"I know. After George's death the church was my comfort. Perhaps I tried too strenuously to comfort others." A smile played on her lips. "It all takes time."

"And Tracy." Mim mentioned Miranda's high-school boyfriend, who had returned to her life but was currently in Hawaii selling his home.

"I feel alive again. And you will, too. We need to think of something to do to honor Larry, something he would have loved."

"I thought I'd establish a scholarship at the University of Virginia Medical School in his name-for family practice."

"Jim?"

"He'll like the idea. Jim's not mean-spirited."

"I know that." Miranda smiled. "Do you think you could ever talk to him about those years?"

Mim shook her head no. "Why? You know, Miranda, I believe there are some things best left unsaid in a marriage. And I think every woman knows that."

"Mim, I think every man knows that, too."

"I always think they know less than we do, most of them anyway."

"Don't fool yourself." Miranda got up and threw another log on the fire. "More cocoa?"

"No."

"Do you think you can sleep? The spare bedroom is toasty."

"I think I can." Mim threw off the afghan and stood up. "I take you for granted, Miranda. I think I've taken many people for granted. You're a good friend to me. Better than I am to you."

"I don't think like that, Mim. There's only love. You do for the people you love."

"Well." This was hard for Mim. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

The old friends embraced. Miranda led Mim to the spare bedroom.

"Miranda, whoever killed Larry had no conscience. That's the real danger."

27.

While most of the residents of Crozet spent the night in shock and tears, Sheriff Shaw worked like a demon, as did Cynthia Cooper.

Once Larry's body was loaded on the ambulance, Shaw and Cooper sped on their way to Sam Mahanes.

They knocked on the door.

Sally opened it. "Sheriff Shaw, Coop, come on in."

They could hear the boys upstairs in the bathroom, splashing and shouting.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sally, but it's important."

"I know that." She smiled genuinely, revealing broad, even teeth. "He's in his shop."

"We'll just go on down." Rick had his hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"Fine." She turned back, heading up the stairs, since the water noise was taking on a tidal wave quality.

"Sam," Rick called to him.

The tall director, bent over a workbench, his hands gripping a tiny soldering iron, finished the small seam, then turned off the implement. "Rick, had to finish this or it'd be ruined."

Rick and Cynthia admired the thin wooden box with inlaid gold and silver.

"Beautiful." Coop admired his work.

"Thank you. Keeps me sane."

Rick scoped the shop. Sam had the best woodworking equipment, soldering equipment, even a small, very expensive lapidary saw. "Back door?"

"Sometimes I slip in to escape the boys. I love 'em but I need to get away. Dennis is at the age where he wants to pick up everything. I lock the doors. I think when they're a little older I'll let them work with me."

"Good idea." Rick smiled. As there was no place to sit down, he suggested going upstairs.

Once settled in the library Rick got to the point. "Sam, Larry Johnson was shot twice and killed at Twisted Creek Stables."

"What?"

"As soon as we finished examining the body and the scene of the murder I drove to you. I wanted to talk to you before the reporters get to you."

"Thank you," Sam said.

"And I wanted to reach you before your phone started ringing off the hook." Rick noticed how pale Sam's face was, so pale from the shock that his cheeks looked like chalk. "Level with me, Sam. Do you know what's going on at your hospital? Any idea?"

"I don't. Nothing makes sense to me and-this may not be related to Crozet Hospital."

"No, but I have to take into consideration that Larry's murder might be connected to events there."

Cynthia discreetly flipped open her notepad.

"Yes-of course." Sam swallowed hard.

"We've considered black-market traffic in organs."

"Good G.o.d, Rick, you can't be serious."

"I have to think of anything worth killing for and money surely seems to be number one on the list."

"There's no selling of kidneys and livers. I'd know about it."

"Sam, maybe not. Hypothetical situation. You've got a young intern on the take. A person dies-someone in fairly good condition-the intern harvests the kidney, packs it up, and sends it off."

"But we have records of pickups and deliveries. Besides, families often request autopsies. If a kidney were missing we'd know. The family would know. There'd be h.e.l.l to pay and lawsuits until kingdom come."

"What if the person responsible for the autopsies is in on it, too?"

Sam's brow furrowed, he ran his forefinger across the top of his lip, a nervous gesture. "The more people involved, the more opportunity for mistakes or loose talk."

"If there is a ring, Hank Brevard would have been in a good position to reap the benefits. He could ship organs out of there without anyone knowing."

"The pickup would know."

"The pickup gets a cut. You don't know how many trucks go down to the back door or to loading and unloading. But the back door is my guess there because it's simply a service entrance for the workers. All someone has to do is walk in, go to Hank's office or wherever the organs are stored, and walk out. They could be in a carton, surrounded by a plastic bag filled with dry ice-any number of un.o.btrusive carriers."

"For one thing, Sheriff, we know who uses operating rooms. I don't think it's possible. Just not possible."

"The patients are dead, Sam. They could cut them and sew them in a broom closet, in a bathtub. All they'd need is water to wash the blood, then zip the body back up in a body bag and off to the morgue-or they could cut them up at the morgue."

"Procedures in the morgue are as strict as in the operating room. Sheriff, I understand you need to consider every angle but this one is just not possible."

"What about fraud? Double-billing-?"

Sam shrugged. "Over time that, too, would show up. And we have few complaints in that department-other than shock at medical costs, but no, that's out."

"Has anyone been acting peculiar? Anyone attracting your attention?"

"No." Sam held out his hands as if in supplication. "Apart from Hank Brevard's death, everything is routine. The trains run on time. I can't think of anyone behaving in an untoward manner. Bruce is hostile towards me but he's always hostile towards me." Sam smirked slightly.

Rick persisted. "Are there other ways to create illicit profit, if you can stand that phrase? Something specific to hospitals of which Coop and I might be unaware?"

"Drugs. That's obvious. We keep them under lock and key but a clever head nurse or doctor can find ways to pilfer."

"Enough to make a lot of money?"

"We'd notice fairly soon but enough to make one quick, big hit. It's possible to do that and get away with it."

"Do you think any of your staff is on drugs?" Rick kept his face impa.s.sive.

"Yes. It's part of the hospital business. It takes some time to find them out but there's usually a nurse, a doctor, an orderly taking uppers or downers. The doctor creates false dosages for a patient. Again, we'll sniff it out but it takes some time-and I hasten to add it's part of our culture."

"How often has this happened at the hospital?"

Sam hesitated. "I think I ought to have the hospital lawyer here for this conversation."

"For Christ's sake, Sam, Larry Johnson is dead and you're worried about hospital liability! I'm not going to the press with this but I've got to know and if you don't tell me I'll dig it out and in the process uproot other things as well. It will get everyone in an uproar. How often has this happened?"

"Last year we found two people stealing Darvocet, codeine-based pills, Quaaludes. We fired them. End of story." He took a deep breath. "As I said, drug abuse is as American as apple pie."

"Once fired from a hospital that person will never work in a hospital again unless he or she goes to Honduras-am I right?"

"And they might not even get work in Central America. They'd have to go where people were so desperate they didn't care about their records from anywhere else. It definitely would be a career killer."

"All those years of medical school, all those bills-for nothing." Rick folded his hands together, leaning forward. "Other ways to steal or make money?"

"Oh, patient jewelry, wallets, and credit cards."

"Equipment?"

Sam exhaled. "No. Who would they sell it to? Also, we'd notice it immediately."

"Was Hank Brevard a good plant manager?"

"Yes. We discussed that before. He was conscientious. Apart from his obvious personality flaw that he was resistant to new technology. He wanted to do everything the way it always had been done."

"Remind me, had he ever been disciplined during his career at Crozet Hospital?" Rick glanced over at Coop.

"No. Well." Sam opened his hands, palms upward. "I'd routinely meet with him and request he, uh, lighten up. But no, Hank was no trouble."

"Ever hear about affairs?"

"Hank?" Sam's eyebrows shot upward. "No."

"Gambling?"

"No. Sheriff, we've been over this."

"You're right. Was Larry Johnson off the rails at any time?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did people feel he was too old to practice? Was he carried for old times' sake?"

"No. Quite the contrary. He was a G.P., of course." Sam abbreviated General Pract.i.tioner. "So he wasn't a glamour boy but he was a good, solid doctor and always open to new procedures, medical advances. He is, I mean was, a remarkable human being."

"Could he have been stealing drugs?"

"Absolutely not." Sam's voice raised. "Never."

"Sam, I have to ask these questions."

"There is no blemish on that man's record."

"Then I must respectfully suggest he got too close to whoever is blemished."