Paulan sat across from Agent Brannigan at a corner booth inside a diner two blocks from the Hudson River and waited for his partner to finish a slice of apple pie with a glass of milk nearly thick enough to eat with a spoon. “How can you drink whole milk?”
“One sip at a time.”
“I’d rather drink molasses,” Paulan relented.
“You should try it.”
“If they served liquid lard in a glass, would you drink it?”
Brannigan chewed his last bite of pie while he mused Paulan’s remark. “Depends on how thirsty I am.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “You get grumpy when you’re hungry. You should eat something.”
“Not from this place. I’m vegan. And it’s three a.m. My girlfriend presumes I’m avoiding her.”
“These hours come with the job. She’ll adapt. How long have you been together?”
Paulan ignored the question and propped his elbows on the table. “Do you ever sleep?”
“Sleep is overrated.”
“So are half the movies I saw last year. Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy them.”
Brannigan flagged the lone waitress and ordered Paulan a Diet Coke. “I’ll take another coffee to go as well,” he told the Susan Sarandon doppelganger with a tired posture and million-dollar smile.
“I don’t drink diet soda,” Paulan complained when the waitress left.
“The caffeine will keep you going. And you look like you could shave some weight.”
Paulan motioned with his hands and wobbled his head from side to side and up and down in one fluid motion. “Just so I understand, it’s not enough to offend my ethnicity. You also feel it necessary to imply I’m fat.”
“I wouldn’t say fat. More like out of shape. There’s a difference.”
“I run three miles a day!”
“Did you run today?”
“Not yet. I’m usually sleeping at this hour.”
“Get used to it. You want to do what I do and chase people who hunt people, then this is the price of admission.”
“A stale slice of apple pie in a low rent diner two hours before sunrise?”
Brannigan flagged the waitress when she returned and flashed an empathetic smile. “Where are we on Ronald Neyman’s juvenile record?”
Paulan set the Diet Coke aside. “I filed the request. Now I’m waiting as fast as I can.”
“Did you talk to the judge?”
“Which one?”
“Find out. I need you to treat this like a bad kidney stone and push it through. The more we discover about Neyman’s past, the more we learn about what makes him tick. This isn’t retrospective profiling. We know our offender spent time in foster care. We know his name, age, ethnicity, education level, and physical appearance. We also know his diagnosis and his treatment plan. What bothers me is the manner and the method of his crime. Neyman has a history of stalking, not murder.” Brannigan peered out the diner’s window, lost in his thoughts. From a nearby table, a group of third shift cops got up to leave.
“What are you thinking?” Paulan asked.
“Should I order a slice of pie to go?”
“Seriously?”
“The first one was a little scrawny. I need to keep my blood sugar elevated. What else did you find on Dr. Jenkins?”
Paulan opened the notes folder on his phone. “According to police records, and a lawsuit he filed against the county, his wife was nearly killed by a drunk driver years ago. She was initially found dead at the scene, but paramedics revived her, only to have her end up in a coma.”
“What about Mira Galloway?”
“Not much. She was hospitalized in a coma ten years ago after a skydiving accident. I pulled Ronald Neyman’s criminal history. He was a person of interest in the accident. I contacted the FAA for a copy of their investigation report, but they haven’t returned my call.”
Brannigan checked his phone for messages. “What else?”
“A second skydiver was killed and a third sustained life-threatening injuries but survived. The details are sketchy.”
“You said Neyman was a person of interest.”
“No formal charges were filed on him. The incident was ruled an accident. I’ll track down the investigator who worked the case. A retired detective named Patterson. His last known address is Prescott, Arizona.”
Brannigan signaled the waitress for the check. “Put a tap on Jenkins’ cell phone, his hospital landline, and any email account in his name. If Neyman comes up in text or conversation, I want to hear about it ASAP.”
“You think Jenkins was involved in Neyman’s escape?”
“He’s hiding something for sure. I filed a court order for Ronald Neyman’s medical records. We need insight on everything Jenkins isn’t telling us about our schizophrenic savant.”
Paulan typed a note in his phone. “I ran a background check on Dr. Marvin Tibbs. He has an ophthalmology practice in Montgomery County, Maryland. He also studied at Harvard Medical School with Dr. Jenkins. According to the federal health database, his name appears on numerous FDA patents he co-filed with Jenkins in 2012.”
“Patents for what?”
“Not sure yet. Some kind of new drug therapy.”
“What else?”
“Tibbs has a clean record. No outstanding warrants or arrests. No spouse. No children. Pays his taxes on time. Finished medical school with honors. Oddly enough, he’s in town this week for a conference at the—”
“SUNY College of Optometry,” Brannigan finished Paulan’s sentence. “There’s a three-day conference in Manhattan. Tibbs made the panel of guest speakers.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me where he’s staying?”
“The Roosevelt on Madison Avenue.”
“Great… Is there more you’d like me to share about details you already know?”
Brannigan pulled his wallet out and dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table. He slid out from the booth and stood up to zip his jacket. “I gotta roll.”
“Where are you going?”
“To have my eyes examined.”
* * *
Marvin Tibbs typed the screen lock password on his MacBook Pro inside the Roosevelt suite overlooking downtown Manhattan. Settled in a red velvet chair with a crystal snifter of Grand Marnier, he entered a separate password to unlock an encrypted file with hundreds of digital photographs captured by hidden cameras. He parsed through mundane images capturing post-menopausal housewives during their annual eye exams. Lulled by what he saw, he opened the folder for Faith Galloway, a woman he’d grown to admire and respect. A woman with a keen intellect to match his own and an hourglass figure he couldn’t forget.
He scrolled through his favorite collection and savored the room temperature cognac. The sweet orange flavor lingered on his tongue and brought a smile to his face—a smile he abandoned when a knock at his hotel door killed the mood like a phonograph needle scratching his favorite vinyl LP. “Just a second.”
He closed the laptop and placed it on an empty coffee table. “Who is it?” he asked when he heard the knock again. He viewed the peephole to see a man in a suit with a badge—a fed, he presumed. He slid the chain lock off the handle and opened his room to the unexpected guest. “I was hoping you were housekeeping,” he said in a deflated tone. “I could use some fresh towels.”
Agent Brannigan presented his badge for closer inspection. “Dr. Marvin Tibbs?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Special Agent Mark Brannigan with the FBI.”
“So I gathered. What can I do for you?”
Brannigan swapped his badge for the notepad in his jacket pocket. “May I come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions about your colleague, Dr. Steven Jenkins.”
Marvin stepped away from the door but kept himself between his laptop and the G-man in a wrinkled jacket and bad haircut. “I haven’t seen Steven Jenkins in years. What is this about?”
“When was the last time you spoke with Dr. Jenkins?”
“Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“How well do you know him?”
“We went to medical school together.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
Marvin reclaimed his snifter. “I don’t recall.”
Brannigan paged through his notepad. “I understand Dr. Jenkins called you at 1:45 a.m. on New Year’s Day, roughly two hours after he called 911 from Hudson Psychiatric Hospital to report a double homicide.”
Marvin sipped his Grand Marnier. “Now that you mention it, I vaguely remember a call that night. I was dead tired. I don’t remember much.”
“The call lasted twenty-two minutes.”
“It could have been twenty-two hours. I was overindulging at a favorite restaurant on New Year’s Eve.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?”
“I can give you a list of names and numbers.”
Brannigan focused on the closed laptop. “How well do you know Ronald Neyman?”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“He murdered two employees from Hudson Psychiatric. I assume that’s what Dr. Jenkins called to tell you?”
“Like I said, I was in pretty bad shape on New Year’s Eve.”
“Do you frequently drink to excess?”
“Only on special occasions.”
“And you have no idea where Ronald Neyman is?”
“I have no idea who he is, so no, I have no idea where he is.”
“What about Mira Galloway?”
“I don’t recognize the name.”
Brannigan smiled. “You flinched on that one.” He flipped through his notepad to reference a blank page he kept from Marvin’s view to sell an easy bluff. “Dr. Jenkins explained Mira Galloway was a former patient. Said she suffered from a severe head injury. Some sort of skydiving accident.”
Marvin adjusted the room’s thermostat. He cradled the snifter in his hand like a chalice. “What else did Steven tell you about Mira?”
“So you know her?”
“I knew her, briefly.”
“I’m listening…”
Marvin tipped his head back and downed his last swig. “Several years ago, Steven and I worked together on a clinical trial for a new coma treatment. Mira was one of our first patients.”
“Was Ronald Neyman one of your patients as well?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Marvin lied again.
Brannigan ignored an incoming call from Agent Nehnja to focus his full attention on the nervous ophthalmologist in front of him. “I have reason to believe Mira Galloway could be in grave danger. When was the last time you saw her?”
“Not since I last worked with Steven.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m not as young as I used to be, but I’m not senile, either.”
Brannigan studied Marvin’s expression. “Dr. Jenkins shared a different version.”
“How do I know he told you anything at all?”
“How do I know you’re not obstructing a murder investigation? Incarceration is the last thing you need when you’re forced to bunk with tough hombres who don’t serve cognac in prison.”
“I get it,” Marvin capitulated with an angry tone and set his snifter down. “Mira Galloway’s been in hospice care at the Coma Recovery Center since her accident.”
Brannigan heard a new message ping his phone but ignored it for the moment. “A skydiving accident.”
“Yes.” Marvin motioned with his hand at his head when he talked. “Acute hematoma in her left frontal lobe resulted in a prolonged comatose state. We did what we could for her, but at the time, our treatment protocol was ineffective. She never regained consciousness, until about a week ago. Steven was able to revive her with a newer, more aggressive therapy. Two days after she recovered, she vanished.”
“What do you mean vanished? You said she just came to. People don’t wake up from a coma and walk away. She would need rehabilitative care for weeks, if not months.”
“Not with Steven’s new treatment.”
“Where is Mira now?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why did Jenkins call you the night of Ronald Neyman’s escape?”
“Am I being detained?”
“Should you be?”
Marvin held his ground. “Am I being detained?”
“Not at this time.”
“Then I’d like you to leave.”
Brannigan scanned the room for incriminating evidence he could hang a warrant on, but nothing obvious appeared in plain view. “I’ll be in touch,” he said as he let himself out and called Agent Nehnja on his way toward the elevator.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Paulan’s voice boomed through the cell phone speaker.
“I’m headed back.”
“I’m about to board at Stewart International. If you hurry, there’s a flight out of JFK in ninety minutes.”
“What are you rambling about?” Brannigan catechized.
“A long-haul driver said he saw a homeless man fitting Ronald Neyman’s description the night before last at a truck stop in Cold Spring a few miles from Hudson Psychiatric. The driver told New York Troopers the man insisted he needed a ride going south. When the driver refused, the man went berserk and lashed out at him.”
“Is the suspect in custody?”
“He was gone when the troopers arrived. But an hour ago, the Maryland State Police called me about a truck stop murder on I-95 outside of Baltimore. Two male DOAs. One was a truck driver with a needle through his eye.”
“Why didn’t you ping me sooner?”
“I just got the news myself.”
“Contact the Maryland Police again and find out who’s in charge. Tell them not to move the bodies. I’m on my way!”