Janet Evanovich - Notorious Nineteen

“I was going to ask for twenty-four hours of video to begin with,” Morelli said, “but I have a monster caseload, and after reviewing the nurses’ statements I was hoping it wasn’t necessary.”

My excuse wasn’t that legitimate. I hadn’t wanted to spend that much time with Randy Briggs.

We parked and walked through the lobby together. Visiting hours were coming to a close and Morelli badged his way past the reception desk. I’m used to working with Ranger but not so much with Morelli. I always feel like an illegitimate stepchild when I work with Morelli. He’s a Trenton cop and I’m someone with a badge I bought on the Internet.

Briggs was waiting in his office. Mickey Zigler was patrolling the floors.

“Holy crap,” Briggs said when he saw me. “What happened to your hair? It looks like you got too close to a barbecue.”

“Pretty close to the truth,” I said. “Are you set to go?”

“Yeah. I have all the cameras on the screen and backed up to eleven o’clock.”

Morelli and I pulled chairs around to face the monitor and Briggs got the video rolling at fast-forward. The time ticked off on the bottom of the picture. At 11:45 the Yeti stepped out of the service elevator, pushing a large laundry hamper.

“Stop!” I said. “It’s the Yeti.”

The picture was grainy and the light was low, but I was sure it was him. He was dressed in scrubs, like an orderly. He kept his head down and quickly moved down the hall and off camera.

“Are you sure?” Briggs asked. “How could it be the Yeti?”

“Pull just that camera up,” I said. “I want to see it again.”

Briggs went back to 11:45, the elevator doors opened, and the Yeti came on screen. We watched him disappear down the hall and we let the video keep running. At 11:53 the Yeti appeared again, pushing the laundry hamper. It was clear from the way he was pushing that the hamper was heavier than before. He rolled the hamper back to the service elevator and disappeared into it.

“That’s how Cubbin got off the floor,” I said. “In the laundry hamper.”

“There’s laundry pickups like that all day long,” Briggs said. “Nobody would even notice this guy.”

Morelli leaned forward. “Run the camera on the loading dock.”

“Give me a minute to find it,” Briggs said.

He scrolled through a series of cameras. He locked onto the loading dock and reset the time for 11:55. A white panel van was already backed up to the platform. At 11:59 the Yeti rolled the laundry hamper into the van, the van doors closed, and the van drove away.

“Damn,” Briggs said. “That’s how they did it.”

We looked at the video several more times. There was no writing on the side of the van and the license was obscured. The driver wasn’t visible.

“Dollars to donuts that van went to The Clinic,” Briggs said.

I looked over at Morelli. “Do you want to take another look?”

“At The Clinic?”

“Yep.”

“Now?”

“Yep.”

He slouched back in his chair and looked at me. “I shouldn’t do this. This could get me in a lot of trouble.”

“If you get kicked off the force you can always get a job here,” I said. “Briggs would hire you.”

“Not funny,” Morelli said.

I stood and returned my chair to the front of Briggs’s desk. “I’m going to The Clinic with or without you, and I’m going to find out what happens to these guys after they leave the hospital.”

“I’m with you,” Briggs said. “Count me in.”

Morelli scraped his chair back. “Me too.”

I went in the Buick with Morelli, and Briggs followed in his car. We turned onto Route 1, drove a couple miles, and turned off into the light industrial complex. We drove to the end of the cul-de-sac and idled in front of The Clinic. Lights shone on the second floor.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the area they’re using for a surgical suite,” I said to Morelli. “The dayroom and the lab are in the back of the building. The operating room and patient rooms are in the front. When I was here last time I parked in the lot next to The Clinic.”

Morelli drove to the Myron Cryo lot and cut the engine. “Do you have a plan?” he asked.

“No. Do you?”

“Nope. I assumed we’d play it by ear. If we attempt entry into The Clinic and an alarm goes off and the police show up, I’m running into the woods and hanging you out to dry.”

“Been there, done that,” I said.

“Thought I should get it out in the open,” Morelli said.

“No problem.”

Fact is, if the police showed up I’d be in the woods before Morelli.

We got out of our cars, stumbled through the patch of woods, and stood looking at the back of The Clinic.

“How do we get in?” Morelli asked.

“Briggs lets us in.”

“Then what?”

I didn’t know then what .

“Suppose we send Briggs in and he snoops around and comes back with a report,” Morelli said.

“I guess I could do that,” Briggs said.

“Shouldn’t he have a wire or something?” I said. “What if he gets caught?”

Morelli looked at me like I was from Mars. “It’s my day off,” he said. “I don’t have any wires in my back pocket.”

“Hey,” I said. “I’m just saying.”

“Do you have a gun?” Morelli asked Briggs.

“Yeah, I have a gun,” Briggs said.

“Well, if you get caught you can shoot someone,” Morelli said. “If we hear shooting we’ll call the police.”

“Don’t pay attention to him,” I said to Briggs. “Just be careful and you’ll be fine.”

I went to the drop box and opened it. “Okay,” I said to Morelli, “pick him up and stuff him in.”

Morelli looked at the drop box and looked at Briggs. “You’re not going to tell anyone I did this, right? Blood oath. Sworn to secrecy.”

“Just stuff him in,” I said.

Morelli picked Briggs up and slid him into the drop box. I closed the box, there was some banging, and then there was quiet. I opened the box and looked in. Empty.

“He’s inside,” I said to Morelli.

“This is freaky,” Morelli said. “What do we do now?”

“We wait.”

Morelli wrapped an arm around me. “Want to make out?”

“No! Suppose something goes wrong and the Yeti comes out after us. If we’re making out you might not be able to run.”

“Why not?”

“You know . . .”

“I can run like that,” Morelli said. “I can jump out of second-story windows like that. I had a lot of experience when I was in high school.”

We waited for five minutes but didn’t see any sign of Briggs. Ten minutes. No Briggs.

“I’m worried,” I said to Morelli.

“Do you want me to try to stuff you into the drop box?”

“Try the door. Maybe he opened it before he wandered away.”

Morelli tried the door and it opened.

“This is illegal entry,” Morelli said.

“Only for you,” I told him. “I have rights.”

I stepped inside the dimly lit garage and let my eyes adjust. There were four cars parked. White panel van, black Escalade, silver Lexus, red Jaguar.

“Something’s going down,” I said to Morelli. “All the players are here. Maybe we should call the police.”

“I’m the police.”

“I was thinking it might be better to have guys in uniform.”

“What are you going to say to the guys in uniform? Are you going to tell them I shoved Briggs into the drop box and he didn’t come out so you want them to bust the door down?”

“Of course not. I’ll think up a fib.”

“I can do better than that.”

He climbed onto the hood of the Escalade and then onto the roof. He reached overhead, punched the smoke detector that was attached to the ceiling, and the fire alarm went off. He jumped down, and we ran out of the garage and hid in the wooded area.