“It’s the Yeti!” Lula screamed. “Lord help me.”
The next thing I heard was
It took a couple minutes for my brain to unscramble and start sending coherent messages to my nerve endings. My head cleared and I looked over at Lula. She was sprawled next to me, and she was twitching.
I got to my hands and knees, and then to my feet. “Hey,” I said to Lula. “Are you okay?”
“Yuh,” Lula said. “Did I wet myself? I hate when that happens.”
I leaned against the dresser, taking deep breaths while my muscle memory returned. The house was quiet. No one walking around. No one slamming doors. No one making Yeti sounds. I carefully made my way to the closet and looked inside. It was a large walk-in. Geoffrey Cubbin’s clothes were on one side, and Susan’s on the other. Again, nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Lula was on her feet, adjusting her boobs, tugging her skirt back into place. “What the heck was that about?” she asked. “That scared the crap out of me. I thought she just had a cat. Nobody said anything about having a Yeti.”
“That wasn’t a Yeti. It was a big albino guy.”
“I don’t think so. I know a Yeti when I see one. I saw a Yeti at Disney World. It’s like Chewbacca but it’s all white.”
“A Yeti is an Abominable Snowman. The Himalayan version of Bigfoot.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not what you saw. You saw a big, hairy albino guy.”
“Maybe he was an Abominable Albino.”
“That works for me. Do you have your gun with you?”
Lula pulled a Glock out of her purse. “We going Abominable Albino hunting?”
“Yes.”
I made another pass through the house with Lula close on my heels, gun in hand. We went through every room, and opened every door. Nothing jumped out at us.
“He flew the coop,” Lula said when we got back to the front door.
I took a moment to look around one last time. “Where’s the cat? Susan had an indoor cat. Where is it? And where’s the kitty litter? I think Susan split and took the cat with her.”
“If I had a Yeti hiding in my closet I’d take the cat and go someplace else too,” Lula said.
We left the house and sat in the Buick, eating cookies, thinking about where to go next.
“I can’t shake the feeling that the clue to Cubbin is in the hospital,” I said. “There’s got to be something we missed. If we could find out how he got out of the hospital, we might be able to find out where he went.”
“Yeah, and you could find that out on your own because I don’t want to go back into the hospital and get more cooties. Besides, I might need to go shopping. I heard Junior Moody got some new merchandise last night, and he’ll be open for business in the projects this afternoon.”
“What kind of merchandise?”
“I don’t know, but he usually has good stuff.”
Junior Moody was a small-time opportunistic vendor who operated out of the trunk of his Cadillac Eldorado. Depending on what had been hijacked, robbed, or shoplifted, Junior might be selling cubic zirconia earrings, Cuisinart toasters, Hello Kitty watches, or Izod shirts.
“I’ll drop you off at the office. Call me if he’s got evening purses.”
TEN
“BE CAREFUL OF Tiki,” Lula said when she got out of the Buick. “Don’t listen to him when he tells you to order a extra pizza.”
“No worries.”
I put the Buick in gear and slid a glance at Tiki in the backseat. “Well?” I said.
Nothing. No pizza advice. No requests to be returned to the volcano. No complaints that the seat belt was too tight.
I took Hamilton to Greenwich, turned onto Joy, and swung into the hospital garage. I told Tiki under no circumstances should he open the car doors to strangers, locked him in, and headed for the building. I walked through the lobby and went straight to Randy Briggs’s office.
“Oh jeez,” he said when I walked in. “Now what?”
“I want to talk.”
“I’m working.”
“Looks to me like you’re surfing porn sites.”
“A lot you know. I’m doing research.”
I sat in the chair opposite him. “Tell me about Geoffrey Cubbin. How’d he get out of the hospital?”
“You’re trespassing in my office.”
“If you don’t talk to me I’m sending Grandma back here.”
Briggs closed his eyes and groaned. “Don’t do that.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I’ve got a good job here. I don’t want to lose it. Give me a break.”
“Aren’t you curious about Cubbin?”
“No.”
I looked past Briggs to his bulletin board. The two missing-patient pictures were still posted there.
“Who’s the other missing patient?” I asked.
He turned and looked at the picture. “Floyd Dugan. He was a boxer. Trained out of the gym on Stark Street. He got caught with a pound of heroin in his car. He said it was planted. I’m surprised you don’t recognize him.”
“Why was he here?”
“Hernia operation. I inherited a file on him.”
“Can I see it?”
“No,” Briggs said.
“I’ll scream rape and tell everyone you grabbed my boob.”
“That’s ridiculous. I can’t even
I flipped through Geoffrey Cubbin and Floyd Dugan. Both men had been accused of crimes and released on a bail bond. They got sick while they were bonded out, went to the hospital, and were never seen again. Didn’t show up for court. Never returned home, made any credit card charges, or withdrew money from a bank account. Craig Fish was their surgeon.
The third guy was a homeless man who was hit by a car, kept overnight for observation, and disappeared before day-break.
Willie Hernandez disappeared hours after having a kidney stone removed. He’d been arrested for domestic violence and was awaiting trial. And he was in the country illegally. Craig Fish was the surgeon.
“They all had a reason to disappear,” I said. “And three out of the four were operated on by Dr. Fish.”
“You’ve heard of lawyers chasing ambulances? He’s the medical equivalent. Behind his back they call him ‘Dr. Stalk’ and ‘Slash.’ And it’s rumored he isn’t above removing a healthy appendix if business is slow.”
“I met him. He seemed nice.”
“Who said he wasn’t nice? Everyone loves him. He’s just a little aggressive about acquiring patients.”
I gave the files back to Briggs. “Thanks for letting me see these. They’re all open cases, right?”
“Right.”
“And no one ever figured out how the patients left the hospital?”
“No. I don’t think anyone cares a lot. They’re gone. End of story.”
