Page 51 of So Lethal

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.”

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