When he felt he was as ready as he was ever going to be, Ronnie placed the call. As it went through, he relaxed as much as he could. The fact that the call was picked up on the second ring wasn’t lost on him. The man had obviously been waiting. That was a good sign, suggesting to him that he was in the proverbial driver’s seat.
“Thanks for calling,” Jack said. “I was getting a little nervous you might have forgotten.”
“Not a chance,” Ronnie said brightly. “Sorry. I slept longer than I usually do for some reason.”
“You must have needed it,” Jack said. “No harm done, but I’m looking forward to continuing our conversation, and the sooner the better. Are you available now?”
“Yes and no,” Ronnie said. “I was supposed to be off tonight, but I have to cover for one of the other night supervisors who was originally scheduled. Unfortunately, that means I have to be at the hospital around six. Sorry about that.”
“That’s fine,” Jack said. “Of course, I understand schedules change. But it’s not quite four. There’s still a couple of hours. How about getting together before you have to clock in?”
“I suppose that might work,” Ronnie said. “But I wouldn’t want to risk meeting somewhere else and take the chance of being late because of traffic. If you want to meet up today, it will have to be at the MMH.”
“That’s not a problem for me,” Jack said without hesitation. “Where exactly and what time?”
“How about meeting again in the doctors’ lounge in the Emergency Department, say, at five-thirty? There’s never anyone in there late in the afternoon, so we’ll have the place to ourselves just like yesterday. And that should give us plenty of opportunity.”
“Fine with me,” Jack said. “Actually, I prefer the ED to the hospital proper.”
“Is it difficult for you to get there at that time of day?”
“Not at all,” Jack said. “It only takes about twenty minutes, traffic or no traffic. It’s on my way home.”
“How was your meeting today with Cherine Gardener?” Ronnie asked. He’d not planned on posing the question for obvious reasons, yet the idea of doing so suddenly presented itself out of pure curiosity.
“That didn’t happen,” Jack said.
“Oh,” Ronnie commented. “Why was that?”
“She has yet to call me,” Jack said.
Ronnie nodded. He was impressed with Jack’s speedy and appropriately vague retort.
“While I have you on the line,” Jack said, “let me ask you a general question about your role on the M and M Task Force, since I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me. When you get the mortality ratio from the computer, would it be possible for you to also get the monthly gross death rate?”
“That’s an interesting question,” Ronnie said, also speaking without hesitation despite alarm bells going off in his mind. The fact that Stapleton was merely asking the question underlined why Ronnie needed to get rid of the man. Seeing the raw monthly data was what had pushed Sue Passero over the edge and started the whole current ruckus. “Honestly, I don’t know because I’ve never tried to download the monthly gross death rate. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say no. The hospital admin is very chary about raw unadjusted data. The only person who might have access, if it is available, would be the senior vice president chief compliance and ethics officer.”
“Well, maybe you should just try next time you’re logged in,” Jack suggested.
“I’ll do that,” Ronnie said. “Now I better get a move on to get ready for work.”
“See you at five-thirty,” Jack said before disconnecting.
For a few minutes Ronnie just sat there, staring off at nothing. The whole situation reminded him of playing with dominoes as a child. You tip over one, and a whole line falls over until the last one tips. He hoped to hell that Jack Stapleton was going to be the last domino, and he could relax and get back to normal.
After checking the time and knowing he wanted to be in position outside the OCME before 5:00, Ronnie slid out from the table’s built-in bench seat and went into the bedroom. From his night table, he retrieved his cherished SIG Sauer P365. From habit, he checked the magazine despite knowing it was fully loaded. The mere act of checking made him feel more confident he was prepared for any eventuality. Although Ronnie was at peace with himself vis-à-vis his crusade, he was well aware that not everyone agreed with his methods, and he was a fatalist about what would happen if he were to be exposed. Long ago, he’d decided he’d never let that happen, which was why he’d prepared his hideaway in the Catskills, where he kept another identity that he’d fashioned with the help of the dark web. It included all the appropriate IDs of a former navy nurse his age who’d died a few years earlier. His general plan, if worse came to worst, was to flee first to his hideaway and then disappear completely, probably to Florida or maybe Texas.
When all was ready, Ronnie went out into the garage and revved up the Cherokee. A few minutes later, he was on his way along Northern Boulevard heading toward Manhattan.
Chapter 29
Wednesday, December 8, 4:20 p.m.
With a definite sense of satisfaction, Jack put the newly completed death certificate in his outbox and moved its associated autopsy folder and rubber band — sheathed slide tray to the distant corner of his L-shaped desk, along with three other sets. With nothing to do concerning the Sue Passero case until his upcoming meeting with Ronald Cavanaugh or until John completed his full toxicology evaluation, Jack had turned to signing out the stack of cases he had pending on his desk and had already completed four. Since he didn’t have to leave until a bit after 5:00 for his 5:30 rendezvous, he picked up the next case in his considerable to-be-completed stack when his mobile rang. Checking the caller, he saw it was Lou.
“Are you checking up on me, Daddy?” Jack asked facetiously.
“Yeah,” Lou answered. “How did you guess? Are you behaving yourself?”
“Totally,” Jack said. “I’m working my butt off here in the safety of my cocoon-like office punching out old cases.”
“Actually, I’m calling to compliment you,” Lou said. “But I hesitate because I don’t want you to get a big head.”
“Try me!” Jack laughed.
“You were right about the Seton case,” Lou said. “Paul broke down and confessed, but it’s complicated. According to Paul, the whole sordid affair supposedly involves some crazy-ass therapist guru who had everyone convinced suicide was the right thing to do, including Sharron and her mother. Paul admits he was the one who screwed everything up, claiming he was so nervous that he did everything wrong. I have no idea how it is going to ultimately play out. Your Murder on the Orient Express analogy wasn’t so far from reality. How the hell did you even think of it?”
“Only because the forensics spoke for themselves,” Jack said. “It certainly wasn’t a typical suicide, considering all the factors, particularly the bullet’s trajectory. It was the only way to tie it all together if the suicide note was authentic.”