Page 24 of So Lethal (Faith Bold #22)

The morning brought better news. Faith woke to the feeling of Michael shaking her awake. She frowned, but when she saw the excitement in his face, she came straight to alertness and sat up. “You have something?”

“Yep! I woke up an hour ago and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I started digging into the victims’ histories again. And guess what I found?”

“A connection between all four?”

“A solid connection.”

Faith squealed and threw her arms around Michael, hugging him tightly for a moment before releasing him. “What do you have?”

“An otolaryngologist.”

“A what?”

“Otolaryngologist. An ear, nose, and throat doctor.”

“All three at once?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you want to discuss medical specialties, or do you want the lead?”

She got to her feet and brushed hair out of her eyes. “The lead. What is it?”

“ Who is it,” Michael corrected. Faith frowned, and he quickly added, “Amanda Hayes. Apparently, she’s one of the leading researchers on hearing loss treatment in the Bay Area. She has a practice in Palo Alto.” He grinned. “Guess who four of her patients were?”

Faith squealed again and gave Michael another embrace. “Hell yeah!” she cried. “Good job.”

“I’m the best,” Michael said. “Obviously, she’s not a suspect since she’s not a guy, but she can probably point us in the right direction.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Faith replied.

Turk barked, and Faith turned to see him looking quizzically at his humans, probably wondering why they were awake. Faith walked over and gave him a hug too. He endured the hug, then growled softly. Answer me!

Faith laughed and ruffled his fur. “We got a lead, buddy.” She looked at Michael. “What time does the practice open?”

“Eight A.M.”

“Perfect. Enough time for showers and breakfast. Then we head straight there. I want to be the first people through the door.”

***

Palo Alto was an affluent community northwest of San Jose in the renowned Silicon Valley region of California.

The city was wealthy even compared to the other very wealthy cities of the Bay Area.

The streets were all landscaped beautifully, and the buildings ranged from Spanish mission-style to ultramodern glass walls.

All of them looked expensive, even the chain stores and restaurants.

The cars were all late-model luxury sedans, most of them high-end even for that class.

Faith had toured Wall Street before and was awed by the wealth she saw there, but this place screamed a different kind of wealth, a casual superiority that was so far removed from the struggles of the working class that such problems wouldn’t even register.

It struck her as odd that anyone privileged enough to live this life would want to risk it killing people, but then again, wealth brought power, and power made people believe they were untouchable.

Dr. Hayes’ practice was in a medical center that looked like it had been pulled off of the cover of a magazine.

The circular building was designed for artistic appeal more than practicality.

The windows were curved glass that reflected the sunlight almost painfully.

The upper floors were terraced and lined with exotic plants that draped over the lower floors and mitigated the glare of the highly reflective windows somewhat.

The people walking into and out of the center were an odd mix of people dressed in extraordinarily expensive business suits and absurdly casual outfits. One man around Faith’s age walked in with a white t-shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops.

“Gotta love NorCal,” Michael said.

She was about to crack a joke, but when she saw the nostalgic smile on his face, she curtailed it. Well, everyone has reasons to love their hometown.

The receptionist’s reaction only further illustrated the difference between this place and other parts of the country.

Typically, people reacted to the arrival of federal agents with wariness or fear.

This receptionist—a man in his mid-twenties dressed like the maitre’d of a Michelin Star restaurant, looked them up and down and frowned with not-so-slight contempt.

He allowed the frown to remain on his face just long enough to ensure the agents saw it, then plastered a fake smile on his features. “Good morning. What can I do for you two?”

“We need to speak to Dr. Amanda Hayes,” Faith said.

“Of course. Do you have an appointment?”

Faith pointed at the letters on her vest. “Do you really want to get in the way?”

The receptionist considered for a moment, then decided he didn’t want to get in the way. He arrived at this decision with a flash of annoyance rather than fear. “One moment.”

He dialed a number and spoke softly to the person who answered. When he was finished, he rolled his eyes, then put on another fake smile. “She’ll see you now.”

He looked expectantly at them, probably hoping they would ask where her office was so he could provide another display of haughty superiority. Faith didn’t give him the satisfaction. They already knew from her website that she was on the fourth floor in suite four-oh-eight.

They left the disgruntled receptionist and took a whisper-smooth elevator polished smooth as glass to the fourth floor. As soon as the door opened, a passing nurse snapped her fingers and said, “No. Uh-uh. No dogs allowed here. I don’t care if you’re FBI, police, Secret Service…”

The three agents passed her without a word. “Hey!” she called. “Excuse me! Did you hear—”

Faith whirled around on her. “I will charge you with obstructing an investigation if you say another word.”

The woman pressed her lips together. Like the receptionist, she decided not to be the person to get in the way. She informed Faith that she would call the San Francisco field office to report her, then stalked off without a reply.

“Gotta love NorCal,” Faith grumbled.

Michael shrugged but didn’t offer a rebuttal.

They walked into suite four-oh-eight and found Dr. Amanda Hayes waiting for them. She was a short, squat woman with hair dyed coppery-gold and an irritable frown on her face. “What’s this about? I had to push back a patient appointment to talk with you.”

“We’re investigating the murders of four of your patients,” Faith said. “We were hoping to get some information from you.”

Dr. Hayes blinked. “What? Murders?”

“Yes. Monica Smith, James Porter, Sarah Martinez, and Marcus Wolfe.”

“Oh.”

Her attitude changed. She dropped the arrogance and sighed heavily, sitting in a richly upholstered chair behind a maple desk.

She rubbed her forehead and said, “I should have assumed that. I heard about their deaths in the news. Another serial killer freak, right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She sighed again and folded her arms across the desk. “Well. I’ll help out anyway I can. Take a seat if you like.”

The agents pulled two chairs close. These chairs were somewhat less opulent than the one on which Dr. Hayes sat but were still far more comfortable than they had any right to be. Turk sat in between them, his eyes alert but his body relaxed.

“Our suspect is male, athletic, six-four, and lean. Does that describe any of your patients?”

Dr. Hayes chuckled. “Agent, I see hundreds of patients a day. I have a portfolio of over two thousand patients, a lot of them professional athletes. To directly answer your question, it describes many of my patients.”

“There are that many deaf athletes?”

“I don’t just see deaf people,” Dr. Hayes replied. “Otolaryngologists see anyone who needs an ear, nose, or throat specialist. I’m most well-known for my research into hearing loss remedies, but the majority of my patients just have strep throat.”

“I see.”

“Is your suspect deaf?”

“Not necessarily,” Faith said. “It’s possible, but we don’t know for sure.”

“Well. Then… I’m sorry, I guess.”

Michael crossed his arms. “What about the four victims? When did you last see them?”

“Let’s see.” She typed into her computer for a minute or so, then said, “It looks like I saw Monica Smith two weeks ago, James Porter four weeks ago, Marcus Wolfe three weeks ago, and Sarah Martinez nine weeks ago.”

Faith's excitement dimmed. That was a widespread of dates, and none of them had been here at the same time. "What about staff?" she asked. "Does anyone here fit the description I just gave you?"

“Not in my suite,” she replied. “I wouldn’t know about the rest of the building.”

Faith looked at Michael, who nodded and stepped outside to follow up on that. Faith turned back to Dr. Hayes. “Did any of the four seem different to you when you saw them? Any change in behavior or attitude?”

“Well, Sarah and Marcus never had a good attitude to begin with,” Dr. Hayes replied. “They were both very bitter about their conditions. They suffered hearing loss as a result of disease and accident. The other two were born deaf.”

“Right, I understand that. But there was no change? They didn’t seem fearful or mention anyone new in their lives?”

“Not to me.” She smiled sadly. “I get the sense I’m not helping much.”

“Let’s not jump to that conclusion yet,” Faith said. “Have you ever had a patient express disdain for the deaf or hatred for them?”

Dr. Hayes laughed. “No. Nothing like that. I’m aware that the hearing impaired have been discriminated against in the past, but we’re fortunate enough not to have that issue here in the Bay Area.”

“What about sympathy? Did anyone seem especially sympathetic to their plight?”

“What is especially sympathetic?”

“In this case, it would be a belief that they’re better off dead.”

Dr. Hayes stared at Faith for a moment. “Is that why he’s doing this? He thinks they’re better off dead?”

“We believe so,” Faith replied.

“My God,” she whispered. She shook her head and said, “Well, no. No one’s said anything of that nature to me. The sympathy is all… well, sort of vague if I’m being honest. Like how you might sympathize with a homeless person, but you’re not going to spend all day broken up about it.”

Boy, wealth must be fun , Faith thought privately.

She wasn’t here to judge Dr. Hayes for her level of empathy, though. “And not one of them mentioned anyone who gave them the creeps?”

“They didn’t really talk about their relationships with me.

I got the sense that Monica was happy by herself, and Sarah and Marcus were too bitter to think about a relationship.

James was married, of course, but his wife is the sweetest thing.

I really don’t think she’d… Oh, but you said the killer was male anyway.

” She sighed. “No, I’m sorry. Nothing I can think of that might help you. ”

Faith resisted the urge to swear. Damn it, this seemed like such a good lead too! She couldn’t believe that they were coming up empty. “What about your deaf patients? Did any of them act like they would be better off dead? Like anyone would be better off dead if they had this condition?”

"Oh, sure. Plenty. I'd say that eighty percent of my patients who suffer hearing loss in adulthood go through all of the stages of grief pretty intensely.

None of them indicated violence toward anyone else, but they all hate it.

Not that I can blame them. It's a major aspect of a person's physiological and psychological makeup.

Imagine for a moment that you suddenly couldn't hear. Wouldn't you be upset?"

Faith recalled her meltdown the day before and nodded. “Yes. I would be very upset.”

"So would everyone," Dr. Hayes replied. "But the typical reaction was collapse, not violence. Even the angry ones were calm, angry, if you know what I mean."

“I do,” Faith said.

The door opened, and Michael said, “No luck. Tallest guy’s six-two. He’s also sixty-seven and has a bad back. Anything informative here?”

Faith sighed. “Not as it pertains to the case.” She stood. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Hayes.”

“Of course. I’m very sorry I wasn’t able to be more help.”

Faith managed a half-smile. “We appreciate your time anyway.”

The three agents left the hospital, enduring a glare from the angry nurse as they walked out of the fourth floor. Faith’s earlier excitement was gone, leaving bleakness in its wake.

Once more, they had found a great lead, only for it to pop the moment they poked at it. Meanwhile, their killer was lurking out there waiting for his next opportunity to deliver "mercy."