Chapter 3 - The Hospital That Knew Too Much
Jasmine had not been kidnapped.
At least not yet.
That was what Detective Reyes believed after reviewing traffic-camera footage.
At 4:12 that morning, Jasmine had left her apartment carrying a backpack and wearing a baseball cap.
Alone.
At 4:19 she entered a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.
At 4:27 she exited through the rear door.
Then she disappeared.
“She ran,” Clare said.
Reyes nodded.
“Looks that way.”
“From who?”
“That’s the question.”
Dominic stood at the end of the safe-house conference table.
“Someone was in her apartment after she left.”
Reyes looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“The badge. The notebook.”
“Or she staged it.”
Clare shook her head.
“Jasmine wouldn’t threaten me.”
“I didn’t say she did.”
“Then somebody knew she had left.”
Reyes agreed.
“And whoever that was knew Clare’s notebook had been stolen,” Dominic added.
Reyes turned toward him.
“That bothers me.”
“Only that?”
“A lot about you bothers me, Dominic.”
“Good morning to you too.”
Clare rubbed her temples.
“I need coffee.”
Dominic pushed a cup toward her.
She stopped.
“You made this?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked almost offended.
Clare took it.
Tommy remained downstairs under Grant’s care.
His condition had stabilized.
Nico was improving too.
That should have been enough good news for one morning.
Instead, they were studying a list of St. Jude’s employees who might have accessed Nico’s chart.
More than seventy people.
Nurses.
Residents.
Billing.
Transport.
Security.
Administration.
Dr. Weber.
Rebecca Davis.
The medical-record system had been designed for efficiency, which meant hundreds of people could potentially touch a patient’s information.
But only one unusual event appeared in the audit.
At 8:03 that morning—less than six minutes after Nico entered the trauma bay—his registration data had been forwarded to Harland Patient Transport.
“That is almost certainly illegal,” Reyes said.
“Almost?” Clare asked.
“I’m a detective. We say annoying words like almost until prosecutors tell us not to.”
“Who created the automatic trigger?”
“We don’t know.”
Dominic said, “Sloane.”
Reyes shook her head.
“Too easy.”
“You think somebody inside the hospital built it.”
“I know somebody inside the hospital built it.”
Clare thought of Davis.
The administrator appearing in the trauma bay before Nico had even been stabilized.
Administrators did not normally rush toward blood.
They rushed toward lawsuits.
“Davis knew who Nico was.”
Reyes looked at her.
“What makes you say that?”
“She came downstairs.”
“So?”
“She never comes downstairs.”
Clare leaned forward.
“The emergency department could be on fire and Rebecca Davis would call someone from her office to ask whether the flames were documented correctly.”
Dominic’s mouth twitched.
“She walked into Nico’s trauma bay herself?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before I intervened.”
“And Weber?”
“He saw her.”
“What happened?”
Clare replayed it.
Nico gasping.
Monitor alarms.
Dr. Weber staring at the image on the portable machine.
Davis standing just beyond the curtain.
Weber saying to wait.
Again.
Again.
“I thought Weber was panicking.”
“Maybe he was,” Reyes said.
“Because he was being watched.”
“Possible.”
Clare felt sick.
“Davis wanted Nico to die.”
“We don’t know that.”
Dominic’s eyes had gone cold.
“I do.”
Reyes pointed at him.
“This is exactly why I hate working with criminals.”
“I prefer businessman.”
“I prefer handcuffs.”
Clare interrupted.
“Enough.”
Both looked at her.
She blinked.
“Did I just tell a mafia boss and an organized-crime detective to stop arguing?”
“Yes,” Reyes said.
Dominic nodded.
“I’m enjoying it.”
Clare ignored him.
“We need Jasmine. She knows the computer system better than I do.”
Reyes’s phone vibrated.
She read the message.
Then looked at Clare.
“Maybe she knows we need her.”
“What?”
“A pay phone at Union Station just called my desk.”
“Jasmine?”
“She left a message.”
Reyes played it.
Jasmine’s voice.
Fast.
Terrified.
“I’m safe for now. Clare, if you hear this, don’t come looking for me. I copied something I wasn’t supposed to see. Davis knows. Weber might know. I don’t know who else. There are names on a list. Patient names. Dates. Some are marked transferred. Some are marked closed. Nico’s name was added before the ambulance arrived. I need time.”
The message ended.
Nobody spoke.
Clare felt her pulse in her throat.
“Before the ambulance arrived.”
Reyes nodded.
“That changes things.”
Dominic said, “They knew the warehouse attack was happening.”
“Or somebody involved notified them.”
Clare looked at him.
“Adrian.”
His face hardened.
“Maybe.”
The safe-house door opened.
One of Dominic’s men entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Adrian’s car.”
“Where?”
“Near Calumet Harbor.”
“Body?”
“No.”
“Blood?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“Burned.”
Dominic cursed softly.
Clare asked, “Does Adrian know Sloane?”
“Everyone in my world knows Sloane.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Dominic paced once.
Then stopped.
“Adrian’s father worked for Victor.”
There it was.
“And you made Adrian your operations chief?”
“He came to me at nineteen.”
“And?”
“His father beat him. Sloane used him as a runner. Adrian wanted out.”
“So you trusted him.”
“For fourteen years.”
Clare heard the weight in that.
Dominic might command armed men and dark convoys.
But betrayal sounded the same in every language.
“You still trust him?”
“I don’t know.”
Tommy’s voice came from the doorway.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
He stood with one hand gripping the frame, looking pale and furious.
Grant appeared behind him.
“Mr. Vale decided medical advice is optional.”
Tommy looked at Dominic.
“Adrian didn’t shoot me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He warned me.”
“What?”
Tommy struggled into a chair.
“Before the garage. He texted me.”
“Where’s the phone?”
“Gone.”
“What did he say?”
Tommy closed his eyes.
“Don’t trust anyone wearing St. Jude’s blue.”
Clare stared.
“Then why did you go?”
“Because the second message came from Dominic’s number.”
Silence.
Dominic’s face emptied.
“I never messaged you.”
“I know that now.”
Reyes stood.
“Somebody spoofed or cloned his number.”
Tommy nodded.
“I thought Dom was in trouble.”
Clare asked, “And Adrian?”
“He called after I was already driving.”
“What did he say?”
“Get out.”
“Then?”
“The call cut.”
Dominic’s voice dropped.
“Why didn’t you tell me in the car?”
Tommy looked at him.
“I was bleeding to death, Dom.”
Fair.
Dominic sat.
For the first time Clare had seen, he looked shaken.
“Adrian may not be the traitor.”
“No,” Reyes said. “But somebody wants you to believe he is.”
That somebody had access to Vale operations.
Hospital data.
Tommy’s number.
Dominic’s number.
Clare looked at Nico.
“What exactly was stolen from the warehouse?”
Nico answered from the couch.
“Portable monitors. Ventilators. Surgical supplies. Medications.”
“How much?”
“Millions over six months.”
Clare frowned.
“Why would Sloane steal hospital equipment through your freight company?”
“Money,” Dominic said.
“No.”
They looked at her.
“That equipment has serial numbers.”
“So?”
“So selling stolen ventilators on the open market is stupid.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
“You have strong opinions about stolen ventilators.”
“I work in healthcare.”
“Worked.”
Clare looked at him.
He immediately regretted it.
“Bad timing.”
“Extremely.”
Reyes asked, “What do you think they’re doing with the equipment?”
Clare looked at the list Jasmine had described.
Patients marked transferred.
Closed.
“Running something private.”
“A clinic?”
“Maybe.”
Dominic’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered on speaker.
“Vale.”
A man breathed heavily.
Then:
“Dom.”
Adrian.
Dominic stood.
“Where are you?”
“Can’t say.”
“Tommy’s alive.”
A long exhale.
“Thank God.”
“Did you know about the warehouse attack?”
“No.”
“St. Jude’s?”
“Some.”
Dominic’s voice became lethal.
“You had fourteen years to tell me.”
“I found out three weeks ago.”
“About what?”
“Sloane has a doctor.”
Clare and Reyes exchanged a look.
“Who?”
“Not Weber. Weber is scared.”
“Then who?”
“Someone higher.”
The line crackled.
Adrian continued.
“St. Jude’s has been routing certain patients out after admission. No insurance billing. No transfer records.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does Sloane do with them?”
Silence.
Then Adrian said:
“He makes problems disappear.”
The call dropped.
Clare’s skin went cold.
Reyes started tracing.
Dominic called back.
Nothing.
Clare looked at her.
“Patients disappear?”
“Let’s not jump.”
“How many?”
“We don’t know.”
“I can find out.”
Dominic shook his head.
“No.”
Clare looked at him.
“We just practiced this.”
“You are not going back to St. Jude’s.”
“My badge is deactivated.”
“Good.”
“But I know the archive system.”
“No.”
Reyes said, “I’m with him.”
Clare stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“You are a witness, not law enforcement.”
“I also know exactly where archived transfer logs are kept.”
“Then tell me.”
“They’re partially paper.”
Reyes frowned.
“Why?”
“Downtime procedure. When electronic transfer systems fail, transport logs are printed and filed by date.”
“Where?”
“Basement records annex.”
Dominic crossed his arms.
“No.”
Clare looked at him.
“I am not asking permission.”
“And I am not physically allowing you inside a building where somebody pre-filed your termination and possibly ordered a patient killed.”
Reyes stepped between them.
“Both of you stop.”
Clare pointed.
“He doesn’t get to physically allow me anything.”
“She’s right,” Reyes said.
Dominic looked annoyed.
Then Reyes continued.
“But neither do you get to compromise an investigation because you’re angry.”
Clare opened her mouth.
Closed it.
That was fair.
Reyes smiled slightly.
“I hate when I’m the reasonable one.”
The compromise was legal.
Mostly.
Reyes obtained cooperation from an assistant state’s attorney.
A preservation order was issued for hospital records.
Clare returned to St. Jude’s as a consultant to help identify where transfer documents might be stored.
Dominic remained outside.
He hated that.
Clare enjoyed that more than she should have.
Walking through the emergency entrance hurt.
People stared.
Some looked sympathetic.
Others looked nervous.
Dr. Weber was nowhere visible.
Rebecca Davis appeared beside the elevators.
“Ms. Bennett.”
Clare stopped.
“You can call me Clare. You fired the badge.”
Davis looked at Reyes.
“What is this?”
“Official inquiry.”
“I’ll need legal counsel.”
“Good idea.”
Davis’s eyes returned to Clare.
“You signed an NDA.”
Reyes laughed.
“Please tell me you did not just threaten a witness with an NDA during a criminal investigation.”
Davis went pale.
Clare smiled.
It was a small smile.
But it felt wonderful.
They reached basement records.
A clerk opened the secure room.
Paper files filled metal shelving.
Clare located transfer logs.
Nothing.
Then she noticed something strange.
Entire date ranges were missing.
“Who pulls old logs?”
The clerk shrugged.
“Administration sometimes.”
“Davis?”
“Usually Quality Assurance.”
Clare found a box labeled DISASTER RECOVERY DUPLICATES.
Nobody had bothered with it in years.
Inside were carbon copies.
Transport requests.
Patient initials.
Times.
Destination codes.
Dozens marked HPT.
Harland Patient Transport.
No destinations.
Clare flipped pages.
Then stopped.
A name.
Miller, Rebecca.
She remembered Rebecca Miller.
Twenty-seven.
Domestic-violence victim.
Came in with severe injuries eight months earlier.
Police had been waiting to interview her.
Clare worked that shift.
Rebecca supposedly transferred to a specialty facility.
Three days later, her abusive boyfriend claimed she had disappeared.
Clare had assumed Rebecca fled.
Another name.
Anthony Gray.
Homeless veteran.
Sepsis.
Transferred.
Gone.
Another.
Luis Moreno.
Witness to a gang shooting.
Transferred.
Never heard from again.
Reyes photographed everything.
“These are vulnerable people.”
“Yes.”
“Witnesses.”
“Some.”
“People who could cause legal trouble.”
Clare continued.
Then her hand stopped.
Nicholas Ferris.
Nico’s alias.
Transfer requested at 8:01 a.m.
He arrived at 7:57.
Destination code:
H-17.
Clare whispered, “They were going to move him.”
“To where?”
A voice behind them answered.
“Somewhere nobody comes back from.”
Dr. Weber stood in the doorway.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Sweating.
Reyes moved toward him.
“Doctor.”
“I need protection.”
Clare stared.
“You tried to let Nico die.”
Weber’s eyes filled with panic.
“I was supposed to.”
The words disgusted her.
“You were supposed to?”
“If he died in trauma, there would be no transfer. No questions.”
“Who told you?”
Weber looked behind him.
Then at the security camera.
“Not here.”
A sound echoed in the corridor.
A cart crashing.
Weber flinched.
Then blood appeared on his shirt.
For one second, Clare’s brain refused to understand.
He had been shot from behind.
Weber collapsed.
Reyes drew her weapon.
Clare dropped beside him.
“Call trauma!”
Footsteps pounded away.
Reyes pursued.
Clare pressed her hands against Weber’s wound.
He stared up at her.
Terrified.
“Who?” she demanded.
His mouth moved.
“What?”
She leaned closer.
Weber whispered two words.
“Roman Vale.”
Clare froze.
“Who is that?”
Weber’s eyes lost focus.
“Dominic’s… uncle.”
Then alarms exploded down the hall.
May you like
And Clare understood that the conspiracy had never been simply St. Jude’s versus the Vale family.
Part of the Vale family had built it.
