Page 89 of Tough Justice

“Is Dr. Dexter still in the ER?”

“No. His shift ended, and he went home.”

“Do you have Barnett and Dexter’s cell phone numbers?”

“Of course.” She grabbed a clipboard. “Here it is.”

Deck copied down the numbers she gave him. In a perfect world, he’d get a subpoena and ping Tori, Barnett, and Dexter’s phones for a location, but that would take too long. Despite Tori’s cryptic message, he still had no concrete proof that she was in trouble, let alone that anyone else was involved in her disappearance, including Barnett. However, given that Barnett was also missing, he was at the top of Deck’s suspect list.

“Tori mentioned an orderly.” Deck flipped to another page of his pad. “How many of them are assigned to the ER?”

“They’re not really assigned to the ER. They come and go as needed, taking patients upstairs to surgery or to their car. Things like that.”

“Any of them stand out to you?”

Suzie’s expression turned thoughtful. “David Landry,” she answered without hesitation. “It’s nothing specific, really. Just that he’s been acting strangely. During one shift, he lied to Tori about being sick in the men’s room when he was actually outside talking to his brother. And before you ask, I think his shift’s over, too.”

“Can you give me his number?”

“Sure.”

After writing down the number, Deck again flipped the page in his pad and wrote down his own cell number, handing it to Suzie. “Call me if you see or hear from Tori or Barnett, or if Dexter or Landry show back up.”

“I will.”

“Thanks.” Leaving Suzie with a bewildered expression on her face, he headed for the elevator. Along the way, he called Barnett’s number. It went right to voicemail. Dexter and Landry’s phones also went to voicemail. Deck also called Sammie again, requesting she run Sanchez, Shibowsky, Barnett, and Dexter for a criminal histories and whatever background she could quickly dig up on them.

The elevator door opened, and he punched the down button with his fist. Tori’s message said Sanchez had been mad about something one of the doctors had given him at Sheridan. If her hunch was right, that a doctor had given Sanchez something to kill him, it begged the question: why would a doctor murder a patient right there in an emergency room? Seemed like a big risk.

When a patient died under mysterious circumstances, which this appeared to be, standard protocol dictated an autopsy be performed, followed by an investigation, if appropriate. If Damon Sanchez was murdered, he must have had some pretty dangerous shit on someone.

When the doors opened, Deck followed the signs to the Hospital Morgue Unit. He identified himself to the attendant, signed a form, then waited to view the body. While he waited, he sent text messages to Brett and Evan to meet him in the ER parking lot ASAP. Whatever was going down, he needed his friends’ help and knew they’d be there for him. Any time, any place.

The morgue’s attendant came through two swinging metal doors. “Agent Decker, he’s ready.”

Deck followed the guy into the walk-in cool room, the walls of which were covered with banks of refrigerated cabinets. Three rolling trolleys took up most of the floor space. Like most morgues, the temperature ran somewhere between two and four degrees Celsius. Wearing only a short-sleeve polo shirt, Deck should have been cold but wasn’t. There was enough adrenaline pumping through his veins to fire up his body for a week.

The attendant went to one of the trolleys and drew back the sheet. Two rings of barbed wire tattoos encircled the body’s right biceps. The letter S had been tattooed between the rings. Deck knew each of these particular rings indicated a full year in prison, and the S stood for FCI Sheridan, the federal correctional institute on the other side of town. It tracked with what Tori overheard.

Deck ran his gaze down the rest of the body. The back of his left hand had a red mark, probably from the IV needle Suzie said she inserted. A tiny red spot on his left biceps caught Deck’s attention. He was no medical examiner, but that sure looked like an injection site. It also backed up what Tori had said, that Sanchez had been given something. Something not reflected in his chart.

“I’d like to see his personal belongings.”

“Thought you might.” The attendant went to a side table and handed Deck a large envelope. “His clothes are in a separate bag.”

Deck emptied the envelope onto one of the empty trollies. A brown wallet, a set of keys, and a crucifix clattered onto the metal surface. After sifting through the man’s ID cards and a few family photos, he stuffed the items back into the envelope. Nothing had jumped out at him as being a reason Sanchez had to die, nor was there anything obvious connecting him to the North Metro medical staff.

Whatever Sanchez died for, he needed to find out. Based on Tori’s message, FCI Sheridan could be the key.

Topside in the parking lot, Deck looked for Brett and Evan’s SUVs, but they hadn’t arrived yet. As much as he’d prayed Tori’s car had miraculously reappeared while he’d been inside, it hadn’t. I’m at work. That’s what she’d said, and she’d wanted him to call her back. So where had she gone, and why wasn’t she answering his calls? The only answer that came to mind wasn’t good.

She was in trouble.

He grabbed a flashlight from his SUV then leashed up Thor and let him out. Thor wasn’t a trained SAR K-9 like Evan’s dog, Blue, but he liked Tori. Hoping he was right about this, he snagged the sweater and held it in front of Thor’s nose for the dog to sniff. “Find her, boy. Find Tori.”

Thor snorted as Deck led him over to the row of doctors’ spaces. His dog put his nose to the pavement, making sniffing sounds as he searched for Tori’s scent. Thor led Deck down the row of cars, circling twice then heading in a straight line to an empty spot. A silver Celica was parked to the left and a blue Nissan to the right.

Thor sniffed louder as he searched the area immediately to the left of the Nissan. When Thor lay down on the pavement, Deck shined the beam of his flashlight between Thor’s paws. Something shiny glinted up at him.