Jerry Labriola - Murders at Hollings General

"Consider it done. We have cousins who have broad responsibilities. I'll call from here before I leave."

"Your relatives?"

She chuckled. "No, not my relatives. `Cousins' in police jargon means `stoolies'-`belchers'-you know, `informants.' Some of our elite do more than inform though, and they take pride in it."

"Like what?"

"Information like what you need plus general background checks."

"Perfect. You'll set it up then?"

"Sure, I'll do it now."

Kathy leafed through a small leather book she pulled from her purse. She picked out a number, placed the call and spoke with a man named Archie, explaining the lowdown they wanted.

"Within twenty-four hours, Arch? Good. Buzz me." She turned to David. "That's that. Now, you'll take the rest of the day off?"

"Yeah, yeah. I sure hope the murderer does."

He mostly napped the daylight hours away.

At nine o'clock Monday morning, David made his way to the hospital's Hole, cutting corners sharply, conscious of the drag of Friday at his wrist and the press of a snubby against his ankle. He was puzzled by the flood of pages over the public address system.

After discussing Coughlin's shooting death with Belle, he phoned the page operator and learned that several emergency meetings were being organized for that afternoon, all focusing on "the hospital murder crisis."

"Who's meeting?" David asked.

"Who isn't? The Medical Staff Executive Committee, the hospital's Board of Trustees, the Hollings Nurses' Union representatives. They're concerned, Dr. Brooks, real concerned."

Next David called the Medical Staff Office to check on the sign-in sheet for the lecture Everett Coughlin never had a chance to give. He asked whether Ted Tanarkle was there.

"No," the secretary said. "At least, he didn't sign the sheet."

"How about Victor Spritz? He ever go to those things? He never did when I was around."

"Victor at EMS?"

"He was."

"Oh yes, that's right. But that's who you mean-the ambulance guy?"

"Yes."

"As far as I know, he's never attended one. Let me run down the … Spritz, Spritz, Spritz … no, his name's not here."

"How about Alton Foster?"

"On a Saturday? Are you kidding?"

"Jill, thanks. We'll do lunch sometime."

"Sure, David, lunch in the caf. I can't wait."

He hung up the phone and asked Belle for a ruler. He could feel her stare when he drew lines in his notepad, twisting it around, erasing now and then, drawing more lines. After scribbling a word or two in the boxes he'd created, he pantomimed a magician's reaction to a rabbit's appearance and held the pose.

"Do I dare ask?" Belle said.

"Belle, I'm well-rested, my mind is clear, people are counting on me, and, damn it, I'm going to be organized and neat."

She considered her nails cursorily and said, "You want a blue ribbon?"

"Very funny."

Now for Sparky. He should have been called yesterday regardless of what Kathy said.

"Spark? David, here. You in the middle of something or can we talk?"

"You must be psychic. Only two minutes ago I got off the phone with my Tokyo friend. Real good guy-said he might wake me up after midnight sometime, just to even the score. I called to get his input on the bullet Dr. Tanarkie found in Coughlin's skull, and I described the casing. He wanted the bullet's groove and land count. Didn't take him long, David, and his feeling matched my own. It's a good bet the murder weapon was a Japanese Sniper Rifle Type 97 chambered in 6.5 mm. It's an offshoot of the old Type 38 with Mauser design points. This one is shorter and has provisions for a telescopic sight."

Thoughts scooted through David's mind. Telescopic sight? Understandable. But, Mauser design points? That's okay, he's the pro. Besides, the clincher will be the rifle, itself, if we ever find it. His last and most fleeting thought was of Bernie Bugles boarding a Japan Airlines plane.

"Good work, Sparky. I assume there were no prints on the casing or the nipple?"

"None."

"How about that-using a nipple?" David said.

"How about that? Of course, nothing really silences, and I suppose it's as good a suppressor as anything. You can get it at any drugstore."

"Or from the hospital nursery."

"There, for sure."

"Nothing unusual from the car?"

"Nothing."

David was uneasy taking up the criminalist's time on a Monday morning. "One last question and I'll let you go. Did you check the killer's possible vantage point at all?"

"`Probable,' I'd say. Yes, I did."

"Eighty feet away?"

"Eighty feet, right."

"Did you notice anything different about the branches on either side of the big tree there?"

"No."

"Yeah, on the bushes hugging the tree. On the right side from the back, a few twigs were broken. But, not on the left. Seems to me, if Mr. Sniper is right-handed and he took a position behind the tree, he'd aim his rifle from the side where the twigs were snapped. Maybe he even leaned the thing against the tree, but I couldn't find any bark abrasions."

"Makes perfect sense," Sparky said. "If he wanted to aim a rifle and shield himself behind the tree at the same time, a right-hander would inadvertently damage the right-sided bush, as he faced the car. You sure you're not gunning for my job?"

"No way. Me in a visor cap in that lab all day long?"

"You'd have to raise the lamp a foot or two." They exchanged robust laughs before David said thanks and that he'd be in touch.

He made more notations between the lines in his notepad. Picking up Friday and pausing at the door he said, "Belle, I'll be in the house for awhile if you need me. I'm heading for Spritz's office and then Tanarkle's."

Within seconds, he changed his mind, deciding to visit the newborn nursery. He got off the elevator on the third floor and waved to a nurse acquaintance on Pediatrics, down the hall on the right. The nursery was to his left. He had been there many times before for one reason or another, but this was the first time he understood why one gained entrance only after passing through twin sets of swinging doors. He met a cacophony of cries of such severity that, after responding to a nurse's greeting, he added, "Is it like this all the time?"

"Like what?"

"The noise."

"What noise?"

"Boy, I'll tell you, if I ran the show around here, you'd all get raises."

"What are they?"

The nursery had no nurses' station and the two of them stood at one end of a narrow, forty-foot long anteroom surrounded by pink and blue walls and white equipment: tables, baby scales, incubators, spare bassinets.

"Jean, mind if I look around?" David asked.

"No, go ahead. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, sure, just checking on something."

The closer David got to the other end, the stronger the sweet fragrance of powder, the more fragmented but piercing the noise. It was like an army of infants in a vocal competition.

At the end of the counter immediately before the far archway, David spotted what he was looking for: several open trays of rubber nipples, each one individually wrapped in plastic. No doubt about it-if you time it right, you can help yourself to one of these with no problem.

David made like he was interested in the next room, popping his head in and nodding to the nurses and aides working there: feeding, back-patting, tucking in, suctioning.

He did an about-face, approached Jean and, even though he knew the answer, asked, "Has anyone come in and taken one of those nipples down there? Anyone you wouldn't expect?"

"No, not that I know of."

"The other gals didn't say anything like that?" "No, not to me."

"Even from the other shifts?"

"No. You sure there's no problem, Dr. Brooks?" "No, no problem. Curious, that's all."

"About a baby nipple?"