“So, ladies, how may I help you?” Burke asked, with the door closed firmly behind them.
“It’s a little delicate,” Shelley began. “You see, we’re investigating a very serious case. The details need to be kept quiet from the press, inasmuch as we can. Several murders have been reported this week, and we believe we’re very close to our suspect.”
“The deaths on the campus?” Burke guessed.
“And your colleague, too. Dr. Edwin North.”
Burke’s mouth gaped open, and his face paled. “They’re connected? Of course, I had heard about the tragic loss, but—you’re saying this is the same case?”
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Burke, but if you could keep that between us, it would be appreciated.”
“Of course, of course. Please—just Gary is fine.”
Zoe watched with a kind of frenzied detachment. She wanted so badly for this conversation to be over so that they could get on with really looking, checking the records and finding what they needed. It was always like watching a miracle be performed, seeing Shelley work people over. Zoe couldn’t tell if it was the words she used, the expressions, the body language, or just that she had a much prettier face, but somehow, she was always able to win them over.
It was really only a matter of time. Burke might have worked with neurosurgeons, but he wasn’t one himself. Zoe stayed quiet, knowing that the only thing she could contribute here would be to mess it up.
“Gary, right. It’s clear to us that the same perpetrator is behind all of the attacks, and your Dr. North is actually the missing link we’ve been looking for. We need to check his patient records, to find anyone who fits the bill so that we can track them down.”
“Oh, I see—yes, well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Burke said. “I’ll just need to take a copy of the warrant for our own records.”
Shelley bit her lip and made a face. “See, that’s where it gets really delicate,” Shelley said. “We haven’t had the time to get in front of a judge, and we won’t be able to until tomorrow. We’re chasing a hot lead here. If we wait until the morning and come back, by the time we have that paperwork, the killer could be long gone.”
Burke hesitated, his composure faltering. “Well—you see—I-I’m not really supposed to allow you access to anything without a warrant. No one outside of the hospital staff, actually.”
“No, I completely understand that,” Shelley said. “And we wouldn’t want you to lose your job or get into trouble. We won’t ask you to let us see the records right now.”
Zoe shot her a look. They wouldn’t?
“There is, however, a way around this. A way we can get justice for Dr. North and stop this killer from striking again, without breaking any of the rules,” Shelley went on.
Burke cleared his throat. “What did you have in mind?”
“You look at the records. We can give you the parameters, tell you what we’re looking for. All we need from you is a name.” Shelley smiled sweetly, spreading her hands in front of her as if to demonstrate how easy it would all be. “Tomorrow, once we have him locked up where he can’t hurt anyone else, we come back with a warrant to check the records and make official copies. That way it’s all sewn up.”
Burke looked a little unsure, but he cleared his throat again. “I suppose—for Dr. North,” he suggested.
“Yes. In his memory,” Shelley nodded.
“All right.” Burke sighed and squared his shoulders. “What am I looking for?”
Shelley turned to Zoe, who now understood that was her cue. “A recent diagnosis of dyslexia,” she said. “I can tell you that the man will be around five foot nine and one hundred and thirty-five pounds or more, but we can also consider cases that fall slightly below those figures. It should be in the last six months—most likely even the last three or four.”
“All right, I’ll input that,” Burke replied. “Those figures—you’re expecting an adult?”
“An adult or a teen, college age,” Zoe supplied, a thought coming to her. “Oh—and dyscalculia as well. Or aphasia. Anything that would cause difficulties with written communication.”
“That widens the field considerably,” Burke said, but he was smiling. “I can’t check the records of any other site, of course, but I can tell you if he treated someone here. I’ll be back in two shakes, ladies. Wait here for me.”
When the door was closed behind him, Shelley sat on one of the vacant chairs, much of the pasted-on pleasantness disappearing as she dropped. “Wow. I was just about to go to sleep, and you suddenly cracked the case.”
“Sorry,” Zoe said.
“I wasn’t complaining. So, written communication? You found something in the numbers?”
“I was reminded of something Wardenford said—that it was all out of order, jumbled up. The more I thought about that, the more sense it made. I do not think the killer knows that they are jumbled—or at least, if he does, he is not able to fix it. Neurological damage could also account for a sudden outburst of violence.”
“Dyslexia isn’t something I normally associate with violent outbursts,” Shelley said, quirking the corners of her lips.
“No, but it does not always appear… out of nowhere. That is the wrong term, but you can see what I mean: it does not always develop during the process of one’s early life. That is to say, brain injuries or tumors, or so on, can cause other neurological difficulties to appear.”
“And they can also cause changes in behavior, such as violent mood swings,” Shelley nodded. “Got it.”
“When we have his name, we should move immediately. We do not know if he is planning another attack. Granted, the existing victims appear to perfectly spell out Dr. Applewhite’s equation as a clue for us to chase after, but that may not be the final piece of his puzzle.”
“That’s another thing, we’ll need to verify that she knows him in some way. Or that he could access the equation somehow. I gather it wasn’t widely shared, so that will be another piece of evidence against him they can use in court.”
Zoe nodded. “After we have had that confirmed, we can let her go home.”
Shelley smiled at her, looking tired in that moment. Before they could say anything more, the door opened and Burke returned.
He was hesitant, pausing a few seconds and wetting his lips without saying anything.
“Well?” Zoe asked, impatient. Did he not realize how costly a delay could be? “What is his name?”
“That’s the thing,” Burke said, clasping his hands together. Hands that were conspicuously empty of any kind of printout or note. “There aren’t any patients on file that fit the criteria you mentioned.”
Zoe stared at him, her mouth open. How could this be? Had she made a huge mistake?
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Zoe stood in the almost empty reception area, looking at the patients sitting and waiting to see doctors without really seeing them. Even at this time of night, there were people around—referred from the ER, perhaps, or scheduled for late-night procedures because the operating suites were otherwise full.