Memorial since his clinical clerkships in medical school. Hundreds of people knew him by sight.
Jeffrey put a hand to his forehead and slicked back his light brown hair.
He combed his hair to the side, parting it on the right. Holding it back made his forehead appear broader. He’d never worn glasses. Maybe he could get a pair now. And for most all of the years he’d been working at Boston
Memorial, he’d had a mustache. He could shave it off.
Caught up with this intriguing thought, Jeffrey went to the other room to retrieve his Dopp Kit. He went back to the bathroom miffor. Soaping up, he quickly shaved off his mustache. It felt strange to run his tongue across a bare upper lip. Wetting his hair, he combed it straight back from his forehead. He was encouraged; already he was beginning to look like a new man.
Next, Jeffrey shaved off his moderate sideburns. The difference wasn’t much but he figured everything helped. Could he pass for another M.D.? He had the know-how; what he needed was an ID. Security at Boston Memorial had been beefed up considerably, a sign of the times. If he was challenged and couldn’t produce an ID, he would be caught. Yet he needed the access, and it was the doctors who had access to all areas of the hospital.
Jeffrey kept thinking. He wouldn’t despair. There was another group in the hospital that had wide access: housekeeping. No one questioned housekeeping. Having spent many nights on call in the hospital, Jeffrey could recall seeing housekeeping staff everywhere. No one ever wondered about them. He also knew there was a housekeeping graveyard shift from eleven P.m. to seven A.M., which they always had a hard time filling. The graveyard shift would be perfect, Jeffrey figured. He’d be less likely to bump into people who knew him. For the past few years, he’d worked mainly during the day.
Energized by this new crusade, Jeffrey yearned to start immediately. That meant a trip to the library. If he left right away, he would have about an hour before closing. Before he had time for second thoughts, he slipped
Chris’s notes into the spot he’d prepared for them in his briefcase and closed and latched the lid.
For what it was worth, Jeffrey locked the door behind him. As he made his way down the stairs, he hesitated. The musty,
sour smell reminded him of Devlin. Jeffrey had gotten a whiff of his breath when Devlin nabbed him at the airport.
In considering his plan of action, Jeffrey neglected to factor in Devlin.
Jeffrey knew something about bounty hunters, and that’s what Devlin undoubtedly was. Jeffrey harbored no illusions of what would happen if
Devlin caught him again, especially after the episode at the airport. After a moment’s indecision, Jeffrey resignedly continued down the stairs. If he wanted to do any investigating, he’d have to take some chances, but it still behooved him to remain constantly alert. In addition, he’d have to think ahead so that if he was unlucky enough to confront Devlin, he’d have some sort of plan. Downstairs, the man with the magazine was gone, but the clerk was still watching the Red Sox game. Jeffrey slipped out without being noticed. A good sign, he joked to himself His first try at not being seen was a success. At least he still had a sense of humor.
Any lightheartedness that Jeffrey had been able to call up faded as he surveyed the street scene in front of him. He felt a wave of acute paranoia as he reminded himself of the double reality of being a fugitive and carrying around $45,000 in cash. Directly across from Jeffrey, in the shadows of a doorway of a deserted building, the two men he’d seen from the window were smoking crack.
Clutching his briefcase, Jeffrey descended the Essex’s front steps. He avoided stepping on the poor man who was still lolling on the pavement with his brown-bagged bottle. Jeffrey turned to the right. He planned to walk the five or six blocks to the Lafayette Center, which included a good hotel. There he’d find a cab.