For the second job, intimidating Lynn Peirce, Darko had arranged for help from one of the Russians who worked for the hospital security, named Timur Kortev. He’d sent the man to the medical dorm with Lynn’s photo to keep tabs on her so that when Darko was finished with Wykoff, he’d know where to find the student. He counted on her being in her room at the dorm, but he wanted to be sure. He didn’t want to waste time and risk going into her room if she wasn’t there.
For the hit, the first thing that Darko and Leonid had done was check out Wykoff’s home. Accordingly they had driven out to her condo development in North Charleston. What they discovered was that it was less than opportune for their purposes. She lived in a rather narrow row house, sharing common walls with two other units. This situation magnified the chance that there would be witnesses. For her to disappear, supposedly of her own accord, no one could see them take her. The only good thing was that there was a sliding glass door onto a lanai in the back. In their experience, such doors were easy to breach. The men had decided that if they were to be forced to go into her house, that was how they would enter, but they weren’t happy about it.
Returning to the hospital, they checked out Sandra’s vehicle. Their thought was that if she came out in a press of people, they would follow her, hoping she would make a stop or two on the way home so that they could improvise. As it turned out, they had been in luck. She’d come out after the rush and by herself.
Speaking in Russian, Darko said: “Let’s get her in the backseat. Do you see anybody?” Sandra had collapsed against him.
“No one,” Leonid said, checking out the rear window.
“Let’s do it!”
Both men exited the car and quickly pulled Sandra’s limp form from the front seat and got it into the back. Darko spread a small blanket over her that had been in the car. Both men climbed back into the vehicle. With Darko behind the wheel, they pulled out of the garage after the automatic gate opened for them. A moment later they stopped behind a nondescript white van. Leonid got out.
“See you at Misha’s,” Leonid said, before running ahead and climbing into the van. A moment later he drove out into the street heading north. Darko followed in Sandra’s car, with her unconscious on the backseat.
Misha and many of the other Russians working in Clinical Engineering, IT, and the security staff of the Mason-Dixon Medical Center lived in a residential development bought by Sidereal Pharmaceuticals. It was located in a secluded area to the east of a small town called Goose Creek. A few, like Misha and Fyodor, had stand-alone houses. The others, like Darko and Leonid, were in a condominium complex. Except for Fyodor, all had been ordered to leave wives and girlfriends back in Russia, at least for the time being.
31.
Tuesday, April 7, 7:15 P.M.
Wait a second,” Michael said, pulling Lynn to a stop. Coming up from the cafeteria, following a quick dinner, they had just emerged from the stairwell on the second floor of the hospital. Their mission was to find anesthesia machine 37, mostly for Michael’s benefit. Ahead was the open door to the surgical lounge occupied by what appeared to be a sizable portion of the evening OR staff. From where they were standing they could see that the TV was tuned to a game show. “I hate to have to constantly bring this up, but we need an excuse of what we’re doing up here if anybody asks. It’s hardly a med-student hangout. Any ideas?”
Lynn thought for a moment. “You’re right. And no need to excuse yourself. I’m glad you think of these details. Let’s say that we just spoke with the dean about hospital-based infections, which is true, and now we are looking into the issue. We don’t have to be specific.”
“Smooth!” Michael said with admiration. “It’s amazing how you can bend the truth.”
“I’ve been learning from a master.”
Michael laughed at the backhanded compliment.
Armed with an idea of what to say if confronted, the two students entered the surgical lounge. Only one orderly out of the half dozen people even looked up. No one made a move to speak with them. Everyone in the room was glued to a news brief that had suddenly interrupted the regular programming. Instead of the game show, a couple of the local news anchors had come on the air to report that the Mount Pleasant police were investigating a horrific home invasion that had occurred sometime the previous night in Mount Pleasant but had just been reported.
Lynn and Michael paused. Their attention was immediately drawn to the lurid details. Like everyone else, they listened with rapt attention.
The scene on the television shifted from the evening-news set to a young women correspondent holding a microphone and standing outside a suburban house on a wooded lot. In the background, multiple police cars and other emergency vehicles were parked at odd angles, with their emergency lights flashing. “I am standing outside of 1440 Bay View Drive, Mount Pleasant,” the correspondent said. “Behind me you can see this home where the Hurley family resided. All we know now is that sometime last night this family experienced a devastating home invasion involving burglary, assault, rape, and murder. The entire family, including two children, was killed. At this time we do not know the details of this tragedy and have been told that the Mount Pleasant chief of police will be making a statement shortly. The killings were discovered by Mr. Hurley’s assistant, who came to investigate when his boss failed to show up for work. Mr. Hurley is a successful lawyer here in Mount Pleasant. Mrs. Hurley, a third-grade teacher at the Charles Pinckney Elementary School, had also been missed, but everyone at the school thought her absence was due to a recent illness. Mrs. Hurley had been hospitalized for a few days at the Mason-Dixon Medical Center for food poisoning a little more than a week ago. School officials knew that during her hospitalization she had been diagnosed with some kind of blood disorder and that after discharge she had not been feeling one hundred percent. When she failed to show up for work, it was assumed it was because of this new illness. Back to you, Gail and Ron.”
As the two news anchors picked up the story and began talking about the possible similarities to the case involved in Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood and a more recent case in Connecticut, the surgical lounge erupted in multiple shocked conversations.
“Good God!” Lynn said to Michael. “What is this world coming to?”
“If it can happen in Kansas and Connecticut, it can happen here,” Michael said. “At least it’s a good time for us to look for number thirty-seven with everyone hung up watching the tube.”
“I suppose,” Lynn said. “But what do you make of the woman having been diagnosed with a blood disorder here at our hospital? Do you think it’s possible she had a gammopathy like Morrison and possibly Carl?”
“I suppose it is possible. Infectious gammopathy! That would be a new one!”
“I’m trying to be serious,” Lynn said.
“And I’m trying to lighten you up,” Michael said. “Let’s change our clothes and get this over with. I’ll meet you in five.”
“You got it!”
Lynn got out of her clothes and quickly pulled on scrubs. She couldn’t stop thinking about the tragedy in Mount Pleasant. It unnerved her to be reminded that human beings harbored the capacity for such terrible things. In the middle of these disturbing thoughts, she wondered exactly what kind of blood disorder the murdered mother might have had. Could it involve a paraprotein? When she got back out to the surgical lounge, Michael was already there, watching the TV news alert like everyone else.