Face of Murder

“I’m Special Agent Shelley Rose, and this is my colleague, Special Agent Zoe Prime,” Shelley said, shaking his hand first and then pausing for Zoe to do the same. “It’s good of you to come and speak with us. I appreciate that it’s late.”

“No, no, not to worry at all,” he said. “I’m Gary Burke. I’ve just left a meeting with the hospital board, so I was still here anyway.”

“All the same.” Shelley smiled. “May we speak with you in a private room?”

“Of course.” Burke gestured toward an unmarked door off to the side. “Please, follow me in here. We won’t be disturbed.”

The room was small, but comfortable enough for the three of them. It contained just five chairs and a water machine, as well as a drooping houseplant. No doubt it was set aside for those who needed a little more privacy while they waited.

“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.”