The 5th Horseman

Chapter 115

WITHIN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES of my call to Tracchio, I had warrants in hand and a caravan of inspectors and cops, some on loan from Robbery, Anticrime, and Narcotics, behind me with lights flashing and sirens screaming. We were all heading north in a broken line to Municipal Hospital.

We left the cars on Pine, and once inside the hospital, we dispersed according to plan.

Jacobi and I took an elevator to the executive floor. I badged Carl Whiteley’s secretary; then we pushed past her, Jacobi in the lead, throwing open the doors to a wood-paneled conference room where a board meeting was in progress.

Whiteley was at the head of the table, looking as though he were trapped inside a very bad dream. His skin was sallow and gray. He was roughly shaven and glassy-eyed.

The other suits at the table had the same stark look of post-traumatic shock on their faces.

“There’s been a report of a suspicious death on the orthopedic floor. These warrants authorize us to search the hospital,” I said, slapping the paperwork down on the large blond table.

“For God’s sake,” said Whiteley, half-standing, knocking over his china coffee cup. He sponged up the spill with his pocket square. “Whatever you want, all right, Lieutenant? It’s not my problem anymore.”

“If that’s the case, who’s in charge here?” I asked.

Whiteley looked up. “Apparently, it’s you.”