Show of Evil

him. He decided to wait. Ten minutes passed and a two-door BMW pulled up to the gate. In it was a man and he was by himself. Perfect.

As the car drove past and started up the ramp to the second floor, Stampler ran up the stairs. He peered through the door. He was in luck. The BMW was pulling into a parking space in a dark corner. Stampler threw the bloody towel into a waste can, ran across the lighted section of the deck, and ducked behind a row of cars, then crept down the row towards the parked car. The driver got out. He lowered the driver's seat and leaned into the back of the car, taking out a leather satchel. He put it on the ground and locked the car door.

Stampler was hunched behind the car next to his. He waited until the driver passed him, then he moved like an animal, soundlessly, taking two long steps, and grabbed the man's head with both hands, one under his chin, the other on the back of his head. He snapped the driver's neck like a breadstick. The man sagged as Stampler caught him under the arms and dragged him back to the car.

Down below, he heard the gate open and a car drive through. Stampler looked around frantically. The driver's satchel was sitting in the middle of the driveway. He quickly opened the trunk of the car, rolled the driver's body inside, then ran and picked up the satchel. He unlocked the door of the BMW just as the car approached the second-floor deck. Stampler jumped in and lay across the front seat just as the car circled onto the second floor. The car's lights swept past the windshield, then continued on up the ramp.

Stampler sat up and studied the instrument panel of the car. Until tonight he had not driven an automobile in ten years. The car had everything: a tape and CD player, cruise control, heat, air, and a telephone. He opened the leather satchel. The first thing he saw was the stethoscope.

He had killed a doctor.

He rooted through the satchel, found bandages and hydrogen peroxide. He had to duck down twice as other cars entered the parking facility. He finished cleaning his wound. His jaw was already swollen and beginning to discolour. He covered the gash with a thin bandage. There were several kinds of painkillers, but Stampler ignored them. He had to stay alert.

He got out of the car, opened the trunk, retrieved the dead man's wallet, and got back in the car. He searched through the wallet One hundred and eighty-seven dollars and several credit cards. Not bad. The man's name was Steven Rifkin. According to his ID, he was a staff doctor at the University Medical Center. Under 'person to notify in case of an accident': his mother.

God, am I in luck, thought Stampler. He lives alone. Nobody's waiting up for him. If his luck held, it could be late morning before the doctor was missed.

Stampler took two maps from his inside pocket, stretched them out on the seat next to the city map, and found his location. With his finger, he traced a route to Interstate 80. He felt suddenly secure. Once he got on the Interstate, he could get lost in traffic. He looked at the dashboard clock: 11:25. He started the car and left the parking lot.

As Stampler was making his way towards the interstate, Shock Johnson arrived at the emergency room, looking harried and unhappy.

'We got two TV stations and a radio reporter outside,' he said. 'They're at Shoat's place and at the Hutchinson woman's apartment. They're on this story like ants on honey. What's the news here?'

'No news yet,' Vail said, and began pacing the hallway outside the operating rooms again.

'I called Eckling,' Johnson went on, falling in beside Vail. 'He's doing barrel rolls over this. He's taking the red-eye back here. Gets in at six. He says to stall the press.'

'How the hell can you stall he press? We need the media now. We have to put the heat on Stampler.'

'We found Stenner's car parked in a dead-end alley off Wabash.'

'He's going to lift another set of wheels, bank on it,' said Vail. 'He's too smart to stay around here.'

'I talked to the state police. They've alerted Wisconsin, Iowa, Indiana, Ohio, and Missouri. I got Cal Murphy updating the photo. We should have it on HITS in another two, three hours.'

A youthful doctor with his hair askew and his gown blood splattered came out of the OR. He fell against the wall, pulled down his face mask, and pinched exhaustion from his eyes. He dug under the robe and took out a cigarette. Vail walked over to him and offered a light.

'Thanks,' the doctor said, drawing in the smoke and blowing it towards the ceiling with a sigh. He stared at Vail, his eyes etched with weariness.

'You're the DA, aren't you?' he said.

'Yes, Martin Vail. This is Lieutenant Johnson, Chicago PD.'

 'You here about Venable and Stenner?'

Vail nodded. 'What can you tell us?'