George laughed. “Well, maybe it wasn’t an armadillo. Maybe it was a coyote or whatever else they have running around out here in this godforsaken country.” The land was desertlike and as flat as a pancake, with only a bit of scrub. It reminded him of parts of Iraq, which wasn’t a pleasant memory. “But I would like to point out that this is a two-man job.”
“All right, all right,” Keyon complained, but he’d gotten the message. He straightened up his seat and took a few deep breaths.
“You know,” George said, “I’m really pissed we weren’t given the go-ahead to get rid of Rothauser as soon as he was suspended. I thought that was the plan instead of just keeping him under surveillance. The way he was acting, it would have been easy to make it look like a suicide. I knew he was going to be trouble from the word go.”
“It pisses me off he got away from us,” Keyon said. “I wonder what spooked him.”
“No way to know,” George said.
“I never thought there was a way to get out of that backyard maze, except back onto Revere Street.”
“Obviously, we should have checked it out more than we did,” George said. “At the same time, there was no way to anticipate him bolting. But it could be worse. At least we know where the hell he is, thanks to pinging his mobile phone.”
“But there’s not much we can do with him staying in the hospital other than wait for him to come out into the real world.”
“I’m shocked he’s there at all, considering he was suspended,” George said. “It can’t last more than a night or so. The hospital admin’s not going to tolerate it. I thought he’d go to a hotel or a friend’s house.”
“Me, too,” Keyon said. “But the nerd’s got an attitude. He had the balls to confront me when I ended up having to walk past him the other day. He even grabbed my arm.”
“I wonder what the hell motivated him to hire a damn PI?” George said.
“No clue,” Keyon said. “He’s a loose cannon. And the longer we wait, the more trouble he’s likely to cause. At this point he’s got to be neutralized ASAP.”
“I think we should let the higher-ups know how we feel. Maybe they just don’t get it, having us dick around for a week like they have.”
“I think they finally get it,” Keyon said. “It’s the only explanation for why they’re willing to spend the money having the Citation Jet wait for us. They want us back in Boston tonight. Otherwise, they would have had us go back commercial in the morning.”
“How long do you think this job should take?”
“Unless something goes wrong, it shouldn’t take us long, maybe an hour at most.”
“We’re coming up to the Ring Road Two Eighty-nine,” George said. “We’re supposed to head west, correct?”
“Yup,” Keyon said, looking at his Google Maps on his phone. “And then a right on Route Sixty-two and we’re almost there.”
35
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 16, 9:00 A.M.
Cocooned in the familiar on-call room and feeling safe, Noah slept like a baby. The previous evening he’d remained in the room and avoided the lounge area for fear of running into surgical residents who would invariably question what he was doing there. He was certain they’d be sympathetic and would not blow the whistle, yet it would invariably start gossip that would go around the hospital like an influenza outbreak, eventually alerting the powers that be. Hunger had finally driven him to make a quick visit to the cafeteria after 11:00 P.M. when he thought it would be mostly deserted. As luck would have it, Dr. Bert Shriver, the on-call chief resident, was also there, having a late supper after being caught in surgery all evening.
Bert was aware of Noah’s suspension and had immediately voiced the hope that Noah would be reinstated following the Surgical Residency Advisory Board meeting. Since Noah knew that Bert sat on the board, he had taken the opportunity to clarify the details, which Bert had been unaware of because Dr. Mason had been the source of the gossip. Bert had been under the mistaken impression that it was an established fact that Noah had fabricated all the data for his thesis. When Bert had learned the truth from Noah, he promised to clue in the other resident board members.
When asked why he was in the hospital cafeteria so late, Noah admitted he was staying the night in the on-call room because of a break-in at his apartment. Since Bert was also a Beacon Hill resident in a similar absentee-landlord building with a number of student tenants, he understood immediately why Noah would feel vulnerable.
Although Noah had asked Bert to keep Noah’s presence in the on-call room a secret, Noah knew that it was just a matter of time before word got out. As a consequence, the first thing he did that morning when he awoke was call his landlord, demanding his apartment door be replaced and the woman above be warned about giving out front-door keys.
By 9:30 A.M. Noah was ready to try his luck at getting to the hospital cafeteria without being noticed. As he was about to leave his hideout, his mobile phone began to ring. It was an unknown number, yet he recognized the 806 area code as the same as Roberta Hinkle’s. Thinking it might be her, he answered.
“Is this Dr. Noah Rothauser?”
“It is,” Noah answered. Without knowing why, he immediately felt on edge.
“This is Detective Jonathan Moore of the Persons Crimes Section of the Lubbock, Texas, Police Department. I have a few questions as part of an investigation. Is this a convenient time to talk?”
“I guess,” Noah said. Instinctively, he knew he was not going to be happy about this unexpected telephone call. Coming from the police, there was no way it could be good news.
“First and foremost, I would like to ascertain that you retained Roberta Hinkle for investigative services?”
“Why are you asking?” Noah said hesitantly. This was not the confidentiality he had expected.
“Your phone number was found on Roberta Hinkle’s phone record,” Detective Moore said. “We are calling all her clients. You are the only one from out of town.”
“Yes, I did retain Ms. Hinkle,” Noah said reluctantly. He had no idea what this was about. His immediate worry was that it had something to do with the hospital, his suspension, and the hacking of his computer. Whoever had hacked his computer would have been privy to his email exchange with the private investigator.
“Was your interest in Roberta Hinkle’s services because of a marital or domestic issue of some kind?” Detective Moore asked.
“Absolutely not,” Noah said quickly. He was caught off guard by such a question coming out of the blue. “Is she all right?”
“Usually I am the one who asks the questions,” Detective Moore said emphatically. “Would you be willing to tell me what kind of investigative work Roberta Hinkle was doing for you? But before you answer, let me remind you that you could be subpoenaed to do so, meaning that it would save time and effort if you are cooperative. Otherwise, you might be forced to come here to Lubbock.”
“It was merely an employment background check,” Noah said with equal rapidity. His sense was that this unexpected call had nothing to do with BMH.