JONATHAN KELLERMAN. THE CLINIC

“My God.”

“Don’t get dramatic, I said it wasn’t murder. The patient was terminal—flat-lining. We were getting ready to turn off the machines and pronounce but we couldn’t locate next of kin.”

“But the heart was still going.”

“Of course it was, otherwise why bother taking it out? Nice and strong. Young fellow, head trauma—motorcycle accident. Turned out to be a tourist from Germany, the idiot could have caused an international incident.”

“Who’d he try to steal the heart for?”

“Not who. What. Research. He’d conned us into giving him some lab space, said he wanted to practice gall-bladder resections on dogs, write a paper.”

“Not true?” I said.

“Oh, he worked on a few beagles but that wasn’t the real reason. Idiot fancied himself a transplant surgeon, future Christiaan Barnard. I put an end to that pipe dream despite the pressure.”

“Pressure from who?”

“Politicians from California.” The last word delivered with even more contempt than the first.

“San Francisco?”

“Yup. Lots of calls from greasy characters. Apparently his father was some sort of big shot. No matter to me. Do something like that, you’re out.”

“How was he caught?”

“A nurse walked in on him, got him red-handed, the fool. Middle of the night. He had a surgical kit laid out next to the patient’s bed, had even made the initial incision. Lord knows how he thought he could have gotten away with it—enough, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t need this grief, go bother Swenson.”

Organ theft.

Sterilization without proper consent.

Smartest boy.

Making his own rules. No surprise. He’d grown up seeing his father do a lot worse.

Years later, more surgical felonies?

What had Hope’s role been in all of it?

But the same question: Why had Hope and Locking been targeted and not Cruvic, himself?

Still, Cruvic had to be at the core of it. Barone had shown up at the police station because Cruvic knew the walls were closing in.

Scared?

Not of the police . . . scared for himself. Because Locking’s murder had put Hope’s into focus for him.

Told him who. Why.

But why now, and not after Hope’s murder?

And what had brought Cruvic out in the open?

Darrell Ballitser’s attack. The news reports linking him to Hope.

First time the murderer had known of the link?

But how could that be, if the issue was unethical surgery?

I went around and around with it.

Assume Ballitser’s attack had focused the murderer on Cruvic.

After that, the murderer had begun watching Cruvic . . . seen him with Locking? At Mulholland?

Unless I was totally off, and Cruvic had killed both Hope and Locking to keep them quiet.

But then why send his lawyer to talk to Milo?

The more I wrestled with it, the more convinced I became that Cruvic was now a target and he knew it.

Getting away with years of loose ethics until he’d finally offended the wrong person.

In collaboration with Hope and Locking.

Loose ethics . . . sterilization without consent . . . organ theft.

The house on Mulholland.

Private clinic.

Something Locking had been involved with, too . . .

Then it hit me.

So simple.

But where did Mandy Wright figure in? Party girl . . . working girl.

Days before her murder, she’d done the club scene in L.A. Before that, she’d met with Cruvic and his father in Vegas, left the casino with both of them.

Not for sex.

Another kind of freelancing.

She’d told Barnaby, “It’s like acting.”

What had Milo said about Club None—big hair and perfect bodies.

Mandy would fit in.

Her companion, too?

The poor waitress, Kathy DiNapoli. Murdered simply because she’d served drinks in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Perfect bodies.

Mandy hired to pick someone up.

A special kind of john.

Slowly, inexorably, like a snake coming alive in the heat, the chain unfolded in my head.

The chain between Hope, Locking, Mandy, Kathy.

Venomous snake.

The Morry Mayhew show that Hope had appeared on—what was the name of that producer? Suzette Band. I’d promised to call her if I learned something.

The old information barter.

She’d have to make another payment, first.

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