Illegally Dead Page 11

  "Yes, thank you." He backed away, just out of her reach. "We're real busy. I'm glad you're here. Refresh my memory, please. Have you worked down here before?" He knew she had.

  "Oh, yes, several times. Not recently. Paula doesn't get sick often enough, it seems to me." She moved in closer until she again touched his arm.

  Tony retreated. "Okay, Paula usually sits there." He pointed. "Keep an eye on the activity. And put your smock on. Call me if you need help."

  She smiled, arching her back in a feline stretch before slipping on the jacket. "If I need you, I'll just whistle."

  "Spare me," he said under his breath, moving away. He felt her eyes on his back as he stepped behind one of the patient privacy curtains.

  A few minutes later, Tony reappeared. Dori was engrossed in a telephone conversation with an open chart in front of her. It seemed like a long call for a secretary to make. With little time to waste, their calls lasted seconds. He stepped closer until he heard her end of the conversation. Though he felt guilty, he held his ground.

  "Paul, like I said, I'm in the ED today." She bent over the page in front of her. "Quick, let me give you the name and number." She flipped a page in the chart. "This looks like the story . . . and the daughter is already ranting and raving about the care . . . They're prime candidates for a referral." She closed the chart and stared into space. "No, they won't discharge him for a few days. He'll go to Six West. I'll feel him out in a couple of days."

  Tony, having caught Dori in the act of giving confidential patient information to Paul Gross, decided to keep an eye on her for the rest of the shift. Tomorrow, on his day off, he'd make time to investigate. He made a mental note to check to be sure Dori was scheduled to work. If he happened to track Gross down, he didn't want any surprises from Dori. Tony was certain she hadn't described him to Gross. What would she have said, "Oh Paul, you know the guy in the ED that I can't keep my hands off?" Satisfied he had heard enough, he rattled the papers in his hands.

  "Oh, Tony, can I help you?" Her voice was musical.

  "I want to make a copy of this face sheet." He turned to the copier and ran a copy of the top page of the chart he carried.

  "Do you always help yourself?" She fluffed her shoulder-length light brown hair with her hands. The bright ceiling lights reflected little stars on her long manicured nails and brought out golden highlights in her hair.

  "We all try."

  The busyness of the ED's morning consumed everyone, and by mid-day, Tony felt ready for a meal break. Invited by Thorne, he intended to have lunch in the physician's dining room, a private area, restricted to physicians, administrative staff members, and their guests.

  Eva Grear, the nursing administrator, arrived in the dining area and took a table. Tony watched her greet several of the doctors before sitting at a vacant corner table. She was waiting for someone. He joined her. "Eva, do you have a minute to talk?"

  "Sure. Dr. Sampson should be here soon. We can chat until he arrives. I've waited two weeks for him to take time to meet with me. Then I had to promise to buy him lunch to get him to come." She motioned for Tony to have a seat. "What's on your mind?"

  Tony filled her in on his suspicions about Dori Grilley and about her telephone conversation that morning.

  "Bring her upstairs after lunch, and we'll terminate her for breaching patient confidentiality. Why should we risk another lawsuit?" Eva's short, dark hair curled around her face. She smoothed the collar of her white silk blouse over her Navy suit as she waited for his reply.

  "I'll write up what I saw, but I'd like to research what happens with the information. I don't know who the boyfriend is. I'd like to check around tomorrow and let you know. We can always fire her in a couple of days. Besides, I need to be sure she doesn't interrupt me if I find him tomorrow."

  "Do you know where to find him?"

  "Not yet, but I have contacts."

  "You can have a couple of days. No more than that. We don't need her poking around."

  "I agree. I'll call you when I know something more."

  "Okay." Eva looked over Tony's shoulder. "Dr. Sampson, how nice of you to come. This is Tony Conte, our ED manager."

  "We've met." Sampson sat down without greeting Tony or offering his hand.

  Tony took the hint and joined Thorne at his table across the room. Ray Prentice was at the table, and the two physicians were deep in conversation. Tony sat and listened.

  Thorne nodded to Tony, then looked back to Prentice. "I went down to the station to meet with the two detectives, Epstein and Hernandez. They were nice enough, or at least they started out to be. The Cuban got rude toward the end."

  "Oh?" Prentice stiffened, his flat red face intent on the conversation. "Tell me everything."

  "We met in a small conference room. You'd call it an interrogation room, but it wasn't anything like the bare-walled things you see on television. This was just a little room with a small table and four chairs."

  "Yes, yes." Prentice waved his fingers as if to draw out the story.

  "First they read me my rights and asked if I wanted an attorney present."

  "And you called your lawyer, right?" Tony broke in.

  "I have nothing to hide. At least, I don't think I have anything to hide." Thorne selected a carrot stick, then returned it to his plate. "They asked about the lawsuit, the one being tried when Valentine died. Then they wanted to know how I felt about it and if I hated Valentine for having won the case."

  "Go on." Pushing aside his plate, Prentice leaned over the table.

  "I said he wasn't my favorite person. He had manipulated the jury and the poor widow for his own profit. Then they wanted to know if I had access to cyanide. I said, no, I don't. It's not something I use in my practice." He laughed. "They saw no humor in that.

  "Hernandez asked when I last visited my dad. I said at Christmas. Doesn't he use cyanide in plating jewelry? he asked. I told him, sure, of course he does. But I didn't understand what that had to do with me."

  "And Hernandez said it gave you easy access to the poison that killed Valentine," Tony said.

  "Right. Hernandez said a bottle of Amaretto was confiscated from King's Beverages. He believed it would test positive for cyanide and wanted to know how I poisoned the drink.

  "According to them, the last time I stopped in King's, I asked to use the men's room. The open bottle of Amaretto was stored on a counter in the back. Valentine bought a bottle and left it there—didn't want to keep it in the office for some unknown reason."

  "Lots of people use the bathroom in that store. I have myself." Prentice grunted, sounding disgusted.

  "The clerks claim to remember me going in a few days before Valentine died. It's around the corner from where I live. They order wine by the case for me, and I buy anything else I might need there." Thorne drummed his fingers on the tabletop. He retrieved the carrot and took a bite.

  "Then, unbelievably, he told me they were also checking to see if Henninger died from poison. Epstein wanted to know if I knew Henninger, and where I was when he died. I admitted I helped work his code, that I was at the hospital at the time. I told them the last time I'd been outside yesterday was at noon when Abigail and I went to lunch."

  "If it turns out he was murdered, you certainly weren't involved. I remember you were in the OR all afternoon," Prentice said.

  "Epstein hypothesizes that if Henninger died from poison, and he thinks he did, it occurred at the restaurant where he ate dinner." He turned to Tony. "In fact, he said you were the one who raised the issue of poisoning and told him to be sure the medical examiner was aware of the connection between the two men."

  Tony brushed the hair from his forehead. "I called Epstein." He went on to explain Epstein was a friend of long standing.

  "You certainly opened a can of worms when you reported Henninger's death to the medical examiner." Prentice pointed a thick finger at Tony. "What are you going to do to undo the damage you did?"

  Thorne leaned closer to Prentice.
"Lower your voice, Ray. Tony was only doing his job. He hasn't done any damage at all."

  "Have it your way. It's your life." Prentice stood and stomped away. From the back, his large red ears stood out from the side of his head, separated from the shiny red globe above by a fringe of hair.

  "Guess I'm at the top of his fecal roster."

  "Don't worry. Everyone is on the top of his shit list of late." Thorne took a bite of salad. "To make matters worse, I was involved in the trauma code on the paralegal yesterday. Epstein said they were going to have Iglesia checked for poison."

  "How would you have known Iglesia?"

  "I took out his appendix a couple of years ago. It was a touchy situation because he was addicted to crack at the time. That's why I remember him."

  "Hernandez and Epstein are blaming you for everything. They have a mindset, and all they have to do is manufacture the facts to prove you're guilty." Tony raised his forearm while he twisted his wrist in a quick upward motion. "Vaffanculo."

  "You can say that again, paesano." Thorne laughed. He'd known Tony long enough understand the phrase. "Meanwhile, I called a lawyer."

  "Late, but okay. I'll give Epstein a call. I think it's time I do some poking around myself." Tony explained he and Howard had an understanding. Howard wouldn't interfere if Tony was straight with him.

  ***

  "Tony." Howard raised his arm to attract Tony's attention. He'd been off duty for several hours and wore a button-down shirt, open at the neck, and designer jeans.

  Tony had called Howard late in the afternoon, and they agreed to meet at Sam's Deli where they could talk without interruption. Tony slid into the booth. He hadn't changed out of his navy blue scrubs. "Howard, I don't have much time. I promised Jen and Jeff we'd sit on the patio this evening and watch the eclipse." The air was thick with the smell of corned beef, the evening's special.

  Howard pointed at a tall glass of Coke. "I ordered for you. You said you wouldn't have dinner, so . . ."

  "Thanks. I've been staying pretty close to home. Jen needs me around. She doesn't have a lot of energy, and we don't want to impose on Ma more than necessary." Tony sipped the soda. "Listen, I had lunch with Chamberlain Thorne today. He said he had a long visit with you and Hernandez. Thorne believes Hernandez was quite pointed in implying he was a major suspect in Valentine's murder."

  "Alfonzo didn't imply anything." Howard glared at Tony.

  "I was just saying . . ." Tony wondered if he had crossed the line.

  "Alfonzo didn't imply. He told Thorne straight out he believed he poisoned Valentine, and he was going to get him for it. He, by the way, also believes Thorne poisoned Henninger and the paralegal who died in the ED yesterday."

  "That's outrageous. You don't know for sure that Henninger was poisoned. Merda, Thorne is one of the most ethical physicians I've ever worked with."

  "That doesn't mean he isn't capable of hate or premeditated murder. Look at the motive. That very law firm just sued him, and he lost. He readily admitted to us he detested Valentine. He admitted he detested lawyers, considered them a bunch of leeches."

  "Can you blame him? But it doesn't mean he would kill them. And, why would he do it, then try to help to save their lives?"

  "To look good."

  Tony raised an eyebrow and stared at Howard. "When are you going to find out about Henninger from the Medical Examiner?"

  "Tomorrow, I believe. He didn't call back today."

  "I don't think . . ." Tony flicked the hair back. "Howard, I can't believe Thorne would be capable of murder. If I made a list of physicians who I believe are capable of murder, he wouldn't be on it. And I know many of them very, very well."

  "In this case, I believe you're off base. He had both opportunity and motive. I think we'll get confirmation both Henninger and Iglesia were poisoned, and your boy did it."

  "Just the same, I'll look around on my own if you don't mind."

  "Suit yourself. Follow the rules. Stay away from Alfonzo, stay out of trouble, and let me know what you find out . . . whether it's in your friend's favor or not."

  Fifteen

  On Friday, Tony planned to do some investigative work on his own, then he would meet Jennifer for lunch at Ocean View Medical Center. She wanted to finish the week and claimed she could work the full day. He was concerned and wanted to see how she handled the busy day.

  Tony started at the downtown branch of the Broward County Library. Because he believed Valentine and Henninger were murdered, he wanted to know if there were other cases where the lawyers died while in the process of trying major malpractice cases. He couldn't remember having heard about any, but then Sawgrass wasn't the center of the county's hubbub either.

  With the help of a accommodating reference librarian and a computer, Tony accessed the database for the South Florida News. His search produced stories about the deaths of several lawyers.

  Two reports stood out. One, Stefan Gould, suffered a heart attack at a restaurant near the courthouse during a long lunch in the middle of the trial. The second, Kimberly Atkins, died in the parking lot in front of her condo during an apparent sexual battery. Further reading confirmed there had been no arrests for the murder. Tony quickly located the obituaries on both lawyers and found they were both partners in a downtown firm specializing in medical malpractice law.

  He hit the print button and waited for the pages to spit out of the printer. All the murders may be connected, he thought. It was a year since Stefan Gould died and two weeks later for Kimberly Atkins, but they had died in a different locale with a different medical staff and a different law firm. Were there any similarities beyond the obvious commonality of two malpractice lawyers from the same firm dying within days of one another? Was it possible the same person was responsible for those deaths and the deaths in Sawgrass? Tony decided to ask Howard to get what information he could on the lawsuits the dead lawyers were handling at the time. That would be a place to start. Meanwhile, he planned to pull a small scam on Paul Gross.

  After retrieving his copies from the printer, he left the library and headed north on US 1 toward Gross's office. Gross, he had discovered by asking discreetly around the hospital, was a private investigator. As a unit secretary, Dori Grilley had access to patient records. He suspected Gross sold the information Grilley provided him to law firms. It was a possibility Gross was even approaching the former patients himself and suggesting they sue.

  The building housing Gross's office looked functional, designed for people who needed affordable office space and weren't concerned with image. He parked his van with care, avoiding the gaping holes in the blacktop.

  Tony walked around the side of the building and found the elevator lobby, which was a hallway slicing through the building from side to side with a glass-doored entrance on each end. A suspended, honey combed plastic grating hid low wattage bulbs. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the artificial moonlight, then squinted to locate Paul Gross, PI, on the marquee's long list of tenants.

  Tony pushed the elevator button, but nothing happened. He poked the button several more times before hearing the cranking of the elevator, though the bulb behind the elevator call button never lit. While he waited, he looked around. Worn brown and gold linoleum—no doubt the original installation—covered the floor. He suspected the faux grout lines contained both vintage and newer dirt.

  As Tony stepped on the elevator, a thin man burst into the building and raced to join him. Tony pressed the hold button. It worked.

  "Thanks for waiting," the man said.

  "You're welcome. This sure is a gloomy building," Tony observed.

  The man raised an eyebrow. "You said glamorous?"

  "Gloomy." Tony stifled the urge to laugh when the man looked offended. He learned why when the elevator opened on the third floor, and the man stepped out. Before the elevator door closed, Tony saw him use a key to enter the Property Management office.

  On the fourth floor, Tony waited again for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
This time the ugly linoleum butted against dark brown carpet. "I wonder what color this used to be?" he said under his breath.

  The hall's racetrack design circled a central core containing the elevators, bathrooms, and stairs. He walked to the left though Gross's office was on the corner to his right. He wanted to find the exits.

  The unevenly hung, mismatched plaques on the doors read like any similar office building—less than successful doctors and lawyers, another private investigator, an Internet company with a sexually suggestive name, and a pyramid marketing company he seen advertised in a small local paper. Several doors had multiple name plaques—tenants sharing space. Based on the proximity of the other doors, Gross's office was one room—at least it seemed that way.

  Tony tried Gross' door and found it locked. He tapped and waited. Soon he distinguished the rhythmic squeaking coming from within the office from the cranking of the elevator. He suspected Dori was there. He made a hasty exit via the stairwell. He didn't want to meet her on her way out.

  After Tony purchased coffee and pastry at the counter in the donut shop across the parking lot, he selected a table next to the window and slid the chair around at an angle to provide an unobstructed view of the office building's exit. Hopefully, the glare from the morning sun would prevent Dori, if it was Dori, from seeing him as she left the building. She was due at work at ten. She'd have to hurry.

  A few minutes later Tony watched Dori emerge from the building. She looked flushed and disheveled as she stopped to use an office window as a mirror to straighten her clothing. She ran her fingers through her hair, then looked in the direction of the donut shop. Fearing she'd come in for coffee, he waited in the men's room.