'Open the door!' he demanded in a gravellywhisper. 'Open it now!'
'Please, tell me what's going on.'
'Dammit, Maura, hurry! Open the fuckingdoor!'
Santana was on his feet now, stillshielding his pistol. Maura swung the door open. About ten yards down the hall,amidst the usual midday crowd of nurses, patients, and visitors, a group of tenor eleven well-dressed men and women were moving slowly away from them.
'Excuse me,' Maura called out to them.'Excuse me, please.'
The speaker stopped and the group turnedin unison. For several frozen seconds, they stood there as Santana peered outat them from beside his bed. Maura scanned the group, too. But at that distanceshe was unable to determine which of them, if any, was Anton Perchek.
'You son of a bitch!' Santana suddenlyyelled, raising his gun. 'You fucking son of a bitch!'
Instantly, there was screaming and chaosin the hallway as the business people and perhaps a dozen others dove for coveror turned to run.
The IV line pulled away from the plasticbottle as Santana bolted toward the door. The portable pole on which it hungclattered to the floor. He stumbled over it and lurched against Maura, knockingher to one knee and momentarily losing his balance at the same time.
'You son of a bitch!' he hollered again.
The IV line dangling from beneath the bandageon his arm, he braced himself against the doorway, leveled his gun, and firedthe length of the hallway. The shot reverberated like a cannon blast. Everyonewho was still standing dove to the floor. The screaming intensified. Scramblingto her feet behind Santana, Maura saw the glass that was covering a largefloral print at the very far end of the hallway shatter from the bullet.Several feet to the right of the picture, three of the businessmen jammedthrough the door to the stairway. Waving his gun wildly with his IV linesnapping like a whip, Santana sprinted barefoot after the men, down a gauntletof screaming, terrified visitors, staff, and patients.
'Call security!' someone shouted.
'Get him!' someone else yelled.
Several men had gotten to their feet andwere running — though with some caution — after Ray, who had now reached theend of the corridor and exploded through the stairway door. Another gunshotechoed back through Grey 2, then another.
Maura stripped off her gown and mask. Heronly thought was to get away before anyone remembered her and started askingher questions. She was wearing a store-bought nurse's uniform and ashoulder-length wig. While the action and attention were still fixed on the farend of the hallway, she moved quickly in the opposite direction, to thestairway past the elevators. Once on the stairs, she raced down to the firstfloor, then took a calming breath and stepped into the main corridor of thehospital. She had gone less than ten feet when two uniformed security mencharged past her and up the stairs. Moments later, two NYPD officers, one ofthem shouting into a radio, ran past, heading for the far end of the hospital.
The response to the crisis was rapid andwell coordinated. Maura felt certain that it would be only a few minutes beforeRay Santana was captured … or worse. She found herself hoping that before hewas taken or killed, he at least got a clean shot at The Doctor.
Battling to maintain her composure, shestrolled through the crowded front lobby. There was a mounting electricity inthe air, along with an urgent exodus through the main doors, as word spread ofa crazed gunman loose in the hospital.
'Not another one,' she heard someone sayas she exited with the crush into bright late-afternoon sunlight. 'It seemslike every time you turn around some wacko is shooting up a post office orhospital.'
With police sirens blaring, Maura walkedaway from the medical center. In less than a block, half a dozen cruisers hadscreamed past her. Loudspeakers were blaring, and a number of uniformedpolicemen were sprinting toward the street circumscribing the medical center.
She was two blocks from the hospital whenshe finally felt safe stopping to call Harry. She phoned the office first. MaryTobin was there, and Harry had had no further patients and had left for homehalf an hour before. He had told her he would be in the hospital at five,making evening rounds on his two in-patients.
'Mary, there's been some trouble at thehospital,' Maura said. 'I can't explain right now, but I suspect before toolong you'll get some details if you turn on the news. I think you ought toclose the office as soon as possible and go home.'
Mary was too wise, and had been throughtoo much in the past weeks, to ask for clarification.
'Whatever you say, child,' she said.
'Thanks for understanding,' Maura said.'Now, I've got to call Harry. Oh, by the way, the Max Garabedian you'll hearthem talking about on the news is Ray Santana.'
'Who?'
'Ray — I mean Walter Concepcion. We'll getback to you as soon as we can, Mary. Please go home. Get out of there now.'
Maura fished out another quarter andcalled the apartment. The machine answered.
'Harry, please it's me, Maura,' she said.'Harry, if you're listening, please pick up … Harry? …'
She was about to hang up when he came onthe line.
'Maura hi. Sorry to make you do that. I'mstill screening calls. But listen, we've had a break. Maybe a big one. I'll beheading into the hospital in just a few minutes to tell you and Ray about it.'
'Harry,' she said. 'I don't think I'd dothat if I were you. .'
Chapter35
By the time Maura reached the apartment,news bulletins of the crazed gunman at the Manhattan Medical Center werealready blanketing the airways. Max J. Garabedian, a forty-eight-year-old stockbroker,had quite suddenly charged from his hospital room wildly firing a gun down thehallway. Details were sketchy, but as yet no injuries had been reported. AndGarabedian, who was wearing blue pajamas and no shoes at the time, remained atlarge.
Furious at Santana, and as close to panicas Maura had ever seen him, Harry paced from one end of the apartment to theother, speaking as much to himself as to her.
'I shouldn't have trusted him. As soon ashe put those damn posters up I should have brushed him off like — like … Ihope he's okay. But right now I want to strangle him. I absolutely want tostrangle him … It must have been Perchek out there to upset him so. But whydidn't
The fiasco at the hospital wasn't the onlyserious development Harry had to deal with. He had only a short time left inwhich to make a decision that would cost him twenty-five thousand dollars — almost every bit of savings he had. Santana's meltdown had forced him into acorner. The police were certain to arrive at the apartment before long. If hewas going to accept the deal offered by a stranger on the phone, he had to makepreparations and leave before they came.
'Please sit, honey,' she said. 'Just for acouple of minutes. Sit and try to relax a little.'
She turned back to Channel 11. The reportswere varying widely from station to station, most of which were still rushingcrews over to the hospital. But Channel 11 and one other station had alreadyannounced that Garabedian's physician was Dr. Harry Corbett, still the chiefsuspect in the bizarre murder of his wife, Evelyn DellaRosa who had also been apatient at MMC.
Harry was concerned for what the real MaxGarabedian was about to go through. He had tried calling the school custodianat home, but got no answer. Almost certainly, the man was still at his job,although Harry had no idea at which school. Maura tried calling the Departmentof Education, but got no response there either.
'Only four-thirty and no one's there,' shesaid. 'No wonder so many kids in this town can't read.'
'I don't know what to do,' Harry said, forperhaps the tenth time. 'That guy is expecting me in New Jersey at
