The Arms of Death Page 11
“With any normal virus, yes.”
Jim groaned. “Have you got something to write on?”
Ginny handed him a yellow pad and a pencil.
“We can extrapolate when the inoculation took place based on the speed the virus replicated and took over the neural cells in his body, but it will take math. I’ll do that later. In the meantime, we can still ask generic questions. So, who would know when Professor Craig was in the library?”
“He was at the conference every morning last week and there were witnesses, a lot of them. After he left each day, he could have gone anywhere, but it’s most likely he went back to his office.”
“Would he clock in?”
“No, but the other staff might have noticed when he arrived. He would have been visible arriving and leaving and coming and going from the stacks. We could ask if anybody spoke to him. After that, it’s anyone’s guess. He might have had errands to run or a dinner engagement or simply gone home to bed.”
“Hmmm. What about the murderer?”
Ginny chewed her lip, remembering what Elaine had told her about the irate client. “We could go over and start asking questions, I suppose. The staff will know who was on duty and they may have noted some of the patrons in particular. When you’ve narrowed down the window of opportunity, we can see if anyone had appointments for that timeframe. What else?”
Jim furrowed his brow. “I can talk to the family tomorrow.”
“Do you want to talk to Armstrong?”
Jim nodded. “Yes. I’ll do that, too.”
“We’d better start another list.”
Jim nodded, picked up the yellow pad and wrote busily for a minute. “Okay. Continue.”
“Opportunity for the other two. Neither died in Dallas and, if the bug acted as quickly on them as it did on Professor Craig, we can assume they were attacked in the city where they died.”
Jim nodded. “Victim # 1 died in Boston, MA.”
“And Victim # 2 in Washington, DC.”
“Both big cities, like Dallas,” Jim noted.
Ginny nodded. “Make of it what you can.”
Jim chewed on his lower lip for a minute. “Big cities have lots of people in them.”
Ginny laughed. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“Wait a minute. What I mean is they have amenities little places don’t have. Museums, libraries, hospitals.”
“A teaching hospital, do you think?”
“Maybe, for the source of the virus, possibly.”
Ginny nodded. “But what about opportunities for murder?”
“Well, big cities can’t keep track of their residents or their visitors. The society is too mobile. They have transportation, hotels, and facilities for large numbers of out-of-towners to use.”
“And conventions.”
“Yes, like the one your genealogy society just held.”
“A convention would be a great place to attack someone. With all the confusion, no one would notice a thing.” Ginny sighed. “It seems to me there are endless opportunities for stabbing a stranger in a big city. How are we supposed to figure this out?”
Jim raised his eyebrows. “We have to think like our murderer. What was his plan? How did he manage to inject all three of these men without their noticing?”
Ginny blinked. “Maybe they did notice, but didn’t think anything about it. You remember what I said, I use misdirection, but someone watching me would see what I was doing.”
Jim’s brow furrowed. “You mean like slapping someone on the back in the restaurant or brushing up against him in the subway? Someone might have noticed that. Especially if the victim said ‘ouch’ or reached up to rub the sore spot.”
“Yes, but that really is a job for the police.” Ginny threw Jim a wry look. “There is no way we can investigate on that scale, even if we had authority and we don’t.”
Jim nodded. “Okay, let’s go back to things we do have access to. What about occupations?”
They worked all the way through the material Alex had provided, making lists and cross-referencing details. When they were through, Jim stretched his legs and sat tapping his pencil on the yellow pad.
“Well, there’s nothing obvious. According to these files, there was no overlap among our three victims. They lived in different parts of the U.S. and had different jobs and lifestyles.” He frowned. “So why did they die in that very rare and specific manner?”
Ginny shook her head. “We need more information.” She glanced at the clock. “And I’m out of time. Here.” She transferred copies of everything they had created onto the thumb drive and handed it to Jim. “Here’s a copy for you. Feel free to add to it.”
He nodded, picking up the yellow pad. “I’ll see what I can do with this. Let me know if you come up with anything else.”
“I’ll see if I can figure out another way to tackle the problem.” She frowned. “I simply can’t believe these three deaths were coincidences.”
Jim looked down at her, his gray eyes not laughing at all. “Ginny, I want to add my two cents to the caution you’ve already heard. Don’t do anything to attract attention to yourself. This murderer — and we don’t know if it’s a man or a woman, poison is usually a woman’s weapon — this murderer had access to Professor Craig. So did you. You might know her. If you scare her enough, she might come after you.”
Ginny felt her throat tighten. He had a point. She nodded. “I’ll be careful.”
“Don’t talk to anyone just yet. Give me some time to think.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “The only thing I’m going to do for the next two days is work and sleep.” She started for the door, then turned back. “Is it okay if I talk to Alex?”
Jim nodded. “Yes. The CDC and the police, but no one else.” He hesitated. “I don’t mean to be giving orders, but I strongly suggest you not tell the police about this spreadsheet of yours.”
“Why not?”
“Because they don’t like having civilians interfering in active murder investigations.”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “All we’re doing is compiling data.”
“I know, and I can’t see how it can hurt, as long as we keep it to ourselves.”
She nodded. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone about the spreadsheet.”
She ushered him to the front door.
“When can we get together again?” he asked.
“I’ll be off Thursday.”
“Okay. I’ll call.”
Ginny shut the door on his retreating back, put concerns about the murdered man and her personal safety aside, and hurried off to get ready for her shift.
* * *
Chapter 16
Tuesday
Jim rose early the next morning, poured himself a cup of coffee, and considered how to make the best use of his time. He was due back at the hospital by six p.m. and would not be forgiven if he was late. He sighed over the job he’d left behind. He’d had to give up his seniority when he left.
Jim had been planning to stay in Virginia, but he’d had no anchors there. Working the E.R. meant he was not tied to an office. He’d been making the rounds, spending time in the big city hospitals in the D.C. area, then a short stint with a charity that provided medical care to indigents in central Asia. He’d been abroad when his parents were killed. The day spent flying home to cope with their funerals was one of the worst of his life. You’d think he’d get used to death, seeing so much of it, but it’s different when it’s your family, your mother covered in blood, her face smashed in.
Jim shook himself firmly. He hadn’t actually seen her like that, just read the reports. They had cleaned up the bodies before he touched down. Both had died on impact. Neither had suffered, much.
The house, and all the contents, had gone to him, along with the bank accounts and the life insurance policies. So had the responsibilities, his father’s responsibilities.
The call from his grandfather had come as something of a shock. Himself h
ad been very careful to give Jim a chance to decline and it had taken him almost six months to make the decision, but, in the end, blood was blood.
So, here he was, back home, but not home. Jim glanced around the blandly generic apartment. His personal items were in storage. He should get out a few of them, if only to remind himself he’d had a life somewhere else.
Ginny’s easy relationship with the Medical Examiner’s office had reminded him of his status as outsider. An uncomfortable feeling. He knew he’d have to earn his way into the community and that it would take time. Well, this was as good a time as any to start.
Jim picked up the phone and dialed the hospital. It took him several transfers, but he finally got through to Dr. Armstrong, explained who he was, and arranged a meeting. He hung up and glanced at his watch. The neurologist had sounded less than enthusiastic and might be even less willing to cooperate if kept waiting. He grabbed his keys and hurried out.
* * *
Jim held out his hand to Dr. Armstrong. The older man took it, politely, but no more.
“Thank you for seeing me, especially on such short notice.”
“I’m happy to help, if it will clear up this death and get us all back to normal.”
Jim nodded. The neurologist looked normal to him. The office had all the right diplomas on the wall. The books and journals stacked on his desk reflected his specialty. Even the skull sitting on the corner of the bookcase showed traces of paint, indicating it was a teaching model, used to explain how the nerves and the brain interacted.
“What I’m looking for is any hint this was not what we expected it to be. I don’t think I missed anything, but if you spotted something I overlooked, it might help.”
Jim guided the other physician through a step-by-step recall of the events leading up to Professor Craig’s death, using all of his considerable interviewing skills to put the man at ease and enlist his sympathy. It took the two of them the better part of an hour to go over the series of events. When they were through, Dr. Armstrong leaned forward.
“I don’t think there was any reason to question the preliminary diagnosis. We had what he told you and what I saw when I did the workup. When he went bad, the floor nurses jumped right on it The Board will review the file, of course, standard operating procedure, but I think they will agree.”
Jim nodded. “I don’t see how you could have done anything else.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to be asking more questions, just to clear the decks, but don’t let it worry you. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Please do. I’m hoping to publish this one, if we can identify what happened.”
Jim nodded again, knowing that, more often than one would expect, doctors didn’t find out what had killed a particular patient. “Let’s hope we do. I hate the thought of not knowing whether this bug is going to get me, too.”
Dr. Armstrong laughed. “That makes both of us.”
* * *
Jim’s next stop was the genealogy section of the Dallas Public Library. He found the building without trouble and parked in the underground garage, then joined the small stream of library patrons using the elevator.
A directory indicated the genealogy department was on the top floor. Jim kept his gaze forward while riding, but couldn’t help noticing the traces of vagrancy lingering in the close atmosphere of the elevator car and the dress of some of the patrons.
It was a problem common to all cities of any size. Since the abolition of mental health facilities, all sorts of psychiatric patients ended up on the streets, using public buildings like this one as temporary shelters. In doing so, they became part of the buildings, invisible to those who had grown used to seeing them there.
By the time the car had reached the top floor, Jim was alone. He stepped out into a large public space, paused for a moment to get his bearings, then headed for the information desk, clearly labeled and conveniently manned by a volunteer greeter.
“Good morning.” The volunteer smiled heartily. “Please sign in.” He pushed a book forward.
“Thank you, but I’m not here to do genealogy. I’m hoping to speak to whoever is in charge.”
“Oh?” The volunteer looked around the room, then his face cleared. “There’s Mrs. Larson. She’s head of the genealogy section. She should be able to help you.” He pointed her out.
Jim recognized the woman. He had seen her last Friday, at the fundraiser. She had her back to him, talking to someone in the stacks.
“Please let me know if I can help in any way.”
Jim started to leave, then caught himself. “Perhaps you can. Were you here last Wednesday?” The math had suggested the virus was introduced between six and ten hours prior to admission.
“As a matter of fact, I was.” The pale blue eyes narrowed just a bit.
“Would you be able to help me make a list of who was here that afternoon?”
“Who wants to know?”
Jim pulled out his hospital ID and handed it over. “I’m Dr. Mackenzie. I’m working with the CDC, investigating the death of Professor Craig. We’re hoping someone saw something.”
The volunteer frowned. “The CDC took the sheets already.”
Jim nodded. “I know. I also know there must have been people here who didn’t sign in. We’re hoping to find out who they were.”
The volunteer seemed to relax a bit. “Well, Mrs. Larson can help with the staff.” He chewed his lip. “And you already have the list of who signed in.”
Jim nodded, making a mental note to get a copy from Chip Galloway.
“That just leaves the outsiders.”
“Outsiders?”
The man nodded. “The ones who don’t know they have to sign in and the ones who think it doesn’t apply to them.”
“Such as?” Jim pulled a notebook out of his pocket and began to write.
“I don’t know any names, but I can give you descriptions.”
The list included hangers-on, mostly people who accompanied the researchers, but did not use the resources themselves, the wanderers from other departments in the library, and sightseers, including the vagrants.
“Oh, and the legal fellow.”
This was the first Jim had heard of the process server. He listened as his informant recounted the scandal.
Jim had his back to the stacks, but glanced over his shoulder when the volunteer’s eyes swiveled in that direction. He was just in time to see Hal Williams emerge, shake the librarian’s hand, and head in his direction, a very unhappy expression on his face. Jim turned to greet him.
“Hello. Something wrong?”
Hal started, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Jim!” He forced a smile and held out his hand. “What are you doing here?”
Jim waved at the room with his notebook. “Just picking up a few more details for the CDC. We’re still trying to track the source of that virus.”
Hal’s eyes seemed to focus sharply. “And you think there’s some connection to the library?”
Jim shrugged. “We’re still trying to come up with a workable theory.”
“I thought the CDC had gone home. Didn’t they say we weren’t exposed after all?”
Jim nodded. “So far, no one else has gotten sick, which is very good news, but they would still like to know how Professor Craig caught it.”
“Yes, I can see they would.”
“You looked a tad disappointed,” Jim was careful to underplay the expression he had seen on his friend’s face.
Hal hesitated. “I’m looking for some papers that were supposed to be in Craig’s office. I was hoping they’d fallen out on his desk, but apparently not.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to keep looking. Or find a way to get copies.” His expression clouded again. “Maybe Ginny knows something.”
Jim nodded. “She might. That is one sharp woman.”
It took Hal a moment to process what Jim had said. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been investigating this mystery virus.”
Jim was tempted to fan the flames of jealousy, if only to see what Hal would do about it, then remembered Ginny would probably catch some of the heat. He raised his hand. “Just research.”
“Oh.” Hal’s face cleared. “Of course.” He shook himself. “Well, I have to get back to work.” He nodded to Jim. “Goodbye.”
Jim watched until Hal disappeared in the direction of the elevator, then turned back to his informant, but there seemed to be nothing further to be discovered. Jim thanked him for his help, then went in search of the head librarian.
* * *
Jim found Elaine Larson in Professor Craig’s former office, up to her ankles in piles of documents, books, and folders. He knocked on the doorframe and waited for her to look around, then introduced himself.
She looked puzzled for a moment, then seemed to recognize something about him. “You were at the dinner, weren’t you?”
Jim nodded. “I was at school with Hal. He was kind enough to include me in the invitation.”
Elaine nodded and smiled. Physicians were a staple of the guest list for such affairs, being considered able to afford the donations that were a standard part of the program.
“We were very glad you could come. What may I do for you?”
Jim explained his errand and the excuse for it.
She nodded. “Yes, I can get you a list of who was on duty.”
“And, perhaps, who had appointments with Professor Craig that afternoon?”
She nodded again, stepping over to the desk. “That you can have right now. Here is his calendar.” She handed over a spiral bound journal.
Jim flipped to the relevant pages. “May I make a copy of this, please?”
“Of course.” She reached for the notebook. “Let me do it.”
Jim followed her to the copier and watched her punch in her access code. She handed him the printouts and he looked them over, comparing them to the book, then handed it back to her. “This will help a lot. Thank you.”
“If you will leave your e-mail address with me, I will send you the list of the staff on duty that afternoon and the scheduled volunteers as well.”