Face of Murder

Zoe returned her attention to John, who was looking at her with a slightly open-mouthed expression. She glanced at his glass and realized he had made the gesture of switching to soft drinks along with her. “I am not used to drinking, and it goes to my head too much,” she said, by way of explanation. “Did you drive here?”

John nodded silently, reaching into his pocket to draw out a set of car keys.

“Good. I need you to drive me to the hospital—and we need to go now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Zoe let go of her seatbelt and breathed out slowly, trying to re-center herself.

“Sorry,” John said. “I tried to drive smoothly, but it sounded like time was of the essence.”

“It was,” Zoe said, opening the passenger’s side door. “It is. I get carsick no matter what. Thank you for the ride.”

She got out and shut the door behind her, her obligations of politeness toward John now completely forgotten. There was something more pressing to think about: figuring out who the serial killer stalking Georgetown really was, and clearing Dr. Applewhite’s name.

Zoe strode across smooth flooring laid out in predictable tile patterns, upset at ugly points by the placement of a chair or a desk in an inappropriate place that messed up the lines, passing the waiting area without seeing Shelley. Her home was much farther away than the cocktail bar had been. Zoe figured she wouldn’t arrive for a while yet. There was no time to sit around and wait for her.

“Neurology department?” she barked at the reception desk. She had been in enough hospitals across the country, visiting victims and taking statements, to know that they were often mazelike and impossible to predict unless you knew the entire history of the building. Maybe it made sense that cardiology should be next to the pediatric ward if you knew that the departments had received funding one after the other for new extensions to the building, but no sane person would have built them like that on purpose. It didn’t help that the plane symmetry was thrown off by refurbishments that cut across old tiles, hurting Zoe’s eyes and making it all the more confusing.

The woman behind the desk was, like almost all receptionists Zoe had ever come across, slow and supercilious. On top of that, she had to weigh a hundred and eighty-five pounds, and she was pushing sixty. She raised eyebrows from behind glasses slid low on her nose, and looked Zoe up and down. “Are you a patient or a visitor?”

“Neither. Where is it?” Zoe hated moments like this, the delay of small-minded people. There seemed to be so many of them in the world, totally unfazed by the concept of efficiency or practicality.

“If you are a patient, you have to sign in at the touchscreen here and wait for your name to be called before you go the neurology department,” the receptionist was saying, pointing a lazy, fat wrist in the direction of the device. “If you are a visitor, you need to collect a visitor’s pass and give the name of the person you are here to see. Visiting hours are over, however, so visitor’s passes are not currently available. If you are neither of those things, you will have to leave this hospital.”

Zoe rolled her eyes and yanked her badge out of her pocket, slamming it down on the desk in front of the receptionist. “I can go wherever I like in this hospital,” she hissed, delivering a glower that she hoped would do the desired job of making this woman do her damn job. “Now, tell me the quickest way to get to the neurology department.”

The receptionist made a show of studying the badge, lifting her glasses up by the arm to push them closer to her eyes as she squinted. “Well, Agent,” she began, as slow as was humanly possible, “you first take the second right, then you will need to go up in the elevator to the third floor. Turn left twice at your earliest opportunities, and then take the third right, and you will be at the neurology waiting area.”

Zoe snatched her badge back, already beginning to turn away. “Another special agent is coming. Tell her where to find me,” she shot over her shoulder, not bothering to wait to see if the woman would agree.

She would agree, or Zoe would have her up on charges of obstructing justice. She was not in the mood to be messed around with today.

The directions might have been confusing for someone who did not easily grasp patterns and numbers, but Zoe had laid out a miniature map in her mind even as the woman was speaking. Ignore the first right, then turn, then up and up. She tapped her foot restlessly as the elevator traveled slowly and smoothly, designed not to be uncomfortable for those in need of medical attention. A doctor in whites and two other visitors eyed her strangely, no doubt picking up on her impatience. Now that Zoe had the answer within her grasp, she wanted it as soon as possible. She wanted it five minutes ago. All of this had to end, and now.