an empty gurney. They looked in his direction for a few seconds and waved.
He proceeded past the Emergency Department and entered the hospital proper.
The attendant at the information desk near the far wall looked up with drowsy eyes and nodded at the visitor.
He took an elevator to the third floor. He was the only occupant.
When the elevator doors opened at the third floor, he leaned out into the corridor; finding it empty, he left the elevator and walked at a normal pace down the hall.
The lighting was dim and restful. Soft sounds came from rooms as he passed. In a few, television told bedtime stories. The low hum of hospital machines and monitors was a backdrop to sounds of misery and pain, fitful moans and sporadic sharp cries.
He halted. At the end of the corridor, some fifteen or twenty yards away, was a brightly lit nursing station, the nerve center of this floor full of illness and affliction.
He stood motionless. The nurse at her station looked up. She was startled to see him. She would have been startled to see anyone at this hour. She recognized him. Reassured, her head bent again to her task.
He entered a room. It was a double room, but only one bed was occupied.
He approached the occupied bed. For several moments, he stood looking down at the patient wordlessly.
In the dim light, the patient was almost indistinguishable from the white sheets and blanket.
He felt along the patient’s neck for the carotid artery. There was a pulse. A very, very weak pulse.
His hand moved across the patient’s face. There was no oxygen tube in the nostrils.
He carefully removed the pillow from behind the patient’s head and placed it over the patient’s face.
He held the pillow tight down over the patient’s face. There was no resistance. The patient’s fingers moved as if reflecting distress.
There was no change in the position of either person for several minutes.
Finally he removed the pillow and felt once more for the carotid artery. This time there was no throb. He checked carefully. No pulse.
He lifted the patient’s head and carefully replaced the pillow, resting the dead patient’s head on it. He stood for a moment with head bowed. Then he left the room and, without looking back, went directly to the elevator.
On the main floor, he exited the elevator and walked briskly out of the foyer.
He stopped the car at the exit attendant’s booth, handed him the parking ticket, paid the fee, stuck the receipt in his pocket, and drove off into the night.
As he headed away from the hospital, he shuddered. He turned the car’s heater on full blast.
CHAPTER TWENTY — FOUR
Lieutenant Alonzo Tully was the first to arrive each morning. He had added reason yesterday and today. He was walking a fine line.
Officially, as far as Homicide was concerned, the investigation into the murder of Bishop Ramon Diego was concluded. There was no dearth of other homicides waiting to be solved.
But Zoo Tully, with the rest of his squad, continued the search for Diego’s killer. Much of this work had to be done on a volunteer basis on the officers’ own time.
Now, Tully was playing catch up, trying to dig into cases to which he would be giving his complete attention were it not for the Diego case.
As Tully studied the folders on his desk, Sergeant Phil Mangiapane entered the squad room. They greeted each other in the morning manner of co-workers not yet fully awake. Mangiapane sat at his desk and checked his calendar for the day. Then he looked over at Tully. “Did you get your phone call yet?”
Tully, without looking up, shook his head.
The phone rang. Mangiapane looked startled, as if his question had caused the phone to ring. He looked at Tully, who sat eyeing the phone but making no move to answer it.
The sergeant picked up the phone. “Homicide, Mangiapane. Yeah, just a minute.” He looked across at Tully. “It’s for you, Zoo.”
“Tully.”
“Lieutenant, the one you’re looking for is at 3330 West Lafayette. There will be several people at that address, all stoned out of their minds. You should have no trouble getting in.”
Tully was sure he recognized the voice. It was Tony Wayne’s man-mountain bodyguard. Tully, who still thought of him as “Tiny,” was amazed that Albert, as Wayne had called him, was this articulate.
“Are you calling for Mr. Wayne?”
Albert completely ignored the question. “Your subject’s name is Julio-that’s spelled with a ‘J’-Ramirez.”
Tully whistled soundlessly. “The kid brother of Pedro Ramirez?”
There was a slight pause. Tully took the pause to mean this was an accurate identification. Tully was certain that had he been mistaken, Albert would have corrected him.
“That is all you need to know.” The connection was broken.
“Let’s go, Manj. We got some garbage to pick up.”
Brad Kleimer had been awake for some time. He had eaten breakfast and was on his second cup of coffee. He gazed out the picture window of his downtown high-rise apartment. He was thinking of a million things. The buzz of the phone brought him back to reality.
“Kleimer.”
“Brad, this is Quirt. I got something I think you oughtta know.”
“Yeah?”
“That old man died last night … the old geezer that Carleson visited all the time.”
“Who?”
“The old man. You remember.…” A pause. “Demers, Herbert Demers. He was in Receiving. You remember. …”
“Okay. Herbert Demers. So?”
“Well, they were going to release the body to the next of kin. But I put a hold on it. I figured we better not miss a single bet.”
“What do you mean, George?”
“What I mean is the old man probably just croaked. But Carleson used to visit him just about every day.”
“Is there any indication it wasn’t natural causes?”
“Well, no. But I didn’t want to take any chances.…”
“So what’ve you done?”
“I sent the body to the morgue. Asked Doc Moellmann to give it top priority.” In the face of Kleimer’s silence, Quirt began to have doubts. “You got a problem with any of this-what I’ve done?”
“No, no, George. You’re absolutely right. We shouldn’t overlook anything.
“By the way, while I’ve got you on the line, did you hear anything from Williams yet-from Maryknoll in New York?”
“No. Wasn’t he supposed to report to you?”
“Yeah, that’s right. But I haven’t heard from him. I thought maybe you had-”
“Nope, not a word.”
“Okay. Keep me posted.”
Kleimer hung up.
“The big question is: Is he gonna live?” Mangiapane wanted to know.
Tully’s mouth tightened. “The answer is: I don’t know.”
“It was the easiest bust I ever was on.”
