Read Online Diagnosis Murder: The Death Merchant by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lee Goldberg
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would have to do a much more thorough, and permanent, cleansing tonight.
In the meantime, he had to move forward. There was an urgency to his work now that didn't exist before.
It had taken Wyatt years, and extraordinary patience, to find Danny Royal. But in the end, it was Danny who revealed himself. It always was.
Royal's ex-wife and teenage son had been monitored electronically and visually from day one. Wyatt knew it was only a question of time before Royal contacted his kid again.
It finally happened on the boy's sixteenth birthday. The kid got an e-mail from his dad. The simple message had been cleverly relayed through servers around the world before hitting the kid's AOL mailbox. But Wyatt was able to trace it back to an Internet café in Kauai.
He'd fled to a tropical island. What a cliché. But it only made Wyatt's job easier. Searching for a small island certainly beat trying to find a guy in, say, France.
So Wyatt went to Kauai and hunted. Going to the best restaurants. The nicest stores. The exclusive golf courses and the fanciest resorts. And he watched people.
It was a given that Danny Royal had changed his face and identity. So Wyatt had studied videotapes of Danny Royal to memorize his body language, his gait, the way he used his hands when he spoke. He knew it was only a matter of time, skill, and luck before the paths of the hunter and the hunted would cross.
In the end, it didn't take that long and wasn't very hard.
Danny Royal had altered everything he could about his appearance, but it was the one thing he couldn't alter that gave him away.
His gimp leg.
Once Danny Royal was found, the question became the best way to kill him so that no one would suspect a murder. A shark attack in front of a couple hundred eyewitnesses was a true inspiration. Wyatt supposed he could have come up with something less elaborate, but one did have to find some pleasure in his profession or what was the point of doing it?
Perhaps that had been his mistake.
He couldn't afford any more. Nor could he afford the time and patience it took to find Danny Royal. There were new players involved now, creating a ticking clock.
In a way, he was pleased about it. He found it energizing and somehow less lonely. Playing poker is always more fun than solitaire.
He left his car in the lot, went into the hotel, and took the stairs to Mark Sloan's floor. It limited the number of people who'd see his face.
Breaking into the room was simple. It was a nice ocean-view suite. Nothing fancy, but still expensive. He went through the suitcase, the drawers, and searched all the furniture, careful to leave no visible sign of his presence.
There were a couple of grocery bags full of simple medical supplies and a doctor's bag containing a stethoscope, tongue depressors, an otoscope/ophthalmoscope, rubbing alcohol, ibuprofen tablets, steroid cream, antibiotic ointment, even a few Tootsie Roll suckers.
Mark Sloan was either a throwback to an earlier era, when doctors still made house calls, or was so dedicated to his work he couldn't leave it behind.
All he found that had anything to do with Danny Royal was a stack of souvenir recipe postcards from the restaurant, and they'd been in clear view on the writing table when Wyatt walked in. If Mark Sloan came here with the intention of meeting Royal, nothing in the room revealed it.
It's what Wyatt didn't find that was useful. There were no books to read or magazines to flip through. Not even a Hawaii guidebook, beyond the advertising-laden, throw away crap the hotel left in every room. Wyatt concluded Mark was a man who didn't like distractions and who remained focused on his work, which explained the doctor's bag and the extra medical supplies. Mark couldn't leave the hospital behind, so he brought it with him.
But now that Mark Sloan had a murder to investigate, Wyatt was certain it would be getting the doctor's complete attention, even if it wasn't any of his business. The man wouldn't be
In the meantime, he had to move forward. There was an urgency to his work now that didn't exist before.
It had taken Wyatt years, and extraordinary patience, to find Danny Royal. But in the end, it was Danny who revealed himself. It always was.
Royal's ex-wife and teenage son had been monitored electronically and visually from day one. Wyatt knew it was only a question of time before Royal contacted his kid again.
It finally happened on the boy's sixteenth birthday. The kid got an e-mail from his dad. The simple message had been cleverly relayed through servers around the world before hitting the kid's AOL mailbox. But Wyatt was able to trace it back to an Internet café in Kauai.
He'd fled to a tropical island. What a cliché. But it only made Wyatt's job easier. Searching for a small island certainly beat trying to find a guy in, say, France.
So Wyatt went to Kauai and hunted. Going to the best restaurants. The nicest stores. The exclusive golf courses and the fanciest resorts. And he watched people.
It was a given that Danny Royal had changed his face and identity. So Wyatt had studied videotapes of Danny Royal to memorize his body language, his gait, the way he used his hands when he spoke. He knew it was only a matter of time, skill, and luck before the paths of the hunter and the hunted would cross.
In the end, it didn't take that long and wasn't very hard.
Danny Royal had altered everything he could about his appearance, but it was the one thing he couldn't alter that gave him away.
His gimp leg.
Once Danny Royal was found, the question became the best way to kill him so that no one would suspect a murder. A shark attack in front of a couple hundred eyewitnesses was a true inspiration. Wyatt supposed he could have come up with something less elaborate, but one did have to find some pleasure in his profession or what was the point of doing it?
Perhaps that had been his mistake.
He couldn't afford any more. Nor could he afford the time and patience it took to find Danny Royal. There were new players involved now, creating a ticking clock.
In a way, he was pleased about it. He found it energizing and somehow less lonely. Playing poker is always more fun than solitaire.
He left his car in the lot, went into the hotel, and took the stairs to Mark Sloan's floor. It limited the number of people who'd see his face.
Breaking into the room was simple. It was a nice ocean-view suite. Nothing fancy, but still expensive. He went through the suitcase, the drawers, and searched all the furniture, careful to leave no visible sign of his presence.
There were a couple of grocery bags full of simple medical supplies and a doctor's bag containing a stethoscope, tongue depressors, an otoscope/ophthalmoscope, rubbing alcohol, ibuprofen tablets, steroid cream, antibiotic ointment, even a few Tootsie Roll suckers.
Mark Sloan was either a throwback to an earlier era, when doctors still made house calls, or was so dedicated to his work he couldn't leave it behind.
All he found that had anything to do with Danny Royal was a stack of souvenir recipe postcards from the restaurant, and they'd been in clear view on the writing table when Wyatt walked in. If Mark Sloan came here with the intention of meeting Royal, nothing in the room revealed it.
It's what Wyatt didn't find that was useful. There were no books to read or magazines to flip through. Not even a Hawaii guidebook, beyond the advertising-laden, throw away crap the hotel left in every room. Wyatt concluded Mark was a man who didn't like distractions and who remained focused on his work, which explained the doctor's bag and the extra medical supplies. Mark couldn't leave the hospital behind, so he brought it with him.
But now that Mark Sloan had a murder to investigate, Wyatt was certain it would be getting the doctor's complete attention, even if it wasn't any of his business. The man wouldn't be
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