with a huge smile and a lift of her arms, reminiscent of the cheerleader she probably had been. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like some information on the hospital staff. You do the hiring for most support services?”
“The initial screening anyway. Then I send the applicants to the department that’s hiring.”
“I’m interested in anyone who may have been hired recently for the shift that would cover the time between ten and eleven-thirtyP.M.”
Her face assumed a solemn cast. “The time of Randy O’Meara’s accident.”
“Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“The First Lady is visiting here on a daily basis. We want to be sure that anything unusual isn’t somehow related to her safety. You understand.”
“Of course.” She accepted it without further question and spent a moment thinking. “We’ve hired two people for evening support service positions in the last six weeks. An orderly and a man for the laundry.”
“Max Ableman.”
“You know him?”
“I met him yesterday. What can you tell me about him?”
“Nothing really. I haven’t had any contact with him since he was hired.”
“Do you have a personnel file for him?”
“I’m sure it’s thin at this point.”
“Do you have his job application?”
“Of course.”
“May I see it?”
“I’ll have my secretary pull it.”
Dee Johnson left the office for a moment. Bo’s cell phone rang.
“Bo, it’s Jake Russell. Manning and Dreamcatcher just returned from the hospital. He’s mad as hell you’re not here. He’s on the phone to Diana Ishimaru right now.”
“Thanks, Jake. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Aside from Manning, is everything else quiet?”
“As a cemetery.”
When he had Ableman’s application, Bo looked it over carefully. Maxwell Frederick Ableman. Born in Duluth on April 1, 1960. Graduated from East High School there. Briefly attended a technical school in Bemidji. Worked for a landscaping firm in Milaca for ten years, then a couple of years as a short-order cook in Brainerd. His last job had been with E.L. Tool amp; Die in Sandstone, a job he’d left, according to his application, because the company closed.
“Did you check any of his job references?” Bo asked Dee Johnson.
She looked guilty. “The position he applied for is a hard one to fill. The hours are bad, the pay is low, and it requires handling unpleasantly soiled linen. I was just happy to get an applicant.”
“You said you also hired an orderly. What can you tell me about him?”
“Tyrone Posely. He goes to school days at Metropolitan State University and works here nights. He’s married, has one child.”
“All this is verified?”
“Yes, I can vouch for Tyrone.”
“May I have a copy of Max Ableman’s application?”
“I’ll have my secretary make one.” As she stood, she asked, “Should we be concerned about Mr. Ableman?”
“I wouldn’t say that, no. As I indicated, it’s all routine. But I’d appreciate it if, for the time being, you didn’t mention this to anyone.”
When he left the hospital, Bo knew he should get back immediately to Wildwood. However, there was one stop he wanted very much to make.
The address on Ableman’s application was a motor court outside Bayport, a river community just south of Stillwater. The motor court was old, white stucco, shaded by two big oak trees. A few decades earlier, it might have been a decent destination if you wanted to enjoy the river. Now it looked like the kind of place where you went to enjoy a different type of diversion. The sign on the Bayport Court indicated there was aACANCY. Although it also indicated that rooms were available by the week and month, Bo figured the old place catered to a clientele mostly interested in rooms by the hour. In the office, he asked after Max Ableman and was directed to room number ten. Except for Bo’s Contour, only two vehicles were parked in the potholed lot, a green Chevy pickup, a decade old and covered with dust, and a new, shiny, red Mustang. The pickup was in front of number ten, more or less. Bo noted the plate. The room curtains were drawn. Bo knocked on the door. No one answered. The sound of a television came through the window screen two rooms down, but from number ten, there wasn’t a peep. He tried the knob. The door was locked. He checked his watch. Too early for Ableman to be at work. Bo knocked again, then decided he’d visit the laundry later on, provided Manning hadn’t got him removed from protective detail in the meantime.
Bo turned and headed for his car. He didn’t see behind him the slight parting of the curtains in number ten. He didn’t feel at all the tiny red dot that settled on the back of his head. And he didn’t hear the whisper that escaped Nightmare’s lips as he watched Bo retreating.
“Bang!”
chapter
thirteen
Diana Ishimaru’s silver Sable was parked near the guesthouse. She was waiting inside. She and Manning were quiet when Bo walked in, but he had the feeling a good deal had already been said.
“Why don’t we talk in the library?” Ishimaru suggested.
Bo went first, Manning after him, and finally Diana Ishimaru, who closed the door behind them.
“Thorsen,” Manning began, “I thought we discussed this.”
Ishimaru cut him off. “Just a moment, Agent Manning. Bo?” She looked to him for an explanation.
“Someone tried to kill Tom Jorgenson,” Bo said.
“You have proof?”
“Nothing solid, but put everything together and it adds up.”
“But you don’t have any proof,” she said.
“No.”
“Any suspects?”
“Not at the moment. There’s someone I’d like to check out a bit more.”
“A motive?”
“I probably won’t know why until I know who.”
Diana Ishimaru gave her head a faint, unhappy shake. “I just got off the phone, talking with the Washington County sheriff. He appreciates your concern, but he doesn’t share it. However, he has assured me that he’ll keep a deputy posted outside Tom Jorgenson’s room until further notice. And he has a detective assigned to the case. Bo,” she said, almost regretfully, “this is no longer your concern.”
“It should never have been,” Manning threw in.
S.A.I.C. Ishimaru cast Agent Manning a cold look, then continued addressing Bo. “I need you to focus on Wildwood.”
“Jake Russell’s been in charge during any absence I’ve felt was necessary. He’s as familiar with security here as I am.”
“But Operations is your responsibility,” she reminded him. “I know you would be the first to agree that a constant and consistent appraisal of the situation and environment is essential to effective security. I need you here, Bo. One hundred percent. The safety of the First Lady demands it.” She stopped there and waited.
