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51
Jeremy knew what he’d find when he located the building. An even better address than Dirgrove’s cream-colored high-rise.
Graves, the ultimate taker.
Now, Jeremy was certain Dirgrove had been interested in Jocelyn. Perhaps it had ended at flirtation. Or Jocelyn had enjoyed a fling with the surgeon before meeting Jeremy.
Nearly everything else he’d imputed to Dirgrove was wrong. The man was an adulterer and an insecure skirt-chaser, but no more than that.
Nothing nefarious about the consult on Merilee Saunders. Either Dirgrove had been genuinely concerned about his patient’s reaction to surgery, or he’d been trying to impress Angela with his sensitivity.
Either way, nothing untoward about Merilee’s death. Before leaving the hospital, Jeremy had rushed back to the main building, entered the medical library, and located the M and M sheet on the young woman. Cerebral aneurysm. A hidden little blood vessel in her brain had burst.
As Dirgrove had said, one of those things that happens.
But he had taunted Jeremy… sins of the father on a subtler level?
But that was of no concern, now. Augusto Graves was an heir of a different sort. Bought into the complete paternal endowment.
Made things happen.
Growing up in Brazil, Graves had been well aware of his father’s crimes, the circumstances surrounding his death.
Jailhouse visit. Watching his father treated like a celebrity.
After Degraav’s suicide, Graves’s mother had taken the boy to the States.
Where Graves thrived. And twisted further.
A man who lusted and schemed and exulted in the capture of what belonged to others.
Jocelyn had been chosen because Dirgrove wanted her, and Graves had found out.
Graves came on to Gwy
Angela. Dirgrove had concocted a smooth scheme to seduce her.
Did Graves know about that?
If so…
Jeremy needed to let Angela know. His warnings about Dirgrove had irritated her.
Sorry, he’s not the threat. But…
How to do it so she didn’t think him mad? It sounded nothing but mad.
Jeremy came up with no answer. He paged Angela, anyway. The words would come, they always did.
She didn’t answer.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Maybe she was caught up in a procedure. He’d go up to Endocrinology, the ostensible reason letting her know he’d be busy tonight. Then, somehow, he’d work in the terrible truth.
When he got there, an ill-tempered nurse told him, “You tell me where she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“She flaked on us. Disappeared. Poof. A whole ward of patients, and she just walks off without informing anyone. Talk about unprofessional. I’ve informed the chief.”
She was still griping when Jeremy turned his back and ran back to the elevators.
52
A beautiful building.
White marble facing, copper trim, art deco angles, a circular driveway more commodious than the one fronting Dirgrove’s condo. A copper fountain- angels trumpeting- spouted from the center of the drive. Tall spruces hugged the corners of the structure.
Tivoli Arms. Five stories taller than Dirgrove’s high-rise.
But only one doorman. And when he finished helping a white-haired couple into their limousine, Jeremy approached him.
He’d changed into the spare shirt he’d brought that morning, had knotted his tie snugly, slicked his hair, washed his face. He put authority into his walk and posture. His black merino-cashmere topcoat was open, and he made sure the doorman caught a glimpse of the hospital badge clipped to his jacket lapel.
He must have looked right because the doorman smiled at him as if he belonged. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m Dr. Carrier, an associate of Dr. Graves’s from City Central Hospital. Is he in?”
“Sure is, got in an hour ago. I’ll have someone ring you up. C’mon in out of the cold.”
“Thanks.”
The two of them entered the lobby, and the doorman handed him off to the man behind the reception desk. Young fellow, pleasant, in a navy blazer with gold buttons, button-down shirt, rep tie. His wheat-colored hair was razor cut. His gold name tag said K. BURNSIDE.
He said, “One moment, Doctor,” and picked up the house phone. Held it to his ear, finally put it down. “That’s odd. I know he’s in.”
“How so?”
“I took his car, and he hasn’t called for it.”
“Maybe he decided to get it himself.”
“Hmm. Doubtful. Dr. Graves always has us bring his car around. Hold on, I’ll check with the parking steward.”
Another phone call. “No, Doctor, the car’s still here.”
“Nice wheels,” said Jeremy, guessing.
“The Porsche or the Navigator?”
“Both.” A Navigator. A big SUV had followed him. Perfect for transport…
The young man gri
“No, it’s personal.” Jeremy leaned across the counter. “Actually, it’s a surprise, Mr. Burnside.”
“Kelvin. What kind of surprise?”
“Can you be discreet, Kelvin?”
“All part of the job, Doctor.”
“Okay, but please keep this under wraps. At least until it hits the papers. Our department was just informed that Dr. Graves has won a prestigious award. The Dergraav. For biomechanical research. We’re talking big-time- couple notches below the Nobel.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” Kelvin Burnside had been transformed into an awestruck teenager.
“I was sent to get him and bring him back to the hospital. The cover story I’m going to give him is some sort of emergency back at his lab. Then, when I get him there, there’s a whole surprise party pla
“No problem.” Kelvin dialed, waited, shook his head.
“Strange,” said Jeremy. “He comes home, doesn’t answer- maybe we should go up and make sure he’s okay.”
“Maybe- you know, there’s somewhere else he might be. Down in the sub-subbasement. There are storage units there, for the tenants- some of our people hoard tons of stuff. The units are big, more like rooms. Some tenants lease them out, but Dr. Graves uses his a lot.”
“For what?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s always going in and out of there. I joked with him about it once- said ‘what’s going on down there, Doc, scientific experiments?’ He thought that was fu
“Don’t worry about it. Augie- Dr. Graves has a great sense of humor. I think I will check out that storage room.”
“I’ll go look for you.”
“No reason for you to leave your post,” said Jeremy. “I really want to surprise him. My boss ordered me to surprise him.”
The young man smiled uneasily.
“I’ll be in and out, Kelvin. Dr. Graves will appreciate it- like I said, he’s got a great sense of humor.”
Jeremy fingered his badge, hoping to draw attention to that symbol of authority.
“Sure,” said the young man. “No prob.”
A rear service elevator- an unadorned, clanky steel box with an accordion door took him down to Subbasement C.
Two floors beneath the parking garage. He’d expected a dungeon but stepped out into bright space. Two wings of storage units lined rough stone floors. The walls were stone, as well, and bore the marks of hand-hewing. Each unit was numbered. Black iron numerals screwed into stout oak doors fashioned during a previous century. Overhead bulbs in bronze cages provided the light. Electrical conduits and plumbing pipes striped the arched ceiling.