There were always a hundred loose threads in cases like this, threads that required more time than his caseload allowed. Adding to that frustration was the reality that most investigative leads ultimately went nowhere — like Tartaglia’s voicemail message, which the lab techs had determined was unrecoverable.
Things were going to move quickly now that Groff was involved. O’Reilly realized he had to move faster, or risk losing the Tartaglia case. He wanted to unleash their department’s computer geeks to search for the e-mail that McKenna had claimed he never received. But that required a search warrant for the hospital e-mail server as well as McKenna’s home and office computers, which meant coordinating his investigation with Groff.
Tell Groff too much, and the case would go downtown. Hold back, and he risked a disciplinary action.
“You think McKenna murdered Tartaglia?” Groff asked.
O’Reilly felt like a high-wire performer. “Of course, anything’s possible, but I don’t see a motive at this point. Tell you what — why don’t I sync up with you guys on interviews and search warrants. That way, I won’t trip over anything you’re doing.”
The lieutenant steepled his fingers under his chin in a pose that had all the earmarks of something he’d practiced in front of a mirror. “Sounds like a good idea.”
The door opened and a blond-haired detective who looked like an advertisement for Gold’s Gym walked into the room. “Thought you might want to hear about this,” he said. “We got McKenna’s prints from the medical licensing board in Sacramento.”
“And?”
“The CSI team just checked it against the partial print we got from that candy bar wrapper near the shooter’s location behind Erickson’s house.”
“Yeah?”
The blond man’s mouth opened into a smile. “It’s a match for McKenna’s right thumb.”
“So,” Calderon’s client said, “we can cross McKenna off our list of problems.”
“If he was dead,” Calderon countered, “I’d be more inclined to agree with you.”
“It’s better this way. So far, he and Wilson haven’t found anything. It looks like they’re chasing a mirage. But if McKenna was to turn up dead, it would give credence to his theories. The investigation would lead back to the Tartaglia woman, or worse, McKenna’s father. We can’t have that.”
“What about that pathologist, Wilson?”
“For now, we continue to watch him. Thanks to your good work, he can’t cough without us knowing about it.”
Calderon had considered planting listening devices in McKenna’s apartment, but ultimately decided against it. He didn’t want to underestimate the cockroach. He knew that McKenna’s suspicions would swell when he discovered the burglary and Tartaglia’s missing phone message. He hadn’t wanted to risk having McKenna discover a wiretap or bug.
“Tell me about the clinic,” his client said.
“We still have a problem.”
“Oh?”
“It isn’t completely shut down. They’re sending medical teams out to the villages,” Calderon explained. “My men followed that Callahan woman and two other doctors to a village called Ticar Norte. That’s not very far from—”
“If they get too close, you know what to do.”
27
Barnesdale wiped away the moisture above his upper lip while scrolling down the list on his computer screen.
The security log for the hospital’s Research Tower showed the badge number of every person who had entered the building last weekend. He was convinced that someone had gone to the bone marrow lab on the tower’s second floor and substituted the Guatemalan boy’s marrow with some from another patient. It seemed the only plausible explanation for Oncology’s finding that the boy had died of leukemia.
That he had written the bogus diagnosis on Josue Chaca’s death certificate hadn’t mattered to him initially. All that mattered was that a diagnosis of leukemia would satisfy the medical examiner. The coroner had stopped the autopsy and released the body. A catastrophe had been averted. Zenavax’s secret was safe.
But now he wanted to know how Zenavax had so easily manipulated and corrupted the postmortem investigation. He wasn’t going to play the role of mushroom anymore. He had allowed the CEO to keep him in the dark for far too long.
His arms jerked like a puppet gone berserk when a wind gust rattled the tall arched windows behind his desk. A full minute passed before the pounding in his chest settled.
For Christ’s sake, Zenavax was having people murdered. It was a good bet that Erickson’s killing also figured into their scheme somehow. I’m dealing with lunatics.
Did the CEO really think Barnesdale was naïve enough to believe that Tartaglia’s murder was mere happenstance, that the boy whose illness had caused an obvious panic at Zenavax had died of leukemia and not from a lethal vaccine reaction?
What kind of idiot does he take me for?
What if the CEO suddenly decided that he was expendable? Now that Tartaglia was dead, Zenavax might consider him a loose end, a liability.
He needed some leverage, something he could use to protect himself. He knew how to play that game. Knowing the secrets of supporters and foes alike had served him well throughout his career.
The rules of the game were no different here, he reasoned.
He would start with the secret that was hidden in his hospital. It was his turf, after all, and he had the tactical advantage. He’d soon know how Zenavax had so quickly and efficiently put a stop to Josue Chaca’s postmortem.
There were only two possibilities: Either the oncologist, Adam Smith, had knowingly falsified his examination of the bone marrow, or someone had switched bone marrow samples. The first possibility seemed completely implausible. Adam had no conceivable motive for participating in such a scheme. And unlike Barnesdale, who of necessity had mastered the art of feigned contempt, Adam’s disdain for Zenavax had always seemed completely genuine.
That left the second alternative. But switching bone marrow samples would have required access to the lab as well as an intimate knowledge of his hospital’s procedures. The bone marrow lab occupied the entire second floor of the Research Tower.
The tower was a freestanding structure, one of the newer buildings on their medical campus. Unlike the main hospital, where people could roam freely through most areas, the tower used a badge-swipe system to limit access to only hospital employees. Employees swiped their badges to gain entry into a locked front door, and the security system recorded the date, time and employee number of each person who entered the building. Once inside, employees again had to swipe their badges to activate the elevator, and the system recorded each floor they visited.
Between seven o’clock Friday evening when Josue Chaca arrived in their E.R., and 6:00 P.M. on Saturday, when Adam Smith called him with the bone marrow results, twenty-seven people had entered the Research Tower. Barnesdale scrolled to the column labeled FLOORS and clicked the icon. The computer resorted the rows by floor number.
Three employees had accessed the second floor during that twenty-three-hour period. The ID column showed only their badge numbers, not their names. The first person had entered the building at 11:43 P.M. on Friday, gone to the second floor, and departed at 11:57 P.M. The second person had arrived at 7:23 A.M. on Saturday, visited the second and eighth floors, then left the building at 9:30 A.M. The third person had entered the tower at 9:17 A.M., gone to the second floor, and stayed until 4:36 P.M.
Barnesdale called Security and spoke with the senior officer on duty. As soon as the man pulled up the security database and navigated to the records that Barnesdale was perusing, he said, “Look at the second row. It looks like that person went to both the second and eighth floors.”