The Society

pressure on her with a constant barrage of callous remarks and a string of time-consuming ticky-tack assignments related to their case, the latest of which was reinterviewing the security people in the Fredrickston Medical Arts Building. Meanwhile, there had been no letup in the day-to-day business of robberies, assaults, drug deals, and various other demonstrations of man’s inhumanity to his fellow man and to society. The result, from the CO down to the rawest rookie, was stress.

The afternoon was heavily overcast and more humid than any early spring day had the right to be. It was ten after three when Patty swung the Camaro into her spot and made her way through the sparsely patronized mall to her office. There was yet another meeting scheduled with Court to review the lack of progress on their biggest, most visible case. In order to appease Brasco, Patty had not only interviewed those security people on duty the night before and the day of the killer’s intrusion into Will’s office, but she had tracked down all the personnel who had covered the company for the past month. Not surprisingly, she had come away with nothing except the hassling she was about to get for being late to Court’s meeting.

She punched in her code on the security pad, waved to veteran Brian Tomasetti, who was building a pyramid of magnetic balls on the top of a Dunkin’ Donuts carton, and hurried past Brasco’s empty cubicle. She paused at the door to her own space long enough to toss her jacket onto the back of her chair, and was just about to race off when she saw the light flashing on her voice mail. Even before she keyed in her password, she knew it was trouble. Three messages. The first was prefaced by Gil Kinchley at the phone company-the man who had turned the court order she had obtained into a wiretap.

“Well, Sergeant Moriarity,” he said, “I think this is what you’ve been waiting for.”

Barely breathing, she sank into her chair, the receiver pressed against her ear, and listened to the eerie exchange between Will and the killer.

“It’s Gil again,” the second message said. “Our people say he-if it even is a he-was probably using a call diverter, more likely two. It’s like call forwarding, only it doesn’t go through us. The technology is readily available in any spy store. The equipment is well made, very effective, and makes a call almost impossible to trace. Ring me if you need anything. We’ll keep on this.”

The third message was from Will.

“Patty, it’s Will. I hope you got that. Call and let me know what you think and what I’m supposed to do. I tried keeping him on the phone as long as I could.”

Wayne Brasco appeared at the doorway, startling her.

“Sergeant, are you going to join the rest of us at the meeting you’re already late for, or are you going to exercise a woman’s prerogative to talk on the phone no matter what?”

“I think you’d better bring Lieutenant Court in here,” she said, ignoring the remark.

“Tell me again,” Court said after he, Patty, and three other detectives had listened to the message on speaker for the second time. “When did the call come in?”

Patty knew this was coming. She also knew she deserved it.

“Two hours ago.”

“But you just picked the message up now?”

“I had meant to forward it to my cell phone, but I was racing around so much I forgot.”

Ask that gorilla next to you why I was racing around so much.

“So we’ve lost two hours.”

We wouldn’t have had this tap at all if I hadn’t gone out and gotten it! she wanted to scream.

“There’s still time,” she said.

“To do what?” This time it was Brasco.

“He’s going to kill tonight.”

“A brilliant deduction, Mrs. Holmes.”

Patty stood and glared at Brasco.

“Back to my office, everyone!” Court snapped, intercepting any escalation in the hostilities. He waited until the others had gone past him, then stepped in front of Patty. “Moriarity, we’re having enough trouble without losing two hours like this,” he said.

“I understand. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“And another thing.”

“Yes?”

“What’s going on with this guy Grant that he’s calling you Patty?”

“I. . um. . I don’t know.”

She had never been much of a liar, and it was clear from her CO’s expression that he wasn’t buying her denial.

“You just be careful,” he said. “Be damn careful.”

Without waiting for a response, Court turned and headed back to his office. Patty snatched her briefcase from the floor and followed.

“All right,” Court said when the team had settled back in his office, “thoughts?”

“I still think Grant’s dirty in this,” Brasco said. “I think he’s playing us like a violin. His big screwup was overdosing on that drug. Now it’s damage control for him-using someone from that damn Society of his to make it seem like he isn’t involved in these killings.”

“Patty?”

“I think the call strongly suggests Grant is innocent, but at the moment that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the call also implies someone is going to get killed tonight.”

“So?”

Patty withdrew a manila file folder from her briefcase and opened it.

“Well, believe it or not, there are ninety-seven managed-care or health-insurance companies of one kind or another headquartered in Massachusetts alone-HMOs, PPOs, MCOs-alphabet soup. Most of them are within thirty miles of Boston. There are another twelve in New Hampshire and a few more in Vermont and Maine. If we limit ourselves to this state and eliminate the three companies where someone’s already been killed-and I’m not at all sure we should do that-we have ninety-four companies to contact and warn. I have a list of them here with phone numbers and a contact person, usually the membership or PR coordinator.”

There was silence while the group waited for a reaction from Court. Patty sensed that the last thing he wanted to do was to find any merit in her suggestion, but she also knew contacting the CEOs of the companies was the thing to do.

Finally, Court inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

“Okay, we have enough people here to make these calls over the next hour or two. Might as well include the companies that have already had someone murdered. What do we tell them-just for all their executives to be careful?”

“Don’t go walking around alone,” Patty said. “Bring a guard along when they walk to their car. Keep their personal cars out in the open, not in their garage where someone can work an explosive into place without being seen.”

“Is it worth notifying the TV and radio stations?”

“I don’t know. The killer must suspect that Will Grant’s phone is tapped, otherwise he wouldn’t take the sort of precautions he has. But if we go public, we remove any doubt. I hate to put the guy in harm’s way.”

“I say go with it,” Brasco blustered. “Grant’s a damn drug addict. Almost killed his patient. The execs who have been murdered were all upstanding citizens. They all were big into charitable causes.”

“So is Will Grant,” Patty snapped. “He started the Open Hearth soup kitchen in Fredrickston when he was a medical student, and he still volunteers there.”

“That doesn’t change anything, and neither does your grandstanding here. You just conveniently neglected to mention that list you’re holding is one I told you to put together.”

“You know, Brasco, I’ve just about had it with you, you sexist-”

“Enough!” Jack Court slammed his fist on his desk. “Moriarity, divide up those phone numbers. I’m warning you, you and Wayne better find a way to work together on this thing, or one of you is going to go. And I’m warning you about something else, too. Keep your personal life separate from your work.”

Forcing Court’s warning to the back of her mind, Patty made the twenty or so calls she had been assigned.