm, the detectives would be on him in a few minutes. But he knew there was no exit if he ran down the stairs. He felt trapped and didn’t know what to do. Out of sheer panic, he opened the alarmed door and stepped onto the roof. Frantically, he jogged around air conditioning compressors, vents, and equipment he did not recognize, searching for another exit, hoping that maybe he could find a way out of the building.

On the other side of the roof, he spotted another access door and ran toward it. He grasped the doorknob and yanked hard, but the door wouldn’t open. Of course, he thought. He needed a four-digit security code to unlock the door.

He stood motionless for a moment, his mind racing out of control. It felt as if his entire life was flashing in front of his eyes. He walked toward the edge of the roof, and stopped just short of the two-foot ledge, facing Fourth Avenue. In the distance, he could hear sirens getting louder by the second. He also heard the “whop-whop” sound of a helicopter rapidly approaching. Soon the detectives would track him down. He had to find another way off the roof.

Sami and Al jogged to the nurses’ station, both panting and trying to catch their breath. Sami could hear a fire alarm blaring. They stopped and spoke to the first nurse they saw.

“Did you see Doctor Youngblood run by here?” Sami asked.

The young nurse pointed. “He flew by like a marathon runner and went to that stairway, but that’s not an exit. It’s only for access to the roof. What the hell is going on?”