investigation, which often meant hours of research, sorting through facts and figures, interviews and autopsy reports, crime scene photos and physical evidence. The cliche goes that the devil is in the details. He often found that murderers were in the details, too.
He referred to his notebook and the To Do list he had begun writing in the hospital waiting room.
Sort patients by age.
Sort patients by sex.
Sort patients by race.
Sort patients by cause of death.
Sort patients by doctors, hospitals, and caregivers shared in common.
Sort patients by geographic location.
It looked like his father had already started doing the same thing. But there were other notations, about glass fish and dentures, that made no sense to Steve. Perhaps they would become clear once Steve began his own lists.
With at least forty-eight names to go through, and possibly as many as eight hundred, he was going to need a lot more dry-erase boards. And some extra manpower.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find Amanda and Jesse standing outside. She was holding a pizza and carrying a grocery bag full of soda and cookies. Jesse was wearing a Velcro splint on his knee and leaning on a cane, a laptop computer bag over his shoulder.
"The surgery was a success. We've relieved the pressure," Jesse said. "Mark is still unconscious, but he's out of danger. Susan is keeping a close eye on him anyway."
"That's a relief," Steve said. "But you didn't have to come all the way down here to tell me. You need to get some sleep."
Jesse waved off his concern. "I napped while Dr. Kozak examined me and x-rayed my knee."
"Is it broken?"
"Just a bad bruise," Jesse said.
"Don't you have work to do?" Amanda asked Steve impatiently.
"More than I can handle," he replied with a sigh.
"So what are we doing standing out here letting the pizza get cold? Let's get started," Amanda said as she stepped past him and into the house, Jesse hobbling in after her.
Steve closed the door and smiled to himself.
Four hours later, night had fallen, the pizza was finished, Jesse was asleep on the couch, and the dry-erase board was covered with Amanda's neat handwriting. Two laptops were open on the kitchen table, which was strewn with files, papers, and pizza crusts.
Steve and Amanda sat across from each other, inputting data into their laptops and sorting through files. It was tedious work, and the fatigue showed in their sagging posture and weary expressions. As hard as they were working, Steve didn't feel as if they'd accomplished anything. He wasn't alone.
Amanda groaned, leaned back in her chair, and sighed. "Do you have any idea how many different doctors, nurses, and technicians a patient sees? And not all of them are mentioned in patient records. To do this right, we'd have to see who was working on the floor every time the patient went in to see the doctor. But we don't even know which of these patents are victims and which aren't."
Steve got up and stretched. "In other words, we're getting nowhere slowly."
"What we need is more facts, something that will help us narrow our focus, or we'll be doing this for months."
"Maybe Dad will wake up tonight and just tell us who the killer is," Steve said.
"I doubt it."
"He's surprised us before."
"It's possible that Mark found some organizing principle to wrestle all this data down to size, but I doubt he was much further along than we are, or you would have heard about it."
Steve searched through the papers on the table and finally found the yellow legal pad he was looking for. "But what about his notes? The glass fish and the dentures? What was he talking about?"
"I don't know," she said.
"He had something," Steve said.
"How do you know?"
"Jesse told me that he had The Look."
"It doesn't take much to give him The Look," Amanda said. "You and I would have to see the killer over the body or find a written confession to get The Look in our eyes." Steve's cell phone rang, playing a
He referred to his notebook and the To Do list he had begun writing in the hospital waiting room.
Sort patients by age.
Sort patients by sex.
Sort patients by race.
Sort patients by cause of death.
Sort patients by doctors, hospitals, and caregivers shared in common.
Sort patients by geographic location.
It looked like his father had already started doing the same thing. But there were other notations, about glass fish and dentures, that made no sense to Steve. Perhaps they would become clear once Steve began his own lists.
With at least forty-eight names to go through, and possibly as many as eight hundred, he was going to need a lot more dry-erase boards. And some extra manpower.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find Amanda and Jesse standing outside. She was holding a pizza and carrying a grocery bag full of soda and cookies. Jesse was wearing a Velcro splint on his knee and leaning on a cane, a laptop computer bag over his shoulder.
"The surgery was a success. We've relieved the pressure," Jesse said. "Mark is still unconscious, but he's out of danger. Susan is keeping a close eye on him anyway."
"That's a relief," Steve said. "But you didn't have to come all the way down here to tell me. You need to get some sleep."
Jesse waved off his concern. "I napped while Dr. Kozak examined me and x-rayed my knee."
"Is it broken?"
"Just a bad bruise," Jesse said.
"Don't you have work to do?" Amanda asked Steve impatiently.
"More than I can handle," he replied with a sigh.
"So what are we doing standing out here letting the pizza get cold? Let's get started," Amanda said as she stepped past him and into the house, Jesse hobbling in after her.
Steve closed the door and smiled to himself.
Four hours later, night had fallen, the pizza was finished, Jesse was asleep on the couch, and the dry-erase board was covered with Amanda's neat handwriting. Two laptops were open on the kitchen table, which was strewn with files, papers, and pizza crusts.
Steve and Amanda sat across from each other, inputting data into their laptops and sorting through files. It was tedious work, and the fatigue showed in their sagging posture and weary expressions. As hard as they were working, Steve didn't feel as if they'd accomplished anything. He wasn't alone.
Amanda groaned, leaned back in her chair, and sighed. "Do you have any idea how many different doctors, nurses, and technicians a patient sees? And not all of them are mentioned in patient records. To do this right, we'd have to see who was working on the floor every time the patient went in to see the doctor. But we don't even know which of these patents are victims and which aren't."
Steve got up and stretched. "In other words, we're getting nowhere slowly."
"What we need is more facts, something that will help us narrow our focus, or we'll be doing this for months."
"Maybe Dad will wake up tonight and just tell us who the killer is," Steve said.
"I doubt it."
"He's surprised us before."
"It's possible that Mark found some organizing principle to wrestle all this data down to size, but I doubt he was much further along than we are, or you would have heard about it."
Steve searched through the papers on the table and finally found the yellow legal pad he was looking for. "But what about his notes? The glass fish and the dentures? What was he talking about?"
"I don't know," she said.
"He had something," Steve said.
"How do you know?"
"Jesse told me that he had The Look."
"It doesn't take much to give him The Look," Amanda said. "You and I would have to see the killer over the body or find a written confession to get The Look in our eyes." Steve's cell phone rang, playing a
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