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  Beckett slid a legal pad from beneath a pile of papers and wrote out the three names. He made arrows connecting each of them and beneath it wrote out Ambrosia Brockler and circled it several times.

  She was still the outlier. The piece that didn’t fit.

  He opened the directory of files for the Boston Police, then thought better of it and closed the window. Instead he opened a Google browser and typed in “Ambrosia Brockler Keller Wilbanks.”

  The first two full pages made mention of one or the other, but nothing definitive.

  “Christ, this is a waste of time,” he muttered and pushed himself away from the desk. Meeks put the laptop down, leaned back in his chair and cursed several times under his breath.

  “We’ve got to get out there,” Beckett said, running a hand back over his hair. “That’s the only way we’re going to figure out how she fits in. I don’t care that it’s eleven o’clock at night. We’ll wake the President of MIT if we have to. There’s a connection here somewhere, we just have to find it.”

  He stood and said, “Meet me in the parking lot in two minutes.”

  With that, he grabbed his jacket and took off, disappearing into the stairwell.

  Meeks nodded and ran to his desk on the main floor to grab the car keys. He picked up his cell phone and wallet and as he turned to go, the phone on his desk rang out.

  Without thinking he snatched up the receiver. “Yeah?”

  “Meeks! Where the hell is your partner?” barked Chief Royal. “I’ve been calling you guys for the last half hour.”

  “We’ve been in the basement doing research,” Meeks said. “We think we have a break in the Wilbanks case, sir.”

  “Damn right we’ve got a break! We’ve got a live one over at Mass General!”

  Any drifting Meeks was doing towards the door stopped cold the moment the words registered. “What was that?”

  “A Dr. Aaron Birchwood. He’s at Mass General and he’s asking for Beckett specifically. Find him and tell him to get his ass over there now!”

  The Chief hung up and for a moment Meeks stood with the receiver glued to his hand. He mouthed the words out loud before snapping back to the present and slamming the phone down. He ran to the garage and found Beckett leaning against the stairs.

  “Longest damn two minutes I ever seen,” Beckett said.

  “Chief called. We’ve got a live one over at Mass General, asking for you by name.”

  Beckett’s eyes bulged. “He’s asking for me?”

  “That’s what the man said.”

  Beckett paused for a moment and pulled out his wallet. He removed the business card Bobby Brentwood gave him three days before and said, “You take the Vic and go to MIT. Give this guy a call and have him meet you there. Bang on every door you have to, flash your badge like it’s your kid’s picture. Find everything you can. I’m going to Mass General.”

  “Wait wait wait...” Meeks called. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this guy?”

  “You see the size of him? Play good-cop, bad-cop. Two black men roll up on a half asleep academic and one of them threatens to beat an ass, I guarantee somebody’s going to talk.”

  With that Beckett took off in long strides for his truck. “Call me if you find out anything! We’re getting close, I can feel it!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Beckett considered parking on the curb in front of Mass General, but decided to use the garage instead. There was no telling how long he’d be there and leaving an unmarked pickup outside was asking for trouble.

  He parked in the decrepit concrete structure beside the hospital and jogged across the connection walkway to the main building, then caught an elevator down to the main floor to find a half-asleep admitting nurse sitting at her desk.

  Panting a little from the run, Beckett pulled his badge from his blazer and put it on the table. “Detective Dern Beckett. I was requested here by Dr. Aaron Birchwood.”

  The woman entered several keystrokes on her computer, frowning. “I’m sorry detective, but we don’t have anybody on staff here by that name.”

  “He’s not on staff, he’s a patient. Apparently he was a victim of some sort of crime tonight and requested that I meet him here.”

  The nurse returned her attention to the computer, entering another sequence of commands. “Yes sir, he was squaded here about an hour ago for an emergency stomach pump. He is now in room 527.”

  “A stomach pump? Does it say what for?” Beckett asked, making a face.

  “No sir, it doesn’t. If you want to know that you’ll have to find his chart or his doctor.”

  Beckett thanked her and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. It was almost deserted when he arrived, the only person in sight an older nurse sitting at a desk in front of him.

  Stepping off, Beckett cast a glance in both directions and said, “Can you tell me where room 527 is please?”

  The woman looked up with weary eyes and said, “You must be the detective.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Beckett said, flashing his shield for emphasis.

  She jerked her head to the side and said, “Fifth door on your left, only one with a light on. Doc’s in there with him now, shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  “Thank you,” Beckett said and headed down the hallway, towards the only visible light. He could hear voices inside as he approached and decided to wait outside until they were done.

  Removing his phone from his pocket he called Meeks, who answered on the first ring. “Hey Lockjaw, I was just about to call you.”

  “Tell me it’s with good news.”

  “Well, after waking up the Dean, the President, the janitors and thoroughly scaring the shit out of just about every high ranking academic official in Cambridge, we finally struck gold.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The Chemistry Department from MIT releases a small newsletter to their alumni at the end of each month. November’s hasn’t even officially gone to press yet, but we managed to get our hands on one of them.”

  “And?”

  “And on the second page an article appears discussing the recent partnership of Brockler and Wilbanks.”

  Beckett paused for a second and drew in a deep breath. “The doc’s still in there with this guy. Go ahead and read it to me.”

  Meeks cleared his throat and read:

  Wilbanks Decides To Take Scientific Approach to Crime

  Massachusetts congressman Keller Wilbanks-D. has requested that the lab of Dr. Ambrosia Brockler and her staff assist with what is tentatively being termed as House Initiative 105. The initiative, if passed, would call for much stricter laws regarding drug related crimes as well as taking a more proactive approach in the finding and displacing of drug operations across the country, beginning here in Boston.

  He has asked the lab of Brockler et al. to assist in the role of finding chemical components in most common drugs that can be enhanced for the use of training drug sniffing dogs. In addition, the lab has been asked to develop a new form of additive that can be administered in controlled doses by authorities and used in tracking the flow of drugs across a geographic region.

  “Congressman Wilbanks is a very respected member of the political and professional community and I am deeply honored to be working with him,” Dr. Brockler said. “To be on the cutting edge of advanced crime fighting techniques is very satisfying as a researcher and as a citizen.”

  Work on the project is expected to begin immediately.

  Beckett waited a moment to make sure that was all the article stated.

  “Son of a bitch. If the Chief hadn’t pulled us off that one so quick, we’d probably have found that out days ago.”

  “We might have found the connection between Brockler and Wilbanks, but everything else we found by poking around. We don’t end up in Richards’ office today, none of this happens.”

  Beckett nodded and said, “It says right there that the two were working together on a crime initiative. If we read this thr
ee days ago, we might have been able to backtrack and...”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Meeks conceded. “What do you want us to do boss?”

  “Stay there, try to get into that lab to see what they were working on. Maybe if we can find what drug in particular they’re targeting we can figure out who might be behind it.

  “Try everything you can, lean on every connection we got. Name drop, threaten people, I don’t care.”

  “Angry black men at a white college again, huh?”

  “Worked the first time didn’t it?” Beckett said and snapped the phone shut. He paced back and forth for several seconds before the doctor emerged from the room, almost bumping into him. He jumped back with a start, raising a hand to his chest.

  “Excuse me doctor, I was hoping I might have a quick word with you,” Beckett began.

  The doctor remained in place with a startled expression that soon gave way to recognition. “You must be Detective Beckett. He’s been asking for you since he came in.”

  “He’s been asking for me since he came in?”

  The doctor nodded and said. “Won’t tell us why, just that he needs to speak with you. It’s a matter of dire emergency.”

  “I understand he came in here this evening for an emergency stomach pump?”

  “Yeah, and it’s a good thing he did. We removed enough anti-depressants from his system to take down a horse. If they had been in him any longer, he might have really been in trouble.”

  “Anti-depressants?” Beckett asked, making a face. “Hardly a drug of choice for poisoning someone.”

  The doctor swung his head in a non-committal fashion and said, “Not necessarily. It might lack the pizzazz of cyanide or arsenic, but given in this kind of dosage it can be just as lethal.”

  Beckett glanced over his shoulder into the room. “What kind of shape’s he in? How long are you holding him for?”

  “He’s not completely out of the woods yet, though he’s insisting on being discharged. Said he doesn’t feel safe here.”

  “Doesn’t feel safe? Is he in any condition to go?” Beckett asked.

  “He’s not unfit to go, but we’d prefer him stay overnight for observation. He won’t hear of it, so as soon as we get him processed, he’s free to leave.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  “This time of night? Less than an hour,” the doctor replied.

  Beckett nodded and thanked him. He watched as the doctor departed before ducking into the room to find the man bent over tying his shoes.

  “Dr. Aaron Birchwood I presume?”

  The man looked up and said, “You would presume correctly. You must be Beckett.”

  “I am,” Beckett said, walked over and shook Birchwood’s hand. “Doctor seems to think you should stay here for the night.”

  Birchwood shook his head and said, “No chance, no how. I am a doctor, so I know how easy hospitals can be to breeze in and out of. After what happened this evening, I’d prefer to take my chances somewhere that I’m not a sitting duck.”

  “You know, I can have a team of men sent here to watch your door,” Beckett said.

  Finishing his shoelaces, Birchwood stood upright and said, “I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.”

  At full height Birchwood stood a few inches shorter than Beckett, a little narrower at the hip and shoulder as well. He was smooth shaven and had clear skin. His brown hair was clean, even if slightly disheveled. He wore a pair of blue scrub bottoms and a hooded sweatshirt with new looking running shoes on his feet.

  Beckett noticed he was nervous and jittery, had a hard time maintaining eye contact. His breathing came in rapid bursts and his speech was a bit stammered as his eyes shifted about the room.

  “So where to?” Beckett asked. “The doctor said it’ll be an hour before you’re completely discharged.”

  “An hour?” Birchwood asked, worry across his face. “You think we can find someplace here to talk until then? Someplace private?”

  “This time of night, shouldn’t be a problem. There’s a nurse down the hall, let’s go ask her.”

  He left the room and waited outside for Birchwood to exit as well, then led him down to the nurse’s desk. He noticed that Birchwood walked with his hands in front of him and his shoulders drawn in, visibly shuddering at every sound.

  They found the same tired nurse sitting at her station and Beckett asked, “Ma’am is there a conference room of some sort we can borrow for an hour or so?”

  The woman looked up and nodded. “There’s a room one floor above us that we use for meetings, should be open.”

  “Thank you,” Beckett replied. “Also, you know where I can get a cup of coffee?”

  “There’s a machine up there too,” the nurse said. “It’s free, you just have to punch in your order.”

  “Thank you very much,” Beckett said and turned back to Birchwood.

  “Let’s take the stairs, it’s only one floor.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The conference room was easy enough to find, more or less right above where they had been standing. It took them several minutes to walk up the single flight of stairs as every few steps Birchwood would stop and look around, each time claiming to hear something.

  Beckett never once heard a thing, thankful they were only going up one floor.

  He led Birchwood into the conference room and flipped on the lights. He pulled out a chair on one side of the table and motioned towards it before swinging around to the other side.

  “Would you mind if I sat facing the door?” Birchwood asked.

  “Sure,” Beckett replied, removed his blazer from the back of his chair and came around to the other side. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee, can I get you anything?”

  Birchwood’s eyes grew wide. “You’re going to leave me here while you go get coffee?”

  Beckett half smiled. “I’ll be just down the hall and I’ll be right back.” He grabbed Birchwood’s shoulder and gently led him around the table and helped him be seated. He then unsnapped his shoulder holster and laid it down on the table and said, “Here, now you have my gun. If anybody comes through that door that isn’t me, you have my permission to fire away.”

  Birchwood continued to tremble and stared down at the gun as Beckett left the room. He jogged to the end of the hall and got a tall cup of straight black from the machine, then walked back to find Birchwood just as he’d left him.

  Beckett closed the door behind him, set the coffee down and took his seat. He took his holster up from the table, hung it on the back of his chair and turned his attention to Birchwood.

  “Alright Dr. Birchwood, why don’t you start by telling me why you called for me tonight?”

  Birchwood blinked several times and slid his hands forward. He grabbed the cup of coffee and slowly drew it towards himself.

  Beckett could tell he hadn’t heard a word he said and again said, “Dr. Birchwood, can you tell me why we’re here and why you’re trying to steal my coffee?”

  This time his words found the mark, pulling Birchwood back into the present. He pushed the coffee back towards Beckett and said, “Sorry, I just can’t really focus right now.”

  Beckett picked up the coffee and took a pull. “Probably the lingering effects of the drugs. Are you sure you’re alright to leave?”

  Birchwood shook his head. “I never said I was, I just said I can’t stay here. He’s out there, I know he is.”

  “Who’s out there?”

  “I don’t know, he is,” Birchwood replied.

  “And who is he?”

  Birchwood paused for a moment, his hand trembling. “The man that came to my room.”

  “A man came to your room? Where were you staying?”

  “I’m staying at the Ritz. A couple of hours ago there was a knock on my door from room service. I told them I hadn’t ordered anything, but the guy told me it was a complimentary bottle of champagne.”

  “So you let him in?”

  Birchwood n
odded. “Why wouldn’t I?

  “The man came in, then closed and locked the door behind him. I thought that was odd and asked him to leave, but instead he walked in and demanded my cell phone.

  “When I wouldn’t give it to him he pulled a gun on me and took it, then shattered it against a wall. After that he went over and pulled the room phone out of the wall.”

  Beckett took another long pull on his coffee. “What happened then?”

  “He mixed some sort of pills in with a glass of champagne and made me drink it. I had no idea what the stuff was, but you don’t have to be a doctor to know that taking anything with alcohol only makes it worse.

  “The man waited a few minutes until I started feeling dizzy, then laughed and told me to say hello to the others. The drugs were doing a number on me at that point and I tried sitting on the bed, but only managed to end up on the floor.

  “He laughed some more and took off.”

  Beckett waited to see if Birchwood would continue before prompting, “So how did you end up here?”

  “I always carry two phones when I travel, a business cell and a personal cell. I managed to stay awake just long enough to dig my personal cell out and press send.

  “Next thing I remember was waking up here.”

  Beckett jotted a few things down in his pad and said, “So what made you think to call me?”

  “After they pumped my stomach, I started coming back around. I turned on the television and listened to them talking about how they found another body up north of here. Said it was the fourth one in as many days.

  “I figured that was what the guy had to have been talking about when he mentioned the others, so I gave a call.”

  “Yeah, but how’d you know to call me?”

  “The news showed a picture of you going into the SkyLine apartments, said you were working the cases for the department.”

  Beckett thought for a moment, then shook his head. He wiped sweat away from his forehead and muttered, “Damn rookie. I told him not to say my name like that.”

  Beckett turned his notepad sideways and jotted down the names of the four previous victims. “Do any of these names look familiar to you?”

  Birchwood studied them and said, “Only from the news reports. Aside from that, I wouldn’t know them if they were sitting here beside me.”