Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [129]
The three ran up a staircase to D’Agosta’s room. Hayward was confronted with a buzz of activity: a group of nurses and doctors working purposefully and almost silently next to a bank of machines. Lights blinked and alarms softly sounded. D’Agosta was lying in the bed, unmoving.
The doctor calmly stepped into the room. “Everyone listen. This patient was injected with a drug intended to kill him.”
A nurse raised her head. “How in the world—?”
The doctor cut her off with a gesture. “The question is: Which drug are these symptoms consistent with?”
A rising hubbub followed, a furious discussion, a review of charts and data sheets. The doctor turned to Pendergast and Hayward. “There’s nothing more you can do now. Please wait outside.”
“I want to wait here,” Hayward said.
“Absolutely not. I’m sorry.”
As Hayward turned, another alarm went off and she saw the EKG monitor flatlining. “Oh, my God,” she burst out. “Let me wait here, please, please—”
The door shut firmly and Pendergast gently led her away.
The waiting room was small and sterile, with plastic chairs and a single window that looked out into the night. Hayward stood by it, staring unseeing into the black rectangle. Her mind was working furiously but going nowhere, like a broken engine. Her mouth was dry, and her hands were trembling. A single tear trickled down her cheek—a tear of frustration and unfocused rage.
She felt Pendergast’s hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off and took a step away.
“Captain?” came the low voice. “May I remind you there’s been an attempted homicide—against Lieutenant D’Agosta. And against you.”
The cool voice penetrated the fog of her fury. She shook her head. “Just get the hell away from me.”
“You need to start thinking about this problem like a police officer. I need your help, and I need it now.”
“I’m not interested in your problem anymore.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t my problem anymore.”
She swallowed, staring into the darkness, fists clenched. “If he dies…”
The cool, almost mesmerizing voice went on. “That’s out of our hands. I want you to listen to me carefully. I want you to be Captain Hayward, not Laura Hayward, for a moment. There is something important we must discuss. Now.”
She closed her eyes, feeling numb to the core. She didn’t even have the energy to rebuff him.
“It would seem,” said Pendergast, “we’re dealing with a killer who is also a doctor.”
She closed her eyes. She was tired of this, tired of it all, tired of life. If Vinnie died… She forced the thought out of her mind.
“Extraordinary measures were taken to keep Vincent’s location a secret. Clearly the would-be killer had special access to patient charts, medical supply and pharmaceutical records. There are only two possibilities. The first is that he or she was a member of the team that is actually treating Vincent, but that would be both extremely coincidental and extremely unlikely: they have all been carefully vetted. The other possibility—and the one I believe to be the case—is that Vincent was found by tracing the pig valve used in his recent operation. His assailant might even be a cardiac surgeon.”
When she said nothing, he went on. “Do you realize what this means? It means Vincent was used as bait. The perpetrator deliberately induced a deadly coma, knowing it would lure us to the bedside. Naturally he anticipated we would arrive together. The fact we didn’t is the only thing that saved us.”
She remained with her back turned, hiding her face. Bait. Vinnie, used as bait. After a brief silence, Pendergast continued.
“There’s nothing more we can do about that for the present. Meanwhile, I believe I have made a critical discovery. While we were separated, I looked into June Brodie’s suicide and found some interesting coincidences. As we know, the suicide occurred only a week after Slade’s death in the fire. About a month afterward, June’s husband told his neighbors he was going on a trip abroad and left, never to be seen again. The house was shut up and eventually sold. I tried to trace him but found the trail completely cold