“Maybe Costa’s ignoring your calls for good reason,” Doyle concluded. “Sometimes you just have to think horses, not zebras, you know?”
Larkin grunted, reached into his pocket, and removed his cell. He tapped O’Halloran’s name in his contacts, forewent a polite greeting when the line was picked up, and asked, “What killed Earl Wagner.”
Doyle said, “I told you it was a heart attack.”
And O’Halloran asked, “How’d you know he dropped dead?”
“Matilde Wagner phoned Doyle with the news.”
Background noise—the distinct chatter of voices, PA announcements, beeping medical machinery—O’Halloran was at Beth Israel. “It’s sounding like heart failure, but I’m still waiting to talk to the doctor in charge.” O’Halloran’s tone was oddly hesitant when he asked, “When did she call your buddy?”
Larkin wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, checked his watch, then said, “Thirty-three minutes ago.”
“Jesus, Mary, andfuckingJoseph,” he snapped. A door opened, closed, and then the noise of the hospital grew muffled, distant. “Something stinks like dogshit, Grim.”
Larkin asked, doing his best to emulate Doyle’s level of cool and calm, even though he felt a sudden storm churning in his guts, “What time was Wagner pronounced.”
“Only like… ten minutes ago.”
“I see.”
“Is his ball and chain a psychic?”
“Definitely not,” Larkin answered.
“I’ve been here all morning,” O’Halloran explained. “Matilde showed up to visit her husband maybe twenty minutes ago. He was sure as shit alive then.”
Larkin glanced at Doyle from the side of his eye.
“I don’t know where she is now… talking to the doctor, maybe,” O’Halloran was still saying.
“Find her,” Larkin said. “And detain her.” He hung up and scrolled through his contacts again.
“What’s going on?” Doyle asked.
Larkin hedged. “Just drive, please.”
“Larkin.”
Larkin put the phone back to his ear.
The good doctor picked up on the fourth ring, saying breathlessly, as if he’d raced to catch the call before voicemail answered, “OCME, Dr. Baxter.”
“It’s Everett Larkin.”
“Good grief. I ran, you know.”
“It sounds like you need the cardio routine, doctor.”
“I’ve got my legs in the air at least three times a week, thank you, but your concern has been noted.”
“Did you get the results of that bone marrow toxicology test.”
“I do my paperwork and phone calls in the afternoon.”
“Justice doesn’t acknowledge your nine-to-five schedule.”
“You’re brutal, you know that? Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot—”
