‘Exactly, and the one we wanted to talk to skipped the hospital the moment he got a chance.’
Felicia nodded. ‘He really hightailed it.’
Striker turned back in his seat. He put the car into Drive, hit the gas, and pulled back on to the road. But instead of heading west, he headed north. Felicia cast him a questioning stare.
‘Where we going?’ she asked.
‘Back to Mapleview. I’m seizing Mercury’s medical files.’
Fifty-Nine
Striker and Felicia parked directly in front of the Mapleview Mental Health Center, and got out. The wind was strong, blowing in from the park to the south, and it was cold. Felicia bundled herself up and got moving; Striker walked by her side.
With the sun now dipping behind the rising cloud banks to the west, the building was cloaked in purple-grey. In this dimmer light, it looked less like a modern-day mental health clinic and more like a retail store.
Striker said, ‘First we get Billy Mercury’s file, then we find Ostermann.’
Felicia was in agreement.
They reached the front steps, and Striker stopped. He got on his phone and called up Sue Rhaemer at Dispatch. He got her to send a message to the Coquitlam police. He needed a patrol unit to attend Riverglen immediately; they were to seize Billy Mercury’s file, and any other seemingly related files the officer stumbled upon.
When he hung up, Felicia frowned. ‘I know you don’t want to hear this,’ she said. ‘But we really should be getting a warrant first.’
‘There’s no time for that.’
‘The court will disagree. They’ll say there was nothing but time. After all, with Mercury dead, why rush? If we don’t do it right, some judge will throw out anything we find in that file. It will never be admitted as evidence.’
‘Like I said, Feleesh, these are exigent circumstances.’
‘Exigent? How? The man is dead.’
‘And we have doubts he was acting alone.’
She gave him one of her sceptical looks. ‘We do?’
‘I sure as hell do.’ He explained. ‘Those two phone calls back at Billy’s place make me wonder. They were made right when we left Mapleview, and the moment we entered the block – as if someone was doing recon on us. I don’t like it. So when you break it down, we don’t know yet if anyone else was involved. But if someone else was involved, you can bet your ass the first thing they would do is start getting rid of any evidence pertaining to the case or the patient involved. I’m seizing the file. Now.’
Felicia’s sceptical look never faltered. ‘Nice speech, Martin Luther King. You just want to see what’s in that file.’
Striker only grinned. ‘Six of this, a half-dozen of that – it’s all the same.’
Felicia made no response, and Striker started up the stairs. It was cold out, and the wind was blowing worse with every minute. He pulled open the double glass doors and stepped aside.
‘After you, Princess.’
Felicia smiled. ‘Well, at least you’ve learned your place.’
She walked through the front door, and Striker followed.
Stepping in through the front doors brought Striker a strange sense of déjà vu. A lost feeling. It had been only, what, two hours since he’d rampaged through here, ordering the receptionist to lock all the windows and doors, and then kidnapping Dr Ostermann and dragging him up to Safe Haven Suites to deal with Billy. Now, it all felt like a bad dream.
And in some ways, it was.
Striker slowed down walking, looked at the clock, then leaned on the banister of the stairway. A wave of mild dizziness washed over him, and he felt like his blood pressure had just skyrocketed through the roof.
Felicia took note. ‘Hey. You okay?’
‘I just need a second here,’ he said, but he made no move to walk on.
After a few more seconds, Striker ignored Felicia’s worried stare, and looked around the place. Everything felt darker in here now. The walls seemed higher, the corridors narrower. Straight ahead was the receptionist’s desk, and behind it was a room fronted by a large glass pane. Through the glass, Striker could see an entire wall of file folders.
The records room.
He pointed to it, if only to divert Felicia’s lingering look, and said, ‘The file we want will be in there – unless someone has already gotten rid of it.’ He got himself moving again. He walked on through the foyer and reached the front desk. As he did so, the receptionist he had spoken with earlier in the afternoon exited the records room. The muscles of her face were tight beneath the skin and her eyes looked tired. She looked up and spotted them, then came to a hard stop, her shoes almost slipping on the white tiles of the hospital floor.
‘Oh. Detective.’ She looked from Striker to Felicia and back again. ‘I heard about what happened out there. With Billy. And, well . . . I’m sorry.’ As she spoke the words, her fingers tightened on the file she was holding, her long red nails digging into the white cardboard.
Striker read the label on the tab. It was the one he had come here for:
William Stephen Mercury.
‘What are you doing with that?’ he asked.
The nurse blinked as if coming out of a bad dream, then looked down at the file in her hands. ‘This? Oh yes. Well . . . Dr Ostermann wanted it. He wants to review the history. See what went wrong. See if there were any warning signs he might have missed – he’s quite upset over the whole matter and he blames himself. He’s always so . . . protective of his patients. He’s taking this quite hard.’
Striker nodded. ‘I completely understand. Unfortunately, him seeing it won’t be possible just yet. We’re actually here to seize that file.’
The woman said nothing back. Felicia stepped forward and took the file from her.
‘Oh dear,’ the woman said. ‘Dr Ostermann—’
‘Can speak to me whenever he needs to,’ Striker finished.
As if on cue, Dr Ostermann came marching around the corner of the west corridor. His skin was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. His eyes looked dark and large behind the glasses, and when he caught sight of them they grew even larger. He stopped walking, looked at them for a brief moment, then continued across the foyer.
‘Detectives.’ He looked directly at Felicia. ‘I trust you are well?’
She bumped her fist over her chest. ‘Heart’s a Timex. Keeps on ticking.’
Dr Ostermann licked his lips, almost nervously. ‘Well, that is so very good to hear, Detective Santos. After what happened out there . . . when the shot went off and the way you fell down . . .’
Felicia nodded. ‘It’s all over now.’
Dr Ostermann’s eyes fell from Felicia’s face to the file folder in her hands and his expression darkened.
‘Is that my file?’ he asked.
‘It’s our file now,’ Striker said. ‘We’re seizing it.’
‘Seizing it? But . . . I still need to go through it. Review our sessions. See what went wrong.’ He gave them both a desperate look. ‘Detectives, you must understand, I’m mandated to—’
‘I’m not unreasonable,’ Striker said. ‘We can make you a copy.’
This seemed to placate the doctor. He nodded slowly to the receptionist, and she then led Felicia into the back room. Moments later, Striker could hear the loud hum of an old photocopier working. As they waited for the copies, Striker studied Ostermann’s posture and expression. The man seemed highly strung and fidgety.
It made sense, given all that had happened.
‘Why did you leave?’ Striker asked.
Dr Ostermann blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Burnaby General. The hospital. Why did you leave? You knew we needed to talk to you.’
Dr Ostermann splayed his hands. ‘I knew you could find me here any time you desired – a man of my position cannot hide from anything, as I’m sure you well know.’ He gestured to the area around them and raised a finger, as if sermonizing. ‘Look at this place. Mapleview. My clinic. It was in absolute chaos. Everyone was traumatized. I had to return here as soon as possible to rectify the situation.’