"Leary figured out from a phone bill that her husband had been conversing with someone at her house when she wasn't home. There's only one other person who was definitely in the house at four-thirty P.M. two days before Jason Parker's death, when he made his last call. I also got some great information for you—"
"Actually, so did I. That's what took me so long. I got the information on that Cindy's husband's death. Turns out he didn't."
"Didn't what? Die?"
"Die? He didn't even exist. There was no such cop as John Skorcezy. Hell, there wasn't even a man from Chicago named John Skorcezy. I went ahead and asked right after you left. The information just came up."
"Actually," Murphy said, "there might not have been a John Skorcezy, but there was a Stanislaus Skorcezy. He was the first patient to die in a series of fifteen murders that took place almost four years ago in Joliet, Illinois. They had a suspect, but failed to indict for lack of evidence."
"Don't tell me. Cindy Dunn."
"Not exactly. Cindy Skorcezy. Stanislaus's daughter."
Silence. "She was a nurse at her father's hospital?"
"She was a nurse. Just not there."
"Jesus." Murphy waited, but it took Micklind a minute to catch his breath. Murphy didn't blame him. "We're waiting for the AFIS results on those prints, but I bet it's a clean match. Does Timmie know where this Cindy might be?"
"Hey, Leary," Murphy said. "Can you find Cindy? Micklind wants to talk to her."
Timmie was just hanging up the phone. "Cindy told Meghan not to tell me her daddy had called. Said it was going to be a surprise for me." She shook her head, her eyes tight and troubled. "She was at work. Let me check."
She dialed, greeted, waited.
"...how long does she have left for lunch... no, I'm not going to insult her again, Ellen. I'm going to apologize. Is that okay?"
"I think the suspect is working her shift at the hospital," Murphy interpreted for the cop. "She is, however, on lunch break."
Micklind snorted. "It's damn near nine. You'd think she was a cop."
Murphy was grinning when he caught the sudden consternation in Timmie's voice. "What do you mean they can't find him?" She was suddenly on point, bristling with annoyance and impatience. "Thanks, Ellen. I'll call them right now."
"Problems?" he asked when she hung up.
"My father." She punched buttons as if they needed punishment. "He's wandered off the floor. They wonder if I wouldn't come in and help them look for him. I don't think I'm paying all this money to have them misplace him, for God's sake."
"He's not in any danger, is he?"
"No. He has an electric alert anklet that will sound like a dive Klaxon if he so much as wanders into the regular hospital. He's probably hiding in some old woman's closet pretending her husband is due home... Hello?"
That call took three minutes, four monosyllabic responses, and one promise. By the time Timmie hung up the phone, Murphy was on his feet, both phone bill and printout in hand. "Need a ride?"
She scowled. "Yes. What is Micklind going to do about Cindy?" That gave her pause. She stopped, laughed an odd, mirthless bark of surprise, shook her head. "My God. Cindy."
"He'll pick her up at work. Which probably means you should go in the back door when you go see your dad. I'll drop you off and take this over to Micklind. Call me there when you need a ride."
She kept shaking her head. "Cindy. And here we thought she was all talk."
Murphy dropped her off at the Restcrest entrance and headed back out of the campus again. It was a pretty night, if you liked winter. The sky was clear and black and brisk, with a few stars peeking past the city lights and the moon hanging parchment yellow over the hospital. Everything held still in the darkness beyond the orange glow of the parking lot lights.
Murphy had just hit his blinker to turn left off the southern exit of the hospital when he noticed the car that had stopped at the sign. Must be an out-of-towner, was his first thought. Missourians tended to consider stop signs as suggestions rather than orders. As long as they hit their lowest gear and at least pulled their foot off the gas, they considered themselves to be making a legal stop. Which was why this guy looked so odd sitting there.
Maybe he was trying to see past the stand of trees at the edge of the lane. Whatever it was, something was confusing this poor white-haired guy sitting there in his sedan.
White hair.
Throwing his car into neutral and yanking on the brake, Murphy leaned forward to get a better look. He hit his high beams and watched them glint off that singular mane. Murphy saw the guy look around, as if seeking something. He saw, to his astonishment, that he was in his pajamas.
And he knew without a doubt who it was.
Restcrest was mounting an indoor search party, and somehow Joe Leary had made a clean break as far as the nearest auto. Now that he had it, though, he had obviously forgotten what to do with it.
Murphy climbed out of the car as quickly as possible and headed for the sedan.
"Joe? Joe, you okay?"
He hadn't gotten as far as figuring out what he was going to do with him. He just knew that this poor old geezer was shaking like a malaria patient and getting alarmingly blue around the lips. And he was singing... what? It was familiar.
"Joe, remember me? My name's Murphy." He leaned a hand against the door. "I think maybe you need to come with me, bud."
"Magic Bus." That was what it was. Murphy wanted to laugh. Joe Leary was sitting in a stolen car at nine at night in his pj's singing "Magic Bus," and there wasn't anybody around to witness it.
"'Hey, Joe,'" he crooned, trying to get the guy's attention and thinking that it was the wrong song. "How the hell'd you get here?"
Murphy was leaning over far enough to see that Joe was barefoot. Joe turned, saw Murphy, and then looked up. Murphy was already bent over to get hold of Joe's arm. By the time he heard what Joe saw, he was too off-balance to protect himself. Murphy spun around in time to catch the impression of wood grain.
Oh, hell, was all he could think of as the bat cracked against his head and sent him slamming against the car. What a stupid jerk to fall for that one. And then the gravel bit into his cheek and he felt his legs go numb.
Chapter 26
Timmie was starting to get frantic. They'd combed every inch of Restcrest, and still there had been no sign of her father. Hospital security had been notified along with the police. They'd even called Alex, who, for once, hadn't answered. It didn't matter. With the temperature outside hovering in the teens, they didn't have time to wait.
"He was just in the main room enjoying a snack," Cathy kept protesting. "He couldn't possibly have wandered away."
Timmie wasn't in the mood for mercy. "My father could have been in New York by the time you had the first call into the police."
"They're going to get the dogs," the nurse promised.
And then they found the ankle bracelet that was supposed to keep her father safe. It had been sliced through with a dull knife—probably taken from the snack areas—and left by the side entrance. Timmie didn't wait any longer for the police or dogs or angel hordes. She shrugged into her coat and ran toward the ER.