Джеймс Паттерсон - The Midwife Murders

Then Tracy Anne says, “The Waldren family has been moved to Darlow 12-L. They’re up there now. The whole gang of them, the big crazy entourage.”

“We should have guessed it. The fancy-ass Darlow floor,” I say. Then I ask Tracy Anne, “When did this all happen? Why doesn’t anyone know about it? Why don’t I know about it? Why doesn’t Dr. Sarkar at least know about it?”

Tracy Anne shrugs. She’s not being arrogant. It’s a shrug that seems to indicate that the entire change of rooms was way out of her control. Then she says, “They did it sort of privately. You know, discreetly. At least that’s what I was told.”

Sarkar closes his eyes. Then he speaks softly. “Khuda ka shukr hai,” he says. Then Dr. Sarkar opens his eyes.

I say, “What’s that mean?”

He translates for us: “Thank God.”

“Thank God is right,” I say, and I feel an enormous amount of anger well up inside me.

Time for another rant.

“This hospital is exploding. Nothing’s working. Babies are being kidnapped. A woman is viciously assaulted. Now this, a whole group of people change rooms and there’s not even a record of the change. This is insane.”

“I understand how you feel, Lucy. But the staff are not miracle workers. And we must trust Detective Blumenthal is doing his best,” says Sarkar.

Just before I turn and walk away from the doctor I say, “Yeah? Well, he’s going to be doing a lot better once he hears from me.”

And for the first time it strikes me: why is Rudi Sarkar such a supporter and defender of Leon Blumenthal?

CHAPTER 27

I RUN DOWN THE back stairs to the second floor, the floor where the temporary NYPD/FBI headquarters has replaced the residents’ cafeteria. As I take the stairs two at a time, I consider what I might say to Blumenthal, my opening salvo. I quickly settle upon “I am sick and tired of this bullshit.”

I stop at the entrance. I take in the whole chaotic room—lots of empty Starbucks cups, crappy-looking doughnuts (the cheap little minis with confectioner’s sugar), and of course lots of officers and agents on laptops. It looks like a lot is going on. But my mind says, You sure as hell wouldn’t know it by the lack of progress on the case .

“Detective Blumenthal,” I say loudly as I approach his table. He is, as always, tapping away at his laptop.

He looks up. I’m not sure, but I think he rolls his eyes. It’s the standard Here she is again offensive, his usual disinterested, condescending approach to me. Well, this time Blumenthal picked the wrong woman to condescend to.

Shouting, I say, “I am outraged.”

Yes, I know. That’s not what I’d planned on saying. It’s a far cry from “I am sick and tired of this bullshit.” But that is what came out of my mouth.

“Yes, I can see that you’re outraged,” Blumenthal says with a dry, sarcastic tone.

“When are we going to see some action from you and your people on this horrendous situation?” It seems like everyone else in the room has stopped to look at us. An uncomfortable silence allows our verbal exchange to really ring out.

“When? When? When? What do you think we’re working on? Don’t try to bully me, Ms. Ryuan.”

“I’m not the bullying type,” I say loudly but more controlled now.

For the first time he displays a bit of emotion. “Are you crazy?” Then he throws his head back and guffaws.

“Listen,” I say. “Since you and your team don’t seem to be taking any action, I’m doing something.”

This time I’m sure Blumenthal is really rolling his eyes. As curious as his group might be, they’re slowly getting back to work.

I reach into the pocket of my slacks and pull out three photographs—screenshots from the surveillance recordings Troy and I had been watching.

Blumenthal takes the pictures and does nothing more than glance at them. He then shuffles them and looks at them briefly again. Then he lays them out side by side on his desktop.

“Okay,” he says. “These seem to be an unidentifiable nurse with a fairly large butt walking down a hallway, most likely a hallway in this hospital.”

I’d like to slug him in the mouth. I want to say, “Congratulations, Sherlock,” but instead I decide to seize the moment and use it. I explain the intrigue of the pictures. “These screenshots were taken from a security video in this hospital on the day Katra Kovac was attacked and mutilated, the day she had her forced C-section. Plus—”

Blumenthal interrupts. “Plus,” he says, “the nurse is wearing very high high-heeled shoes, a very unusual choice of shoe for a nurse.”

“Go to the head of the class,” I say.

Then a tiny bit of a smile from Blumenthal: “I can’t believe anybody uses that expression anymore: ‘Go to the head of the class.’”

A pause. He gathers up the photos. “Where’d you get these?” he asks.

“I told you: from an internal security surveillance video.”

“How’d you get the video?” he asks.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“You are certainly an encyclopedia of antique sayings.” He tries to hand the three photos back to me.

“Don’t you want to keep them?” I ask.

“I’ve just seen them. Thank you very much,” he says.

“But these could be helpful,” I say.

“I don’t disagree. They could be helpful, very helpful. I’ll keep them in mind.”

Vesuvius explodes again. “Keep them in mind? You’re going to keep them in mind ?” I shout. And I expect that my pale, lightly freckled Irish face is turning red.

“Look. Our team has studied these exact same recordings. Don’t you think part of our process was to view the footage from every security camera in the hospital? They took screenshots of appropriate moments in the tapes. So we’ve been there.”

“I believe you, but what I don’t believe is that any of your team took notice of that woman in the nurse’s uniform wearing stiletto heels. Did they?”

“I really can’t share information about our progress or process with you,” he says, and he is clearly becoming impatient. But certainly no more impatient than myself.

I quickly grab the photos from Blumenthal’s hands. He goes back to his laptop.

Then I say what I’d planned to say when I first walked into the inquiry office: “I am so sick and tired of this bullshit.”

CHAPTER 28

I’M OUT OF BLUMENTHAL’S makeshift office, quickly heading back to the Midwifery Division. In the giant complex of Gramatan University Hospital, this is where I feel safest and happiest. I don’t want to sound like my crazy cousin Margaret Mary, with her shaved head and 1960s love beads, but this is a happy place, a place of simple joy. This is where the midwives and the mothers and the babies all come together. I’m all for women who opt for the kind of hospital birth Dr. Sarkar provides, but I believe there is a difference between the two styles. In the world of the midwife, giving birth is a natural process, not a medical procedure.

I have no appointments listed this afternoon, sort of a minor miracle in itself. Because I have no patients, I’m just a little confused when Troy comes in—without knocking, of course—and tells me, “You’ve got one agitated young lady sitting in your examination room, Lucy. That’s all I’m gonna say.” He pauses, then starts talking again. “Well, I will say one other thing. It’s someone you may remember from the not so distant past.”

Curious and, because of the current circumstances in the hospital, a little apprehensive, I walk into the examination room.

Valerina Gomez is seated on the examination table. She is dressed in a torn and dirty gray sweatshirt, cheap-looking jeans, and flip-flops.