Джеймс Паттерсон - The Midwife Murders

Blumenthal finally says something, and it’s not sympathetic to the situation. “Yeah, you broke a confidence about somebody who broke the law. They don’t give out medals for that.”

I look at Troy and speak. I’m taking a safety risk with my question. “You’re positive that you don’t know where Tracy Anne is?”

This time Troy answers calmly. “Positive as a man can be. But please don’t ask me again. My heart hurts every time you ask that question.”

My mind is rushing with other questions, not just for Troy but for everybody in the room:

What took Troy so long to tell anyone about this?

Is Tracy Anne telling the truth? And where the hell is she?

How can the NYPD get Orlov to talk?

Where’s Nina?

And there’s one other question. It’s small and dumb, but I just can’t shake this one out of my head:

Detective Blumenthal, what’s the deal with you and this Barbara Holt woman?

CHAPTER 63

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, FYODOR Orlov is sitting at the table in the same interrogation room where Troy had been questioned. Leon Blumenthal sits on the opposite side of the table, facing Orlov. An armed police officer stands watching both men. Orlov has declined his right to have an attorney present.

Bobby Cilia and I are on the other side of the mirror in the viewing room. Will Blumenthal be able to get information from Orlov? Both Blumenthal and Orlov look remarkably calm and determined, given the situation.

“We now know a great deal more about you and your accomplice, Mr. Orlov,” says Blumenthal.

Bobby looks at me and whispers, “That’s a mistake. Detective B shouldn’t call him mister. He shouldn’t be showing any respect for the guy.”

My response to Bobby is a very clever: “Yeah, I’m sure you’re absolutely right.” That’s my personal shorthand for If you knew more than your boss, you’d be sitting where he is right now.

Orlov’s response to Blumenthal is complete silence.

Blumenthal begins talking again. This time he talks faster. As he talks, he builds up even more speed.

“We know, for example, that you’ve been assisted by one of the midwives at GUH, Tracy Anne Cavanaugh,” says Blumenthal.

Orlov’s reaction? A smirk, a sickly smile with twinkling eyes.

I fantasize about crashing through the two-way mirror and choking the bastard. When that thought passes, I’m not very surprised to find that I’m thinking about Barbara Holt and her Louboutin shoes.

“Your partner, your lady friend—we have her,” says Blumenthal. This is, of course, a complete lie. “We” do not have Nina. “We” do not even have a clue as to where Nina is.

“Yeah,” continues Blumenthal. “Your buddy, or girlfriend, or mistress, or whatever the hell you want to call her, is sitting about a hundred feet away from you, down the hall, in a room just like this one. She’s being asked the same questions. She’s just—”

Orlov stands quickly. The guarding officer steps in toward him and pushes him back down onto the chair.

“Cuffs, Detective?” the officer asks.

“No, not yet,” says Blumenthal. “But maybe soon.”

“You are all so fucking stupid!” Orlov shouts. “You know nothing. You know that there are babies going to rich people who so long for what they cannot make themselves, but knowing even that, you still know nothing.”

Blumenthal does not react. He lets an icy silence hang in the air, and it is that one minute or so of silence that seems to agitate Orlov.

The Russian speaks. “You have Nina Kozlova, but you still have nothing.”

I turn and speak to Bobby Cilia. “Well, we now do have one thing. We just got Nina’s last name.”

“It’s funny,” Bobby says. “Funny how these Russians are sort of programmed to say people’s full names. The guy doesn’t call her just Nina. He calls her Nina Kozlova.”

I had never thought of that, but it feels like it could be true. Nina Kozlova.

The dialogue between Blumenthal and Orlov has fizzled, and I decide it’s eating up time that could be better spent looking for both Tracy Anne and Nina. When I mention this to Bobby, he says, “You’re right. But Detective Blumenthal has his own way of doing things. And his own way of doing things has been proven mostly successful in the past.”

“So you think he’ll spend the rest of the day sitting here and allowing Orlov to laugh at him.”

“No, I don’t, not at all,” Bobby says. “I think he’ll move Orlov into a private interview room.”

“I’m new to all this. This room here looks pretty private,” I say.

“ Pretty private. The other room, the private room, is very private.”

“And that means?”

“That means there’s no video recorder, no two-way mirror, no observers. It’ll be just Detective Blumenthal, maybe myself, maybe another detective, probably an emergency medic. Absolutely no one else.”

I say nothing. I’m an enthusiastic amateur, but I’m an amateur. Yet I absolutely get what Bobby is saying.

The liberal in me abhors the concept. The midwife in me says, Why the hell not try it? The babies! How can I forget the babies?

As if on cue, I look back through the two-way mirror and watch Blumenthal stand up. He looks at Orlov. There’s a slight smile—not quite a pleasant smile—on Blumenthal’s face.

“I want to thank you for your help and cooperation, Fyodor. In fact, you’ve been so helpful that I’d like to continue this conversation.”

Blumenthal looks at the cop standing by the door. “Officer, would you please escort Mr. Orlov to room 301B. And after you’ve secured the interviewee, please make the usual arrangements.”

All Bobby Cilia says is “Told ya, ma’am.”

CHAPTER 64

SECONDS LATER LEON BLUMENTHAL enters the observation room.

“Where will you be taking Orlov?” I ask Blumenthal.

He ignores my question. Instead he thrusts an iPad into my hands.

I assume that whatever is on the iPad has something to do with the baby-napping cases.

“Read it,” Blumenthal says. Then he looks at Bobby Cilia and says, “It’s the official release from the AG’s office.”

Bobby nods. Obviously Cilia and Blumenthal know something I don’t know. I look down at the screen and read:

New York State Assistant Attorney General Roseanne Fiore announced today the indictment of Dr. Barrett Katz, chief executive officer, of Gramatan University Hospital, the world-renowned medical complex in midtown Manhattan. Dr. Katz, who has taken a leave of absence, is accused of committing Medicaid fraud by falsifying hospital reimbursement records for guardians of handicapped or otherwise challenged patients.

Ms. Fiore said, “Dr. Katz’s behavior and methodology were illegal in fact and shocking in scope.” Dr. Katz established bogus deposit accounts for patients, usually senior citizens, with significant dementia challenges. Their guardians were promised special “extra care” treatment for their charges when they agreed that certain Medicare payments be sent to Dr. Katz’s private bank accounts, many of which were set up in Caribbean countries and two cities in southern France, Marseilles and Nice.

Bail was set at two million dollars for Dr. Katz, and he was released on his own recognizance. No trial date has been set.

In Dr. Katz’s absence, Dr. Rudra Sarkar, GUH chair of obstetrics and gynecology, will assume the role of CEO. In a statement released by the hospital, Dr. Sarkar said, “We are astonished by these accusations, and we fully stand by Dr. Katz at this time.”

Dr. Katz was not available for comment. He is said to be at his summer estate in Peconic, Long Island.

I look at Blumenthal, who shrugs and opens both his eyes in a What can I tell you? expression.