Chapter 48

CHAPTER 48

NINE THE NEXT morning.

Marple shielded her eyes against the glare as she walked up the curved suburban pathway toward HavenCare headquarters, the conglomerate in the process of acquiring St. Michael’s. The sunlight reflected sharply off the sleek facade of Building A, one of seven on the beautifully groomed campus just north of Bedford, New York.

“Norman Foster,” said Holmes, walking beside her.

“Who?” asked Marple, not even looking at him. She was still annoyed at Holmes for walking out on yesterday’s meeting, but gratified that he’d agreed to come along this morning. After all, it was his fortuitous meeting with Callie Brett that had provided the lead.

“The architect who designed Apple Park’s main building in Cupertino,” said Holmes. “He did all this too.”

“Makes a statement,” said Poe. He was one step behind, looking around at the expanse of tempered glass and steel latticework.

“Thirty billion in profits last year,” said Marple. “That’s an even bigger statement.”

“Can’t blame St. Michael’s for wanting to join the club,” said Holmes. “It’s like linking up with the mothership.”

Holmes seemed antsy this morning—more antsy than usual these days—but Marple could sense him trying to focus. She hoped he would be on his best behavior. Poe too. Between her partners’ various afflictions and addictions, Marple was feeling more like a babysitter than a colleague of late. It was exhausting, always having to be the adult in the room.

Marple had prepped her partners for this meeting on their way up. Dr. Frank Stone, HavenCare’s head of community relations, was the man in charge of avoiding embarrassment for one of the largest healthcare conglomerates in the country. According to published interviews, he had graduated at the top of his med-school class at NYU but had hung up his white coat a decade ago. Now, like Poe, he was said to be partial to Brioni suits. Marple guessed he’d realized that managing hospitals was far more lucrative than actually working in one.

The three of them entered the building through a thick revolving door. They checked in with a receptionist, who handed them plastic clip-on badges, then waved them through security and pointed them toward the executive elevator on the other side of the vaulted lobby.

A short while later, they were escorted into a large conference room overlooking a patch of Westchester woods. An enormous marble conference table hung suspended from the ceiling by two thick cables. Despite a lack of other visible support, the table felt solid and immovable. Marple saw Holmes bending sideways in his chair, running his hand underneath the slab as if he were trying to decode a magic trick. She yanked on his sleeve as the conference room door opened.

“Everybody does that” came a voice from the doorway. “I can’t quite figure it out myself.”

Marple recognized their host from his viral TED Talk “Healthcare on Mars,” and from Virginia’s detailed research. She was impressed that Stone arrived with no entourage, no assistant, and no lawyers. Of course, there was no telling who was watching via the tiny cameras in the ceiling. In rooms like this, Marple always assumed she was being watched.

“Dr. Stone,” said Marple. “Thank you for meeting with us. We’re—”

“Holmes, Marple, and Poe,” said Stone brightly. “I know your work.” He glanced back toward the door. “Are we waiting for anybody else? FBI? NYPD? Anybody from St. Michael’s?”

“We’re here on our own,” said Poe.

“Representing the parents of the missing children,” Holmes added.

“I can’t imagine what those poor people are going through,” said Stone, shaking his head. “How can I help?”

Stone exuded sympathy. Of course, Marple realized. That was one of his professional tools. Maybe the vestigial remains of his old bedside manner. She pulled out her iPad, tapped a key, and slid the screen across the table.

“This is surveillance footage from the maternity floor of St. Michael’s a few days before the kidnapping,” said Marple. She watched Stone’s face as he peered at the footage of two young women in business suits casually walking the hospital corridor. They appeared to be on their own, with no official escort.

One of the women held her iPhone in front of her for part of the time, apparently recording as she walked. Patients and hospital personnel passed by without paying them any attention. At one point, the two women stopped a doctor, apparently asking her for directions. She’d turned and pointed them toward the nursery.

Marple froze the frame and indicated the woman in the white coat.

“That’s Dr. Callie Brett,” she said. “These women told her they were from HavenCare, doing a facility evaluation. Do you recognize them?”

Stone looked closely at the image, then shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean anything.” He looked up at Marple. “We’ve got more than a thousand employees on this campus alone, a thousand more spread out across the country. Nothing from facial recognition?”

“No matches,” said Marple. This was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Holmes, Marple, and Poe had obtained the footage from their inside source, Dr. Revell Schulte, but they had yet to share it with the authorities. Marple knew they were walking a fine line by withholding evidence this important, but she felt their first obligation was to the parents and their babies, not to the NYPD. And certainly not to Captain Duff.

“What reason did Dr. Brett say these women gave for being there?” asked Stone.

“Checking the facilities,” said Marple. “Equipment. Floor space.”

“September 20th,” said Stone, squinting at the date beside the time code. “I can help with that.” He pulled out his iPhone and started tapping away as he talked. “We have a team devoted to onboarding at St. Michael’s. I’ll check their schedule.” He opened a program, tapped a few more keys, scrolled for a few seconds, then looked up. “Sorry. Nobody from our team was at the hospital that day. And my guess is that it would have been a larger contingent anyway. This hospital is a very important acquisition for us.” He clicked out of the program and slid the iPhone back into his pocket.

“So I was right,” said Poe. “These ladies were casing the place.”

“Does that mean we’re looking at the kidnappers, posing as HavenCare representatives?” asked Stone.

“Not likely,” said Holmes. “Different skill sets.”

“We have a nurse who’s confessed to tipping off an outside contact,” said Marple. “But she doesn’t seem to know anything else about the kidnapping.”

“Keelin Dale,” said Stone. “The drug addict. I heard about her arrest. She’s no longer a hospital employee, of course.”

Marple reached down and opened her purse. “There is one more thing…” She pulled out a small green ankle band and dangled it from her finger.

“That’s a NovaGen,” said Stone. “Standard in all our maternity units. I believe St. Michael’s has started using them on our recommendation.”

Marple handed him the band. “Actually,” she said, “that’s a counterfeit.”

“We tested it,” Holmes said, “and found that it’s been programmed to register a signal at rest, but not when near an alarm trigger.”

“The label on the inside says, ‘Manufactured in Great Britain,’” said Poe. “Is that where the real ones are made?”

“It is,” said Stone, turning the device over in his fingers and looking closer. “Could’ve fooled me. Medical devices are big business over there. It’s very lucrative.”

Marple reached to take back the band. Her mind flashed to the four infants missing in London.

“Interesting,” she said. “Sort of like the business of selling babies.”