The Killing Man

'What are you doing here . . . so late?'

'Just checking.'

She closed her eyes in a drowsy fashion, then seemed to force them open. 'Mike . . .'

'Yeah, doll?'

'There was . . . a doctor here.'

'I know . . . Burke Reedey. He gave you a sedative.'

Her head rolled slightly on the pillow. 'No . . . another doctor.'

'An orderly?'

'He . . . looked like . . . a doctor. He said . . .' Her eyes drifted shut again.

'What did he say, honey?' I took her hand and squeezed it.

Sleepily, her eyes opened again. 'He was going to . . . give me . . . another shot.'

My hands suddenly went clammy. 'What!'

Once again, she shook her head. 'He didn't . . . do it.' Her lids started to close again, then jerked open. 'He told me it would make . . . me sleep better . . . and he took . . . my arm . . . when the other doctor came in.'

'Another orderly?'

'Like . . . a doctor. Maybe. That first one . . . said something and . . . and left.'

I said, 'Son of a bitch!' and tried to let her hand go, but her fingers had a determined grip.

'Mike . . .'

I stopped trying to ease her fingers loose and looked at her. She was fighting to talk through the sedative and everything was wearing her out.

'When he spoke' -- her eyelids wavered -- 'he sounded like . . . the one on the phone . . . Saturday . . . who wanted to meet you . . . at the office.'

He was here. The lousy bastard was here in the hospital and was making a run on Velda.

I dropped her hand, patted her cheek gently and, when her eyes closed, I ducked through the door. The big cop looked at me quizzically and I nodded an okay, then asked him, 'Describe that first orderly who went in there.'

'Big guy, real heavyset,' he said. 'About five-eleven, two hundred forty pounds, dark hair going gray, Vandyke beard and mustache. Real doctor stuff. Almost like a black-and-white movie caricature.'

'You said you saw him before.'

'I did. I've been thinking about that. He went by here twice in the past couple of days.'

'He say anything?'

'No. He just went by. The first time he was pushing a cart of surgical instruments.'

'How about that second orderly?'

The cop knew something was going down and he had an anxious expression on his face. 'Hell, man, he's over at the nurse's desk right now.' He pointed toward the middle of the corridor and I didn't wait to hear any more.

His name was David Clinton, address on the West Side. He had been an employee of the hospital for three years, which the head nurse documented. I gave him back his ID card and took him away from the desk.

'The police officer told me you checked the lady's room tonight.'

'That's right. I clean up, make sure nothing is left on the table, the lavatory is serviced . . .'

I didn't let him finish. 'There was another orderly in there tonight too.'

'Oh, him. That jerko was on the wrong floor. Imagine that. Those new people don't even know which button to push on the elevator.'

'You report him?'

'For being on the wrong floor?'

'Never mind. Had you seen the guy before?'

He shrugged and spread his hands apart. 'Well . . . I don't think so. But people come and go . . .'

'With Vandyke beards and real doctor faces?'

'I must admit, he did have a look about him . . . but no, I never saw him before.'

There are times you want to spit and your mouth goes dry and this was one of those times. I went back to the desk, picked up the phone and got security. I gave a description of the guy to the officer in charge downstairs and told him to cover all exits. If the Vandyke crap was a disguise, he'd be big enough to recognize by height and weight.

One more call and a small argument got the operator to put a call in for Pat on the PA system. A minute later there was a click and he said, 'Chambers here.'

'Mike, pal. Where are you?'

'At the main desk downstairs waiting for you to come in. Where the hell have you been?'

'Hang on. I'll tell you in a minute.'

The elevator took me down to the foyer and when I stepped out I saw Pat in a three-way conversation with Burke Reedey and Bennett Bradley.

I waved to the group, then pointed at Pat and motioned for him to get over to me. Quickly, I told him what had happened and said to be easy, I had alerted hospital security and Velda was all right.

'You sure?'

'Positive. The sedation might have slowed her down, but she recognized the voice. She didn't identify the face, but by damn, if Velda laid an ID on the voice it's good enough for me.'

'But why go for her, Mike?'

'We got a fast-thinking killer, that's why. He tried whacking her out the first time so there would be nobody to identify him, and even if he did get a good shot at her, there's a probability she could make an identification, and that probability he can't take a chance on.'

'That's what Bradley said,' Pat told me. 'He made an appointment to meet Burke here tonight and possibly talk to her, but your doctor buddy had already given her the sedative and didn't think it advisable.'

'Nobody told me about that.'

'Relax. Bradley spoke to me this evening and I told him to speak to Burke. Your girl's okay, pal. She never saw the show, she won't think the smartasses nailed you . . .'

'Then get some of your guys to cover this place. Hospital security-'

'Relax,' Pat said again. 'Most of the security here are retired NYPD guys.' He went over to the phone, made two calls and came back. 'Any more orders?'

I shook my head.

'What a pisser you are. With a time lapse like that, don't you think the guy would have been out of here ? What kind of pussy you think we're dealing with?'

Burke and Bennett Bradley had been watching us curiously, so we cut it short and walked over to the desk. Burke said, 'What's with you two?'

I told them what had gone on upstairs and Bradley's face went tight, his eyes drawing almost closed, and he breathed out the word 'Penta' like he was saying 'shit' in a foreign language.

All I could think of was that I had heard enough of Penta for a lifetime. It was a damned red-herring myth screwing up the works and nobody wanted to listen to me at all. I was the one it all started over, just me and Anthony DiCica, and now everything gets woven into a fairy-tale spider-web.

I said, 'Bradley, don't give me this Penta bullshit. You got no prints, no witnesses, no motive . . . you don't have a damn thing to bring this Penta into this except a fucking stupid note that was left on my desk beside a mutilated corpse.'

He let the hardness out of his face, grimaced gently and said, 'Put it this way . . . we're all looking for a killer.'

'He almost did it again,' I said. 'Velda might possibly identify his voice, but that's not hard evidence. If we could nail him with a voiceprint on tape, that's another story.'

'You have a tape to match it?' Burke asked.

'We're not sure,' Pat said.

'I wish somebody would be sure of something,' Bradley told us. 'I'd like the years I've spent following this