He found himself on Seacliff Drive, turning and pulling up in front of Tim's house. A realty company had already put a sign on the lawn. The sun was behind him, warm on his shoulders. When he could no longer bear sitting in his car, he got out and approached the house, which seemed to shimmer pink in the afternoon light.
On the stoop, he stood and, without really thinking about it, rang the doorbell, listening to the loud chiming. Finally he turned around and sat on the top step. He had no idea how many times he'd looked at his watch today, but now he checked it again.
The sun slipped another degree or two. He didn't move. A Mercedes drove by on the street. After another segment of time, another car passed, this one throwing newspapers onto some of the driveways, but not the Markhams'. A large crow landed on the walkway down by the sidewalk, hopped a few steps toward him, and cawed loudly.
It was already the longest day of his life, and still hours before the sun would set.
He started to cry.
Glitsky, Bracco, and Fisk met up at the hospital cafeteria and sat at one of the isolated tables, comparing notes.
"I talked a while to Mr. Bhutan," Glitsky said. He had a plain, dry bagel in front of him and a cup of hot water he was turning into tea. "He's an uptight guy and doesn't seem to have many friends, here or anywhere else. But he struck me as more sad than violent. The suffering of patients seems to bother him a lot for someone who works with it all the time."
"Are you saying you think he euthanized some of them?" This was Fisk, who'd reached this conclusion on his own a little earlier.
"Maybe. It's a little early, but he might be worth squeezing as time goes by."
But Fisk was attached to his theory. "He was the only nurse who worked all of Kensing's list, you realize that?"
"Yep. What I don't know, though, is how many of those people were homicides. And were there other homicides, not on Kensing's list, where Bhutan wasn't on duty?"
Some sign passed between the two inspectors; then Bracco admitted that he'd mentioned the same thing a while ago. He was drinking from a can of Diet Coke, and interested in finding more true homicides. "You have any luck with that, Lieutenant?" Bracco asked. "You said you had somebody else with suspicions."
Glitsky nodded. "Another nurse named Rebecca Simms. No names of victims, yet, but she's asking around. I should tell you that she also mentioned Mr. Bhutan by name."
"I like him," Fisk said.
"I got that impression, Harlen. I did, too, for a while, but then I got to talking to him about Tuesday night."
"Tuesday night?"
"When Carla Markham died." Glitsky waited for the words to sink in, then continued. "I'm as fascinated as the next guy with Loring and what we may find with the rest of Kensing's list. But I'll tell you both frankly, I'm having trouble with the leap of faith that we've got related killings."
Bracco repeatedly flicked the side of his soda can. "You mean are Kensing's eleven homicides related to Markham at all?"
"That's it," Glitsky replied. "One thread leads back through these Pavulon deaths and another leads off the potassium, but do the threads meet?" His tea was getting dark enough and he tested it, bit his bagel, chewed thoughtfully, then shook his head from side to side. "I know it's possible. It might even be what we have here. And I'd love 'em somehow to be connected, but I can't seem to make the jump."
"They've got to be," Fisk protested.
"Why is that, Harlen?"
"Well, I mean…Markham's how we got to here, right?"
"That was my original thought when I first heard about Loring, but now I'm wondering. So maybe you can tell me. Why do they have to be connected? We got any evidence tying them together? We got a similar drug? The same M.O.? Anything? Tell me, I'd love to hear."
Glitsky knew he sounded a little harsh. He was angry with himself, more than anything, with the first of his conjectures brought about by the addition of Loring in the Markham mix. But he'd use Fisk as a surrogate whipping boy-maybe the rookie would come up with something Glitsky hadn't himself considered.
After a moment's reflection, Fisk spoke up. "We do have the same place for the homicides, Lieutenant. The same way the drugs got administered, through the IV, right? That's something."
"Yes, it is," Glitsky admitted. He sipped more tea. "But does that in fact really connect Loring and Markham? Same basic M.O. but different poisons? I don't know. The problem is Carla and the kids. I can't believe she's not connected to Markham. I just can't go there."
Bracco had a question. "Okay. How about Bhutan then? You were saying you asked him about Tuesday night."
"I did. Turns out he's got master points in bridge and that night he was at a tournament at a hotel in San Jose and spent the night down there. Which, if true and I'm betting it is, eliminates him from Carla, and therefore Markham."
"But not from Loring or any of these others." Fisk finally saw Glitsky's problem.
"Right. It has no necessary bearing on those at all. In fact, if Bhutan did Loring, they almost certainly can't be connected."
And at this truth, they fell silent. Glitsky ate some more bagel. Bracco tipped up his soda. Fisk, deciding he needed some refreshment, pushed his chair back and headed for the snack counter. The two other men watched him go. "So what do you want us to do now, Lieutenant?"
Glitsky knew what Bracco was asking. In an administrative sense, the homicides from the Kensing list weren't going to be part of the Markham homicide investigation any longer-they'd just pretty much established that. The two new inspectors had no claim to the assignment of what might turn out to be a very high-profile serial killer case. "What do you want to do, Darrel?"
Bracco didn't hesitate. "I'd still like to get some kind of a line on Markham."
"And how do you propose to do that? You've been on that case over a week. You got a suspect I don't know about?"
"I got questions I haven't asked, if that's what you mean. I've got a couple of ideas."
"Good. Let's hear one of 'em."
"Let's take the focus off Markham. Nobody saw anything here. But we've still got Carla and as you yourself said, whoever killed her killed her husband, am I right?"
"You might have trouble proving a negative."
"With respect, though, sir, we haven't even looked. You haven't wanted us to." Glitsky knew that Bracco was right, that he'd hamstrung their investigation from the beginning by keeping them away from the true principals, including even Kensing. This had created a vacuum where there should have been basic information-alibis, timetables, opportunities. Bracco was going on. "We've been dicking around for a week now with motives and women's gossip. But if somebody killed Carla, we're looking at a very limited universe of suspects."
"How do you figure that?"
Bracco's eyes were alight with the chase. "First, we forget the nurses here. As I think we've just proven, a connection between any of them and Markham is a fluke. None of the nurses from here killed Carla and her kids, I'd bet a million dollars on that."
"I would, too."
"Okay, so who's that leave? Who else was here last Tuesday?" He ticked them off on his fingers. "Kensing. Driscoll. Ross. Waltrip. Cohn. It's one of them."
"One of who?" Fisk was back with an ice-cream sandwich.
Glitsky was nodding in satisfaction. Darrel was going to be a cop someday.
"What?" Fisk asked again.
Glitsky motioned to Bracco. "Darrel will tell you in a minute, Harlen. Meanwhile, you guys remember Hardy?" Glitsky asked. "Kensing's lawyer? Jackman's office this morning?"
"The guy with Kensing's list," Bracco said.
"Exactly. As you may have noticed, he's got a deal going with Jackman. We've been sending your transcripts and other discovery over to him." At their expressions of disbelief, he nodded. "Don't ask. But in theory we're trading information, so you might want to find out what he knows before you start. Who he's talked to. What they said. He did used to be a cop, and-"