Terminal

“THAT’S HIM.” Sterling pointed at Sean Murphy through the car’s windshield for Wayne Edwards’s benefit. Wayne was a formidable Afro-American whose services Sterling enlisted when he did business in south Florida. Wayne was an ex-Army sergeant, ex-policeman, and ex-small businessman who’d gone into the security business. He was an ex from as many things as Sterling was, and like Sterling, he now used his varied experience for a similar career. Wayne was a private investigator, and although he specialized in domestic squabbles, he was talented and effective in other areas as well. Sterling had met him a few years previously when both were representing a powerful Miami businessman.

“He looks like a tough kid,” Wayne said. He prided himself on instantaneous assessments.

“I believe he is,” Sterling said. “He was an all-star hockey player from Harvard who could have played professionally if he’d been inclined.”

“Who’s the chick?” Wayne asked.

“Obviously one of the nurses,” Sterling said. “I don’t know anything about his female liaisons.”

“She’s a looker,” Wayne said. “What about Tanaka Yamaguchi? Have you seen him lately?”

“No, I haven’t,” Sterling said. “But I think I will. My contact at the FAA told me the Sushita jet has just refiled a flight plan to Miami.”

“Sounds like action,” Wayne said.

“In a way, I hope so,” Sterling said. “It will give us a chance to resolve this problem.”

Wayne started his dark green Mercedes 420SEL. The windows were heavily tinted. From the outside it was difficult to see within, especially in bright sunlight. He eased the car away from the curb and headed for the exit. Since a hospital shift had changed half an hour earlier, there was still considerable traffic leaving the parking area. Wayne allowed several cars to come between his car and Sean’s. Once on Twelfth, they headed north over the Miami River.

“I got sandwiches and drinks in the cooler in the back seat,” Wayne said while motioning over his shoulder.

“Good thinking,” Sterling said. That was one of the things he liked about Wayne. He thought ahead.

“Well, well,” Wayne said. “Short trip. They’re turning already.”

“Isn’t this another hospital?” Sterling asked. He leaned forward to survey the building Sean was approaching.

“This area is hospital city, man,” Wayne said. “You can’t drive a mile without running into one. But they’re heading to the mama hospital. That’s Miami General.”

“That’s curious,” Sterling said. “Maybe the nurse works there.”

“Uh oh,” Wayne said. “I do believe we have company.”

“What do you mean?” Sterling asked.

“See that lime green Caddy behind us?” Wayne asked.

“It would be hard to miss it,” Sterling said.

“I’ve been watching it since we crossed the Miami River,” Wayne said. “I have the distinct impression it’s following our Mr. Murphy. I wouldn’t have noticed it except I used to have wheels just like it in my younger days. Mine was burgundy. Good car, but a devil to parallel park.”

Sterling and Wayne watched as Sean and his companion entered the hospital through the emergency entrance. Not far behind was the man who’d arrived in the lime green Cadillac.

“I think my initial impression was correct,” Wayne said. “Looks to me like that dude is tighter on their tail than we are.”

“I don’t like this,” Sterling said. He opened the passenger door, got out, and glanced back at the dumpy Cadillac. Then he bent down to talk to Wayne. “This is not Tanaka’s style, but I can’t risk it. I’m going in. If Murphy comes out, follow him. If the man in the Cadillac comes out first, follow him. I’ll be in touch over the cellular phone.”

Grabbing his portable phone, Sterling hurried after Tom Widdicomb, who was climbing the steps on the side of the ambulance dock outside the Miami General emergency room.

WITH THE assistance of a harried resident in the emergency room who’d given them directions, it did not take Sean and Janet long to find the pathology department. Once there, Sean sought out another resident. He told Janet that between the residents and the nurses you could find out anything you wanted to know about a hospital.

“I’m not doing autopsies this month,” the resident said, trying to rush away.

Sean blocked his path. “How can I find out if a patient will be posted?” he asked.

“You have the chart number?” the resident asked.

“Just the name,” Sean said. “She died in the ER.”

“Then we probably won’t be autopsying the case,” the resident said. “ER deaths are usually assigned to the medical examiner.”

“How can I be sure?” Sean persisted.

“What’s the name?”

“Helen Cabot,” Sean said.

The resident graciously went over to a nearby wall phone and made a call. It took him less than two minutes to ascertain that Helen Cabot was not scheduled.

“Where do bodies go?” Sean asked.

“To the morgue,” the resident said. “It’s in the basement. Take the main elevators to B1 and follow the red signs with the big letter M on them.”