community to be more than thirty years old. The houses sported pale paint on hand-applied stucco. This was a working-class neighborhood, chosen because very few people would be home. Children would be at school, parents at work. The few people who might see them would be mothers of small children or the elderly.
They moved down the street slowly, though not so slow as to attract attention, and parked behind a dark green panel truck. The vehicle was ten years old if it was a day but looked well kept. Moyer pulled the sedan behind the truck and switched off the car.
He glanced at J.J. “Open the hood and fiddle around for a couple of minutes.”
“I’m not much of a mechanic.”
“You don’t have to be. Just look and touch a few things, then we’ll be on our way.”
J.J. didn’t need the explanation, but talking helped quiet his nerves. Moyer had been more somber than usual on the ride over.
They moved to the panel truck. Moyer unlocked the door and pulled the hood release. J.J. peered into the engine compartment. It was surprisingly clean for a vehicle of its age. He wiggled the radiator hose, studied the fan belts, and made certain the spark plug wires were in place. They were, of course. He expected to find nothing wrong. All of his activities were for the benefit of anyone watching. Two minutes later he stepped back and nodded to Moyer. The engine fired to life, and J.J. closed the hood.
Moyer drove off down the street, with J.J. following in the sedan.
CHAPTER 17
THE PHONE RANG AT 9:12. Stacy dusted grainy laundry soap from her hands and picked up the handset. Already she had run and emptied the dishwasher, dusted the living room, and vacuumed the house. It was what she did when Eric went on mission.
“Hello.”
“Um … good morning. Is this the Moyer residence?” A male voice.
“It is. Who’s calling please?” Stacy leaned against the wall. She wasn’t in the mood for a telemarketer. “We’re on the ‘Do Not Call’ list, so if you’re a salesperson …” She heard the man chuckle.
“I’m not selling anything. Is this Mrs. Moyer?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Dr. Miles Lawton. I’m a physician. Is Mr. Moyer in?”
The voice sounded calm and pleasant, nonetheless the word physician made Stacy’s heart jitter. “Are you sure you have the right number? There are a lot of Moyers in the world.”
“I’m looking for Eric Moyer.”
“My husband is Eric Moyer, but he’s not in at the moment. May I ask what this is about?”
“Mr. Moyer came to my office yesterday for an examination and consultation. I stepped from the office for a few minutes, and he was gone when I returned. I thought I’d give him the day to call, but when he didn’t I decided to call.”
“He gave you this number?”
“Yes—well, sort of. The number he left is similar, but the last two numbers are transposed. It happens all the time.”
That sounded like something Eric would do if he were being secretive. “I’m sorry about all the questions, Doctor. I’m one of those privacy nuts. Sometimes my husband forgets to update my calendar as well as his, so I’m often a day or two behind.”
“I understand. I’ve done it too. Must be a guy thing. You say he’s out for a while?”
“Yes, he’s been called away on business. That happens sometimes. Everything is an emergency with his firm.”
Another forced chuckle. “Is there a way I can reach him? Phone? E-mail?”
Stacy’s mind began to spin. This could get complicated. “I’m afraid not. Why don’t you just give me the information and I’ll see what I can do to run him down.” Seeing a doctor without telling her gave “run him down” new meaning. What was Eric doing seeing a civilian doctor?
“Just a moment.”
Stacy heard paper shuffle.
“Yes, here it is. He gave your name as a contact and signed the release.”
“Release?”
“HIPAA Privacy Rule. Basically it means I can’t talk to anyone about a patient’s
They moved down the street slowly, though not so slow as to attract attention, and parked behind a dark green panel truck. The vehicle was ten years old if it was a day but looked well kept. Moyer pulled the sedan behind the truck and switched off the car.
He glanced at J.J. “Open the hood and fiddle around for a couple of minutes.”
“I’m not much of a mechanic.”
“You don’t have to be. Just look and touch a few things, then we’ll be on our way.”
J.J. didn’t need the explanation, but talking helped quiet his nerves. Moyer had been more somber than usual on the ride over.
They moved to the panel truck. Moyer unlocked the door and pulled the hood release. J.J. peered into the engine compartment. It was surprisingly clean for a vehicle of its age. He wiggled the radiator hose, studied the fan belts, and made certain the spark plug wires were in place. They were, of course. He expected to find nothing wrong. All of his activities were for the benefit of anyone watching. Two minutes later he stepped back and nodded to Moyer. The engine fired to life, and J.J. closed the hood.
Moyer drove off down the street, with J.J. following in the sedan.
CHAPTER 17
THE PHONE RANG AT 9:12. Stacy dusted grainy laundry soap from her hands and picked up the handset. Already she had run and emptied the dishwasher, dusted the living room, and vacuumed the house. It was what she did when Eric went on mission.
“Hello.”
“Um … good morning. Is this the Moyer residence?” A male voice.
“It is. Who’s calling please?” Stacy leaned against the wall. She wasn’t in the mood for a telemarketer. “We’re on the ‘Do Not Call’ list, so if you’re a salesperson …” She heard the man chuckle.
“I’m not selling anything. Is this Mrs. Moyer?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Dr. Miles Lawton. I’m a physician. Is Mr. Moyer in?”
The voice sounded calm and pleasant, nonetheless the word physician made Stacy’s heart jitter. “Are you sure you have the right number? There are a lot of Moyers in the world.”
“I’m looking for Eric Moyer.”
“My husband is Eric Moyer, but he’s not in at the moment. May I ask what this is about?”
“Mr. Moyer came to my office yesterday for an examination and consultation. I stepped from the office for a few minutes, and he was gone when I returned. I thought I’d give him the day to call, but when he didn’t I decided to call.”
“He gave you this number?”
“Yes—well, sort of. The number he left is similar, but the last two numbers are transposed. It happens all the time.”
That sounded like something Eric would do if he were being secretive. “I’m sorry about all the questions, Doctor. I’m one of those privacy nuts. Sometimes my husband forgets to update my calendar as well as his, so I’m often a day or two behind.”
“I understand. I’ve done it too. Must be a guy thing. You say he’s out for a while?”
“Yes, he’s been called away on business. That happens sometimes. Everything is an emergency with his firm.”
Another forced chuckle. “Is there a way I can reach him? Phone? E-mail?”
Stacy’s mind began to spin. This could get complicated. “I’m afraid not. Why don’t you just give me the information and I’ll see what I can do to run him down.” Seeing a doctor without telling her gave “run him down” new meaning. What was Eric doing seeing a civilian doctor?
“Just a moment.”
Stacy heard paper shuffle.
“Yes, here it is. He gave your name as a contact and signed the release.”
“Release?”
“HIPAA Privacy Rule. Basically it means I can’t talk to anyone about a patient’s
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