Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Dr. Lipovsky shrugs before she is called into a patient’s room by a nurse.
“Go. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
My shift is technically over, but since we’re short on staff, I should work some overtime.
Dr. Lipovsky smiles in thanks before power walking down the corridor.
I also hustle, but I head in the opposite direction.
My puffy winter coat is almost overwhelming in the tight confines of the elevator, and the sticky situation worsens when the elevator stops at the second level of Myasnikov Private to collect a rider from the surgical ward.
“Dr. Hoffman,” Dr. Sidorov greets me from outside the elevator. This is the first time I’ve seen him since I turned down his proposal, and it appears as if he is not ready to let bygones be bygones. “I’ll get the next one.”
I stare at him peculiarly. The elevator could carry twenty riders, and I am the only person in it, so why does he want to wait?
I cuss my stupidity when he pulls his ringing cell phone out of his pocket and presses it to his ear. He must have felt its vibrations.
Ghastly winds whip through the revolving door of Myasnikov Private ruefully enough that I have to push against them to get out. The conditions are so horrendous I contemplate fetching our coffees at the hospital cafeteria, but then Alla would have to make it through a nine-hour shift without the carbs she needs to survive it unscathed.
Some good comes from the icy elements. Hardly anyone is willing to brave them, so I make it to the donut shop half a block down without bumping into anyone.
“Three large whites and a bucket of glaze donut holes, please,” I request to the person serving. “Actually, can I add a single glaze donut to my order as well?” Dr. Lipovsky looks like she could use more than an IV of caffeine.
After paying the total and grimacing about the recent upsurge in pricing, I move to the side of the glass cabinets to collect the sugar packets needed to make the pre-brewed coffee decent enough to digest.
I’ve barely stuffed the packets into my pocket when a glossy printout is slapped down on the counter in front of me. It is a grainy photograph of Dr. Abdulov. I’m not well-versed on the multiple entry and exit points of Myasnikov Private, but this exit point is easily identifiable since it is the main one most doctors and nurses use.
I lift my eyes from Dr. Abdulov’s ashen face when a badge and Myasnikov PD credentials are placed on top of it.
I’ve been anticipating repercussions for the words we exchanged weeks ago, but I would have never anticipated for it to take this route.
Why bring in the authorities on a case that should be handled by the hospital board?
I realize I have the situation all wrong when a second photograph is placed on top of the first one. This one isn’t as grainy, and I somewhat recognize the man with snow-white hair and an arrogant smile but not enough to put a name to his face.
He’d be mid-to-late fifties and has the aura of wealth, not someone I generally associate with. He is approximately thirty years older than the third, and what I hope, final man photographed. His face is also registering as familiar, but I can’t pinpoint exactly how I know him.
“Who are these men?” I ask as my wide gaze bounces between two plain-clothed officers.
The female half of the duo is approximately the same age and build as me. Her hair is glossy and inky, pairing well with her almost-black eyes, and her frame is several sizes smaller than her male partner, who is glaring at me with so much disdain I’ll need to check for burns once freed from his gawk.
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t know who they are?” asks the male officer, scoffing.
“I know who Dr. Abdulov is, obviously, but the names of the other two gentlemen have me stumped.” Frustration bubbles in my veins, but I try not to let it be seen or heard. Even with the male officer choosing the role of bad cop, it isn’t his fault he’s been brought into a fight he doesn’t belong in. “If these men are patients of mine—”
I choke on my words when the gray-haired man snaps out, “These men are dead.”
“Allegedly,” the female officer jumps in, lowering my blood pressure by a smidge. “Dr. Hoffman, I’m Detective Lara Sonova from Trudny PD, and this is Detective Ivan Mutz, lead investigator at Myasnikov PD.” Ivan practically grunts at me when Lara waves her hand at him in introduction. “We’ve joined taskforces to investigate the disappearance of three individuals we believe you may have come in contact with last weekend.”
Forever willing to assist, and desperate to hide my shock that I do know these men, I say, “Dr. Abdulov and I work together, but I can’t recall where I associated with the other two gentlemen.”