Michael Palmer - Fatal

"You know who the men are?"

"Do you? Jesus, Rutledge, how could you go and let this happen to that woman?"

"Grimes, instead of trying your best to connect me to what happened, why don't you have every man on your so-called force out there looking for her."

"You tend to your friggin' business, Rutledge, and I'll tend — "

"I know, I know. You did that one before."

"Just don't go on any more house calls until we have this business cleared up. Got that?"

"Okay, okay, I got it."

"Good. Now scram. Tell Lyons to get on over here." Grimes turned his back on Matt. "Steve, let's get an APB out on Dr. Nikki Solari."

Valenti picked up a clipboard.

"Out," Grimes said.

Matt slowly gathered up his denim jacket and keys and headed for the door.

"White female, thirty-six years old," Grimes dictated to Valenti.

"Thirty-four," Matt said over his shoulder.

"Out! Make that thirty-four. Medium-length dark hair, five-seven, slender build, may be wearing surgical scrubs."

"Green."

"Dammit, Rutledge. Okay, green surgical scrubs. Now get out of here. What a dick," Grimes muttered, loud enough to be easily heard from where Matt was.

Matt left the office. The door swung nearly closed, but remained slightly ajar. He turned to finish the job, then realized that neither policeman had noticed. Instead he lingered off to one side, where it was easy for him to overhear the ongoing conversation.

"So," Valenti asked, "is the jerk right? Did she come on to you?"

"None of your business," Grimes replied with a sly smile.

"Rollins was at the funeral service. Said the girl was looking pretty interested in you."

"So, maybe she was. I got enough goin' on around here, believe me I do. Come on, now, let's get this over with."

"Marks or scars?" Valenti asked.

"How should I know?" Grimes replied. "Wait, I do know one. Get this. She's got this weird tattoo on the top of her foot. Some sort of lizard. Can you believe that?"

"Top of her foot, huh? Women don't go around showin' me the top of their feet."

"They wouldn't show you their face, either, if they didn't have to."

"What kind of lizard?"

"An orange one. How in the hell am I supposed to know what kind?"

Matt, who had turned toward the exit, stopped still. Nikki had been wearing sneakers when he intubated her at Crystal Lake. How did Grimes know about the tattoo? He had been there at the ER, but as far as Matt could remember, Nikki was covered up by the time he arrived, and stayed that way. Could someone on the staff have mentioned it to him? Possible, but doubtful. He had no trouble believing that Grimes had come on to Nikki in some way, but he hadn't even considered that she might have flirted with him. Immediately, he discarded the notion. The reason Grimes knew about the Gila monster wasn't because Nikki had shown him.

Bewildered, Matt headed out to his bike. The only logical explanation he could come up with was that Nikki was wearing some sort of strapped shoe at the memorial service. As he approached the hospital, still another explanation occurred to him — the possibility that Grimes was with Nikki after she had been abducted.

Tarvis Lyons, looking balefully about, was still at his post by the doorway to Nikki's empty room.

"Any word?" he asked.

"Nope. She's gone."

"Shit. Is the chief pissed at me?"

"He wants to see you over at the station."

"Shit. Ledge, you gotta tell Grimes I didn't do anything wrong."

Without responding, Matt went to the small closet in the room. Nikki's clothes were hanging up to dry rather than being stuffed in the usual plastic bag. Her sneakers were there, too — New Balance, a fairly new pair, still damp. She must have been wearing hospital slippers when the Stith brothers wheeled her away. They could have easily fallen off or been removed during or after her abduction. If Grimes was involved in the kidnapping, that would certainly explain his choosing Tarvis to guard the room.

Nikki had jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt on when she went into the lake, but it was unlikely they were the clothes she wore to the service. Her car had probably been towed or driven to the station. More than likely, her clothing and possessions had been catalogued and examined. They had to be in the evidence room. If her shoes were closed on top, he could rule out the possibility that Grimes had seen the tattoo beneath any straps.

He returned to the policeman.

"Tarvis," he said, "you want me to tell Grimes this wasn't your fault?"

"I need you to, Ledge. I've had some trouble lately and — "

"In that case, I need a favor from you."

Lyons brightened. "Name it, Ledge."

"When she was loony from her concussion, Dr. Solari started babbling on about what she was really doing down here. It seems she runs a business up north where lady doctors provide, you know, services, to high-roller men who have big bucks to spend."

"Services?"

"Sex, Tarvis. She runs a prostitution ring where the women are all doctors."

"Holy — "

"And she has a book — a black book with the names of all her clients and all the women doctors in Boston, New York, and around here who work for her."

"She really is a babe," Lyons said wistfully, his imagination clearly running as far amuck as it was capable of. "That's what they were after her for? That book?"

"Exactly. Grimes didn't mention it, so I don't think he has it yet.

If we can find it, you'll be a hero." He bent over and spoke man-to-man. "Plus, you'll know which lady doctors in these parts give… the best exams."

He punctuated the remark with a nudge.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Can you get me into the evidence room?"

"I have a card. We all do. I just have to swipe it."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?"

Lyons had driven his battered, grease-stained Wrangler to the hospital. Matt followed him back toward the station, but cut off a block from the building, parked the Harley, and met him by the basement door in back.

"So how many lady doctors are in this book?" Lyons asked.

"Don't know. Dozens, I'll bet. When it comes to admitting women students, the med schools often insist on brains and looks."

"Ooee," Lyons said, swiping the electronic lock and opening the solid oak door. "There's an electronic record of whoever swipes in, so I gotta sign the ledger."

There were ten large plastic baskets, but only two of them held evidence. Both were labeled SOLARI.

"The book is small," Matt said, rummaging through the first basket. "It may be able to fit in the heel of a shoe."

"Not these shoes."

Lyons was holding up a pair of black flats — plain, closed top, no straps.

So much for an accidental sighting of the tattoo.

"So, these are the little mice who set off the evidence room warning light."

Grimes and Steve Valenti stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway.

Matt felt his heart freeze.

Tarvis, you jerk!

"Oh, hi," Matt said, too brightly. "I asked Tarvis here to show me Nikki's things. We thought we might find something that would suggest who might have done this or why. I guess he forgot there was a warning light."

"And did you?" Grimes asked.

"Did I what?"

"Did you find any undiscovered clues?"

Matt's pulse now had gone from standstill to jackhammer. Never an adept liar, he was having great difficulty maintaining eye contact with the policeman. It was clear from the man's tone that he didn't believe a word of what Matt was saying. Off to one side, Valenti appraised the situation, his face an unfathomable mask.

"Oh, no," Matt stammered. "No, actually, we didn't find anything. At least I didn't. How about you, Tarvis?"

Lyons looked as if he had been shot with a blowgun.

"Nothing, Chief," he managed finally. "I, um, hope you don't mind my bringing the doctor down here."