Lou had never thought much about his office, but today it seemed oppressively dingy. It was irrational, he knew, but he got mad at the smug doctor all over again.
Just then Harvey Lawson, another detective lieutenant on the force, interrupted Lou’s thoughts. “Hey, Lou,” Harvey called, “you know that broad you were talking about yesterday? The one from the medical examiner’s office?”
“Yeah?”
“I just heard she called Internal Affairs. Made some beef about two uniformed guys stealing from an overdose scene. What do you think of that?”
Tony and Angelo were back in Angelo’s Town Car. They were parked across the street from the Greenblatt Pavilion of Manhattan General Hospital. The Greenblatt Pavilion was the fancy part of the hospital where pampered, wealthy patients could order from special menus that included amenities such as wine, provided their doctors permitted such treats as part of their diet.
It was 2:48 in the afternoon and Tony and Angelo were exhausted. They’d hoped to sleep after their busy night, but Paul Cerino had other plans for them.
“What time did Doc Travino say we should pull this off?” Tony asked.
“Three o’clock,” Angelo said. “Supposedly that’s the time there’s most confusion in the hospital. That’s when the day shift of nurses are getting ready to leave and the evening shift is just coming on.”
“If that’s what the doc says, it’s good enough for me.”
“I don’t like it,” Angelo said. “I still think it’s too risky.” He surveyed the vicinity with wary eyes. There was a lot of activity and plenty of cops. In the ten minutes they’d been parked there, Angelo had spotted three squad cars cruising by.
“Think of it as a challenge,” Tony suggested. “And think about all the money we’re getting.”
“I like working at night better,” Angelo said. “And I don’t need any challenges at this point of my life. Besides, I should be sleeping right this minute. I shouldn’t be working when I’m so tired. I might make a mistake.”
“Lighten up,” Tony said. “This should be fun.”
But Angelo wouldn’t let it go. “I got a bad feeling about this job,” he said. “Maybe we should just go home and sleep. We got another big night ahead of us tonight.”
“Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go in by myself. I’ll still split the money with you.”
Angelo bit his lip. It was tempting to send the kid into the hospital alone, but if anything went wrong he knew Cerino would be furious. And even under the best circumstances, if Tony went in by himself, there was a good chance things would go awry. Reluctantly, Angelo came to the conclusion that he really didn’t have a choice.
“Thanks for the offer,” Angelo said, scanning the neighborhood once more, “but I think we should do this together.” It was then that Angelo turned to Tony and saw, to his horror, that Tony had his gun out. He was checking the magazine.
“For Chrissake!” Angelo shouted. “Put your goddamn gun away. What if someone was to walk by the car and see you monkeying around with that thing? There’s cops all over this place.”
“All right already,” Tony exclaimed. He clicked the magazine back into his gun and slipped the gun into its holster. “You are in one hell of a bad mood. I looked around before I took my piece out. What do you think I am, a moron? There’s nobody anywhere near this car.”
Angelo closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His headache was getting worse. His nerves were frayed. He hated being so tired.
“It’s getting close to three,” Tony said.
“All right,” Angelo said. “You remember the plan of what we’re going to do when we get inside the hospital?”
“I remember what we’re supposed to do,” Tony repeated. “No problem.”
“All right,” Angelo said again. “Let’s do it.”
They got out of the car. Angelo gave one more glance around the immediate area. Satisfied, he led Tony across the street and into the lobby of bustling Manhattan General Hospital.
Their first stop was the hospitality shop, where Angelo purchased two bunches of cut flowers. Handing one to Tony, Angelo carried the other. Taking the flowers back to the entrance area, they waited in line for information.
“Mary O’Connor,” Angelo said politely once it was his turn.
“Five zero seven,” the desk attendant told him after consulting her computer screen.
Joining the crowd at the elevators, Tony leaned toward Angelo and whispered: “So far so good.”
Angelo glowered at Tony again, but said nothing. Nurses just coming on duty had them surrounded. It was no time for a reprimand. At the fifth floor Angelo and Tony got off the elevator along with three nurses.
Angelo waited to see which way the nurses went, then chose the opposite direction. He immediately saw that room 507 was the other way, but he walked until the nurses had reached the busy nurses’ station before retracing his steps.
Angelo behaved as if he knew exactly where he was going. He sauntered past the nurses’ station without so much as a glance in its direction.
Once beyond the nurses’ station, it was easy to find 507. Slowing down, Angelo glanced inside. Satisfied that no staff was in the room, he stepped over the threshold and looked at the woman in the bed. She was watching a TV mounted on a mechanical arm attached to the bed frame.
The woman had an eyepatch over one eye. Her unprotected eye switched its attention from the TV to Angelo. She gave him a questioning look.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. O’Connor,” Angelo said affably. “You have a visitor.”
Angelo waved for Tony to come into the room.
“Who are you?” Mrs. O’Connor asked.
Tony came smiling into the room with his bouquet of flowers out in front of him. Mrs. O’Connor’s eyes went from Angelo to Tony. She smiled.
“I think you must have the wrong room,” she said. “Maybe the wrong O’Connor.”
“Oh?” Angelo questioned. “Aren’t you the O’Connor who’s scheduled for surgery later today?”
“Yes,” Mrs. O’Connor said, “but I don’t know either of you. Do I?”
“I can’t imagine you do,” Angelo said. He stepped back to the door and looked up and down the hall. The nurses’ station was still a flurry of activity. No one was coming the other way. “I think it’s time for Mrs. O’Connor’s treatment.”
Tony’s smile broadened. He laid his flowers on the night table.
“What treatment?” Mrs. O’Connor asked.
“Relaxation therapy,” Tony said. “Let me take your pillow.”
“Did Dr. Scheffield order this?” Although she was suspicious, Mrs. O’Connor did not resist as Tony pulled the pillow from beneath her head. She wasn’t accustomed to second-guessing her physicians.
“Not exactly,” Tony said.
The confession emboldened Mrs. O’Connor. “I’d like to speak with Nurse Lang,” she began to say. But she didn’t get a chance to finish. Tony crammed the pillow down over her face, then sat on her chest.
A few muffled sounds followed, but Mrs. O’Connor didn’t struggle for long. She kicked several times, but the move seemed less defensive than an uncontrollable reaction to being deprived of air.
Angelo acted as lookout throughout. He kept his eyes on the nurses’ station. No problem there. The nurses were engrossed in conversation. Angelo looked down the hall in the other direction. His heart missed a beat when he spotted a middle-aged woman approaching 507 pushing a cartful of water pitchers. She was only fifteen feet away.
Stepping back into the room, Angelo closed the door. Tony hadn’t quite finished dispensing his “treatment.” He was still sitting on top of Mrs. O’Connor.
“Someone’s coming!” Angelo warned him. He pulled his gun from his pocket and fumbled with the silencer.