“All right, all right!” Devlin said, getting to his feet. “If you want me to try the airport, I’ll try the airport.”
“Good,” Michael said. “And keep me informed.”
Devlin let himself out of Michael’s office. His mood had not improved.
Normally he’d never let someone like Michael tell him how to do his job, but in this instance, he thought he’d better humor the man. The last thing he wanted was competition. Especially on this job. The only trouble was that now that he had to go to the airport, he’d have to hire someone to follow the wife and watch the house. As Devlin waited for the elevator, he thought about whom he could call.
Jeffrey paused on the broad steps of Boston Memorial’s entrance to marshal his courage. Despite his efforts at disguise, he was apprehensive now that he had reached the hospital’s threshold. He was worried he’d be recognized by the first person who knew him.
He could even imagine their words: “Jeffrey Rhodes, is that you? What are you doing, going to a masquerade ball? We heard the police are looking for you, is that true? Sorry about your
being convicted of second-degree murder. Sure does prove it’s getting harder and harder to practice medicine in Massachusetts.”
Taking a step back and switching his duffel bag to the other shoulder,
Jeffrey tipped his head to look up at the Gothic details over the lintel of the front entrance. There was a plaque that read: THE BOSTON MEMORIAL
HOSPITAL ERECTED AS A HOUSE OF REFUGE FOR THE SICK, INFIRM, AND TROUBLED.
He wasn’t sick or infirm, but he was certainly troubled. The longer he hesitated, the harder it was to go inside. He was locked in indecision when he spotted Mark Wilson.
Mark was a fellow anesthesiologist whom Jeffrey knew well. They’d trained together at the Memorial. Jeffrey had been a year ahead. Mark was a large black man whose own mustache had always made Jeffrey’s appear sparse by comparison; it had always been a point of humor between them. Mark seemed to be enjoying the brisk spring day. He was approaching from Beacon Street, heading for the front entrance-and straight for Jeffrey.
It was the kick Jeffrey needed. In a panic, he went through the revolving door and into the main lobby. He was immediately swept up in a sea of people. The lobby served not only as an entrance but as the confluence of three main corridors that led to the hospital’s three towers.
Fearing that Mark was on his heels, Jeffrey hurried around the circular information booth in the center of the domed lobby and walked down the central corridor. He figured Mark would be heading left to the bank of elevators that led to the OR complex.
Tense with fear of discovery, Jeffrey walked down the hall trying to appear casual. When he finally turned to glance behind him, Mark was nowhere in sight.
Although he’d been affiliated with the hospital for almost twenty years,
Jeffrey was not acquainted with anyone in personriel. Even so, he was wary when he entered the employment office and took the application a friendly clerk handed him. Just because he wasn’t familiar with personnel staff didn’t mean they weren’t familiar with him.
He filled out the application, using Frank Amendola’s name, social security number, and his Framingham address. In the section asking for work preference, Jeffrey indicated housekeeping. In the section asking for shift preference if applicable, he wrote “night.” For references, JelTrey listed several hospitals where he’d visited for anesthesia meetings. It was his hope that it would
take time for personnel to follow up on the references, if followups were done at all. Between the high demand for hospital workers and the low wages offered, Jeffrey figured it was an applicant’s market. He didn’t think that his employment in a position in housekeeping would be predicated on a reference check.
After he handed in his completed application, Jeffrey was offered the choice of being interviewed immediately or having an interview scheduled for a future date. He said he’d be pleased to be interviewed at personnel’s earliest convenience.
After a brief wait, he was ushered into Carl Bodanski’s windowless office.