Critical (36 page)

“Dr. Chet McGovern. He's a colleague of mine here at the OCME.”

“What was the patient's name?”

Laurie spelled out the name to avoid any confusion.

“Hang on for a minute.”

Laurie could hear the familiar sound of Silvia's keyboard, making her wonder how anything got done before digital computers.

“Yes, here it is,” Silvia said. “Interesting! It's also CA-MRSA, USA four hundred, MWtwo, SCCmecIV, PVL, exactly like the two previous cases. Is it from the same institution?”

“It's from one of the same institutions,” Laurie said. “Remember, the first two were from two separate hospitals.”

“Yes, I remember. Concerning the two cases at the same institution, are they close to each other in time, maybe even the same date?”

Laurie turned to her unfinished matrix, but she did have the data from Mehta's case from the Angels Cosmetic Surgery and Eye Hospital. The patient's name was Diane Lucente, and like Ramona, she'd had liposuction. Laurie checked the date of Diane's death and Chet's case. “No,” Laurie said. “They occurred almost three weeks apart.”

“How odd,” Silvia said. “I guess you know how genetically versatile staphylococcus is.”

“I'm on a rather steep learning curve,” Laurie admitted. “But I was informed of that yesterday.”

“I find that the exact subtype being separated by institution and time quite amazing. All three must have been in contact with the same carrier.”

“Did you have this specific subtype in your collection before Dr. Mehta sent you the isolate?”

“Yes, we did. As I told you last time, it is one of the most virulent subtypes we've seen for all sorts of test animals as well as humans.”

“Do you send out cultures of these organisms?”

“We do. We support any number of researchers willing to work with these organisms.”

“Have you ever sent this particular organism to New York City?”

“I don't know offhand, but I can find out.”

“I'd appreciate it,” Laurie said. The nagging concern of the bacteria being spread purposefully resurfaced in Laurie's brain, yet the old arguments against such an idea resurfaced as well, each essentially canceling the other.

“I have asked around the center if anyone was aware of the cluster of MRSA cases you are investigating, but no had heard about it.”

“Is that odd or not?” Laurie asked.

“No. It's up to the individual institutions if they want to contact us for assistance. There's no mandatory reporting to us, but there probably is to the state or city authorities.”

“Did you get the other isolates I had our microbiology department overnight to you?”

“Yes, I did. They are in the works. I shall have some results in two to three days—four, tops.”

Laurie thanked the woman for her help and rang off. For a moment, she sat at her desk and went over the conversation. She had to admit that the call had deepened the mystery, not solved it.

Suddenly remembering the time, she leaped up from her desk and dashed for the elevator. She was afraid she had once again kept Marvin waiting despite her promise not to do so.

 

CARLO FOLLOWED BRENNAN
out of the electronics store on Lexington Avenue in Manhattan. Brennan had purchased a GPS tracking device from a company that specialized in marine as well as terrestrial applications. Once outside, they found that it had started to sprinkle, so they ran for the black GMC Denali.

“I'm glad to see it started to rain,” Carlo said, as he revved the engine before pulling out into the traffic.

“How come?” Brennan asked, absorbed in slitting the cellophane wrapping of the box containing the tracking device. He loved electronic contrivances and had had a ball picking out the item. He'd spent such a long time discussing with the salesman the pluses and minuses of the array of tracking devices the store carried that Carlo had become totally bored.

“Because there'll be less chance of people hanging around the marina. I don't want anyone seeing us hiding the thing on the boat. You know what I'm saying?”

Brennan didn't answer. Instead, he was easing the tracking device out of the box's foam interior.

“Hey!” Carlo demanded. He didn't like to be ignored. “Are you listening to me?”

“Sort of,” Brennan admitted. He looked into the depths of the molded foam packing material.

“I'm talking about the rain and the marina. I asked you if you agreed it was to our advantage it was raining.”

Brennan at last found what he was looking for. It was a packet containing an operating directions booklet but, more important, an online registration code.

“Well?” Carlo questioned with irritation.

Brennan next used his penknife on the packaging for the device itself, but before he could free it from its cellophane mummification, his head snapped forward from an openhanded blow from Carlo.

“What the hell!” Brennan yelled. He turned and glared at Carlo. “What did you hit me for?” he growled.

“I was talking to you,” Carlo yelled back. “You were ignoring me. I don't like to be ignored. It pisses me off.”

Brennan stared at Carlo. He was in a momentary rage. Luckily, he controlled himself, since Carlo was behind the wheel and they were hurtling down Lexington Avenue in a clot of traffic. Carlo might have been bigger and older, but he sure as hell wasn't wiser. In fact, he was somewhat of a lunkhead, and it was that realization that enabled Brennan to calm down a degree.

“Don't hit me ever again,” Brennan voiced slowly, emphasizing each syllable.

“Then don't ignore me when I'm talking to you,” Carlo snapped back.

Brennan rolled his eyes, shook his head, and went back to the operating instructions. He was pretty sure how the tracking device worked, but he wanted to read up on registering it for the real-time online services.

“I'm sorry I hit you,” Carlo said after a few blocks. “Being ignored is a pet peeve of mine.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Brennan said.

They drove in silence for a while, to Brennan's relief. He finished reading how to register the device and then skimmed over the operating directions. Armed with all that information, he got his laptop from the rear seat and his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Once the laptop was booted up, he called the company. Not only did he want to register, he wanted to make sure that if the device was lost, it could not be traced back to him. Apparently, it was not an unusual request, because the service individual was able to oblige with ease.

“How long will it take to be online?” Brennan asked.

“Since I just got an okay on your credit card, I'm doing it as we speak.”

Brennan thanked the man. Next, he opened the back of the device and inserted the four triple-A Copper Tops he'd bought as well. Going back to the company's website, he clicked on the position icon, then added the password and user name he'd just gotten. With another click, he got an hourglass, and a few seconds later, a query appeared asking him to select the size of the area he wanted to display. Brennan clicked 5 miles by 2.8 miles. A second later, there was a small blinking dot moving slowly along Lexington Avenue.

Turning the laptop screen in Carlo's direction, he said, “It works. It shows us heading south.”

“Impressive,” Carlo said. “How does it work?”

“It would take too long to explain,” Brennan said. “But in essence, it's simple triangulation using satellite signals.”

“That's enough,” Carlo said. His lack of knowledge of current electronic devices made him feel inadequate.

As usual, the traffic was bad going across town, and the rain, as light as it was, made it worse. The driving was stop-and-go the whole way.

Carlo's cell phone startled both of them. With a bit of a struggle, Carlo got it out and checked the caller ID. Satisfied, he accepted the call, put it on speakerphone, and nestled the phone into a cubby on the center console.

“What's up?” Carlo questioned

“Nothing,” Arthur MacEwan said in his high-pitched, shrill voice that drove everybody nuts. “Absolutely nothing. We've been here for over two hours, and Franco Ponti's hog of a car hasn't moved an inch.”

Arthur MacEwan and Ted Polowski were parked in the back of Johnny's parking lot and had been there staking out Franco's car since before eight that morning.

“Have you seen the Hawk?”

“Nope. No sign of Franco. We did see Vinnie Dominick when he arrived with Freddie Capuso and Richie Herns. They've been inside the Neapolitan and have yet to reappear.”

“How about scarface?”

“Haven't seen Angelo, either. We're getting tired of sitting here, and I'm wondering if it's a good idea. What if they spot us?”

“You've got a point, but you heard Louie this morning. He went nuts about them knocking off that girl last night after the hit the night before. Franco and Angelo are probably sleeping off their shenanigans. He wants them followed because he's trying to figure out what's going on, and if they do it again, he's going to let that detective know it's a Lucia problem and has nothing to do with the Vaccarros.”

“Holy shit,” Arthur said suddenly. Then he lowered his voice. “A blue van pulled up a second ago that says Sonny's Plumbing Supply, and Angelo just got out. And there's Franco, too. They're going into the Neapolitan.”

“At least you found them,” Carlo said. “Now keep track of them. And concerning your worry about being spotted: Make sure you eat a sandwich or something to justify sitting there.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, without much enthusiasm.

Once Carlo and Brennan got into the tunnel, the traffic lightened up considerably. They made good time to the marina in Hoboken. Although there were a number of cars in the parking lot, thanks to the rain that had continued, there was no one on the pier.

Carlo parked close to the water's edge and a good distance from the marina's sole building, where all the other cars were. Wasting no time, they stepped from the car and hustled out the pier. They stopped at the stern of
Full Speed Ahead
.

“I'll watch while you find a place to hide the device,” Carlo said. He looked back toward the building. Not a soul had appeared.

Brennan crossed the gangplank and immediately began to search for an appropriate cranny. He found one at the very stern under some attached bait containers. With his hand, he inserted the tracking device as far back into the nook as he could. There was even a hidden lip that would keep the device from sliding out. A few moments later, he was back on the pier, and the two men started back to the car.

“Did you see anyone?” Brennan asked.

“Not a soul. How'd you make out?”

“I found a perfect spot.”

Back in the car, Brennan brought his laptop out of sleep mode and went through the process of logging on again. When it was appropriate, he clicked the position icon as he'd done earlier and then the scale. Within seconds, there was a stylized representation of the area, even including the pier where
Full Speed Ahead
was moored. A blinking red dot was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Brennan moved the laptop into Carlo's lap.

“Pretty nifty, wouldn't you say?” Brennan offered.

Carlo nodded. He was impressed but also intimidated by Brennan's expertise.

 

“I'M NOT SURPRISED
we didn't get her this morning,” Franco said. “Snatching this medical examiner lady is not going to be easy. The area around the medical examiner's office is a busy place, with Bellevue on one side and NYU Medical Center on the other side.”

“The problem was the damn protest,” Angelo butted in. “If it hadn't been for all those Hispanics carrying on, we would have had an opportunity. Hell, she and her boyfriend, who was on crutches, walked in front of our van.”

“You're making it sound too easy,” Franco said. “First of all, there was an SUV in front of us. Second of all, there were two of them and only two of us. What are you thinking? There's no way we could muscle the two of them into the van without causing a major scene. I say we should just shoot her from a distance and walk away.”

“No!” Angelo blurted. “I want to snatch her. That's the only way to be sure the job gets done, and I want to make sure.”

“Paul Yang and Amy Lucas were both a piece of cake,” Franco said. “They were unsuspecting and easy to lure. But this Montgomery chick is in a totally different ballpark. There's no way we are going to be able to talk her into getting into the van peacefully, and that assumes we can even get her by herself. With her boyfriend on crutches, she'll be helping him. I say we shoot her and be done with it. As a medical examiner, I'm sure there's a dozen people who wouldn't mind seeing her put away.”