Nurse Oliver, walking swiftly and swinging her arms as if she were engaged in cardio exercise, led the way to Surgical Room One. Of the six operating rooms, Number One was the biggest and most technologically advanced. They walked up a stairway to the second level and entered the observation area overlooking the operating room. To Sami, it looked like a sky booth you might find at a football stadium.
Nurse Oliver pointed. “The surgeon in the middle is Doctor Hastings. I have no idea who the other two are. I’m going to get into some surgical scrubs, pop my head in the operating room, and speak to one of the nurses. Wish me luck.”
Sami counted heads, finding it hard to believe that the surgical room was crowded with over fifteen medical professionals. All were wearing surgical masks and caps, so it was hard for her to see their faces. One of the surgeons turned his head toward the observation room and she recognized that he was Doctor Templeton. Thus far, they recognized two of the surgeons, but hadn’t yet identified the third one. Sami did notice that Doctors Hastings and Templeton seemed to be working together on a procedure, while the third, unidentified surgeon observed.
“So that’s what goes on in an operating room, huh?” Al said.
“Sure doesn’t look anything like Grey’s Anatomy.”
“Is it any wonder health-care costs are through the roof?” Al said. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy that they’re pulling out all the stops to save Ms. O’Neill, but can you even imagine what the tab is going to be?”
“No, I can’t,” Sami said. “I just hope the poor girl makes it.”
Sami noticed the door to the operating room open and Nurse Oliver walk in. She tapped another nurse on the shoulder, and the two of them disappeared through the door.
From this distance Sami couldn’t quite make out what was going on inside McKenzie’s chest. She saw plenty of blood-stained scrubs and sheets. She imagined that witnessing open heart surgery was a lot more difficult than witnessing an autopsy.
Sami saw the door to the operating room open and a nurse, presumably the one Nurse Oliver had spoken to, made her way through the group and approached the unidentified surgeon. He looked up at the observation room for what seemed like a long time. He nodded a couple of times and followed Nurse Oliver out the door. A few minutes later, the door to the observation room opened and in walked the surgeon.
He loosened his surgical mask and removed the nitrile gloves.
“Nurse Oliver had to return to the ICU. You wanted to see me?”
Sami thought it odd that he didn’t introduce himself. Then again, he’d been in surgery for the last few hours trying to save a young girl’s life. She guessed that etiquette was the last thing on his mind.
“Thanks for taking the time, Doctor. I’m Detective Rizzo and this is my partner, Detective Diaz.” The moment the word “partner” slipped off her tongue she cringed.
“I’m Doctor Youngblood. How can I help you?”
“I realize you have more pressing issues to deal with, so we’ll try to make this as brief as possible,” Sami said. “We’re trying to determine who performed the pre-op tests on Ms. O’Neill.”
“Look no further, I performed the tests.”
“You ordered the sedative when she regained consciousness?” Sami asked.
“She wasn’t really conscious—at least not in the traditional sense. She was, however, clearly in distress and needed to be calmed down quickly.”
“Were you aware that we left explicit instructions to contact us the moment she showed any signs of consciousness?” Sami said.
“With all due respect, Detectives, my primary concern was for the welfare of the patient, not following police protocol. If she had been stable and I wasn’t concerned that her heart might arrest, of course I would have kept her conscious. But the situation called for an immediate medical decision.”
Sami couldn’t quite figure out why he was so defensive. In spite of his lecture, his voice remained calm.
“Before you sedated her,” Al said, “we understand that she mumbled a few words. Can you tell us what she said?”
“Unfortunately, they were incomprehensible.”
“Was there anyone else in the room that might have heard what she said?” Sami asked.
“Only Nurse Oliver and the officer, and they were farther away from her than I was.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Sami asked.
“Only that I have to get back into surgery.” He extended his hand first to Sami, then to Al. “I’m sorry I can’t help. And equally sorry if I came on a little strong. But this is a very difficult surgery and I’m running on reserve power.”
He smiled.
At first, Sami didn’t notice, but then she focused on his left dimple.
His only dimple.
She could feel her face getting hot. Was it merely a bizarre coincidence? The more she studied his face, the more he resembled the composite drawing. Was she standing inches away from the Resuscitator?
If he was the killer they’d been searching for, he remained remarkably composed. Too composed actually. His surgical cap was soaked through with perspiration, but he showed no signs of nervousness or fear. Could a serial killer occupy the same space as the detectives trying to track him down without showing even the slightest sign of anxiety? Could anyone’s blood run that cold?
Sami’s brain kicked into overdrive. She tried to fit together all the pieces of a very complicated puzzle. Sure, he resembled the composite drawing and fit the description two eye witnesses had shared with her, but that was still circumstantial evidence. He was extremely handsome and his build appeared to be average. He was also the right height. What else did she have? As a cardiologist, he was perfectly capable of performing the same experiments the killer had performed on each of the five victims.
Sami focused her eyes on the ID badge clipped to his scrubs, and there it was: the caduceus symbol.
“Before you leave, Doctor,” Sami said. “I’d like to know if you’re acquainted with a private investigator by the name of Peter Spencer?”
She studied him closely and could see tension in his eyes. The cool and composed doctor showed signs of nervousness.
“Well…Um…The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Al grabbed Sami’s arm. She could see that he was confused with her line of questioning. Obviously, he had missed it. She eyeballed Al and ever so slightly shook her head, signaling, hopefully, for him to let her continue without interrupting. Her lips tightened to a thin line.
“What would you say if I told you Mr. Spencer was on his way to the hospital?”
“I fail to see what relevance that has to anything,” Doctor Youngblood said. “Now if you would please excuse me—”
“Are you sure you never met him?”
“I don’t have time to play these foolish games, Detective.”
“Okay, Doctor Youngblood. That is your name, isn’t it?”
“I don’t appreciate this harassment—especially when I have a critical patient lying on a surgical table.”
“My apologies,” Sami said. “I just have one more question. Would you prefer to be called Doctor Youngblood or John Smith?”
Sami looked into Doctor Youngblood’s eyes and saw the same eerie darkness she had seen in Simon’s eyes. She had little doubt that he was the killer. About to arrest him, she reached for her Glock, but before she could draw her firearm or even form a word on her lips, Doctor Youngblood did a hundred-eighty-degree turn and was out the door before either Sami or Al could react. Sami didn’t have to explain. Al finally figured out exactly what was going on. They bolted out the door after him, lagging behind the doctor by a long distance. He must be a gazelle, Sami thought.
Doctor Julian Youngblood dashed down the hall like an Olympic sprinter, past the nurses’ station and past the doctor’s lounge. Out of shape, running as fast as he could, he was out of breath. What now? Where could he run? Where could he hide?
As he dashed down the corridor, grazing people as he kept up a blazing pace, he suddenly felt as if everything moved in slow motion. It was like a dream, when you’re trying to get away, but your body just can’t move.
He pushed on.
Sami and Al ran down the corridor shoulder to shoulder. They’d lost sight of the doctor and were pursuing him blindly.
“Better call for backup,” Sami yelled.
Al flipped open his cell phone and dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“This is Detective Diaz. I’m at Saint Michael’s Hospital on Hillside Avenue and am in pursuit of a suspect in a murder investigation. I need backup to secure all exits as soon as possible. Last seen, the suspect was wearing green surgical scrubs. Subject is a Caucasian male, approximately six feet tall, with an average build. He has dark hair and his name is Doctor Youngblood.”
“Got it, Detective,” the operator said. “Help is on the way.”
Julian two-stepped it up the stairway where an alarmed door offered access to the hospital roof. He realized that if he triggered the alarm, the detectives would be on him in a few minutes. But he knew there was no exit if he ran down the stairs. He felt trapped and didn’t know what to do. Out of sheer panic, he opened the alarmed door and stepped onto the roof. Frantically, he jogged around air conditioning compressors, vents, and equipment he did not recognize, searching for another exit, hoping that maybe he could find a way out of the building.
On the other side of the roof, he spotted another access door and ran toward it. He grasped the doorknob and yanked hard, but the door wouldn’t open. Of course, he thought. He needed a four-digit security code to unlock the door.
He stood motionless for a moment, his mind racing out of control. It felt as if his entire life was flashing in front of his eyes. He walked toward the edge of the roof, and stopped just short of the two-foot ledge, facing Fourth Avenue. In the distance, he could hear sirens getting louder by the second. He also heard the “whop-whop” sound of a helicopter rapidly approaching. Soon the detectives would track him down. He had to find another way off the roof.
Sami and Al jogged to the nurses’ station, both panting and trying to catch their breath. Sami could hear a fire alarm blaring. They stopped and spoke to the first nurse they saw.
“Did you see Doctor Youngblood run by here?” Sami asked.
The young nurse pointed. “He flew by like a marathon runner and went to that stairway, but that’s not an exit. It’s only for access to the roof. What the hell is going on?”
They had no time to answer.
Sami and Al jogged to the stairway, Al leading the way. Handguns drawn, poised in front of them, they slowly eased their way up the stairs.
“Careful,” Sami whispered, as they approached the wide-open access door. “He could have a weapon.”
“I don’t think he was packing while in surgery.”
“Smartass.”
Al watchfully stood on the threshold of the roof and motioned for Sami to proceed. Cautiously, they inched their way onto the roof and quickly scanned the area, looking for the doctor. He was nowhere in sight.
“You go left and I’ll go right,” Al said.
Sami nodded. She turned, but before she could take a step, Al grabbed her forearm. “Please be careful,” he said.
Utterly panic stricken, Julian squatted behind an air conditioning compressor to gather his thoughts and catch his breath. How foolish he had been. Of all the exits in the hospital, he chose a one-way path to nowhere. Except for the main stairway, there was no other way off this roof, and at any minute, it would be flooded with cops. How had he gone from esteemed surgeon to fugitive? What might have happened if he had completed his research? No time to play “what if.”
As inconspicuously as possible, he peeked over the compressor and saw Detective Diaz making his way toward the locked access door to the second stairway. Julian turned around and rested his back against the compressor. Could it be that the detective knew the security code?
Julian needed a plan and he needed it now. He looked down and noticed a three-foot-long piece of electrical conduit lying on the floor. He picked up the conduit and snuck up behind the detective, the makeshift weapon ready to strike.
Al approached the door, mindful of his surroundings, taking nothing for granted. He had no idea where the door would take him. It could be another stairway, or might just be a storage area. For all he knew, the doctor could be hiding behind the door, waiting to pounce. Al grasped the doorknob, trying to be as quiet as possible.
He tugged on the doorknob, twisting it clockwise, then counter-clockwise, but the door would not open. About to turn around, Al felt something strike him in the back of his head. He could hear ringing in his ears, but only for a few seconds. His eyes went blurry and he fell to the floor.
Julian stood over the detective, having no idea what to do next. He noticed a pistol lying near the detective’s right hand. He picked it up and stared at it as if it was a foreign object he’d never seen before. He had never held a handgun, let alone fired one. He could hear the helicopter, now within eyeshot. He surveyed the surroundings. The situation was getting out of control. His options were few.
Having walked the entire perimeter of the roof, searching for Doctor Youngblood, Sami peeked around the corner and saw Al lying face down on the floor. The doctor stood over him, looking like a statue. Seeing Al’s motionless body, Sami felt a surge of adrenalin rushing through her veins. A wave of terror crashed over her. Logic quickly took control. If the doctor had shot Al, she would have heard the blast. So even though she had no idea the extent of Al’s injuries, she could at least feel relieved that a hot piece of lead wasn’t lodged somewhere in his body.
Sami realized that the doctor, standing frozen, hadn’t yet noticed her. He seemed so preoccupied with Al that he paid little attention to anything else. Al, thank God, was beginning to stir. He grasped the back of his head, turned over, and sat upright, resting his back against the door.
Sami noticed a piece of silver pipe lying on the floor next to the doctor’s foot, and quickly figured out what had happened. Holding her Glock with both hands, arms extended, elbows locked, she pointed the gun at Doctor Youngblood. “Drop your weapon, Doctor, and get on your knees with your hands behind your head.”
Before the last word slipped off Sami’s tongue, the doctor immediately reacted and aimed the handgun at the center of Al’s chest. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned.
“Are you okay, Al?” Sami yelled.
“I will be when we cuff this asshole.”
Al’s comment eased her frazzled nerves. After all, if Al was seriously injured, would he make such a flippant statement?
“I’m going to say this one more time, Doctor,” Sami said. “Drop your weapon and get on your knees!”
Julian tried to steady the gun but his whole body was shaking. Suddenly, he heard a commotion behind him. Appearing through the main access door to the roof, Julian watched a literal parade of policeman converging on the roof, slowly walking towards him, each with their weapons pointed directly at him. They all wore riot gear and carried shields. They looked like modern-day gladiators.
Sami feared that even if a sharpshooter put a bullet clean through the doctor’s head, a nerve reflex still might twitch his trigger finger. If this happened, Al would likely take a bullet square in the chest. “Don’t shoot!” Sami yelled, waving her arm at the backup.
“Wise decision, Detective,” Dr. Youngblood said, directing his statement to Sami. He waived his gun at Al. “I want you to stand up and turn around with your back facing me. If you so much as flinch, I’ll put a bullet between your shoulder blades.”
Al eased up, supporting his back against the door. The cobwebs hadn’t yet cleared and the back of his head was throbbing. He felt a little woozy, but managed to find his legs. Having no other option, Al complied with the doctor’s order and turned with his back facing him.
Slowly, Julian moved toward Al. With his peripheral vision, he could see Sami inching toward him and the gladiators moving in his direction. “Don’t make another move,” Julian yelled. “Unless, of course, you want Detective Diaz to meet his maker.”
Julian grabbed Al by the back of his shirt collar and pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of Al’s head. “Let’s walk,” Julian said.
Gripping Al’s shirt tightly, the handgun still resting against the back of Al’s head, Julian stepped away from Sami and her gladiators and moved toward the edge of the roof. Once there, Julian noticed a two-foot ledge around the perimeter. He tightened his grip on Al’s shirt.
“Step up, Detective.”
Sami watched in horror as Al stepped up on the ledge, his body teetering slightly. Was this how it was going to end? So many thoughts flooded her mind. If Al plunged to his death without her ever forgiving him, how would she ever forgive herself?
“Now listen to me carefully,” Doctor Youngblood yelled. “I want you, Detective Rizzo, and your pack of wolves to get the fuck off this roof. If you’re not out of here in less than a minute, Detective Diaz is going to perform an Olympic-style high dive into a pool of concrete. And while you’re at it, call the boys in the copter, and tell them if they land, Diaz flies.”
What frightened Sami most was Doctor Youngblood’s sudden composure. In spite of his hopeless situation—there was no way he’d ever leave this hospital alive—he appeared to be in complete control of his emotions. In a matter of seconds, he had gone from panicky to rock-steady. Sami knew from her prior experiences with cold-blooded killers that those most composed were generally the most dangerous. She thought, for a moment, about trying to negotiate with him, but feared what he might do.
“I don’t see anyone moving,” Julian said. “If you’re not—”
Julian made the fatal mistake of taking his eyes off Al for just a moment, long enough for Al to react. Still shaky and lightheaded, Al maintained enough wits about him to take advantage of the situation. He swung his right elbow and caught Julian square in the nose. Reacting without thought or reason, Julian dropped the gun and covered his face with both hands. Blood poured out of his nose. Al tried to step down off the ledge, but Julian grabbed his shoulders and tried to push him off the roof. Al had no idea how he maintained his balance, but he stood firm.
Sami watched them struggle for only a second. She rushed toward them as quickly as she could, the backup right behind her. By the time she got there, Al had managed to overpower the doctor and step off the ledge. Both men were still locked in battle, swinging and tugging and pushing. She saw the handgun the doctor had been holding lying on the roof. She raised her weapon.
“Dr. Youngblood, get on your knees and put your hands behind your head! Do it now!”
As if rehearsed, both Al and the doctor loosened their grip on each other. Dr. Youngblood put his hands behind his neck, but instead of getting on his knees, he jumped up on the ledge with the grace of a gymnast mounting a balance beam.
He stood on the ledge with perfect balance, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if it were a lazy Sunday afternoon and he was enjoying a panoramic view of the city.
“Doctor Youngblood,” Sami yelled. “Please step off the ledge.”
He turned toward her, but held his ground. The blood from his nose was painted on the front of his scrubs.
“Please, Doctor, put your hands behind your head and step down.”
He didn’t move.
“Last chance, Doctor,” Sami said. “Off the ledge and on your fucking knees.”
“What are you going to do, Detective, shoot me?”
“If we have to,” Sami warned.
“Then go ahead and shoot.”
“Do you really want it to end this way?”
Dr. Youngblood turned around, his back facing her, his toes near the edge of the roof.
“Why, Doctor?” Sami yelled. “Why did you kill those people?”
“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
Julian thought about Nicole, how he’d betrayed her. He thought about his daughters, how much he loved and missed them, how much he’d hurt them. He thought about his career and the research grant, his legacy now one of notoriety. Most of all he thought about all the subjects he had put in an early grave, of the dreadful things he had done to his female subjects. In one moment of clarity, Julian understood why he had ravished Eva and Rachael and McKenzie and Nicole. It had nothing to do with them; they were merely substitutes for Rebecca and Marianne, victims by default. He’d given up all hope that he could ever repay his cousins for the emotional damage they had inflicted on him, for alienating his entire family by accusing him of attempted rape. The only means by which he could temper his rage was to redirect his hunger for revenge. There was no other way for Julian to find even an ounce of consolation.
He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life in prison. Then again, any responsible jury would surely sentence him to death. Death would be a gift, much easier to deal with than rotting in a cage. But how would he deal with the guilt while he waited to die? No, he would not subject his family to a long, protracted trial or allow the news media to dismantle the lives of his wife and daughters. He had no choice but to do the righteous thing.
Doctor Julian Youngblood, husband, father, gifted cardiologist, inched forward, his toes now hanging slightly over the side. He leaned into the wind until the weight of his upper torso pushed him forward like an Olympian diving off a platform. Once airborne, it felt like his stomach was heaving into his throat. Soaring toward the ground, the air rushed past his scrubs, making the sound of a flag flapping in the wind. His arms and legs were helplessly flailing, and his last thoughts were of Isabel and Lorena.
Sami rushed to the edge of the roof, stopped a few feet short, carefully leaned forward, and looked over the ledge. Horns were blowing and tires squealing. She could see Doctor Youngblood lying motionless on the concrete sidewalk, face down. Behind her, a police helicopter landed on the helipad. She tried to feel pity for him, but all she could feel was an unusual sense of relief.
“When you get to hell,” she whispered, “tell Simon I said hi.”
Al moved toward Sami and they stood toe to toe for what seemed like an eternity. Eyes speaking, tongues still, Al put his arms around her and pulled her toward him. They embraced.
“Thanks for saving my life,” Al said.
“All in a day’s work.”
“How can I repay you?”
“No need. I owed you one. Remember?”