Thomas sank back in his chair, and frowned in silence. "Everything you say… it's all pretty vague, isn't it?"

"Not really."

"How so?"

"There's someone prowling around the ward with a set of shoulders on him that could stop a truck. Nothing vague about that at all."

"Shit!"

"What?"

"Stewart Deloram has a good set of shoulders."

Earl sighed. "And every reason not to shoot patients full of IV ketamine."

"I hope so, because he's been a great teacher, and I don't want him to be in trouble, except…"

"Except it's hard to be sure of someone once suspicions about them are let loose."

"Yeah. I mean, even now I'm wondering, how do we know a guy like Stewart didn't count on people thinking that he'd never do anything so obvious. Being a little too clever is something he might try, except it backfired on him."

"Maybe." Earl decided not to even mention his worst suspicion, that Stewart might have silenced five patients to avoid the type of scandal that now consumed him. Thomas would really find it hard to believe in Stewart if he heard that one. "We could speculate all day," he said instead, and stood up to end the meeting. "But your study will put some real probables on the table."

Thomas slowly rose to his feet, seeming almost reluctant to leave. "In a way, I'm afraid of what we might find. Finger-pointing can get ugly."

"Leaving a killer at large would be worse," Earl replied, hoping Thomas could remain objective despite a sense of loyalty to Stewart.

The young man nodded, but the eager spark he'd had in his eye at the start of their talk had faded. Probably hadn't put faces on the people they might end up going after when he first offered to help.

"Now, Janet has already done some of the work you'll need," Earl continued. "Of course, it'll save time if she shows you her results, but not in the hospital. Seeing you two huddled together might tip Hurst off."

Thomas's eyebrows arched. "Dr. Graceton's already been doing a cluster study?"

"Obviously our secret held," Earl said, once more pleased with himself for having had the sense to recruit his wife's aid. "So how about dropping over to our house for dinner this evening? You can review her material safely enough there. Until now she's covered only the staff in Palliative Care, but it looks as if we'll have to go beyond them and check the whole hospital. And she can continue to process the data you collect. It'll take the two of you to track everyone we need- nurses, doctors, residents, orderlies, and porters, including who entered the hospital after hours when they weren't on duty."

"But-"

"You see, key card access leaves a computerized record. Of course, I'll have to call in a few favors to get into those databases."

"Yeah, but-"

"So we'll talk more tonight," he said, determined to keep him speechless so that they wouldn't start arguing in circles again, guessing who did what to whom. "And bring your appetite. Janet's the best cook in Buffalo-"

"Dr. Garnet, I'm sorry, but I've been trying to tell you, I already have a dinner engagement tonight."

Feeling sheepish, Earl invited him for tomorrow evening.

5:55 p.m. Palliative Care

Sadie Locke had left Dr. Earl Garnet a message requesting to see him.

Sitting on the side of the bed, picking her way through a dinner tray that held several bowls of different-colored mush, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. I'm definitely better for my weekend at home with Donny, she thought. The pallor of her face had picked up a coppery tinge of tan, and her eyes sparkled, a change that only family and love could evoke.

She looked at her watch. Dr. Garnet had said he'd be here before six.

"Hi, Mrs. Locke," said his now familiar voice from the doorway. "Don't let me interrupt your dinner…"

"Dr. Garnet! Come in, come in." She pushed the meal aside and waved him closer. "The nurses told me you had some excitement here after I left."

He chuckled. "Afraid so."

"Are you all right?"

"My back still twinges after an hour in a chair, and if I turn my neck too quickly, I get a reminder of what happened. Other than that, I'm fine. Now, what can I do for you?"

She motioned him closer still. "It's what I can do for you," she said in a whisper. "I may have seen the person who knocked you out."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Someone tried to come in here in the wee hours of last Tuesday morning, but I scared off whoever it was."

"What!"

"Well, not scared so much as surprised. The individual apparently didn't think I'd be awake."

"What happened?" He sat beside her on the bed.

"I heard someone come in, and thought it might be Father Jimmy- the dear man always drops by, no matter how late his day goes- but saw this form. It was too dark to see his eyes-"

"It couldn't have been one of the nurses?"

"Don't think so. Too big."

"Man or woman?"

"Couldn't tell. Too dark."

"Did he or she say anything?"

"Just that it was the wrong room."

"What about the voice? Might you recognize it?"

"No. The person spoke in a whisper." Her wisps of hair stood up like Dairy Queen curls, and her eyes flashed with pleasure from telling what she knew.

Yet the story troubled Earl. If the visit on Saturday morning had been a second attempt to get in the room, then theories about someone looking for an empty bed for a quickie with a nurse, or even an attempt to rob the old lady's belongings while she'd been on a weekend pass, went out the window. He wanted to ask her if she had any reason to think someone would want to do her harm, but first, he thought, it was better to reassure her. "Sadie, I want you to know it won't happen again. You may have noticed that I've posted a security guard in the hallway."

"Yes." She leaned her head toward his in a conspiratorial gesture. "That's how I knew you took what happened seriously and would want to know about the Tuesday visit." A curt nod punctuated the claim.

More excited than afraid, he thought with a grin. "Okay, then here's what I need to know. Any enemies?"

Her eyes widened in delight. "Me?" She sounded honored, as if someone thinking she could matter enough to be the target of who knew what was high praise indeed. Back went her head and out came a hoot of laughter. "Go on!" She waved a hand at him, the way one fends off flattery while enjoying it to the hilt.

He asked her a few more questions, not so much because he thought she could tell him anything else, but to feed the relief most patients got from being part of something bigger than their disease. As they talked, his gaze roamed over the same simple belongings on her nightstand that he'd seen before, and once more his eyes fell on her calendar. Yet this time he noticed she'd marked about a quarter of the days with crosses, occasionally two and three at a time. Looking for a way to wrap up their conversation- Janet wanted him home on time this evening- he changed the topic. "Are those the visits Father Jimmy paid you?" he said, pointing at the markings.

"Oh, no. He's here almost every night. Those are the times some pitiable soul tries to pass on but gets jumped on by that team of young doctors with the squeaky cart. Why people here can't at least slip away without all that fuss, I'll never understand."

Earl noticed the DNR bracelet on her own wrist. She certainly had a point, he thought, but said nothing. Still, the large number of crosses disturbed him.

11:07 p.m.

Stewart stepped inside the entrance to his house, closed the door, and slumped against it. If only he could just as easily bar the outside world from his life, not allow it to rampage through and trample everything, he thought. Except it already had.

He looked around at his marble entranceway, its polished gray surface softened in the dim glow of recessed lighting. Tonight it looked like a mausoleum, but a well-furnished one. A rosewood end table supported a small brass lamp with a green shade. It funneled a golden spot on the mail his housekeeper had placed there for him. Usually the sight of letters waiting for his attention had an uplifting effect- the prospect of reading the latest news from admiring colleagues was one of the pleasures he savored at the end of a marathon day. Not anymore.