Peril (7 page)

Tyler leaned back and folded his hands on his lap. “Just that a young girl was attacked on a local trail. Obviously I know that she was admitted to Morgan's unit.”

Brett could see Morgan studying Nathan.

Guess the mothering instinct never goes away, even when your child has died. It just carries over to other children.

She leaned so far forward on the couch, she almost tumbled off. “You were one of the detectives assigned to Teagan's case.”

Nathan nodded. “Yes, I was. I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“You were so kind to us.” She eased her hand over Tyler's but then pulled it away as if it breached some unspoken line. “I never felt like you assumed I was guilty.”

Nathan nodded. “I appreciate your kind words. It was a difficult situation.”

Tyler crossed his arms over his chest. “You said this was about the girl, Zoe Martin.”

Evidently, further discussion on the topic was not permissible.

“Right,” Brett said. “I was part of the police team that searched the park today where her body was found.” From the folder, he removed the clear plastic evidence bag that held the business card. “Not far from the site where they found Zoe's body, we also found this.”

Brett held it out. Tyler stood and pulled it from his fingers, looking it over on both sides before handing it back. “It's one of my business cards. So?”

“Can you account for your whereabouts today, Dr. Adams?”

“You can verify where I was with my secretary and nurse. They were with me up until thirty minutes ago. I was seeing patients all day. Every thirty minutes.”

“Terrific. If I could have their numbers, that will be great. Any idea how this card would have ended up on the trail next to an assault victim?”

Tyler inhaled deeply. “Honestly, it could have been any number of ways. I must give two dozen of those out a day and who knows how many are grabbed and handed around.”

Adams's body language was congruent with his statement. He sat comfortably. Arms relaxed. Facial expression sincere.

“Did you see the time and date on the back?” Brett asked.

Adams nodded.

“Do you recall anything significant about that date?” Brett followed.

“That was almost eighteen months ago. I'd have to look back into some records to see if something strikes me. Sorry, nothing stands out.”

“What do the letters NPO mean? The noted time of midnight mean anything to you?”

“NPO is a medical term that stands for nothing by mouth. If I had to make an educated guess, I would say that date denotes a surgical date and this was another reminder of a procedure. Though, this is not normally something we would give to patients. First of all, this is medical lingo, and most patients won't understand what the abbreviation means. Second of all, that card comes from Sacred Heart. We don't operate on adults there.”

Brett tucked the evidence back into the folder. “A couple of your medical colleagues mentioned you were doing some contract work? Where is that?”

“NeuroGenics,” Tyler said. “I'm sorry. Did you think I was at Sacred Heart today?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. I should know this company.

The first true sign of discomfort during the interview didn't come from Tyler. It came from Nathan. He looked like he might Elizabeth-Taylor-faint right out of the chair.

“Doesn't the institute handle mainly private security contracts?” Nathan asked.

Tyler was beginning to pale a bit. “Yes. We're operating under a privately funded grant.”

The fire of Nathan's police instinct was lit, and it zeroed directly on Tyler. “Do you know a man named Dr. Thomas Reeves?”

Brett's elbow slid off the padded armchair.
That's it! Thomas Reeves's brainchild. But what does Nathan's father-in-law have to do with . . . well, anything?

Tyler clenched his hands tightly, his fingers jammed into the back of the other hand. “I understand what a sensitive issue this is for everyone. However, it's classified work. There's military interest in what we're doing. There's nothing I'm going to be able to disclose to you, including who might be sponsoring the contract. Nothing about the staff at this point. I'm happy to give you the names of the two women who can verify my
whereabouts, but I'm going to have to talk to my medical director before continuing our conversation.”

Brett stood. “We'll arrange a time for that to happen.” From his wallet, Brett pulled one of his business cards. He handed it to Tyler. “I'd appreciate those names tomorrow, sir, so we can get this little matter cleared up. I would be grateful if you could look through some of your records and see if anything around that date strikes your mind.”

Adams slid the card from his fingers. “Sure thing.”

Brett walked around the table and reached his hand out to Tyler and then held it tight in his grip. “As a father of a murdered child, I know you understand what Zoe's parents are going through.”

“Brett . . .” Nathan warned.

He smiled and Tyler's face iced over. “Don't give me reason to assume you're involved with what happened to Zoe.” Brett released his hand. “I've put doctors in jail before.”

Chapter 6

Noon, Wednesday, June 13

M
ORGAN WALKED THROUGH
the PICU doors after lunch and was immediately greeted by Amy Kent's mother, Joanna. The woman embraced her so tightly that Morgan's lunch bag dropped from her hand onto the floor. Morgan reached up to Joanna's shoulders and eased her back.

“What are you guys doing here?” Morgan asked.

Tears fled down her cheeks, as if her own sadness was too much for them to take. “The LVAD . . . something's wrong with it.”

The small heart pump, known as a left ventricular assist device, helped ease the workload of the heart. More recently, it had been used on an ex-vice president to maintain his life until transplant.

Definitely not good news.

“How long?”

“I don't know, but she hasn't been feeling well for a couple of days.” Joanna pulled the curtain aside and Morgan stepped into the darkened space.

Amy Kent was a stunning, blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty. Surely, the envy of every other girl her age for her beauty-pageant looks, sweet personality, and wicked-smart brain. Life for her had everything going in the right direction until she contracted a nasty little virus that morphed her heart into a weak, dilated, ineffective organ.

“What's the cardiologist saying?” Morgan asked.

“That she doesn't have . . .” She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes squinting against the thought of every parent's dismal desperation.

The thought of having to bury her own child.

Joanna began to moan as Amy lay sleeping in the bed. Morgan embraced her as she eyed Amy's numbers on the monitor. Heart rate fast. BP low. She scanned the pumps. Sure enough, she was also requiring medication to support her blood pressure, and even at the current dose it didn't seem to be helping.

Morgan took a step back and used her thumbs to wipe the tears off the woman's cheeks. “Joanna, don't go there. Your baby is alive. She's in the best place. We'll figure it out. You know Dr. Marshall is the very best.”

The screech of the curtain being yanked against the track brought Morgan's eyes away from the mother to her coworker, Eric.

“Dr. Leeds wants to speak with you.”

The neurosurgeon on duty today. That can't be good.

“About what?”

“Bedspace D.”

Zoe Martin.

Morgan rubbed Joanna's shoulders and settled her back into the chair. “Just pray. I'll try to catch Marshall and see what the plan is. We'll chat later.”

As soon as she cleared the curtain, Leeds was a mere five steps away, tapping his toe against the linoleum. Even before she could greet him, he stated his case like a drill sergeant. “The Martins don't get it.”

“Don't get what?”

“That Zoe is brain dead.”

Morgan grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back toward the hall near the staff lounge, away from the bionic ears of PICU families. “You can't say something like that in the middle of the unit. Everyone hears you.”

He sighed. “Morgan, give me a break. I need you to get them to understand so that we can withdraw care. Legally, she's dead. Further care is unnecessary and futile.” He'd tried to explain the findings in the Harvard-type spiel of a literary professor. They simply hadn't understood the language.

“Even coming from you, don't you think that's a little harsh? They are losing their child. She was murdered.”

“They've already lost her.” Then a spotlight of recognition gleamed from his eyes. He stroked his bald head several times and then tugged at the cuffs of his lab coat. “Sometimes, I don't know why I ever did peds neurosurg. There's always so much bad news you have to deliver. ‘I'm sorry your child has an inoperable brain tumor.' ‘I'm sorry, you did kill your child by letting them ride an ATV without a helmet.' ‘I'm sorry . . .' ”

Never had she seen Dr. Leeds with any feeling, let alone the weight of Zoe's case that suddenly brought all these emotions to the surface.

“I just don't think I can do this work anymore. I don't know if I
want
to do this work anymore.” A hint of redness colored the edges of his eyes. He reached up too quickly, embarrassed, wiping away tears that had yet to fully form. “Too many kids I've watched die. More often than not, what I do seems to make little difference.”

Morgan's knees began to shake at the reality of what she was witnessing. A single man, no children—had latched on to these children as surrogates for the ones he was never able to have. Leeds was known as an obsessive worker. Tough on the residents. First one in—last to go home. One of the worst bedside manners; but if a family needed a miracle, his name was at the top of her list.

Morgan was at a loss for words. “Dr. Leeds—”

“Michael,” he said. “Please. My name is Michael. Why do you call every other doctor by their first name but not me? No one does.”

His shoulders sagged. The image of a beaten man. His life's work had taken the final toll, and Morgan knew in her heart that Zoe was likely his last case. There was a limit to the amount of sadness and grief a human could carry, and this man's tank had overflowed.

Morgan exhaled through the burning in her chest.
What hope can I give? An amazing clinician at the end of his rope?
Not long ago, she would have offered him what she considered everlasting hope and peace.

But since Teagan's death, that well for her had long gone dry.

“Dr. Leeds . . .” She shook her head. “Michael. You and I have worked together ever since I was a new, baby nurse. You've taken my head off so many times, you could become the envied twin of Henry VIII.”

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his lab coat, looking away from her down the hall.

“You're not my favorite doctor to work with.” She swallowed the saliva that collected in her mouth. “But, you are the one I would call first if a kid needed a miracle.” She leaned against the hallway wall. “I'm sorry for all of us and for the toll this job takes on our lives.”

He straightened his shoulders. “I know I shouldn't ask you to do this, but I am.” He eyed her, the color of his irises a shade darker with the weariness he carried. “Convince them she's gone.”

Morgan glanced at the two anguished parents. After two days, the firestorm of media continued to crawl over the campus of Sacred Heart Children's Hospital like ravenous dogs looking for a meal. A slow ache
crawled through Morgan's gut. It was a community that she'd never dreamed she would belong to—parents of murdered children.

Morgan nodded to Leeds. “What about your fellow?”

“If you think I'm bad—”

“Fine. I'll do it.”

She'd never seen a man exit the PICU so fast.

Morgan proceeded to Zoe's bedspace, pulled a chair to the foot of her bed, and stretched the curtain closed behind her before she took a seat.

Julia Martin searched Morgan's eyes as she placed her hand over her daughter's limp, pale one. This was one of the most difficult aspects of nursing—explaining death when the machines that kept Zoe “alive” mimicked real life so well.

Morgan motioned for them to sit. They would understand more if she explained each nuance in language they used every day. Interpretation took time.

“Do you remember Dr. Leeds doing all those strange tests to Zoe? Like brushing cotton against her eye and injecting cold water into her ears?”

The father, Ian, nodded while Julia stared at Morgan wide-eyed and fearful.

“He was testing for some basic reflexes that all of us have. These are generated from the brainstem. This is the part of the brain that regulates the heartbeat and breathing.” Morgan swallowed hard. “Zoe doesn't have any of these reflexes present. She doesn't have any sort of sedative in her system that would prevent her from having these. Because of that, Dr. Leeds wanted to do a brain flow study.”