The Timer Game (11 page)

“And the neck bone’s connected to the chin bone. I know the stats, I know how many die waiting. Can you leave the theatrics for your Nobel prize speech and cut to the chase?”

Lee lifted her chin and looked at Warren. “She’s impossible.”

Grace thought she saw him nod in agreement and she snapped, “Good. I’m gone.”

Warren clamped a hand gently on her shoulder and she bit off her sarcasm when she saw the pain and tenderness in his face.

“Grace. Please. I need your help.” His voice was low and urgent. He was turned away from Lee so the researcher couldn’t hear their conversation, and Grace felt again the connection with this aging man. “I need you to see this.”

She nodded and he took a breath, relieved. Grace moved primly down the aisle and stood next to Lee, noting that her perfume held a mix of citrus and musk, and something fainter.

Perhaps gunpowder. “What’s in there?” Grace said.

Lee lifted the lid. Inside the vat floated a human heart.

It was the size of a tiny fist. It swayed gently in a thick, viscous liquid. It was an odd tan color and floated in a soupy nutrient sea the red color of Jell-O. Grace felt a wave of nausea. The last time she had seen a human heart was in Guatemala. She closed her eyes and steadied herself against the counter.

“Grace? Are you okay?” Warren said, alarmed.

“I need to leave. Go into the hall.”

She patted her way blindly past them toward the door and burst through it into the hall, taking gulps of air and leaning against the wall. Her legs felt unsteady. She wiped her lip and swallowed hard, a faintly metallic acid taste in her throat. She heard the lab door close.

Warren joined her in the hall. “What can I do?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, took another gulp of air, opened her eyes. “Sorry. Just took me by surprise.” The pale print on the hall wallpaper slowly stopped moving.

“You want to sit?”

She shook her head and took a steadying breath. “I haven’t heard anything about that. A human heart. Extraordinary.” Her legs had stopped trembling and she risked straightening up.

“You’re one of only a handful of people who know of its existence. That’s why we have the steel door and retina scanner. It is the most explosive research breakthrough in decades. Did you know that the biotech field is the fastest-growing business segment in the world? It’s going to be worth billions, Grace. Let’s go back in my office. I’ll get you some water.”

After he got her settled he said simply, “It’s the motherlode. It’s the thing, frankly, that Belikond wants. That they’re paying big money to get.”

“I thought Lee was working with xenografts.” She was still feeling queasy and Warren refilled her glass with water.

“She stopped five years ago, right about the time you left. Scientists all over the world have been working on growing specific parts of hearts, valves especially, but Lee hit on something, utilizing a set of over a hundred different patents we’ve been quietly acquiring, that made growing a heart in a bioreactor a reality. She’s just started experimental trials. That heart is only the second one in existence.”

“If I hadn’t seen it there with my own eyes. . .” Her voice trailed.

“I know. It’s extraordinary. And the reason I showed that to you—well, there are a couple of reasons, Grace.”

He hesitated. “I needed you to know how this whole thing with Eddie Loud has complicated everything.” He held up his hands, cutting her off. “I already said I don’t blame you for killing him. If I’d lost you, I don’t know what I would have done. But it’s definitely not the kind of publicity I was hoping to get during the week I’m selling.”

She waited, wondering where he was going with it.

“I’m bringing this up because I need you to watch something tonight on CNN. A piece about the work Lee’s doing.”

She tensed.

“There’ll be some blood, Grace, but not too much.”

She worked with blood all the time. That wasn’t what bothered her. Medical reporting on CNN was Mac’s world.

“It airs tonight,” he repeated. “You’ve been a medical doctor. You work with the police. Somebody is targeting me. And you. And maybe, in some way I don’t know, trying to derail the sale. Someplace, there’s a connection, Grace. That’s what we have to focus on. Finding it. Before we run out of time. Can you do it?”

“I need something, too. The owner of the taco van, Mr. Esguio. He told me he’d hired somebody besides Eddie Loud from the Center, a woman named Jazz Studio, who had problems with a food cart this past week. I need to find her.”

Warren’s face colored scarlet. “You’ve been asking questions about my patients?”

“She knew Eddie. Maybe she can tell me what the warning about the Spikeman meant. It’s for both of us, Warren, remember that.”

“Eddie’s dead, Grace. And I hate to point it out, but the best chance we had of finding out who’s after you—and me—died when you shot him. Jazz is still a patient. I can’t let you talk to her. I’m sorry, but I can’t. She’s emotionally fragile now. She needs her privacy.”

He got up and took her arm and escorted her out into the hall. At the steel door, he pressed a button to open it and hesitated, pulling out a business card and scribbling on it.

“Please, for both our sakes, watch that program tonight. Find whatever the missing link is between the two of us. Before the sale with Belikond is derailed.” He hesitated. “Before one of us dies.”

He thrust the card into her hand. “Home number, private line into my office, cell—although I’m the only man in America who doesn’t seem to remember to carry one. I’m serious, Grace. Take care of yourself. And if you need my help, I can have somebody on you in a heartbeat, but leave Jazz Studio alone.”

Hearts again. She nodded and stepped through the opening door.

Chapter 11

The Spikeman was targeting her and Warren. Why?

Exhaustion clouded her thinking, born of the terror of the meth bust and its sleepless aftermath. A small kernel of anxiety had lodged in her chest and it was a cold thing, even though the day was warm.

Grace made a stop and returned to the Center half an hour later, the gray stone and blank windows a cipher. She went directly to the information desk in the hospital lobby. She was carrying a medium-sized pepperoni and cheese pizza, the receipt taped to the front with
JAZZ STUDIO
written in block letters. Jazz had just started working the food cart after being in Records; Grace was banking on that job change not being recorded yet at the information desk.

“Delivery for…” Grace ripped off the receipt and frowned. “Jazz Studio in Records.”

“Jazz Studio? You’ve got to be kidding.” The woman at the desk was in her early twenties, with thin pink lips spackled with glitter. Her name tag read
TRINA TAYLOR
. She pushed aside the book she was reading
: Television Production Handbook.
A
USED
sticker adorned the spine. A college kid moonlighting.

“That’s what it says. So where’s Records?”

“There are lots of records departments here. I don’t know if I can help you.” The odor of warm cheese bit the air. Trina wet her lips and stole a glance at the carton.

“Come on,” Grace pleaded. “Comes out of my pocket, somebody stiffs me. You got a roster, right? I’ll look it up myself.”

“I can’t. Against Center regulations.”

“Look, I get by on tips. I’m just trying to stay in school.” It was an inspired lie and Trina immediately looked sympathetic.

“Where do you go?”

“Point Loma Nazarene.” If Grace was going to lie, may as well throw in God.

Trina chewed her lip and left a pink lipstick chip on her tooth. “I got a friend in security. Maybe he can help.”

Grace shifted her gaze to the gift shop while Trina made the call, watching an old man shuffling to the cash register with a rose. He had a bad hip and the rose took a sharp dip every time he leaned on that foot, as if he were conducting an invisible symphony.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay. Sure. I’d like that.” Trina put down the receiver and pointed toward the hallway on Grace’s left. “Jazz Studio works in Deep Six.”

“Deep Six?” Grace ripped off the receipt with Jazz’s name on it and crumpled it up.

“South wing, basement, door at the very end. Use that elevator, it’s easier. And good luck, okay?”

Grace looked at her, confused.

“With school.”

“Oh, yeah. You, too.”

Trina smiled wanly and reached for her book.

____

Grace pushed open the door to Deep Six and put the pizza she was carrying down on the counter. The room was cramped. Behind the counter hung shelves of color-coded books holding bound volumes. An archway led to a deep cavern of filing cabinets. Nobody was there.

Grace leaned over the counter. “Hello?”

“Goddammit all to hell!”

Grace craned her neck and could just make out a glimpse of a woman kneeling amid an explosion of scattered charts.

“Hello?” Grace said more loudly.

The woman jerked up, slamming a hand to her heart. She had sallow skin and faded, wispy hair and pale, watery eyes. The cream-colored knit she was wearing made her look as if she’d been dipped in a vat of lemon juice.

“God. You stopped my heart.”

“Sorry.”

The woman clambered to her feet and slammed a file drawer shut with her hip. It was a large hip, and the cabinet rocked as if it had been caught in a ground swell. She came through the arch, her chunky beige heels beating a brisk tattoo. A brass tag identified her as Rosemary Melzer. Her chin was holding up, but her neck was starting to go. Grace in another ten years.

“If you need microfiche, Eileen can download in 212 if you have the chart number, but if you’re looking for inactive hard copies, you’re out of luck.” She gestured at the mess behind

her and then scrutinized Grace more closely. “You look familiar.”

Grace extended her hand. “Grace Descanso.”

Rosemary’s handshake was boneless and cool. Her puzzled glance went to the pizza.

“The guys at New Life thought you might need this, after yesterday.” Grace shoved the pizza across the counter.

Rosemary grimaced. “Nice. Jazz goes psycho on me and Curtis thinks he can wipe the slate clean with a deep dish. Not that I won’t devour it, although after yesterday, I could use something a whole lot stronger.” She cracked the lid open and the sharp smell of pepperoni wafted out. “Want a piece?”

“I’m set.”

“You’re Jazz’s new caseworker? I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“Whenever there’s an incident with an employee—”

“That’s what you’re calling it, an incident?
”
Rosemary opened the door in the counter and motioned her irritably through. “Look at this mess. Just look at it.”

Grace followed her back into the filing room. Jazz had systematically emptied a steel filing cabinet. She’d dumped the first two drawers on the floor, scattering and ripping apart charts in a blizzard of medical information ankle-deep in front of the gaping filing cabinet. A row of gold stars, the kind Katie brought home on tests, had been pasted to the front of the empty cabinet.

“I’m going to talk to the board, I really am. I know their position on hiring, but I’m tired of being a guinea pig. These are charts, people’s lives. What’s to stop a crazy person from taking this information out into the street? She is, you know. She’s totally crazy.”

Grace was silent. “Well, she does have…” Waiting to see what Rosemary would fill in.

“Yes, exactly. And I don’t think it’s a good fit with my department, you know?”

“I can understand that,” Grace said neutrally.

“When I was hired, Dr. Pendrell himself explained to me the importance of trying to reintroduce clients back into the workforce, but why can’t they put somebody on the janitor crew, or dishwashing in the cafeteria?” Rosemary took a breath and rolled her shoulders. “I’m done. Okay.”

“What’s this filing cabinet hold?”

“You mean the one she wrecked? Charts for pediatrics we’re about to transfer into deep storage at a secure warehouse.”

Grace wanted to ask if Rosemary had ever seen Jazz with a guy named Eddie, or if Jazz had ever talked about him, but she didn’t want Rosemary remembering where she’d last seen Grace, on television after killing Eddie Loud.

“Frankly, I was relieved when Jazz was transferred out of Records, I really was. I’d already taken her off the shredder—didn’t want her hurting herself—and assigned her something less stressful, but when Curt told me he was moving her on to some food cart, well, I thought, it’s about time.”

“She brought the food cart here first thing.”

Rosemary nodded as she walked back to the counter and reached for the piece of pizza. Grace spotted the Rolodex tucked on a shelf under the counter.

“I was here early. We’re instituting a new computer system, and we’re backed up, which is why I came in on a Sunday. She was waiting for me. And then, get this, she wouldn’t even let me buy a cup of coffee or a pastry. Said I had to wait until nine, like everybody else. She backs the cart right up next to the counter, too, so I can get a good look at what I can’t have.”

Rosemary took an aggrieved bite of pizza. “Did you bring any Coke?” she said hopefully.

“No. Sorry. So Jazz is there with the food cart first thing but won’t let you buy anything.”

“You try waiting, smelling that coffee smell, and some little twit not letting you buy a cup because it isn’t time. I went down the hall and got a cup from the machine, and when I came back, she’d smashed up the office and was dragging the cart out of there. I called security.”

“What number do you have for her?” Grace flicked a glance at the Rolodex.

“You don’t have it?”

Grace froze.

Rosemary’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Want to make sure you have the one that’s the most up-to-date.” Grace smiled in what she hoped was a convincing manner. A split second passed while Grace thought
This is it, she’s not going for it
, and then Rosemary nodded and put down the pizza slice and reached for the Rolodex, flipping through it.

“Did she say anything while she was doing this?”