Murder in Greenwich Village by Lee Harris Page B

try as hard. The hospital itself was a collection of many buildings, old and new, on a large campus. At this hour Jane had little hope of getting a quick response to a question that required searching a three-year-old file. As expected, she was shunted from the first human voice to another and another. Each time she introduced herself, she talked about the urgency of her request.
    Finally, a woman said she would personally see to it that the file on Curtis Morgan was retrieved in the morning.
    â€œIf I come over tonight, can someone direct me to the files and let me search myself?”
    Silence. “I don’t know if we can.”
    â€œMa’am, a police detective has been kidnapped and we fear for his life. Mr. Morgan’s file may help us in our search.”
    â€œAll right.” The woman sounded beat. “I’ll take you there myself.” She gave Jane her name and an easy location to find. Then Jane could call on an internal phone.
    â€œI’m going,” Jane said, gathering her notes.
    â€œI’ll look in on the Manelli crowd.”
    She checked in with McElroy, who had spoken to Graves. “You got money on you for cabs?”
    â€œPlenty.”
    Downstairs the evening had turned cool and pleasant, an unaccustomed freshness in the air. She saw a cab coming toward her, its roof light on, signaling that it was empty, and she hailed it.
    She got in and said, “Kings County Hospital.”
    The cabbie, a Pakistani, turned and gave her a skeptical look. “The one in Brooklyn?”
    â€œRight, Brooklyn.”
    â€œI don’t know if I can find it.”
    Jane took out her shield and stuck it in his face. “I’ll help you get there.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” He flipped the meter and headed for Brooklyn.
    The nurse’s name was Melissa George. She was young and cute, but looked as though she needed a night’s sleep. “I’ll unlock the door for you. When you leave, it’ll lock automatically. There’s a phone in there if you need help.” She asked about the year the patient was at the hospital. When they got to the records room, she went inside and pointed Jane in the right direction.
    Curtis Morgan had died in June, nearly three years before. When she finally found the file, the death certificate was on top. She copied down the name of the doctor, the cause of death—mesothelioma—and Morgan’s address. Then she called Melissa George.
    The phone rang several times before an older woman answered. Melissa was on break; she’d be back in ten minutes.
    â€œThis is Det. Jane Bauer, ma’am. I’m researching a death at Kings County Hospital. Can you tell me what mesothelioma is?”
    â€œIt’s a kind of lung cancer.”
    â€œAnd do you know a Dr. Darshna Patel?”
    â€œNo, I’m afraid I don’t. What department is he in?”
    â€œI guess lung cancer.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I can’t help you. Wait a minute. I have a directory here.” She put the phone down and flipped pages. “Yes, he’s listed here. You can probably reach him in the morning.”
    â€œDoes he have a home phone listed?”
    â€œI couldn’t give that out.”
    She went through her story.
    â€œGive me your shield number and I’ll call and check it. Wait a minute. Here’s Melissa.”
    Jane went through it again and Melissa gave her the number. It was 516, a Long Island area code.
    â€œThanks. I really appreciate it.”
    â€œI hope it works out.”
    Not as much as I do, Jane thought. She found a place to sit down and dialed the number for the doctor.
    He answered on the second ring. She went through her story again.
    â€œThree years ago? I’d have to refresh my memory.”
    â€œHe was a prisoner when he was brought in. He’d been arrested for breaking into an auto parts store and when he started coughing up blood, the police brought him to the emergency