Harlan Coben - Miracle Cure

A few moments later George heard the voice.

"Hello."

"Perfect," George said.

"You're right on time."

"I can barely hear you," the voice said.

"Don't worry about it. We won't be on long."

"Is he all right?"

"Kne. We're having a ball together. Did you transfer the money?"

"Yes."

"All of it."

"Every last penny," the voice replied.

"How did you get it?"

"That's not your concern."

"I'll check my account tomorrow morning just to be sure. If it is not all there, my house guest will be missing a few fingers by tomorrow afternoon."

"It's all there." The voice faltered for a moment and then said, "Why did you have to kill the nurse?"

"Excuse me?"

"The nurse. Why did you have to kill her?"

"She saw me."

"But you're supposed to be an expert. How could you let that happen?"

The words stung because George knew that they were true.

He had miscalculated. That was rare. And very bothersome.

"It was just a freak thing."

"Listen to me closely: I don't want any 'freak thing7 to happen to Michael Silver "

"Don't use names, imbecile! Someone could be listening."

"What oh, sorry."

The voice was extra-taut tonight, George thought, like somebody wound so tightly he would either snap or stretch into something unrecognizable. George had not liked it when the voice was nervous.

Now he feared that his employer was beginning to lose control completely.

That was not good. It was, in fact, very bad.

"I guess I should be thankful," the voice continued.

"At least you didn't kill Sa uh, his wife."

"I was able to sneak up behind her," George replied evenly.

"She never got the chance to see me."

"Otherwise?"

"Otherwise she would be lying on a cold slab too."

"No one else is to be hurt without my say-so. Absolutely no one. Just keep a hold of you-know-who. Make sure you treat him well."

"HI do what I have to do."

"No. You listen to-" "Good-bye," George said.

"Wait. How can I reach you?"

"You can't." George had trusted his employer too much already but no more. It was time to take control.

"Just follow our plan." He snapped off the radio.

"Surakarn?"

"Yes?"

He tried to smile, but he was still distracted.

"I feel good. Let's take a little ride."

"Where to?"

"I just came into a lot of money."

"Congratulations."

"Tell me, Surakarn, can a man still buy anything in Bangkok?"

Surakarn smiled toothlessly.

"Do you still like them older?"

He nodded.

"She has to be at least twenty."

Jennifer Hiker's whole body shook. Over the past three days she had read the press reports, seen the news of Michael's kidnapping on the television, witnessed the outrage of a country.

But Jennifer felt more than outrage.

She felt fear.

Susan was going to be home in another two days, but Jennifer now knew that she could no longer wait until then. She had been wrestling with her decision for three days now and had come to the decision that the stakes were too high for her to hold back.

Michael's life might depend upon her actions.

But when she reached over and picked up the packet, her mind started to vacillate again. No evidence, after all, linked this mailing with the Gay Slasher or the kidnapping. No evidence at all. These were just standard medical files and lab samples.

Period. That was it.

Then why had Bruce mailed them the day he committed suicide? And why had three of the patients listed in the files Trian, Whitherson, and Martino been murdered? Coincidence?

She thought not.

She wavered long enough. The note written to Susan, well, that was Susan's and there was no way Jennifer was going to open it. But the other contents in the packet were not personal. The files were not, she knew, for everyone's eyes, but there was one person who might make sense of it, one person who might be able to piece together why Bruce felt the need to mail it to a seldom-used address on the day he died.

Jennifer picked up the phone and dialed Harvey's private extension.

Enough lying around.

Sara threw the blankets off her body, stood, and took hold of her cane.

The inactivity, the babying, the looks of pity all behind her now. She had to stop crying. She had to get up and act. She had to find out what was happening and who was behind all of this.

She had to save her husband.

"Where are you going?" Cassandra asked.

"To speak with Max and Harvey. They're at the clinic." "Wait a second," Cassandra said.

"You can't tell anyone about this yet not even Max and Harvey. This is still Dad we're talking about."

Sara nodded.

"I know. I won't say a word about him until we speak to him tonight.

"I'll meet you at the house at eight o'clock."

The sisters embraced. Then Sara left for the clinic. She arrived at the door of the third floor lab a half hour later.

"I want to know everything," she said.

Max and Harvey turned toward the lab door.

"Sara," Harvey began, "what are you doing here? You should be-"

"I should be right here," she interrupted.

"Max and I are doing all we can," Harvey continued in a calm voice.

"Why don't you go back home and rest? Well let you know if anything changes."

"Don't patronize me, Harvey."

"I'm not patronizing. I'm trying to do what's best for your health." She continued to stare at them, her eyes both wide and defiant.

"I'm fine. I want to know what you've learned."

Harvey's next protest was cut off by Max.

"Then come over and sit down," Max said.

"We don't have time to argue."

Sara limped over to the table and pulled out a chair.

"Okay, what have you got?"

"A few things," Max said.

"First, we've been going over the files of the murdered patients."

"Learn anything?"

"Maybe," Max said, his leg shaking up and down.

"Maybe not. They were killed in almost the same order they got here.

Trian and Whitherson were both original patients at the clinic and Martino came in a couple of months later. The other three cured patients Krutzer, Leander, and Singer all came in about a year later."

"what's that mean?"

Max hesitated, his fingers entwined in his own hair.

"I don't know," he said.

"It might mean nothing, but something about it bothers me."

"How does Bradley fit in?" she asked.

"Or... or Michael?"

"They don't really. They have no similarity to the other three victims or for that matter to the three who are still alive. In fact, the only similarity I can see is that both Bradley and Michael were V. I.P patients."

Harvey snapped his fingers.

"But maybe that's it. Maybe the killer is after the important patients, not merely the cured patients."

"Could be," Max shrugged.

"But that raises the larger question why kill four patients, one nurse, and presumably one doctor and not kill Michael?"

Harvey looked at Sara hesitantly.

"Excuse me for suggesting this," he began carefully, "but we really don't know if Michael is alive, do we? The killer may have just moved his body."

"It wouldn't make sense," Max replied.

"Kill him at the clinic and then move him out? Very risky."

Harvey was about to point out that Bradley Jenkins had met a similar fate but chose not to push it in front of Sara.

"Okay, let's move on."

The intercom on the table buzzed. A woman's voice said, "Dr. Riker?"

Harvey lifted the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Riker is on line 6," the receptionist said.

"Take a message." "She said it's urgent."

"Sure. Her alimony payment is probably a week late. Tell her I'll call her back." Harvey replaced the receiver in its cradle.

"Nothing important. Go on."