Dead Wrong (20 page)

Hansen nodded. “Sort of. There’s a garage for docs, but we don’t assign individual stalls. It’s first come, first served.”

Dumb shit. That wasn’t the point. “What I’m asking is did you check yet to see if McCarthy’s car is there?”

Hansen’s face reddened. “No. Every available officer’s been patrolling halls. Want me to ask someone to find it?”

Jesus!
Sikes nodded thoughtfully as if his stupid fucking question merited serious consideration. Earlier, before SPD arrived, Hansen made a couple pointed remarks about how other law enforcement looked down their noses at private security in general and at Doctors Hospital in particular. Since then Sikes had bent over backward to show Hansen the utmost respect in an attempt to gain his alliance. The way things were going, he might need Hansen’s help later. Besides, what difference did it make if he showed the doofus a little respect? The most important thing was to find McCarthy before SPD did.

He turned so Franklin wouldn’t hear, lowered his voice, and said, “I assume McCarthy has a parking permit, meaning your office has a record of the make and model of his car?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’d appreciate it if you get it for me. I’ll have one of my men check to see if it’s still there.”
Wouldn’t that be a bitch if he simply drove away and we didn’t even know it?

Hansen nodded and, radio in hand, stepped into the hall.

Sikes turned to Franklin, asked, “Mind if I have a word with my men? Alone?”

“Shit, knock yourself out. I got work to do anyway.” Franklin seemed to think about something. “Just so you know, some of the techs are on vacation and we called in a homicide detective, so it’s gonna take hours before a team can completely process McCarthy’s office. Translate that to fed-speak and it means you better be prepared for a long wait before you’re allowed in. And the reason for telling you this is I don’t want to hear a bunch of pissing and moaning when you’re told to stay out.” He turned and walked away.

Sikes suppressed the urge to flip him off, figuring it’d look juvenile. Instead, he waited until Franklin rounded the corner before saying to Womack and Lewis, “McCarthy could be anyplace by now. Out of the building, even. But until we know for sure, we continue to look for him here. On the chance he’s out, Womack, I want you to go over, check his house. You never know. Lewis, how’s the leg? Can you walk on it?”

Lewis jerked his pant leg down and hobbled to his feet in obvious pain. “No problem, sir.”

“Good. Soon as Frank gets us a description on McCarthy’s vehicle, I want you in that garage. If it’s there, you sit with it on the off chance he’s dumb enough to try to use it. If it’s not there, advise me immediately because I’ll assume he cleared the building and we can move accordingly. And Womack? When you get to his place, first thing you do is check to see if his car’s there. I can’t believe he made it this far already, but you never know, so check, just in case. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hansen poked his head into the room, grinning. “McCarthy parks in the basement of his office building. You’re looking for a silver BMW, 500 series.” Hansen scribbled the license number on a scrap of paper, started to hand it to Sikes, but Sikes redirected it to Lewis.

Sikes asked Lewis, “Know how to get there from here?”

Lewis flashed him an insulted look before limping off without a word, Womack in tow.

Chances were, if McCarthy cleared the building, first place he’d go would be his lawyer. That happened, he’d hear about it straight away. So odds were, McCarthy hadn’t left and was still holed up somewhere. Which, as far as Sikes was concerned, was preferable.

He told Hansen, “You and me are going to search the rest of the hospital until something shakes out. My sense is he’ll either try to clear the building or find another hiding place until he thinks our guard’s down. We have all major exits covered, so there’s nothing more we can do about those. If he clears the perimeter, he clears. But if he’s hiding here, I want his ass.”

Hansen nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Off the top of my head there’re several places we can look. And I’m sure the more area we cover, the more will come to mind.”

Sikes nodded, losing patience with the bozo. “Then let’s do it. We’re wasting time.”

A
FRESH SET of scrubs in hand, Hamilton opened the on-call room door and stopped dead. Empty. First confused, then hurt that McCarthy would abandon her, she threw the scrubs on the bed. “Damn it, Tom!”

Just as quickly, another thought struck: Had Sikes found him? Made sense. What other reason would he have for leaving like this? After all, the entire medical center was crawling with people searching for him. On her trip to get Tom scrubs she’d encountered numerous police and security officers. The more she thought about it, the more the call rooms seemed like an obvious place to look. Crap, this room had been her first thought. Surely hospital security would’ve thought of it also.
Oh, crap city!
She’d brought him here. It was her fault if they caught him.

No, hold on, girl! You don’t know anything for sure.
Something else might’ve happened. Yeah, right.

She sat on the bed, wondering how to find out. She couldn’t very well call security. Wait! If he’d been captured, wouldn’t those reporters outside cover it as a breaking story? During the trip to the locker room she’d detoured through the doctors’ lounge. Several physicians, mostly anesthesiologists, were clustered around the TV, transfixed by the live updates.

She turned on the tiny wall mounted Sony television and the screen blossomed into the picture of the same female reporter addressing the camera with “… police now confirm that a total of two shootings took place earlier this afternoon at Doctors Hospital. The victims’ identities are still being withheld pending notification of their next of kin. However, an exclusive KING TV source says that one of the victims was an employee of the Doctors Hospital Neuroscience Institute. The other victim is believed to be a government law enforcement agent.”

A voice-over from the news studio asked, “Any leads yet on who might be responsible, Lucy?”

Sarah muted the sound. Nothing but a rehash of the earlier story. It buoyed hope that Tom wasn’t captured. Yet. But if that was the case, where was he?

She clicked off the set. Crap, now what? Leave? Wait? If she waited, how long? Was there any way to contact him? Cell phone? Beeper? Cells were banned in some areas of the medical center because of potential interference with critical equipment, like cardiac monitors.

She picked up the telephone and dialed his cell anyway, on the off chance …

It immediately clicked over to “Sorry, but the Verizon customer you are trying to reach is not in the network.” She was about to try his beeper but remembered he’d used it to distract Washington.

Where could he go?

If he’d only stepped out to go to the john, he should be back by now. No, something happened. She couldn’t just wait here. Might as well head down to the cardiac ICU to check on Bobbie Baker, see if they removed the tube from her throat.

Unsure if she should be frustrated, pissed, or disappointed, she cast one last look around the narrow, empty room before closing the door.

M
CCARTHY BECAME AWARE of muffled conversation out in the hall and realized someone was about to enter the men’s room. He stepped into the closest toilet stall and latched the door just as the hall door opened and footsteps entered.

The stall partition walls ended perhaps a foot above the while tile floor, exposing his shoes and pant cuffs. Too late. The person out there could clearly see that someone occupied the stall. Was that person looking for him? He aimed Washington’s gun at where a person would stand if they tried to force open the door. He didn’t intend to shoot anyone, but if this was Sikes …

He leaned forward to squint through the slit between the door and the partition, but could only see a slice of tiled wall across the room. The footsteps stopped. McCarthy tightened his grip and slipped his finger over the trigger.

Then came a slosh of water in the sink, followed by the rip of a paper towel from the wall dispenser. More footsteps, then the soft metallic click of the door latch again.

Silence.

Had they left, or was this a ruse? He squatted down to peer under the partition, but the space was so cramped he couldn’t see the entire floor. Carefully, he unlatched the door and opened it, sweeping the room with the gun. No one else here.

After wedging the gun under his belt, he cracked open the hall door to check the hall. Deserted. Quickly, he crossed over to the call room, knocked once, but entered without waiting for an answer. A set of green scrubs, a disposable bouffant surgical hat, and a mask lay on the bed but Sarah wasn’t here. Shit! Just his luck. She must’ve returned the moment he stepped out to use the toilet.

He changed into the scrubs and removed his wallet, keys, and cell phone from his pants. Holding up the mattress with one hand, he spread his dirty clothes over the box springs, replaced mattress, smoothed the blanket and spread, fluffed the pillow, and inspected his work. Perfect. A cursory check of the room would show that no one had been here. He stuffed his valuables in his pockets he looked at the doorknob and wondered why Sarah had left. Had she assumed he’d made a break for it without changing clothes? Would she return? And if not, where did she go? Maybe she needed to check on a patient. He decided to give her a few minutes, five minutes at the most before he would try to make a break for it.

T
O BUCK LEWIS’S surprise, walking actually helped the severe pain where that bastard had clobbered him with the pipe. At first, each step was pure agony that radiated out from the marrow. But now that he was moving and bearing weight it changed to a tolerable throbbing. Well, except if his foot came down at a different angle. Then it sent a knee-buckling bolt of pain up his leg. The first few steps taught him how best to distribute his weight. After that, each one became easier. Now he could hobble with a gimpy rhythm.

The third floor of the garage connected to the first floor of the medical center through a fire door. Lewis entered into low ceilings, bare concrete, faded yellow lines, smells of oil and car exhaust, harsh florescent lights, and the faint rumble of something mechanical. The steel fire door clicked shut behind him as he started walking row after row of cars, scanning for a silver vehicle with the circular BMW logo. The top floor yielded nothing, so he limped down the car ramp to the second floor.

McCarthy’s vehicle wasn’t on the second floor either. Leaving him two options: Either the fucker had escaped or he’d parked on the bottom level. Which, now that he thought about it, seemed to fit how his day had gone so far.

He started down the final ramp thinking, what if McCarthy didn’t drive today? What if someone else brought him? Anyone consider of that possibility? So if the Beemer wasn’t down here, where was it? There’d be no way to know. Even if the car wasn’t at his house, it still meant nothing. The bastard could be in his lawyer’s office, for all they knew and all the possibilities made his head hurt almost as much as his god-damn shin.

All right! Up ahead a silver Beemer. He checked the plate. Fucking A, McCarthy’s. Excellent. He was now responsible for securing the first bit of hard information in the case. He triggered the transmitter. “Mother Hen, Chick One.”

“Go, Chick.”

“Target’s vehicle is—I repeat,
is
—still on the premises.”

“Outstanding. There a safe observation point?”

Lewis glanced around. Until now he hadn’t given it a thought. At the end of the ramp a cyclone fence enclosed a bicycle rack with two muddy mountain bikes chained up. The ceiling in that corner held only one low-wattage lightbulb. “Affirmative.”