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“Is that why you called me down here personally?” Ralph asked.
Max nodded. “Check everything.”
“Okay,” Ralph replied, a thick ball of tobacco bulging in his cheek. “I’ll get to it later this afternoon.”
“Now. Right now. And get all the blood samples you can out of him. I want you to run a full battery of tests on him.”
“Like what?”
“We’ll go over it later.”
“Hey, Twitch, why you whispering? He’s not going to wake up. Ha!”
“Hilarious. Just find out what killed him.” Max turned and moved toward Harvey. The doctor looked pale and exhausted. “Where’s Martino’s roommate?”
“Kiel Davis? I had him moved to another room. He’s being sedated.”
“I want to speak with him.”
“Later,” Harvey replied. He shook his head. “My God, I can’t believe this.”
“What’s to believe?” Max asked, flipping through his notepad. “There was no visible trauma, no blood, no stab or gunshot wounds, no signs of a struggle. The victim was a patient at an AIDS clinic, so we can assume he was in poor health. All signs point to death by natural causes, right?”
Harvey did not reply right away. “Ricky Martino was no angel,” he said at last. “He was an intravenous drug abuser. He used to push drugs at a local high school.”
“Irrelevant. How sick was he?”
“Actually,” Harvey replied, “Martino was cured.”
“He didn’t have AIDS?”
“Not anymore. His last test showed he was HIV negative. He was still undergoing more treatment, of course, but he was on his way to a full recovery.”
“Interesting,” Max said.
“To be frank,” Harvey continued, “I wasn’t crazy about treating Martino.”
“Why not?”
“Because he was a lousy candidate. For one thing, he was a heroin addict.”
“Then why did you?” Sara asked. “With so many good candidates willing to give anything a try, why would you choose Martino?”
“Because we wanted a cross section of patients—not just gay men. So Bruce brought Martino in. Bruce liked Martino. He believed in him.”
“And you didn’t?” Sara continued.
Harvey shrugged. “Intravenous drug abusers, by and large, are a rather sordid group. I confess I’m no big fan of treating IVDAs—not for any moral reason but simply because they are unreliable data. Addicts cannot be trusted. On top of that, most of them are already unhealthy from a lifetime of abusing their bodies, which makes their chances of fighting the disease that much slimmer.”
“Then what do you think killed him, Doctor?” Max asked.
“I don’t know.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I just don’t understand it. I was in this room less than an hour ago.”
“Before you got hit on the head?”
“Right before.”
“And Martino appeared fine?”
“He was breathing, if that’s what you mean. Look, Martino was not the healthiest man alive, but he had nothing that would have led to an acute death like this. And with the prowler in here tonight and all . . . it just seems like a hell of a coincidence.”
Max folded his arms across his chest, his face twisted in heavy thought. “If Martino was murdered, it puts this whole thing in a new light.”
“What do you mean?” Harvey asked.
“New M.O., for one,” he answered.
“No stabbing,” Sara agreed.
“But what about Bruce?” Harvey said. “He wasn’t stabbed either.”
Bernstein nodded slowly and began to pace. “Let’s slow down a minute. Five people are dead, four patients, one doctor. Three—Trian, Whitherson, and Jenkins—were stabbed to death under similar, though not identical, circumstances.”
“We know all this,” Harvey said impatiently.
“Just bear with me, okay? What do the three patients have in common?”
“They were gay,” Sara began, “and they were all being treated at the same AIDS clinic.”
“Now add Martino to the list, assuming he too was murdered.”
“Then we can rule out a gay basher,” Harvey noted. “Martino was heterosexual.” His beeper went off. “Damn, I have to go.”
“I’ll need to speak to you later,” Max said. “I also want to see your files on the murder victims.”
Harvey nodded and left. Bernstein stopped pacing and looked toward Sara gently. “You must be exhausted. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“I feel fine.”
“Sara . . .”
“Don’t start this shit with me, Max. Crying and moping around is not going to help. I need something to distract me.”
Max nodded, understanding. “Okay, where were we?”
“Riccardo Martino.”
“Right. Add him into the equation and what makes them all similar?”
“Two things,” Sara answered. “AIDS and the clinic. Like Harvey said, we can eliminate the gay connection since Martino was heterosexual.”
“Okay, now let’s move on to Dr. Bruce Grey. Add him to Whitherson, Trian, Jenkins, and Martino. Now what is the common denominator?”
“Only one thing,” Sara answered. “The clinic. Someone is targeting people associated with the Sidney Pavilion.”
Max did not respond right away. He just looked off, his head slowly shaking, his teeth locating another corner of fingernail on which he could gnaw. “We’re missing something here,” he said finally, “something big.”
“Like?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Do you think someone is trying to sabotage the clinic?”
“Could be.”
She glanced at the clock above the door. “I have to get back to Michael now. He’ll be waking up in a little while.”
“I’m going to check through Dr. Riker’s patient files.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later.”
“Sara? One other thing?”
“Yes?”
“I’m saying this as a friend, not a police officer.”
“Go ahead.”
“You’re blocking on Michael. It’s going to hit you soon.”
She moved to the door. “I know, Max. Thanks.”
HE could hear the running water.
“No, no, please . . .”
