The Killing Room (Richard Montanari) - By Richard Montanari Page 0,51

might be a while.

After ten minutes or so, during which the appendectomy candidate was picked up and transported to nearby Temple University Hospital, a man emerged from the back room, spoke to the young woman behind the desk. The woman gestured to Jessica. The man signed a few papers, came around the desk.

‘I’m Ted Cochrane,’ he said. ‘How can I help you?’

Jessica made him to be about twenty-two. Tall and well-built, dark hair and eyes. It didn’t seem likely, based on his youthful appearance, but Jessica asked anyway. ‘Are you a doctor?’

Cochrane smiled. ‘Not yet. I’m an LPN. I’m heading to med school this fall.’

‘Is there somewhere we can talk privately?’

‘Sure.’ He got the young woman’s attention, pointed to a back room. The receptionist nodded. Cochrane led Jessica to a small examination room off the main hallway. It looked like every other examination room she had ever been in, but shabbier, more exhausted. On the wall was the ever-present hand sanitizer tube. Cochrane pulled a small ball of disinfectant foam, ran it over his hands, partially closed the door behind them.

‘What can I do for you, detective?’

‘Well, maybe you can start with what you do here at the clinic.’

‘We patch and repair, mostly. Lots of bumps and bruises, ’flu shots, sore throats. We’re pretty much first line. There is usually a doctor here six hours a day, but the MD on today’s sheet got called into Temple for an emergency surgery.’

Jessica noted the crucifix on the wall. ‘How much religion do people get here?’

‘As much or as little as they want. None at all, if that’s what they want. We are partially funded by the parish, but belief in Christ is by no means a prerequisite to medical care.’

‘Like AA?’

‘Like AA,’ Cochrane said. ‘Our evangelism is really just that wall of pamphlets in the waiting room. We don’t proselytize.’

‘Are you a Catholic?’

Cochrane smiled. ‘No, born and raised Methodist.’

‘Do you do pediatrics here?’

‘We do just about everything here. Pre-natal, post-natal, pediatrics, all the way up to and including geriatric medicine.’

‘What about mental-health services?’

‘Absolutely. Family counseling, substance abuse counseling, group therapy, some Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.’

‘You have the staff for this?’

He smiled again. ‘No, far from it. We are blessed to get a lot of pro bono work through the Catholic hospitals. The Archdiocese has been very good about turning the emotional and professional screws on its faithful.’

‘Have you treated any young infants in the past few weeks?’

‘Oh, my, yes. At least five or six.’

‘Any white female babies?’

Cochrane considered the question. ‘Is this about the baby on the news? Baby Doe?’

‘I need you to keep this inquiry confidential, but yes.’

Cochrane nodded. ‘I had some down time yesterday, and I started going through records from the last few weeks. As you might expect, most of the children we treat here are minorities. But we did see a Caucasian female infant recently. Her information will be in the database.’

‘Why do you think this is related?’

Now it was Cochrane’s turn. ‘I need this to be confidential, as well.’

‘Of course.’

‘The mother of this baby, Adria Rollins is her name, has some mental health issues. When she visited she came with her great-grandfather, who is pretty frail. That’s why the flag went up when I saw the news story. I thought the child might be at risk.’

‘Do you have contact information for the mother?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. We do our best here, but half the time the addresses we get are fake.’

‘Could you take a look?’

Cochrane hesitated. Jessica was losing him.

‘I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t very important,’ she said. ‘I know how crucial it is to keep medical records confidential, but this may well be related to a homicide – perhaps two homicides – and I promise I will treat the information with discretion.’

It was touch and go for a second, but Cochrane soon relented. He sat down at the terminal, hit a few keys, then a few more.

‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘The address on her record is of her great-grandfather’s apartment. It looks like he is her legal guardian.’

Jessica wrote down the address. It wasn’t that far away.

The woman from the front desk poked her head in the room. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need the room.’

Jessica and Cochrane stepped into the narrow hallway. The woman led in a man who appeared to have scraped half the skin off the back of his left hand. The nurse closed the curtain.

‘If I recall correctly, we have a few pictures of the Rollins baby,’ Cochrane said. ‘We