"That's my plan," Laurie said, taking the chart back and putting it with the others.
"What about Roger's lists?" Jack asked. "Have you had time to go over them?"
"Not yet. I had to do the police custody case first, so I've only been here for half an hour or so. I'll spend some time with the lists when I finish the charts. It's with the charts that I feel I can make the biggest contribution. There's got to be some piece of the pie I'm not seeing."
"You don't think it's random?"
"No. There's something that links these patients together, beyond what we already know."
"I'm not so sure. I think the cases are opportunistic with the victims being at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Did you guys have any luck with Najah?"
"Yes and no," Jack said. "They picked him up all right, but he's not cooperating. He claims he's being discriminated against and victimized by racial profiling. They've got him in custody, but he won't talk. He's insisting on waiting for his attorney, who'll be up from Florida tomorrow for the arraignment."
"And the gun?"
"It's been sent to ballistics. But results won't be available for a while. In the meantime, I'm sure he'll be given bail."
"What's Lou's take on whether he's the man?"
"He's optimistic, especially given his behavior. Lou says if someone is innocent, they're happy to cooperate. Of course, Lou is only concentrating on who shot the nurse and Rousseau. He's not thinking about your series."
"What about you?"
"As I said, I like the idea he's an anesthesiologist. Given his training, he could be knocking these patients off in a way that would be hard for us to figure out. As for him shooting the nurse and Rousseau, that's equally circumstantial, since it's based merely on knowing he owned a nine-millimeter handgun. The problem is that there are a lot of those weapons out there."
"You don't think that whoever is killing the patients killed the nurse and Roger?"
"I'm not sure."
"I am," Laurie said. "It stands to reason. The nurse probably saw something suspicious. Her death occurred the morning after there were two additions to my series. As for Roger, he'd gone up in the hospital specifically to talk to people he thought were potential suspects. He could have confronted Najah. Maybe he even saw him in Pruit's room."
"Very good points," Jack conceded.
"I'm glad they arrested Najah," Laurie said. "If he's the one, he'll think twice about any more shenanigans while Lou is breathing down his neck, which means I'm going to sleep a little better tonight. In the meantime, I'm going to go over Roger's lists very carefully, in case he doesn't pan out."
Jack nodded several times that he agreed with Laurie's plan. There was a brief pause until Jack said, "I know it's a bit off-topic, but can we pick up where we left off last night?"
Laurie eyed Jack warily. As they had been talking, she'd noticed that his typical sardonic expression had gradually reappeared, which she couldn't help but feel was a bad sign now that he was suggesting turning the conversation to personal issues. Deep down, a combination of frustration and irritation begin to brew. With everything else going on, from guilt about Roger's death to the pressure in her lower abdomen, she was uninterested in weathering any more disappointment.
"What's the matter?" Jack asked, in response to Laurie's silence. Misinterpreting her hesitancy, he raised his eyebrows questioningly and superciliously added, "Is this still not the time or the place?"
"You got that right!" Laurie blurted, struggling for control in the face of Jack's tone. "The city morgue is hardly the place to discuss starting a family. And furthermore, to be honest with you, I suddenly realize I'm finished discussing it. The facts are pretty damn plain. I've made it clear how I feel, up to and including the new development of my pregnancy. What I don't know is how you feel, and I've got to know whether you're interested and capable of abandoning your self-absorbed grieving role. If that is what you want to tell me, then fine! Tell me! I'm sick and tired of discussing it, and I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to make up your mind."
"I can see this is definitely not the time or the place," Jack said with equal irritation. He stood up. "I think I'll wait until a more opportune circumstance."
"You do that," Laurie snapped.
"We'll be in touch," Jack said before walking out the door.
Laurie turned to her desk, cradled her head in her hands, and sighed. For a brief second she considered running after Jack, but even if she did, she wouldn't know what to say when she caught him. It was obvious he wasn't about to tell her what she wanted to hear. At the same time, Laurie questioned if she was being too pushy and demanding, especially since she'd not told him about her latest symptoms and the fear that she had yet to voice even to herself: the fear of a miscarriage, which would change everything all over again.
It was a little after four in the afternoon when David Rosenkrantz turned his car into the parking lot of the small commercial building where Robert Hawthorne had his office. In its previous life, the building had been a warehouse, but like much of the renovation in downtown St. Louis, it had been recycled. It now had an upscale restaurant on the first floor and boutique offices on the second. When Robert Hawthorne-or Mr. Bob, as he was known to his operatives-came to town, first to found a company called Adverse Outcomes and subsequently to set up Operation Winnow, he had found the space and thought it convenient, since it was close to the law offices of Davidson and Faber. David didn't know what the relationship was with the law firm, and he knew he wasn't supposed to ask. What he did know was that Robert was called over there on a fairly regular basis.
It wasn't often that David was in town, since it was his job to travel around to the various cities and check in on the field operatives and deal with them as necessary. This was not an easy job, considering the oddball characters they had functioning as independent contractors. At first David just put out fires, but now that he'd worked for Robert for more than five years, he'd been entrusted with recruitment as well. The recruitment was more fun and challenging. Robert would come up with the names from an old Army buddy who still worked in the Pentagon. They were mostly people who had worked in some sort of medical capacity in the military and who had been discharged less than honorably. David hadn't been in the military himself but could appreciate how the experience could affect people who were trying to return to civilian life, especially those who had seen any sort of combat. With Iraq grinding on, they had plenty of potential recruits. Of course, they also looked for people fired from civilian hospitals. Most of those tips came from people who were already embedded.
The door to the office was unmarked. David rapped on it with his knuckle in case Yvonne, the secretary, who was also Robert's live-in girlfriend, was in the back office. It wasn't a big operation. Robert, Yvonne, and David were the only employees, and for quite a few years, it had been just Robert and Yvonne.
There was a loud click of the locking mechanism as big-busted Yvonne opened the door. With her syrupy, southern-accented voice, she coquettishly invited David to step inside. Her syntax was interspersed with a lot of "honeys" and "dears," but David wasn't fooled. Despite the bleach-blond hair and the floozy affectations like spike heels and a short skirt, he knew that she worked out regularly with Robert and was proficient in tae kwon do. David felt sorry for anyone who might mistakenly decide after a few drinks to take advantage of her flirtatious behavior.
The office was simple. There were two desks, one in the front room and one in Robert's inner office, two computers, a couple of small tables, a few chairs, a file cabinet, and two couches. It was all rented.