“How?”
“If Nicki doesn’t quit, Melanie will pull her out of her CSI class at school as punishment. That will do the trick.”
“I like it.”
“Melanie found something strange. During the drive home, she went through my father’s mail to see if there were any bills that needed to be paid. There was a notice from the cable company confirming that my father had canceled his service.”
“Maybe he decided to cut the cord.”
“That was what Melanie first thought. But then she found a notice from the local newspaper confirming he’d canceled his subscription delivery, and another from Visa saying that he’d canceled his credit card.”
“People who plan suicides often tie up loose ends.”
“I thought the same thing. Only the police report says my father’s suicide was spur of the moment. The police came to that conclusion because Dad didn’t leave a note, and two people he spoke to that day said he was in a good mood, and not despondent.”
“I guess the police got it wrong.”
“So what do we do now? We’re back to square one.”
“We still have leads to chase down. I’d like to start with something Dr. Sircy said about a video from a hospital board meeting that shows your father watching porn, and an intern catching him in the act. We need to take a look at that video, and see what’s on it.”
“That’s a long shot. There’s no guarantee that the surveillance video captured what my father was watching.”
“I know it’s a long shot, but we still have to check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and see who’s in it.”
“You think the video is of him and Katya?”
“Who else would it be?”
She gave him a tired look. It had been a long, frustrating day, and it was only half over. She took a deep breath, and he saw the resolve return to her face.
“I’m in,” she said.
Part Three
The Sixth Victim
Chapter 23
Florida was big on hospitals. With all the babies being born, as well as the growing elderly population, there were new hospitals going up in practically every corner of the state.
Flagler Hospital in Saint Augustine had recently added a new addition to meet the demand. It was built like a fortress, without a single tree to protect it from the blinding sunlight. Daniels parked on the building’s shady west side and killed the engine. It had been a rough night, and she’d hardly slept. She slurped down the Starbucks coffee they’d picked up during the ride over. Jon offered her the rest of the croissant, and she shook her head.
“It’s yours,” she said.
He stuffed the bread into his mouth. “How long did your father work here?”
“Almost from the day he moved to Saint Augustine. The hospital’s administration was happy to have him on board. He liked to say it was a marriage made in heaven.”
“So he really liked it here.”
“Loved it. When he retired up north, he said he felt like he didn’t count anymore. That changed when he joined Flagler.”
“It gave his life a purpose.”
“Absolutely.”
The sound of Jon’s whistle caught her ear, and she realized he was onto something.
“Is that important?” she asked.
“It’s another contradiction,” he said. “Your father loved his job, yet he risked losing it by looking at porn during a board meeting when the other doctors might catch him. The risk outweighed the reward. Your father was smarter than that.”
“Who knows what was going through his mind.”
They went inside to the reception area. Daniels had decided that it would be best if she conducted the interview with the head of human resources by herself. It was important that she not be seen in Jon’s company until the investigation was over, for fear her boss might find out. She asked if there was a place to get a drink, and they followed the receptionist’s directions to a café that sold coffee and fresh pastries.
“I need an espresso,” she said.
Jon bought espresso for her and a regular coffee for himself. Several uniformed police officers sat at a table eating breakfast, so they picked a table on the other side of the room and spoke in hushed tones.
“We still haven’t figured out how the police are involved,” she said.
He blew on his drink. “Maybe they’re not.”
“They have to be. The sheriff runs a tight ship, and runs hookers out of town. Yet somehow the Sokolov brothers were trafficking women right under his nose. To use your Spock-like logic, that’s a contradiction.”
“Let’s hope we get a chance to ask him.”
She downed the espresso like it was a shot of whiskey. It was just the extra kick she needed, and she took out her badge and pinned it to her lapel.
“Wish me luck,” she said.
Leaving the cafeteria, she caught the uniforms’ stares. Was it the badge, or were they just sizing up the merchandise? Any other time, she would have gone to their table, and given them a piece of her mind, but there were more important things to attend to.
Walking to the reception area, Daniels used her phone to get on the internet, and find the name of the hospital’s head of human resources. It was a she, and her name was Greta Vinson.
The hospital reception area resembled a hotel check-in, with two receptionists on duty, one a young girl of no more than twenty, the other a silver-haired lady. Daniels approached holding her wallet open. Both receptionists stared at her photo ID.
“Oh my. The Federal Bureau of Investigation,” the older one said.
The young one put on a brave face. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Greta Vinson,” Daniels said. “Would you please ring her office, and tell her that Special Agent Daniels wishes to speak with her?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The young one made the call. The older lady leaned in, breathless.
“I didn’t think there really were female FBI agents,” she said. “I see them on TV shows, but I figured that was just a way to get women to watch. Are there a lot of you?”
The remark made Daniels wince. The bureau’s male/female ratio was a sore point to every female agent she knew. Male agents outnumbered their female counterparts five to one, with only a handful of women having leadership roles. The FBI was a good old boys’ club, and showed no sign of changing anytime soon.
“No, but we’re really loud,” Daniels said.
The older one cackled. “I bet you are!”
The young one put down the phone. “Ms. Vinson said she will see you. Her office is on the sixth floor. Let me print you a pass.”
Soon Daniels was riding upstairs in an elevator with a hospital pass attached to her other lapel. As the doors parted, she was greeted by a striking Scandinavian woman with a shock of white-blonde hair who was easily six feet tall.
“Special Agent Daniels,” she said.
“Ms. Vinson. Thank you for seeing me so promptly.”
“It’s Greta, and I’m happy to help. Please step this way. Is this about Clive?”
Daniels shook her head, not understanding.
“The FBI planted an undercover agent here last month,” Vinson explained. “One of our custodians, a fellow named Clive Croake, was a suspect in a murder that took place in Atlanta thirty years ago. DNA found on the dead woman matched Clive’s DNA from a previous arrest. The undercover agent posed as a cleaning man, and tried to secretly get more DNA from Clive to confirm it was him. I think he was hoping for an empty soda can.”
They entered an office with a small sitting area. They sat so they were facing each other. Vinson kicked off her shoes as if by habit.
“That isn’t why I’m here,” Daniels said.