Робин Кук - Genesis

Without the slightest hesitation once in range, Jack balled his right hand into a tight fist and smacked the man directly in the nose, sending the heavy-framed eyeglasses flying. The man’s legs buckled as if they were made of rubber, and he collapsed into a sitting position with his back against the door. He was still fighting for breath.

“Stupid bastard,” Jack said as much to himself as to his adversary, while he wildly flapped his hand in the air to counteract the sharp pain he felt in his knuckles. He hadn’t planned on striking the man. It had been an irresistible spur-of-the-moment urge to give vent to the roiling anger that he still felt. Next, he reached down and grabbed the wig and yanked it off the man’s head. Tossing that aside, he looked at the individual’s face. Although the man looked vaguely familiar, Jack couldn’t place him. Next, Jack lifted the man’s ID that was hanging around his neck on a lanyard and glanced briefly at the picture. Only then did he read the name.

“Carl Henderson?” he cried in astonishment. With disbelief he again looked at the photo laminated into the ID and then back down at the man sprawled out against the fire door. The image and the person matched. “Are you really Carl Henderson?” Jack asked in disbelief.

The man didn’t answer. Instead he closed his eyes and let his head slowly fall back to lean against the fire door as he continued to try and desperately catch his breath.

Standing over the downed man, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With a couple of pokes against the touchscreen, he pulled up Lou Soldano’s information from his contacts and put in a call to the Homicide detective. Despite the hour, he knew Lou would answer. He was, after all, one of his best friends and an admitted workaholic.

May 12th

9:15 A.M.

Knock, knock,” Jack called out as he pushed his head through the half-open door of room 821 of the Kimmel Pavilion.

“It’s about time,” Laurie said, with barely concealed frustration. “Where have you been? I’ve been texting you since early this morning.”

“It’s been an interesting night,” Jack said sheepishly. He walked over to the bed and gave her a peck on the cheek. She allowed it, but just barely.

“What is an ‘interesting night’ supposed to mean?” Laurie demanded. “That sounds to me like more of an excuse than an explanation.”

“It’s a little of both,” he said as he dragged over a chair to sit down next to the head of her bed. “Before I get more specific, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing remarkably well,” Laurie said as if angry. “Dr. Cartier was in here at the crack of dawn and couldn’t be more pleased. She even removed the drains as there had been so little discharge. She’s going to leave it up to me when I want to go home, including today if I choose.”

“That’s terrific,” Jack said. “Really terrific. What do you think you want to do?”

“I want to see exactly how well I can use both arms before I decide,” she said. “But considering how I feel now and with what I’ve been able to do so far this morning, I think there’s a good chance I’ll elect to come home today, but if not, tomorrow. I’ll still need considerable help with some common activities if you are up for that?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “I’d prefer you to be home.”

“Okay, good, and now with that out of the way, I want an explanation,” Laurie said with continued annoyance. “When I woke up this morning, I found myself occupying a different room, and one that was without the view that I was enjoying yesterday. When I asked the nurses why I was moved in the middle of the night while I was asleep, their answer was that I needed to ask you because it was your doing. Why, in heaven’s name, did you have my room changed while I was asleep?”

“Strangely enough, if you want to know the truth, it was your fault,” he said, allowing himself a slight smile.

“And what does that mean, my fault?” Laurie demanded. “Come on! No riddles or games! Just tell me.”

“I can’t help sounding obtuse,” Jack said. “I’m in kind of a daze. It’s all been so... what should I say... unexpected.”

“You’re teasing me, and I don’t like it,” she complained. “Out with it! Why did you change my room?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Jack said. “I moved you because, incredibly enough, Aria Nichols was right in pursuing her investigation about the father of Kera’s fetus, and you were right for encouraging her.”

“So, this is all a big riddle, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“I suppose,” he said. “I could just out-and-out tell you, but somehow it will mean even more to you if I allow you to understand the dilemma I felt last night coming late to what you and Aria had essentially figured out even if you didn’t realize it. The bad guy in all this actually turns out to have been the father of the fetus, just as Aria suspected. What seems to have happened, as it is now being properly investigated, is that both Kera’s and Aria’s overdoses were staged. Apparently both women were either killed or rendered helpless with fentanyl in alcohol, or at least that’s what it is now assumed to have happened. Once they were unconscious, they were injected with a fentanyl-heroin mixture to make it look like an overdose. Now, all of this has not been entirely proven as of yet, but at the moment that’s what is being hypothesized.”

“This sounds extraordinary,” Laurie said. Her voice had lost all its edge. “Who’s looking into all this?”

“Lou Soldano,” Jack said proudly.

“Really?” she questioned. “How on earth did he get involved?”

“I called him in the wee hours of the morning,” Jack admitted. “When I suddenly discovered the identity of the bad guy, I knew Lou was by far the best person to take over what was undoubtedly going to become a major scandal.”

“When did you find out the identity of the quote-unquote bad guy?” Laurie asked. “Was it before or after my room got changed?” For self-preservation and to maintain her composure, she was forcing herself to participate in his convoluted storytelling.

“It was a number of hours after,” Jack said. “Okay, I can tell I’ve tortured you enough. Here’s the story: After I left you around nine last night, I ended up going back to my office because it was so close by and because it was too late to catch the children before they went to bed. The reason I wanted to go back was remembering that I had failed to look at Madison Bryant’s hospital record, which I’d given Bart Arnold some heat to get. When I looked at the record, in particular Madison’s ECG when her fatal fibrillation started, I had an epiphany. The changes that occurred in the last three heartbeats reminded me of a case you and I were involved with years ago about the nurse serial killer in the Manhattan General Hospital who was knocking off patients destined to be economic drains on their health insurance company’s bottom line. She used intravenous KCl. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Laurie said. “Jasmine Rakoczi. I’m never going to forget that horrid individual. That was back when I had my ectopic pregnancy.”

“My epiphany was that possibly Madison Bryant had also been killed with KCl, which immediately begged the question of why. When I asked that question while associating Kera’s, Madison’s, and Aria’s deaths all at the same time, it made me terrified of you being in the hospital with a keep-open IV. If perchance the father of Kera’s fetus had indeed killed her, and Madison, and Aria, you, with your connections to the case, were potentially in the crosshairs for the same reason.”