When they arrived at Mercy Hospital, LeJeune, Georgia, and Blackstone headed to the pharmacy in the basement. Blackstone stepped in front of LeJeune as if he was going to take the lead with the pharmacist on duty.
LeJeune stopped him. “Hold your horses, Doctor Blackstone. I’ll take it from here.”
Blackstone shrank back, a scowl on his face.
LeJeune knocked on the door. He flashed his badge at the woman in a white lab coat who opened it. “FBI. I’d like to see the person in charge.”
The woman’s mouth opened to a big “O,” but no words came out. She stepped back and called, “Lee, the FBI wants to talk to you.”
Georgia heard a rustle, someone clearing their throat, and footsteps. A door opened and closed. LeJeune heard it too, turned around, and nodded to Georgia. She followed the sound of the door. A man in a white lab coat appeared from a different direction in the back. Tall, middle-aged, and Asian.
“Hello. I’m Lee Gupta, pharmacy director,” the Asian man said. “What can I—Wait! Where’s she going?” He raised his voice. “Hey, you’re not allowed back there. I don’t care who you are.”
Georgia figured LeJeune would come up with some excuse and kept going toward the sound of the door. She had to wind around a desk and then a set of file cabinets.
LeJeune lowered his voice. Georgia couldn’t make out what he saying, but after a final set of file cabinets, she reached what must be the back door to the pharmacy and pulled it open. An empty hallway stretched in two directions. She’d have to choose left or right. She started left and ran. Thank god she was wearing quiet rubber-soled shoes.
At the end of the hall, another empty hallway. Again, she had to choose a direction. She chose right this time. Eventually she got to two elevators. Above them a sign read “Wings E and F.” She watched the buttons on the elevators. One stopped at the lobby, the other at the fourth floor. If she’d chosen correctly, he was gone. And if she hadn’t, he was hiding in one of the rooms down here. Damn. They’d need more agents to hunt him down.
She made her way back to the pharmacy. LeJeune was talking to Gupta. Blackstone hung back but was listening intently. “So you have five orderlies and they’re on split shifts, correct?”
“That’s correct.” Gupta spoke with a trace of a British accent.
“I’d like the names of the male orderlies.”
“There’s only one female.”
Georgia joined the group. “Any luck?” LeJeune asked.
She shook her head. “Elevators. One went to the lobby; the other to the fourth floor. Unless he’s hiding in one of the rooms down here.”
“What’s down here?” LeJeune asked Gupta.
Gupta turned over his palms. “There’s materials, transportation, storage space, and other rooms I have no idea about.”
“Which means if he went up the elevators, he’s cleared the building by now. And if he hid down here, he’ll be on his way out now.”
Georgia squeezed her eyes shut. They’d missed him.
LeJeune turned back to the pharmacist. “So the orderly who just left? Who is he?”
“Ryan Brown.”
“You do a background check on him?”
“Of course. We do on everyone, given the nature of the job. He was clean.”
“Of course, he was. Christ.” LeJeune massaged his temples. Georgia felt his frustration. “Give me the names of the other three male orderlies, so my people can double-check.”
The pharmacist went behind a counter and brought back a sheet of paper. It looked like a shift sheet with names and hours printed out. “Here is everyone who works here. The five orderlies, myself, my assistant who’s on vacation, and a secretary, who is ill today.”
“Thanks.”
“As I said, we do background checks on everyone who applies here,” Gupta said. “If one of them is the man you’re looking for, it’s a wonder he slipped through the cracks.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” LeJeune said. “If I was Lee Harvey Oswald, I’d have tried to get a job in the Secret Service protecting Kennedy. If Oswald was as smart as he thought he was, he could have done it.” Gupta nodded. “Tell me about Brown,” LeJeune said.
Gupta scratched his neck. “Quiet. Of all the orderlies, he doesn’t say much. Shows up on time. Said he just lost his mother.”
“How did she die?”
“He didn’t say. We had some flowers delivered to his home address, but he never said a word about them. I even checked to make sure the florist got the right place.”
“What’s that address?”
“He lives in Arlington Heights.”
Georgia knew the suburb, a bland municipality about twenty-five miles northwest of Chicago. It was one of those “pass-through” suburbs “You have the street address?” she asked.
Gupta pointed to the schedule he’d handed over. “Should be on that.”
LeJeune pulled out his cell.
“You probably won’t have service down here. Use the loading dock. That’s what we do.”
“Got it. I have a feeling Mr. Brown won’t be showing up for work anymore, but if he does, you know what to do,” LeJeune said.
“I will call you right away.”
LeJeune handed over his card.
Blackstone, who’d been quiet, was pulling on the collar of his shirt.