At six, Slidell got a call from an attorney named Jonathan Rao. Henceforth, Rao’s client would answer questions only through him or in his presence.
At seven, Slidell, Barrow, and I were in the conference room eating King’s Kitchen takeout. Between mouthfuls of fried flounder, Slidell was sharing what he’d learned about Ajax’s past.
“Back in Oklahoma, he was Hamir Ajey. His story squares with what I dug out of court records. Ajey, aka Ajax, began nailing a babysitter when she was fourteen and he was thirty-three. The abuse stopped two years later, when the kid confided in a teacher. He was charged with rape and lewd acts on a minor, copped a plea.”
“To spare the child having to endure a trial,” Barrow said. “That’s often how it goes.”
“The sick fuck did forty-six months and walked.”
“Wasn’t he required to register as a sex offender?” I asked.
“He did.” Bite of flounder. “When he got out of the box in 2004. In Oklahoma.”
“Didn’t the state yank his medical license?”
“That state.” Slidell licked his fingers. “So Ajey/Ajax goes underground a couple years, surfaces in New Hampshire at an urgent care clinic ain’t so picky about background checks.”
“You’re kidding.”
“A couple pen strokes on the ole license, his name changes from Hamir Ajey to Hamet Ajax. He figures no one will bother phoning Mumbai.”
“And no one did. Jesus.”
“A few more years, he uses the New Hampshire job to springboard to an ER in West Virginia.”
“From there to Charlotte,” Barrow said.
“Along the way, he stops mentioning he’s a perv.”
“And no one asks.” I was disgusted.
“Why Charlotte?” Barrow asked. “Who knows?”
“How long was Ajax required to register?” I asked.
“I’m getting to that,” Slidell said. “He claims ten years.”
“Is he married?”
“Back in Oklahoma. The wife left him.”
“How many kids?”
“Two girls.”
I felt clashing emotions. Revulsion for Ajax. Sympathy for his daughters. Fear for future victims. I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something at a wall.
“Any other incidents? Patient complaints, that sort of thing?” Barrow asked.
“Nothing popped in the four states I ran the two names. Apparently, Ajax kept his nose clean.”
“Or improved his technique.” Barrow.
“Where’s he living now?” I asked.
“One of those cuter-than-shit neighborhoods off Sharon View Road.”
“Does Oklahoma have his DNA?”
Slidell shook his head.
“Was Ajax working on the dates Donovan and Leal presented at Mercy?”
“I got a warrant in the works. Should know in an hour or two.”
“What’s your thinking?” Barrow asked.
“I want inside Ajax’s house.”
“Without cause that’s a nonstarter.”
“Yeah. Yeah. So we keep a team up his butt twenty-four/seven. The asshole so much as glances at a playground, we yank him back in.”
Impressive. Slidell had worked two buttocks references into one comment.
“If he’s no longer required to register, that won’t fly.”
“Confusing, ain’t it? But we’re awaiting confirmation from Oklahoma.”
“And if Ajax does nothing?” I asked.
“These dickheads always do something. Meanwhile, I find out when Leal and Donovan went to Mercy. I check the ER records for MD signatures or printed names or ID numbers or whatever it is they use. And I get a list of any ER employee present both times. Talk to them. That goes nowhere, I branch out to the rest of the hospital.”
“Where’s Tinker?” I asked.
“Following up with Ajax,” Barrow said. “Getting alibis for the dates Leal, Estrada, Nance, and Gower were abducted. Then he’ll run checks.”