T Wave (17 page)

CHAPTER 44

Two days had passed since Ken Goins’ death. As daylight faded, Nancy sat on her couch in the den, unmoving. She still wasn’t sure how to feel, how to react. In the stillness of her house, a space now empty of everyone but herself, the steady click of an electric clock on the wall seemed downright noisy.

The sound of a gentle tap on the front door caused Nancy to flinch. She pulled herself off the couch, walked over to the front door, and peered through the security hole. It was Dennis.

Nancy pulled the door open. Dennis looked at her with expectant eyes but remained rooted to the spot. “Would you like some company?”

Nancy nodded and gestured for him to come inside. Dennis studied her, as if judging how she would respond to an embrace. Her somber mood seemed to assist in the decision, and he merely squeezed her arm as he entered.

In silence, Dennis made his way into the kitchen and brewed a pot of strong coffee. Pouring a cup for himself and Nancy, he sat next to her at the breakfast-nook table.

“I know you said you wanted to be alone,” said Dennis, “but I was worried about you, just sitting here by yourself.”

She gave him a wan smiled. “Thanks, Honey.”

Dennis seemed to perk up at the moniker. For a few minutes, neither knew what else to say and therefore remained mute.

Dennis broke the silence. “The circumstances are horrible, I know, but Ken being gone…this is what we wanted, right?”

“Yes. This is exactly what we wanted.”

Dennis sipped his coffee and glanced up her with an inquiring eye. “Do you think you’ll be able to get through all this without people knowing—about us?”

Nancy shrugged and leaned back in her chair, exhaling. “I don’t know. I hope so, of course, but there’s some investigator asking questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“About the details of Ken’s surgery: his doctor, when he scheduled it, stuff like that.” Nancy hesitated. She hadn’t yet shared with Dennis her suspicions on the topic she prepared to broach. “I also told the investigator about a rash of strange patient deaths at Serenity and Stokely Hospital over the past couple of months. Several patients have died unexpectedly…and apparently not from the condition they were admitted to the hospital for. The investigator is looking into it to see if foul play was involved.”

Dennis seemed to ruminate on this information but didn’t comment on it. He appeared a bit less surprised than Nancy would have expected, considering the gravity of the news.

He leaned closer and took her hand in his. “We’ll get through this. Just remember that I love you, no matter what happens.”

TUESDAY, JULY 24

CHAPTER 45

The next morning, Alton arose early to attack his considerable Kruptos workload.

At the end of the workday, he glanced at the clock on his laptop as his appointment chime rang out.

“Four-thirty,” he murmured. “Time to conduct a reconnaissance mission.”

Alton climbed into his Explorer and drove for over twenty minutes, arriving at a rather nondescript house in an older neighborhood. To avoid detection, he continued past the target residence and parked further down the street, out of sight.

Exiting the SUV, Alton made his way back up the street, casually checking over both shoulders to confirm there was no one about who might observe his actions. As he reached the house in question, he walked along the sidewalk bordering the front yard and studied his surroundings for a solid two minutes.

Still seeing no one, Alton walked halfway up the driveway. He could hear the television blaring from inside the house. Both garage doors were open and a vehicle rested in one of the stalls, so presumably at least one of the house’s occupants was home.

Alton avoided the exterior windows as he made his way further up the driveway. He peered into the garage and studied its contents for a full minute. After committing the scene to memory, he moved to the back yard and once again surveyed the area with a keen eye. He nodded in satisfaction. It was as he had suspected.

As he turned to retrace his steps to the front yard, Alton noticed an anomaly in the landscaping. He made a mental note to return at the right time and investigate it further.

Careful to avoid revealing himself to the house’s occupants, Alton stole down the driveway and turned directly onto the sidewalk, heading towards his vehicle. He climbed in and left the neighborhood, satisfied in the information he had gathered.

Rather than returning to Mallory’s condo, Alton drove to a nicer section of town. He parked in front of an upscale white colonial and rang the doorbell.

A pleasant, middle-aged woman answered the door. “Yes, can I help you?” she said, glancing at Alton’s hands, presumably to see if he carried any salesman materials. For his part, Alton remained several paces behind the door in order to reassure her of his benign intentions.

“Ma’am, my name is Alton Blackwell. I’ve been working with your husband at the hospital. Has he mentioned my name?”

She shook her head and did not invite Alton to come inside. He didn’t blame her. If she were his mother, he wouldn’t have wanted her to make the offer, given the circumstances.

“I’m not an FBI agent, but I’ve been assigned as a consultant to help the FBI investigate a series of possible homicides at the hospital. Your husband was assisting by giving us access to the patient and employee information we needed to conduct the investigation.”

Sally Cline nodded and looked at him expectantly.

“Ma’am, I have a few questions, but it’s a little awkward speaking out here on the front step. Could you call Agent Mallory Wilson or Stan Wiggins, her boss, at the FBI’s downtown office to confirm my identity? Then perhaps we could speak inside, if that’s agreeable with you.”

“Okay, let me do that,” replied the occupant. She shut and locked the door. After a few minutes, she returned. “Do you have some sort of identification?”

Alton had already removed his license from his wallet and handed it across.

“Okay, come on in,” said Mrs. Cline, returning the license and holding open the door.

“Thanks,” said Alton. Once he had taken a seat in the den, he continued, “I won’t take up much of your time.” He opted not to share her husband’s reluctance to support the investigation, lest it inspire a similar proclivity in her. “I’m just curious, Mrs. Cline…Has your husband mentioned any concerns he’s had at work recently?”

“Really, Mr. Blackwell, I think you’d need to ask him that yourself.”

“I have, but he appears to carry his responsibilities squarely on his own shoulders. It seems to me he’s not inclined to burden others with his troubles.”

She produced a proud laugh. “Yes, he is a dear that way. He never tells me a lot about his problems at work. He ‘doesn’t want me to worry,’ he says.”

Alton had to be careful to avoid raising her defenses with a renewal of his question. “Yes, exactly. But at the same time, his inclination to keep problems to himself makes it a little more challenging to piece together what’s happening at Stokely’s facilities. If I knew a little more about any current challenges he’s facing in his job, I might be able to help solve them. And it might help my investigation, too.”

“Well, to be honest, he doesn’t tell
me
much. He’s been working very late hours for the last few months, and up until recently, I could see he was really worried.”

“Did he say what he was working on?” asked Alton.

“Yes, he said that the new hospice, Serenity, wasn’t making as much money as it should. I told him he shouldn’t have to be the only one to fix that, but he said building Serenity was his idea so he had to be the one to turn it around. Plus, he said that Stokely stock was ‘waiting for Serenity to hit its stride’, as he put it. He said once the hospice stopped losing money, Stokely’s stock would jump up.”

“I see. And you said ‘until recently’ he was worried. Does that mean he’s appeared less concerned lately?”

“That’s right,” she beamed. “My William always finds a way to figure out problems. He’s been so much more relaxed the past few days. I guess whatever he’s been trying is working.”

“And he hasn’t mentioned what that solution is?”

“Oh, no. Like you said, he doesn’t like to talk about his work problems when he comes home. I think he’s happy to get away from them when he’s here.”

“That’s understandable,” said Alton.

“It’s nice to see that worry gone—most of it, at least. At one point he was even worried about his job, but not anymore.”

Making a mental note of his host’s last statement, Alton rose to his feet. “Mrs. Cline, thanks for your time. I think that’s all the information I need for now.”

“Well, you’re welcome. I hope our little talk has helped.”

“Yes, it certainly has. Thanks again.”

Upon leaving the Cline household and departing in his Explorer, Alton placed a call to Leo Jacobin, CEO of Stokely Medical Group. He reached Amy Butterfield, Jacobin’s administrative assistant.

“Can I speak with Leo Jacobin, please?” asked Alton.

“Mr. Jacobin isn’t available at the moment. Can I take your name, number, and a brief message?”

“Sure. This is Alton Blackwell. I’m an adjunct with the FBI, and I’m helping with an investigation into a series of homicides that may have taken place in Stokely facilities. Could you ask him to call me up to discuss the case?”

“Mr. Blackwell, would you mind holding on for a moment?”

“No, not at all.”

After a three-minute wait, Amy returned to the line. “I’m going to patch you through to Mr. Jacobin now.”

“Thanks very much, Miss Butterfield.”

“Mr. Blackwell,” said Jacobin, “How can I help a fine member of the FBI.”

Alton didn’t correct the man’s misunderstanding of his credentials. After explaining the nature of his investigation, he asked, “I understand that in the past, William Cline was concerned about the financial results of Serenity Hospice.”

“Damn right. I was worried, too.”

“I also understand that Mr. Cline has recently devised a solution to this dilemma.”

“So he told me,” replied Jacobin without offering any more information.

“Do you happen to know exactly what his solution is? Has he described it to you?”

“You know, I leave such operating details to my staff. That’s why I hire them.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jacobin, Serenity’s performance represents more than an ‘operating detail.’ I’ve studied your quarterly SEC statements, and I know Serenity Hospice is dampening Stokely’s overall financial results. You improve Serenity’s results, Stokely stock rises—you don’t, and Stokely stock keeps wallowing at the same level it’s been stuck at for the past two years. Surely as CEO, you have at least a general understanding of the turnaround plan.”

“And if I choose not to share this information? After all, this is highly confidential information. How do I know you’re not going to trade on it after you’ve learned it?”

Alton sighed. This conversation felt similar to those with William Cline. “Mr. Jacobin, what do you think would happen to me if I traded on information you divulge as part of a federal, criminal investigation? I’d be convicted for violating insider trading law. I can assure you that’s the last thing on my mind.”

“And if I simply refuse to divulge such sensitive company information?”

“Then I obtain a subpoena and require you to tell the FBI under oath. What are the chances that a subpoena issued to a CEO as part of a criminal investigation will go unnoticed by the Wall Street Journal?”

“Fine,” said Jacobin. “To be honest, there’s not much to tell. Cline told me I might not like the way he was resolving the problem, and I told him I didn’t need to know. I told him to deal with it as he saw fit. That’s what he’s paid to do.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure he’s not doing anything illegal,” said Jacobin, “but I’ve found that in addressing a problem, when I try to force a subordinate to use a solution they don’t agree with, the problem is almost never solved in a satisfactory way. If the subordinate doesn’t believe in the solution, he won’t embrace it, and the solution fails. It’s better to let him get behind his own approach, even if it’s one I wouldn’t have personally used.”

“Okay, Mr. Jacobin. I understand. Thanks for your time.”

Alton ended the call. He understood, all right. He understood Jacobin wanted a layer of protection between himself and Cline’s schemes, hoping to avoid prison time for any illegal activities Cline might be working on by denying any personal knowledge.

Alton headed back to Mallory’s apartment. On the way, he called Wiggins to share the information he had acquired in his reconnaissance trip and his conversations with Sally Cline and Leo Jacobin. He then phoned Mallory to provide the same update. After bringing her up to speed, Alton asked, “How’s
your
investigation going?”

“Pretty well,” replied Mallory. “We deployed the hospice bait bottles this morning. Wiggins assigned Peterson to accompany me here in Serenity to babysit both me and the bottles. If one of the bottles starts to move, he can track it if I’m not around.”

“What about night shift? Will there be someone there to monitor the bottles then?”

“No. If we don’t get a hit by seven, we’ll substitute the bait bottles with real ones. We can’t be certain, but most of the thefts seem to have occurred during the day, so we’ll keep our fingers crossed that this trend continues—at least until Wiggins can talk someone into spending the night in a hospice.”

“So if you don’t get any bites in the next few minutes,” said Alton, observing the time to be six-thirty, “you’ll pack it in and head home?”

“Exactly. And if that happens, we’ll put the bait bottles back out again tomorrow. It’s time to start validating all these nice theories we’ve constructed with a few arrests.”