Michael Palmer - The Society

“Jesus.”

From her place on the floor, leaning against the wall, Martha tried to speak, but managed only a piteous whimper.

“Easy does it, Mrs. Medeiros,” Will said. “We’ll help you in just a minute. I’m going to call nine-one-one.”

“Wait, come in and look at this.”

Will checked to make certain Martha was secure against the wall, then crossed over to the desk. Impaled on the pen and pencil of Newcomber’s hand-tooled leather pen holder were two cards-plain white, three inches square. The letter C was printed meticulously on one, the letter M on the other.

The Excelsius Cancer Center was set on a verdant lot in the bedroom town of Moorland, four miles west of Fredrickston. Within five minutes of Will’s 911, the first of what would be nine police cars from three jurisdictions arrived. The Cancer Center was cordoned off, and patients with appointments were told to reschedule. Seated alone in one corner of the mammography unit reception room, Will waited until a graying, pot-bellied Moorland police officer had finished taking a statement from Susan and motioned that it was his turn. On the way over, he stopped briefly to speak with her.

“Just another routine day at the office,” he whispered.

“Poor little guy. So, with those two letters, do you think it was the same person as killed the others?”

“I don’t know what to think. This isn’t the usual high-level target or even the MO of the managed-care killers, but those two alphabet letters would certainly suggest that’s who did this.”

“You still think it’s more than one.”

“I do. In fact, it’s a little hard to believe Newcomber would have allowed a single person to truss him up like that without putting up a fight. The office looked just like it did when I was here before, and you saw when I slid open his drawer that his gun was right there, so I don’t think there was a struggle.”

“I don’t know about you,” Susan said, “but I can handle this sort of thing in the hospital a lot better than I can out here in the real world.”

“I understand. Same here. You think a heart attack?”

“Torture first, then heart attack. I didn’t see any wound that looked as if it could have been mortal. I wonder if he survived long enough to tell them whatever it was they wanted to know.”

“Maybe they didn’t want to know anything. Maybe they were just doing it for the fun of it.”

“Ugh.” Susan shuddered, then put on her trench coat. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the hospital. After this little adventure, I’m really not up for doing any surgery, but my poor varicose-vein lady is already there and, believe it or not, they’re holding the OR for me.”

“Give ’em heck,” Will said wistfully.

“Listen, my friend, before you know it, you’re going to be back in the OR, beating yourself into the ground again.”

“I hope so.”

“We’re all pulling for that to happen.”

All minus one, Will thought.

“Thanks,” he said. “Any ideas what we should do about Grace’s missing X-rays?”

“Not really. I’m not certain there’s anything we can do. Let’s talk about it later.”

“Fine. Thanks again for coming here with me, Suze.”

“You’ll understand if next time I beg off, huh?”

“I won’t even bother asking.”

She motioned toward the window.

“Looks like my cab’s here.”

“I owe you one.”

“At least.”

As Susan headed off, over her shoulder Will could see the portly Moorland police officer speaking with a new arrival-a tall, angular man wearing a neatly pressed, belted tan trench coat. Moments later, the man quickly approached Will.

“Dr. Grant, Detective Court, State Police. If you’ll wait right over there, I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”

Court. Patty’s CO. He had to know where she was.

For fifteen minutes Will waited. The crime-scene people came and hauled their equipment down the hall. Soon after, an ambulance crew arrived and wheeled off Martha Medeiros, who was now virtually catatonic. Will recalled the pride in her expression as she boasted about her unusual skill with names and faces. He found himself wondering if the killers thought for even a moment about the spouses, friends, children, employees, and other victims of their zealous beliefs. He knew it was a stupid question.

“So, Grant, another death, and here you are.”

Court had come up from his left and now stood there, staring down at him with piercing, slate-gray eyes.

“Here I am,” Will echoed sweetly.

Court had already set the tone for their exchange, so Will felt there was nothing to be gained by trying to act as if the two of them were on the same side. The detective pulled a chair around to face him and settled in, his keen eyes still probing.

“You going to be able to shed any light on this?”

“I saw those two letters on the pen holder in there, if that’s what you mean.”

“So you think your phone pal is responsible for this murder, too?”

“It does seem like a logical conclusion.”

“For someone who drugged his way out of medicine, you are a smug son of a bitch. I can see why Brasco doesn’t believe you.”

“I couldn’t care less what Brasco thinks of me-you, either, for that matter. Where’s Detective Moriarity?”

“Where were you last night at nine?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You going to answer my question, or do you want to see how miserable I can make your life?”

“Where’s Moriarity?”

“I’m going to give you five seconds to answer me, then I’m going to walk away. If I do that, you can count on being arrested before you leave this building. Now, where were you last night?”

Before three of those seconds could elapse, a young, acne-faced, uniformed policeman came rushing over.

“Lieutenant Court,” he said with breathless excitement, “the station just radioed. The victim’s got a record, sir. Ten years ago. Molesting a young boy in Fort Worth, Texas.”

Court’s glare could have frozen magma.

“You get the fuck home, right now. You’re suspended.”

“But-”

“Get out of here. Tell your CO I’ll speak with him later, and after that go sit in a corner and think about what you just did.”

“But-”

“Go!”

Will watched as the decimated young man shuffled toward the door, still, it appeared, in the dark as to what he had done wrong.

“A little hard on the lad, doncha think?” Will said.

“He deserved worse for speaking like that in front of a witness. You’re next if you keep dicking around with me. In case you couldn’t tell, I’m not in a very good mood. Now, where were you at nine last night?”

Will sighed and decided this was not the time to stand up to the man.

“I was with Augie Micelli.”

“The Law Doctor?”

“That’s right. Now, where is she?”

“All night?”

“From eight o’clock until this morning.”

“If you’re lying, you’re toast.”

“There were three or four others with us at nine. They’ll vouch that I was there. Now, where is she?”

“She’s in your hospital. If you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself thrown off the staff, you’d probably know that.”

Shot. . fell. . Camp Sunshine. . blood clot on the brain. . operated on. . intensive care. .

Only a few words in Court’s abbreviated explanation registered, but they were devastating.

“I need to get out of here,” Will said.

“You’ll stay until I’m done with you.”

“Dr. Hollister was in there with me and she’s already given a statement. I’m going.”