Тесс Герритсен - Whistleblower стр 11.

Just get me my clothes.

Dont argue, Mr. Holland. You have to stay.

Why?

Because youve got an IV, thats why! she snapped, as if the plastic tube itself was some sort of irreversible condition.

I want my clothes.

Id have to check with the ER. Nothing of yours came up to the floor.

Then call the ER, damn you! At Miss Redferns disapproving scowl, he added with strained politeness, If you dont mind.

It was another half hour before a woman showed up from the business office to explain what had happened to Victors belongings.

Im afraid we-well, we seem to havelost your clothes, Mr. Holland, she said, fidgeting under his astonished gaze.

What do you mean, lost?

They were- she cleared her throat -er, stolen. From the emergency room. Believe me, this has never happened before. Were really very sorry about this, Mr. Holland, and Im sure well be able to arrange a purchase of replacement clothing

She was too busy trying to make excuses to notice that Victors face had frozen in alarm. That his mind was racing as he tried to remember, through the blur of last nights events, just what had happened to the film canister. He knew hed had it in his pocket during the endless drive to the hospital. He remembered clutching it there, remembered flailing senselessly at the woman when shed tried to pull his hand from his pocket. After that, nothing was clear, nothing was certain. Have I lost it? he thought. Have I lost my only evidence?

While the moneys missing, your credit cards seem to be all there, so I guess thats something to be thankful for.

He looked at her blankly. What?

Your valuables, Mr. Holland. She pointed to the wallet and watch shed just placed on the bedside table. The security guard found them in the trash bin outside the hospital. Looks like the thief only wanted your cash.

And my clothes. Right.

The instant the woman left, Victor pressed the button for Miss Redfern. She walked in carrying a breakfast tray. Eat, Mr. Holland she said. Maybe your behaviors all due to hypoglycemia.

A woman brought me to the ER, he said. Her first name was Catherine. I have to get hold of her.

Oh, look! Eggs and Rice Krispies! Heres your fork-

Miss Redfern, will you forget the damned Rice Krispies!

Miss Redfern slapped down the cereal box. There is no need for profanity!

I have to find that woman!

Without a word, Miss Redfern spun around and marched out of the room. A few minutes later she returned and brusquely handed him a slip of paper. On it was written the name Catherine Weaver followed by a local address.

Youd better eat fast, she said. Theres a policeman coming over to talk to you.

Fine, he grunted, stuffing a forkful of cold, rubbery egg in his mouth.

And some man from the FBI called. Hes on his way, too.

Victors head jerked up in alarm. The FBI? What was his name?

Oh, for heavens sake, how should I know? Something Polish, I think.

Staring at her, Victor slowly put down his fork. Polowski, he said softly.

That sounds like it. Polowski. She turned and headed out of the room. The FBI indeed, she muttered. Wonder what he did to get their attention

Before the door had even swung shut behind her, Victor was out of bed and tearing at his IV. He scarcely felt the sting of the tape wrenching the hair off his arm; he had to concentrate on getting the hell out of this hospital before Polowski showed up. He was certain the FBI agent had set him up for that ambush last night, and he wasnt about to wait around for another attack.

He turned and snapped at his roommate, Lenny, where are your clothes?

Lennys gaze traveled reluctantly to a cabinet near the sink. Dont got no other clothes. Besides, they wouldnt fit you, mister

Victor yanked open the cabinet door and pulled out a frayed cotton shirt and a pair of baggy polyester pants. The pants were too short and about six inches of Victors hairy legs stuck out below the cuffs, but he had no trouble fastening the belt. The real trouble was going to be finding a pair of size twelve shoes. To his relief, he discovered that the cabinet also contained a pair of Lennys thongs. His heels hung at least an inch over the back edge, but at least he wouldnt be barefoot.

Those are mine! protested Lenny.

Here. You can have this. Victor tossed his wristwatch to the old man. You should be able to hock that for a whole new outfit.

Suspicious, Lenny put the watch up against his ear. Piece of junk. Its not ticking.

Its quartz.

Oh. Yeah. I knew that.

Victor pocketed his wallet and went to the door. Opening it just a crack, he peered down the hall toward the nurses station. The coast was clear. He glanced back at Lenny. So long, buddy. Give my regards to Miss Redfern.

Slipping out of the room, Victor headed quietly down the hall, away from the nurses station. The emergency stairwell door was at the far end, marked by the warning painted in red: Alarm Will Sound If Opened. He walked steadily towards it, willing himself not to run, not to attract attention. But just as he neared the door, a familiar voice echoed in the hall.

Mr. Holland! You come back here this instant!