Last Surgeon (25 page)

Nick wrote “Maryland” next to Landrew’s name.

Mollender continued.

“Kimberly Fox is dead too, assuming she’s the same Kimberly Fox on the board here. She was killed near her family’s home in Utah. Skiing accident, it says here. Broke her neck. No details. No mention that she worked at Shelby Stone, but it does say she was a nurse.”

“She could have moved,” Jillian said. “Nurses, especially younger ones, are constantly changing hospitals. Like Belle.”

“Mass murder, one by one,” Nick muttered.

“Oh, no, I’ve got another hit,” Noreen said shortly. Her voice quaked with a raw mix of fear and anxiety. “Cassandra Browning-Leavitt. Killed here in D.C. Shot from the woods while she was jogging along Rock Creek. No witnesses. Believed to be a random event. No suspects.”

“I remember Cassandra now,” Jillian said. “She was still working at Shelby Stone when she was killed. They sent a notice around after it happened warning people to be careful. That was a while ago. Maybe back in February.”

For a minute, two, nobody could speak. Nick felt a band tightening around his chest.

“Washington. Chicago. New York. North Carolina. Utah. Maryland. Somebody is killing these people and doing it in such a way that it doesn’t appear to be murder,” Nick said, “or at least not deliberate murder, and certainly not serial murder.”

“I knew it,” Jillian said viciously. “I told them. I told them all she’d never kill herself.”

“With these deaths so spread out across the country,” Mollender said, “who would think to link them?”

“We would, that’s who,” Nick answered. Then he drew a line through the names of those they had confirmed dead, including Belle. “That leaves us four people we haven’t accounted for yet. Roger Pendleton, the perfusionist; Yasmin Dasari, the surgical resident; Yu Jiang, who was a medical student at the time; and Saul’s video editor, Annette Furst.”

Noreen nodded. She kept her gaze fixed to her computer screen, her fingers sweeping across her keyboard, while her computer mouse remained in a state of constant motion, expecting to find death notices posted online for at least three. Mollender continued his search for other victims as well.

“I’m not getting anything on Dasari or Jiang. But I logged in to our intranet at Shelby Stone,” Mollender said. “Pendleton is listed as still being an employee. I have an address for him. Phone number too. According to this, he lives in Alexandria, Virginia.”

“Let’s hope that’s true,” Nick said.

“What, that he’s in Alexandria?”

“No. That he lives.”

“There are three possible reasons Pendleton’s not answering his phone,” Nick told Jillian. “Either he’s not at home, he’s busy, or he’s already dead.”

Jillian grimaced at the notion.

“Why are they doing this after so many years, Nick? It’s pure evil. Could a branch of our government really be responsible?”

“I wish I knew. I really do. Maybe people from Mohammad’s terrorist organization are finally exacting revenge for his death. Even though we know he wasn’t the one who died that day, maybe they don’t.”

“It’s a thought, but terrorists usually go out of their way to take credit for acts of vengeance like this, and we haven’t heard a word.”

“Six people dead.”

“At least.”

Nick gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckle force, frustrated that so many answers still eluded them. Before they left her office, Noreen had handed Nick two leather cases, each containing a copy of the operation that she had burned to DVD. Now, Jillian held them in her lap, a reminder, she said, that Umberto and Belle were with them on this journey until the end.

The traffic was moderately heavy, and Nick estimated they were still ten minutes away from Roger Pendleton’s address in Alexandria. The Mole had volunteered to stay behind with a still-shaken Noreen, and to continue searching for information about the surgical resident and the medical student, neither of whom had proven that easy to find.

During the drive, Jillian wrote a note for Pendleton, begging him to call either of them as soon as possible. Twice she had tried to reach him at home and through the page operator at the hospital. Nick had also phoned Don Reese, but his call to the detective went straight into voice mail.

“Maybe we should call nine-one-one,” Jillian suggested, “let the authorities take it from here.”

“Remember what Reese told us? We’re in deep here too, Jill. If the police are going to get involved now, better if it’s Reese’s call how and when. In the meantime, we need to warn Pendleton to be careful.”

“I just hope that we’re not too late.”

“Me too,” Nick said with a heavy sigh. “Me too.”

Pendleton’s modest split-level ranch was the last house on a tree-lined dead-end street. The idyllic, family-friendly setting made the reason they were there even more disturbing. Nick pulled up along the grassy tree belt and had opened the driver’s side door when Jillian grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside.

“We can’t just go rushing in there, Nick,” she said. “We have no idea what we’re up against. I don’t want to see any more death, and I… don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Nick took hold of her hands. “Nothing’s going to happen to either of us. Trust me on that, Jill. We’ll knock on the door, we’ll leave the note, and then we’ll look for Pendleton at the hospital.”

“I’m sorry to sound like such a baby. That video really got to me-the thought of that man in the surgical gown calmly standing there, murdering Umberto. It’s as if he had no soul.”

“Well, thanks to you I’m reconnecting with mine,” Nick said. “I have an EMDR session later on. I intend to work at it the way I used to when I was studying organic chemistry or training for a climb.”

Jillian squeezed his hands, then caressed the stubble on his face.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

Side by side they proceeded up the flagstone walkway to Pendleton’s red-painted front door, with Jillian clutching a copy of the DVD. All was eerily quiet save for the crunch of loose slate and the white noise of birdsong on the warm afternoon breeze. The yard was small, but well maintained, with no toys to suggest Pendleton had kids.

Nick peered into the living room through a small opening between the drapes, but could see only a few feet inside. There was no movement. He rang the bell, then tried the door. Locked.

“Maybe he’s at work,” Jillian said. “I don’t trust Shelby Stone’s page system.”

Nick pressed the doorbell a second time and they listened to a cascade of chimes reverberating inside the house.

“Let’s try around back,” he said, growing more anxious.

Suddenly the door swung open.

The man standing there was dressed in hospital scrubs and had a cell phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He was hopping around in a circle, trying to wiggle on a sneaker.

Just untie it!
Nick wanted to shout.

As Pendleton wrestled the sneaker onto his foot, he lost hold of his phone, which dropped to the hardwood floor with a sharp crack.

“If you’re recruiting me for your church, I’m going to be really pissed!” he snapped, bending down to retrieve the phone. “Jerry? Jerry, you still there? Shit, that’s just great.”

“We’re sorry to bother you.”

The man hesitated, taking in a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault I’m a klutz. I’m running late and the guy on the phone was telling me where I needed to have been twenty minutes ago. Sorry if I raised my voice at you guys. Phone still seems to be working, though, so I’ll call him back. Just hang on, or else leave if you’re going to try and cost me money.”

His composure regained, Pendleton placed his call and learned what he needed to about the emergency case waiting for him at Shelby Stone. The perfusionist was a trim, balding man in his early thirties, and struck Nick as an athlete.

“Roger Pendleton?” Jillian asked.

“Yeah. That’s me. Look, I’m really in a hurry, guys. There’s a transplant going down. So if you’re selling something, especially God, just assume I’ve got one already, okay?”

Nick stepped forward.

“Roger, I’m Dr. Nick Garrity, a surgeon working with the Helping Hands medical van. This is my friend, Jillian Coates. She’s a psych nurse at Shelby Stone.”

Pendleton seemed to soften at that.

“Okay, what’s up? Not often a tech like me gets paid a house call. Not ever, actually.”

“I know you’re in a hurry, but we need to talk. It could be a matter of life or death.”

“Yeah? Alas, so is the operation if I don’t make it in to the hospital. I’m on backup and the guy on duty is tied up, and word is a heart’s come in.”

“When we say matter of life or death, we mean yours,” Nick said. “We really need to talk. Can you get anyone else to go in for you?”

Pendleton studied Nick’s face and his expression darkened.

“No, I can’t get anyone to go in,” he said. “How many backups do you think we have? Okay, okay. I’m sorry to sound snippy. I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, but I can give you two minutes.”

Standing just inside the open doorway, Nick relayed what they knew of the identity switch in the OR three years ago, and the fact that over recent months, six of the ten people who were there for the disaster had died suddenly. Then he handed over a copy of the DVD recording the events.

When Nick finished, Pendleton stared down at the disc, a deep furrow across his brow.

“So you’re saying that I’m on somebody’s kill list?”

“There’s nothing else to believe, Roger,” Jillian said.

“Well, I stopped in and met Mohammad the evening before the case. I try and do that with all my patients. His photo had been all over the papers. I promise you that was him in his room that night, and him on the table the next day, and him who went berserk and flew into my equipment, and him who died.”

“Six out of nine medical personnel are dead, including my sister, Belle,” Jillian said patiently. “We believe the man responsible for the OR death, if not all of them, was number ten-one of the two who wheeled the patient in. We are absolutely certain that the victim in the operating room that day wasn’t the man you thought he was.”

Pendleton checked his watch.

“Look, I don’t know whether you two know what you’re talking about or not, but I do know I’ve got to finish getting dressed and get to the hospital.”

“You sure you don’t have just a few minutes to watch that video?” Nick asked. “It will convince you.”

“I don’t need to watch anything to remember that day. That sort of thing you don’t forget. All I can tell you, and I probably shouldn’t even be doing that, is that after it was over, I was called into my boss’s office. There were a couple suits waiting there to speak with me. They told me what had just happened was a matter of national security and that I was to tell nobody about anything I had seen. They made me sign a paper stating just that, and warned that if I spoke about the case, I could lose my job or even face prison time. They gave me a name to refer any reporters to, but I have no idea where that is. Otherwise, I’d refer you to them. Look, just give me your card and I’ll get you the name. But I gotta leave.”

Jillian shot Nick a concerned look. “That would explain why Belle never told me much about the operation.”

“Look, I appreciate the warning,” Pendleton said, “but I have to get to the hospital right away. I’m not sure I can even talk with you about this case without risking my job and God only knows what else. Why don’t you tell me quickly what you think I’m supposed to do now, and I’ll think it over?”

“Just please give us your cell number and pick up if you see it’s me or Jillian calling. Also, stay very aware of your surroundings and remain extra vigilant. We’re trying to contact a detective we know in D.C.”

“I appreciate the visit. I’ll pick up if you call.”

“We tried to reach you a bunch of times on the way over here, but you didn’t answer. You had us a little worried.”

“Long night last night. I was sleeping with the ringer off. That’s why the hospital called me on my cell.”

Nick and Pendleton quickly exchanged numbers.

“Call me if anything comes up,” Nick said. “Otherwise, I’ll call you as soon as we have more information to share.”

“Sure,” Pendleton replied, his tone still tinged with disbelief, “do that. One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Why has it taken three years for all this horrible stuff to start happening?”

Jillian and Nick exchanged looks and shrugged.

“We don’t know” was all they could say.

ROGER PENDLETON hated rushing into a case-especially a transplant. Experience had taught him that mistakes happened when protocols were shortcut or skipped altogether for the sake of expedience. Often, there wasn’t enough time to review the patient’s medical record properly. Certainly today, time was a luxury that a twenty-year-old kid, his heart failing rapidly, could not aff ord.

Instead of contemplating the shocking revelations about the Aleem Syed Mohammad operation from three years ago, Pendleton was thinking about his cardiopulmonary bypass setup. This operation would mark only the sixth time he had used the new machine that featured a centrifugal pump, an advance over the roller pump he had used for so long.

Not many knew the stress involved with being a perfusionist. Keeping blood out of the surgical field was one part of the job. In addition, he was the patient’s lifeline, controlling oxygenation and balancing any number of fluids. For all his world-be-damned, carefree attitude, Pendleton was almost maniacal about maintaining his equipment.

He trotted up the carpeted staircase to his bedroom to grab the gym bag he would need for his ritual post-op workout.

He wondered if his surprise visitors could be anything but kooks. Doubtful, he decided. When they could explain the three-year gap from the operation to the killings, assuming they were killings, he might take them more seriously.

He was on his way back down the stairs when they rang the bell again. Pendleton really didn’t have any more patience for them, even if they had thought of something more persuasive.

“Listen, we’ll have to talk later,” he was saying as he swung open the front door. “Right now I really have to-”

A tall, uniformed man from his gas company smiled politely, said his name, and held out his ID.

“Oh jeez!” Pendleton said, holding his hand over his hammering heart and laughing at himself. “You startled me. I thought you were the people who just left here.”

“Sorry about that,” the man said, his eyes shadowed by the bill of his cap. “I actually think I saw them go. I startle lots of folks when I have to make a house call.”

“Well, I was a little jumpy. The people who just left were telling me I had to be careful.”

The man chuckled. “Actually, that’s why I’m here,” he said. “It’s about your gas leak.”

Pendleton sniff ed the air. “I think you have the wrong place. I don’t have a gas leak.”

“No, not yet you don’t.”

That was when Roger Pendleton looked down and saw that the man was holding a gun.