As Hayward turned, another alarm went off and she saw the EKG monitor flatlining. 'Oh, my God,' she burst out. 'Let me wait here, please,
The door shut firmly and Pendergast gently led her away.
The waiting room was small and sterile, with plastic chairs and a single window that looked out into the night. Hayward stood by it, staring unseeing into the black rectangle. Her mind was working furiously but going nowhere, like a broken engine. Her mouth was dry, and her hands were trembling. A single tear trickled down her cheek--a tear of frustration and unfocused rage.
She felt Pendergast's hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off and took a step away.
'Captain?' came the low voice. 'May I remind you there's been an attempted homicide--against Lieutenant D'Agosta. And against you.'
The cool voice penetrated the fog of her fury. She shook her head. 'Just get the hell away from me.'
'You need to start thinking about this problem like a police officer. I need your help, and I need it now.'
'I'm not interested in your problem anymore.'
'Unfortunately, it isn't my problem anymore.'
She swallowed, staring into the darkness, fists clenched. 'If he dies...'
The cool, almost mesmerizing voice went on. 'That's out of our hands. I want you to listen to me carefully. I want you to be Captain Hayward, not Laura Hayward, for a moment. There is something important we must discuss. Now.'
She closed her eyes, feeling numb to the core. She didn't even have the energy to rebuff him.
'It would seem,' said Pendergast, 'we're dealing with a killer who is also a doctor.'
She closed her eyes. She was tired of this, tired of it all, tired of life. If Vinnie died... She forced the thought out of her mind.
'Extraordinary measures were taken to keep Vincent's location a secret. Clearly the would-be killer had special access to patient charts, medical supply and pharmaceutical records. There are only two possibilities. The first is that he or she was a member of the team that is actually treating Vincent, but that would be both extremely coincidental and extremely unlikely: they have all been carefully vetted. The other possibility--and the one I believe to be the case--is that Vincent was found by tracing the pig valve used in his recent operation. His assailant might even be a cardiac surgeon.'
When she said nothing, he went on. 'Do you realize what this means? It means Vincent was used as bait. The perpetrator deliberately induced a deadly coma, knowing it would lure us to the bedside. Naturally he anticipated we would arrive together. The fact we didn't is the only thing that saved us.'
She remained with her back turned, hiding her face.
'There's nothing more we can do about that for the present. Meanwhile, I believe I have made a critical discovery. While we were separated, I looked into June Brodie's suicide and found some interesting coincidences. As we know, the suicide occurred only a week after Slade's death in the fire. About a month afterward, June's husband told his neighbors he was going on a trip abroad and left, never to be seen again. The house was shut up and eventually sold. I tried to trace him but found the trail completely cold--except I could find no evidence he had left the country.'
Despite herself, Hayward turned slowly around.
'June was an attractive woman. And it appears she'd been having a long-term affair with Slade.'
Hayward spoke at last. 'There you have it,' she snapped. 'It wasn't a suicide. The husband murdered her and took off.'
'There are two pieces of evidence against that supposition. The first is the suicide note.'
'He forced her to write it.'
'As you know, there's no sign of stress in the handwriting. And there's something else. Not long before her suicide, June Brodie was diagnosed with a particularly fast-acting form of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis: Lou Gehrig's disease. It would have killed her fairly quickly anyway.'
Hayward thought. 'The disease would argue for suicide.'
'Murder,' murmured Pendergast. 'Suicide. Perhaps it was neither.'
Hayward ignored this typically Pendergastian comment. 'Your PI, Hudson, was killed while investigating Brodie. In all likelihood, that means whoever's behind all this doesn't want us on her trail. That makes June Brodie a person of key importance for us.'
Pendergast nodded. 'Indeed.'
'What else do you know about her?'
'Her family background is unremarkable enough. The Brodies were once quite wealthy--oil money--but in the 1960s the oil ran out, and they fell on hard times. June grew up in reduced circumstances, went to a local community college, graduated with a nursing degree, but only practiced for a few years. Perhaps the profession didn't agree with her, or perhaps she simply wanted the higher salary of a personal secretary to a CEO. In any case, she took the job at Longitude, where she worked for the rest of her life. She married her high-school sweetheart but, it seems, soon found a more exciting diversion in Charles Slade.'
'And the husband?'
'Either he didn't know or he put up with it.' Pendergast had slipped a manila folder out of his suit coat and handed it to her. 'Now, please take a look at these.'
She opened it to find a number of yellowed newspaper clippings in plastic sleeves, along with a map. 'What's all this?'
