Creepers (17 page)

Corelli wanted to recapture her and put his arm around her, but he kept his distance. "I can appreciate how difficult this is for you, but you must trust me. And I'd like you to help me, too. Will you do that?" he asked earnestly. She thought a moment, assessing everything he'd said. "If it means getting Lisa back, I'll do anything." She smiled and coughed away the last of her sobs. "What can I do?"

"The cops are holding a black kid at New York Mercy who might know something."

"About Lisa?" Louise asked incredulously. "In a way, yes."

Louise shrugged, unable to make even the vaguest connection between her daughter and this unknown black. "What can I do?"

"I want you to go to the hospital, pretending to be a visitor to the wrong room, and see if he's still there. I can't afford to blow my cover any more than I already have," he said sourly, remembering the blond receptionist.

Louise digested the request, then smiled sweetly. "Why is it, Detective Corelli, that I think you're handing me a line of unadulterated bullshit?"

The question startled him. Once again he'd underestimated Louise Hill's canny approach to life. He fumbled for an answer. "Because the situation sounds improbable and--"

"No," she interrupted, "I'm used to the improbable happening these days, but I'm no dunce. Maybe you didn't notice. Maybe you're used to dealing only with dumb bimbos who'd follow your big blue eyes to the end of the earth."

"You'll have to trust me with this one, Louise. Remember, the only reason I'm here at all now is because I personally took the time to investigate Lisa's disappearance...and stuck to it." It was a low blow, but Corelli didn't have time to soothe her wounded female ego. Whoever was keeping Lester Baker under wraps already knew someone had come to visit him--they'd probably already pinpointed it as Corelli. If Louise kept up this cat-and-mouse game, by the time she got to the hospital, it might already be too late.

"Okay, Corelli," she responded contritely, "111 go. But I want you to know I don't trust you. I still think you're conning me."

"That's great," he said, taking her by the hand. "You can tell me what a louse I am in the car." And with that he pulled her from the couch, gave her a truly impertinent kiss, and barely gave her time to change her clothes before dragging her out of the apartment.

Chapter 8

Corelli found a parking spot near where he'd picked up Willie Hoyte two hours before. He'd explained to Louise that she was to play the part of a befuddled visitor, should anyone question her--then she was to get the hell out of the hospital as fast as she could. Frank didn't bother to tell her not to mention his name should she be caught and detained--whoever was behind this operation would figure that out all by themselves. Nor did he tell her about the peril he was placing her in.

After giving her hand a confident last squeeze, he sent her off to do his dirty work, wondering, if there was a God, just how he'd punish a man who'd taken such willful advantage of a distraught woman...a woman he told himself he was beginning to care about.

Louise darted across Fifth Avenue and went directly to the hospital entrance. Having never been sick enough to require hospitalization, she found the precincts fascinating where others viewed them with dread. It never occurred to her that she might walk in one day and never walk out, as it did to so many patients as they kissed relatives good-bye that nervous first day of their stay. The smells of medicine, sickness, and disinfectant that permeated even the lobby were nothing more to Louise than tangible signs she was in a special world mainly peopled by doctors and nurses. She didn't identify these creatures in white with pain and suffering, and the hushed quiet of the halls, despite the even, heavy flow of pedestrian traffic, was comforting and relaxing.

Louise followed the helpful signs through the maze of corridors to the bank of elevators that would take her to the geriatrics floor. She stopped en route to buy a small bunch of flowers for camouflage. Upstairs, the open elevator doors revealed yet another of the hushed, neutrally painted corridors that, like arteries in a human body, were the basic stuff of hospital life. Unlike the main floor, however, this part of the hospital was almost bereft of pedestrians. Louise assumed automatically that because it was early afternoon, the elderly patients were most probably napping. Indeed, as she slowly made her way down the hall, peering into the partially open doors along the way, she was presented with a vista of white-haired patients dozing in rooms where the sunlight was mellowed and tamed by translucent drapes that rippled gently in the breeze.

Though she strode purposely ahead as if she knew her way and her destination, Louise was keeping track of the room numbers. She realized as she approached the nurses' station that her destination--room 630--was beyond it. And she also realized that if questioned about whom she was visiting, she would be at a loss for a name. Bearing this in mind, Louise fixed her eyes on the nurse behind the desk, who lazily doodled in a chart. When she finally caught her eye, Louise looked at the flowers and smiled brilliantly, confidently. The nurse acknowledged the smile but said nothing.

Corelli had said that the black man, Lester Baker, was being held in room 630 and that a police guard occupied the adjacent room, 628. Both these doors were closed. Louise paused outside 628 a moment, hoisted her flowers chin-high, then pushed open the door and strode in. "Sorry I'm late, but . . ." she said as part of the simple routine aimed at throwing off the police guard: wrong floor, wrong room, wrong patient.

But there was no police guard. Nor was the room empty. Room 628 was dark and cool and the bed was definitely occupied. "Are those for me?" an ancient voice inquired from across the room.

"Why, yes," Louise quickly covered herself.

"That's very thoughtful, Lilly. Bring them closer so's I can see them."

Louise hesitated a moment, then went to the bedside. Before her an elderly woman of indeterminate age lay with her hands folded across her middle. Whoever Lilly was, she was obviously someone important, for the old woman smiled and accepted the flowers as if they were her newborn child. "You're so thoughtful, Lilly."

"Only because you're so special," she ad-libbed as she examined the room. It looked like any ordinary hospital room. "How long have you been here now?" Perhaps the old woman might know what had happened to Lester Baker and the guard.

"Since last June. In this very room." The woman touched the flowers with her gnarled fingers. "They're just lovely."

"Well, I'm glad you like them." Louise smiled and edged over toward the door that connected with room 630. Chances were that it too was now occupied--by someone other than Lester Baker. Louise was beginning to get a creepy feeling about all this. She still saw no connection between this hospital and Lisa. Still, what other leads did she have? She opened the door to room 630 and peered in. It was empty!

"Looking for something in particular, lady?" a deep masculine voice blared out from behind Louise.

She turned around to find herself mere inches from the biggest cop she'd ever seen. She swallowed hard for the first time since agreeing to Corelli's wild-goose chase, knowing this wasn't a kid's game--and that she might be in real danger. "I thought I heard someone cry out," she managed to lie. "I was just visiting my . . . great-aunt and, well, I don't much like hospitals..."

"You say this lady's your great-aunt?" the cop asked suspiciously.

Louise nodded, and as if on cue, the old woman raised her hand. "That's Lilly, my niece's girl. Haven't seen her for some time now. You a friend of hers?"

"We go back a long way," the cop replied grimly, like he was disappointed he hadn't really stumbled onto something. "Now, what's this about hearing a cry?" He returned his attention to Louise's story.

"Maybe it was my imagination, Officer," she said weakly.

"Musta been. There's no one in the next room." He pushed past Louise and flung open the door farther.

From where she stood Louise saw that the adjoining room was spotlessly clean. Yet Corelli had been so sure Lester Baker was being held there. It didn't make sense. And though she smiled in delicate, feminine confusion for the cop's sake, Louise trembled inside. She didn't like disappearing patients and feared surly cops. And most of all Louise didn't like to think all this underhandedness might have something to do with Lisa's disappearance. Louise Hill lived her life never acknowledging the evidence that the modern world was rife with the forces of true evil at work. She chose to ignore the men and women who alone and in groups were able to reach into ordinary people's lives, filling them at will with pain and suffering and, in some cases, instant death. But now, staring past the belligerent cop into the empty hospital room, Louise felt she was staring into an abyss created by the very people she pretended didn't exist.

"Satisfied?" the cop taunted.

"Officer, I only thought someone might be in trouble," Louise protested. "There's no need to be rude."

"The nurses are here to take care of trouble," he said sourly. Then he switched course and took a different tack. "You say this lady's your great-aunt? Can you prove it?"

"Sorry, but I left the family album at home," Louise snapped. "I don't know what all this is about, but--"

"Show me some identification, please."

Louise was in no position to demur; she fished her license from her wallet and handed it to him. After a minute he looked her up and down. "Louise Hill? I thought it was Lilly."

"It's a pet name," she lied artfully.

The cop studied the photograph on the license, memorizing the address, then studied Louise again. Finally he handed it back to her. "It's best to mind your own business, especially in hospitals, miss," he said rudely.

"Perhaps if you'd minded your own business, Officer, this whole unpleasant episode wouldn't have happened," Louise growled.

"Save the smart talk, lady. If you take my advice, you'll finish your visit and leave."

"Tell me something, Officer: does the hospital provide an armed guard for all the patients? Or is my great-aunt just one of the lucky ones?" The cop's composure fell away. He blushed and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "You know, the director of the hospital is a personal friend of mine," Louise pushed on bravely. "I wonder if he knows what's going on here." She was so caught up in her role that this dangerous ad-libbing seemed perfectly called for.

"Of course the director knows. He authorized the use of the room and . . ." The cop, realizing he was saying too much, glared at Louise, then lumbered to the door and left without another word.

Louise took in a deep breath, feeling just how scared she'd really been talking to the cop. But she'd held her own and had now bought time to get away without detection. Too bad she'd had to show him her real identification. Corelli wasn't going to like it, either. But, hell, if she was to play Mata Hari, she'd do it her own way. That little bit of information about the hospital director okaying the cop's presence might just come in handy.

"We fooled him, didn't we?" The old lady smiled and waved a talon-like hand in Louise's direction. "Come here a moment." At the bedside, she took Louise's hand. "Lilly was my daughter. She's been dead nearly twenty years now. I'm just waiting to join her." She looked off into the distance for a moment, then back. "They moved me into this room about two hours ago. I had a better room before, but what choice did I have? I'm just an old woman waiting to die."

"You'll be around for a while yet," Louise said, hoping to comfort her co-conspirator.

"Don't even think that, girlie. I've been ready to go for years. It'll be a blessing." She squeezed Louise's hand. "Now you'd better leave. Two to one that cop's checking on you out with the nurse. They all know me here . . . and they all know I'm all alone in the world."

"Thanks for the warning." Louise gave her hand a little tug and went to the door. The cop, indeed, was quizzing the desk nurse. While his back was still turned, Louise slipped out, ran down the corridor to another wing, and took the elevator to the main floor. In no time she and Corelli were lost in the heavy traffic edging down Fifth Avenue.

Half an hour later Frank sipped a tall iced tea while Louise finished recounting her adventures at New York Mercy. He'd suggested drinks at the outdoor cafe at the Stanhope Hotel opposite the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue. The cafe, unlike the usual makeshift conglomerations of tables, chairs, and patrons spilling out onto the already congested sidewalks, was discreetly tucked behind a low fence and a wall of shrubbery that cordoned it off from the outside world. Under the protective canopy, sitting there was truly a pleasure. Even if the news one heard was as disturbing as Louise's.

"I want to know what's really going on, Frank. That cop treated me like I was selling state secrets. Who is this black kid you're so interested in? And, more important, what's he got to do with Lisa?"

Corelli wanted to lie to her, but like it or not, he and Louise were now in this together. He'd seen to that! The cop--the same one Willie mentioned?--had certainly passed Louise's name on to his superiors--the very same superiors who had arranged with the hospital director to secrete Lester Baker on the geriatrics floor and who had had a hand in allowing Ted Slade's body to be examined and stored in the New York Mercy morgue.

It wouldn't take much investigating for men of that caliber to discover that Louise Hill knew Detective Frank Corelli--even Dolchik could verify that. From the looks of it, the fat captain was probably right up to his red neck in this already. So, to lie to Louise now was to expose her to possible danger. It was a long shot, but he'd tell her the truth. What he knew of the truth, anyway.