Nick and I reached our apartment in Coyote Creek after midnight, both of our minds zinging from considering every angle of the mystery surrounding Paulo and Liliana Ferrera. We agreed that our priority was a reasonable amount of sleep—especially for Nick—who would be flying the plane. We sat up in bed making notes, rehashing our earlier intel-sharing session with Harry and Rella.
“You go first,” Nick said. “Your list is longer than mine.”
“I’ll start with the obvious,” I said. “In the morning, I’ll go into work to arrange the day off. While I’m there, I’ll fill Cleo in on what Rella told us about Dr. Prine. She has the ear of Jared Quinn and the chief of staff of the hospital. She’ll know how to motivate them into mandating a third opinion about Paulo Ferrera’s case.”
“You think she’ll get that done right away?” Nick asked.
“Probably not. What we have is speculation. No substance. She’ll need something more specific that could be identifiable as outside the normal limits of practice for a coma patient. Besides, anything that would alert Prine or Carver that they’re suspected of prolonging Paulo’s coma could put that young man in greater danger.” Imagining a member of the TMC medical staff capable of foul play made me queasy.
Nick’s brows rose. “You think they’d decide to … what? Pull the plug?”
“Not something that obvious. They’d find another way. Something easier to cover up.”
“Man, you’re making me hope I never end up in a hospital.” Nick glanced around the room, as if a homicidal doctor might be hiding in the closet or lurking under our bed. “This is starting to sound like something out of a horror flick.”
I laughed. “Nick, hospitals save lives every day. Most of the time, they do patients more good than harm.”
He cut a skeptical look at me. “Most of the time?”
“Hey, nothing’s guaranteed. You’re a pilot. You should know that.”
“Touché.” Nick nodded toward the paper in my hand. “Anything else on your list?”
“No. Your turn.”
He read his notes. “Arrange for a plane. Talk to Kass about the security cameras on Carver’s building. Get some sleep.”
“That’s it? Seems like there’s something else.” Then it came to me. “What about the blood sample I collected on our last trip to Marin? Did you ask him about that ninety-minute DNA machine?”
“Kass took the sample you collected from the dock, but he doesn’t have immediate access to one of those machines. His department shares one with another county, so they take turns.”
“When is it Kass’s turn?”
Nick glanced at the calendar on his phone. “He thinks he can run it on Saturday. I’ll ask him about it before we fly out.” He put the phone and his notes on his nightstand. “It’s almost eleven thirty. Lights out, okay?”
Just then, Ginger wandered into our bedroom, padded over to Nick, and gave him a doggy goodnight kiss on the cheek. “That reminds me,” I said. “Are we taking Ginger along this time?”
“No.” Nick rubbed at his face with a tissue. “She’s staying with Jack and Rosa.” He pointed at Ginger’s bed across the room. She went over and flopped down. “I thought it should be just the two of us. We might have more ground to cover, and I don’t want either of us to be encumbered.” With his face clean of doggy saliva, he leaned in for a good night kiss that would have cost us even more lost sleep if we hadn’t thought better of it.
I managed to sneak out of our apartment Friday morning without waking Nick. We had agreed to meet at the airport at noon. I volunteered to bring a quick lunch to eat before takeoff.
My business at the hospital library was completed in short order. After arranging to close early and take the rest of the day off, I dropped in on Cleo. We talked over the news from Rella about Dr. Prine’s suspicious visit to Florida. I made breakfast of a few Tootsie Rolls and Junior Mints from the candy bowl on her desk while she searched around online. Then she made a couple of phone calls.
It didn’t take long for her to determine that Prine’s daughter was not living in Florida. She and her mother, Prine’s ex-wife, had been living in New York City for fifteen years. After her second phone call, Cleo motioned me over to her desk. I swallowed my last Junior Mint.
“Look at this.” She had pulled up a site for a performing arts school in Manhattan. She glanced up to check that her office door was closed. It was, but even so, she spoke softly. “No way Prine’s daughter was in a highway accident in Florida on the date he claimed.”
The site displayed photos of the cast of a student performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream with Prine’s daughter, Elsbeth, playing Hippolyta. The play opened the day after Prine left for Florida, and it was still running in Manhattan, with stellar reviews for his daughter.
“Holy cow,” I said. “The whole time he was gone, he was faking, pretending to be at his daughter’s bedside in Florida.”
Cleo checked her desk calendar. “He left here on a Friday, two weeks ago. Got back to work just this past Wednesday.”
“So he was gone for a week and a half.” I paced her office. “What the heck was he doing?”
Cleo sat back, arms folded. “And why was he lying?”
“Are you going to take this to Jared Quinn? I’ll go with you, if you want.” I glanced at the time on her designer wall clock. Almost nine. Still plenty of time to meet Nick at the airport at noon.
Cleo put on her professional face. “There is nothing about this that shouts malpractice, or even substandard patient care.”
“Cleo, he lied.”
“Lots of men lie when they’re hooking up with a woman and want to keep it on the down-low. And that’s not the only reason he might have come up with a cover story. Maybe he just wanted some time off.”
“But Rella witnessed him talking about shady business deals with that yacht owner in Florida.”
“Again, we’re not seeing anything that suggests Paulo Ferrera or any of Prine’s or Carver’s other patients are in danger.”
I’d never been angry with Cleo, but this time I was close. Surely she saw the implications I was seeing. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“There’s something you’re not considering, Aimee.” Cleo leaned her elbows on her desk. “Dr. Prine operated on Paulo Ferrera. We could even say he saved the young man’s life. Why would he do that if he was responsible in some way for the patient being shot in the first place?”
A fair question. I searched for an answer that might make sense. “What were Prine’s options? He was on call for neurosurgery cases. He had an OR team watching his every move, including an assistant surgeon with enough savvy to notice if Prine’s surgical technique looked inappropriate or suspicious.”
Cleo nodded. “I’ll give you that.”
“Is it enough to take to Quinn?”
“Not yet, but let’s follow your reasoning to Prine’s post-surgery care. He can’t deviate from accepted practice without raising questions. The nursing staff in ICU would surely notice. They take Prine’s orders every day and follow them scrupulously. Don’t you agree, that at least for now, it stands to reason that Paulo Ferrera is safe?”
I resigned myself to Cleo’s logic. “I hope so, but please ….” I stopped myself. “Sorry. I know you’ll do what’s right for the patient. It’s just that something tells me we’re missing parts of this puzzle that might never be found.”
Cleo walked over and stood in front of me with her hands on my shoulders. “I’ll keep a close eye on Paulo Ferrera, and I’ll talk to Jared. We both know you have good instincts.” She studied me for a moment. I’d never seen her look so serious. “Apart from your instinct for self-preservation. Someone out there is doing something that got Paulo Ferrera shot. You must realize that you and Nick could be taking on a dangerous adversary—one quite willing to kill, if necessary.”
“I know, and so does Nick.” I lifted her hands from my shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “We’ll be careful. Just make sure that you keep Paulo safe. How much are you going to tell Quinn about Dr. Prine?”
“I’ll tell him everything you’ve told me, but keep in mind that there’s still a lot of them against us mentality in play when it comes to the roles of hospital administration versus the medical staff organization. Quinn can’t take action against a member of the medical staff without a damned compelling reason.” Cleo walked back to her desk, dropped her glasses, and massaged her temples. “Even then, Quinn would have to convince the chief of staff to take his side, or the rest of the medical staff would howl in protest.”
“Then please start looking for a compelling reason. Nick and I will do the same.”
I made certain that Cleo had my cell number and Nick’s. She promised to text me with frequent updates on Paulo and his parents.
Nick had the Cessna 206 pulled out of the hangar when I arrived with takeout burgers. We sat in his pickup to eat our lunch, and then parked both our vehicles in the hangar and locked the doors.
Nick wadded our wrappers into a ball and tossed them in a nearby trash bin. “Any morning news items to report before we take off?”
“Just a quick visit with Cleo. I wanted to warn her to keep an eye on Dr. Prine. I don’t trust him—or Carver, for that matter—to take care of Paulo Ferrera.”
“Can’t blame you.” Nick walked around the plane with a clipboard and pencil, performing his pre-flight inspection of the exterior. “Did she take you seriously?”
“Up to a point.” I filled him in while he finished his walk around. Satisfied with the condition of the tires, rudder, fuel gauge, wings, propeller, and various other parts, he opened the passenger door and helped me up. Inside the cockpit, he continued his inspection. The last step was to call the tower to make certain that his radio was broadcasting and receiving.
“Looks like we’re ready to go.” He turned to me. “All set?”
“Not yet. I haven’t heard how your morning went. Did you talk to Detective Kass about Carver’s security cameras or about the DNA from that blood sample I collected?”
“Didn’t have a chance. He’s still tied up testifying in Sacramento. The change of venue thing. He won’t be back until Saturday.”
“Maybe we can reach him in Sac.”
“Let’s try to contact him when we get to SFO.” Nick leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Put on your headphones, woman.” He started the engine and we were on our way.
When we reached SFO, Nick tried, without success, to reach Detective Kass, whose voicemail was full.
In the small compact that Buck kept parked at the airport, we crossed the Golden Gate in midafternoon and drove through Sausalito, enjoying the sight of dozens of sailboats taking advantage of the clear weather and a gentle five-knot breeze. We stopped at the Harbor Market for groceries before heading to Buck’s yacht.
As we reached the checkout lane, I recalled that just a week earlier we had seen Kiri D’Costa and Gus Barba at the same market. Discreet glances at the other shoppers turned up no one I recognized. Nick seemed to be in the same mode, checking out his surroundings at least as often as I did. Alert, but inconspicuous, he reminded me of actors I’d seen playing Secret Service agents guarding the president.
We stowed our purchases on Buck’s yacht, except for brie, crackers, and grapes, which we left out for snacks. Nick stepped up the hatch ladder to gain a view of the harbor outside. He looked down at me. “Want to review our game plan for the rest of the day?”
“Definitely. But let me unpack first.” I headed to the forward berth with my tote bag. Nick called after me, “Why not do that later?”
“I just want to get out my sunscreen. The rest can wait.” I unzipped the bag and took a step backward. “What the—?” There, nestled among my bras and panties, secure in its inside-the-waistband holster, was my revolver. I thought I’d left the snub-nosed .38 at home in the drawer of my nightstand.
Nick came up behind me. “Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t see that until I’d had a chance to explain.”
I spun around and faced him, nose to nose. “Explain? Is there something you know about this weekend that you haven’t told me?”
“Yes, but before we get into that, I need to ask. Do you have your concealed carry permit with you?”
“It’s in my purse. I always keep it with me. Now tell me what this is about.”
Nick inhaled a deep breath and held it for so long that I finally poked him in the stomach. He exhaled, took my hand and led me out to the main saloon. “Let’s sit for a minute.”
With all the patience I could muster, I sat waiting while Nick took out his phone. He scrolled until he found what he wanted, and then looked up at me.
“Here it is,” Nick said. “A text came in from Buck just after I dropped Ginger off with Jack and Amah. It added a new wrinkle to our weekend, but I didn’t want to get into it with you until after the flight.”
“Why not?”
Nick glanced at his phone again. “I wanted to wait until we could focus our complete attention on Buck’s new twist. If I’d told you before we took off, it would have distracted both of us, and I don’t like to fly distracted.”
“Fair enough. I don’t like to ride shotgun distracted, but now you’re trying my patience. Why did you pack my gun?”
Nick handed me his phone. I read the text from Buck. It said he’d been invited to a private auction of newly minted, unblemished merchandise. It was to take place in the San Francisco Bay Area at ten o’clock Sunday night. Because of the private nature of the auction, its exact location would be revealed only if RSVPs were vetted and approved.
In the attached photo was a young, scantily clad model, holding up a foot-high eagle sculptured in gold and encrusted with diamonds. The starting bid was half a million dollars. “Oh, my God, Nick! That model is Liliana.”
“See what I mean?” He took his phone from my hand.
I was so stunned, it took a moment to catch my breath. “What is Buck going to do? Did you tell Kass about this? What are we supposed to do?”
“That’s what we have to decide. This situation is going to require a lot of thought and careful planning.”
He was right, but I couldn’t stop thinking the good news was that Liliana was alive—probably somewhere in the Bay Area. Was she aboard a superyacht named Seashell?
“Has anyone told the Timbergate police?”
“Not that I know of,” Nick said. “So far, no one knows about it except Buck and me … and now, you.”
“We have to contact Kass as soon as possible.”
“And we will,” Nick took the phone from my hand, “but despite what we’re seeing here, there’s no proof a crime is being committed.”
“Liliana was kidnapped, but obviously she doesn’t know it,” I said. “Somehow, her brother knew it, and he was shot. Of course there’s a crime. Two crimes.”
“Unfortunately, the invitation to this private auction was sent to Buck from an import/export company that gave no business address. Its origin would be hard to trace by anything less than a top-notch cyber-forensics team.”
“Then the sooner we get it to Kass and Harry, the better,” I said. “Now that we’re down here, what do we do about rescuing Liliana from whoever is behind the auction?” It sickened me to think Prine or Carver might be involved.
“For starters, Buck’s going to do his damnedest to arrange for me to attend as his surrogate.”
“Am I going, too?”
“No. We’re not asking for you to be admitted.” Nick reached out and touched my cheek. “Frankly, I’d rather keep you away from that scene, but I’d like for you to be nearby. Liliana might need a woman on hand if things get dicey and she doesn’t know who to trust.”
The thought sent a chill racing from my scalp to my toes. I picked up Nick’s phone and looked again at the photo. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach made it hard to ask my next question. “That flyer is advertising more than a priceless sculpture, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.” His jaw muscles worked. “Those bastards have Liliana fooled into thinking she’s just a model, when the truth is, that sculpture isn’t the only thing being auctioned on Sunday night.”
“She’ll go to the highest bidder.” My words came out a dry-mouthed whisper.
“Unblemished merchandise,” Nick said. “Code that says she’s still a virgin. Worth half a mil to the right buyer.”
“This is why you packed my gun?”
“Do you blame me?” Nick asked.
“No, of course not,” I said.
I touched the photo of Liliana, a lovely young teenager, too headstrong and far too naïve for her own good. “How are we going to save her?”
“We have until Sunday night to figure that out.” He reached around me and picked up my gun. “You might want to keep this with you. It’s going to be one hell of a weekend.”