"Hi," Roger said self-consciously, since he didn't know what to say. He berated himself for not anticipating the possibility of such a confrontation.

"What can I do for you?" José questioned.

"Well," Roger said, trying not to sound as confused as he was. "I'm chief of the medical staff."

"I know who you are," José said. His voice had an edge, as if he was wary of what Roger wanted.

"You do? How is that?" José was one of many on staff he'd not met, which included just about everybody on the night shift.

José pointed to Roger's nametag.

"Oh, of course," Roger responded, bouncing the heel of his hand off his forehead. "I forget it's there."

There was an awkward pause. The rest of the room was quiet except for the TV whose volume was turned way down. Roger had the sense the other people in the room were listening.

"What is it you want?" José asked.

"I just wanted to make sure that you are content, and there are no problems."

"What do you mean, 'problems'?" José demanded. "I don't like your implication."

"There's no reason to get upset," Roger said soothingly. "My intention is merely to be proactive and meet the staff. We've not had the pleasure." Roger stuck out his hand toward José, whose face had flushed.

José eyed Roger's hand but made no attempt to shake it. Nor did he get to his feet. Slowly, his eyes rose and reengaged Roger's. "You've got a lot of nerve coming up here out of the blue and talking to me about problems," he said heatedly. He poked his finger threateningly toward Roger. "This better not have anything to do with ancient history, like dredging up the painkillers I needed for my back or my closed malpractice cases, because if it does, you and the rest of the administration will be hearing from my lawyer."

"Calm down," Roger urged softly. "I had absolutely no intention of talking about any such thing." He was taken aback at José's belligerence and defensiveness, yet he forced himself to remain cool and collected. If the man could get this wound up with such little provocation, maybe he was a loose cannon capable of the unthinkable. To defuse the situation, Roger quickly added, "My real goal in stopping by was to ask how things were working out with Dr. Motilal Najah. You've been here a long time, and Dr. Najah is a relative newcomer. As the senior man, I was interested in your opinion."

Some of the hostility and tenseness drained out of José's face, and he motioned for Roger to take a seat next to him. As soon as Roger was seated, José leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Why didn't you say that straight off? Motilal is the one you should be talking with, if you're concerned about problems."

"How so?" Roger asked. José's eyes now had a conspiratorial glint. Roger found himself thinking that even if José wasn't a serial killer, he might be the last person Roger would want giving him anesthesia.

"The man is a loner. I mean, like, we're kind of a tight team on the night shift. Let me tell you, he doesn't interact with anyone except in a professional capacity. He eats by himself and never comes in here to socialize. And when I say never, I mean never!"

"He seemed personable enough when I interviewed him," Roger said. Roger could distinctly remember being impressed by Motilal's easy candor and gentle manner. He seemed friendly enough, yet what he was hearing from José suggested that Motilal had some antisocial traits, and if that was true, he'd have to be considered a suspect.

"He fooled you then," José said. He sat back and then gestured around the room. "Ask anybody if you don't believe me."

Roger's eyes scanned the room. The people had gone back to their reading or conversation. Roger looked back at José. Roger was beginning to feel pessimistic about winnowing down his potential suspect list with what he was hearing about Motilal and the way José was acting.

"What about his professional skills?" Roger asked. "Is he a good anesthesiologist?"

"I suppose," José said. "But one of the nurse anesthetists would be better at evaluating that, since they have to work directly with the lazy bum. The problem that I have with him is that he is never here. He's always out wandering around the hospital."

"What's he doing when he's wandering around?"

"How should I know? All I know is I end up doing all the work. Like ten minutes ago, I had to page him to get his ass up here, since it was his turn to do a case. Hell, I had already done two tonight."

"Where was he when you paged him?"

"Down on the OB-GYN floor. At least, that's what he said when I asked him. But he could have been in one of the local bars, for all I know."

"So he's doing a case at the moment?"

"He better be, or our chief, Ronald Havermeyer, is going to hear about it. I'm tired of covering for that guy."

"Tell me something," Roger said, settling back into his seat. "Have you been aware that in the last couple of months there have been seven unexpected and unexplained deaths of healthy, relatively young people in our hospital within twenty-four hours of surgery?"

"No," José said-a bit too quickly, in Roger's estimation. José held his hand out toward Roger as if to quiet him. A wall speaker had crackled to life.

"Code red in 703," a disembodied voice announced. "Code red in 703."

José heaved himself to his feet, tossing his newspaper aside. "Wouldn't you know it? The second I get a chance to sit down, there's a cardiac code. Sorry to break this off so abruptly, but when we're not on a case, we're supposed to show up for a code. I urge you to talk with Motilal. If you're trying to head off problems, he's your man."

José rushed from the room with his stethoscope clasped in his hand. From out in the hall, Roger could hear the double doors leading to the elevator lobby bang open and noisily swing shut. Roger exhaled uneasily and glanced around the room. No one had reacted to their strange conversation, to the code announcement, or José's sudden departure, until his eyes reconnected with Cindy Delgada's. She smiled again and made a questioning gesture with her shoulders. Roger got up and walked back to her.

"Don't mind Dr. Cabreo," she said with a laugh. "He's a hopeless pessimist and our resident prophet of doom."

"He seemed a bit defensive."

"Ha! That's the understatement of the year. He's out-and-out paranoid, with a touch of misanthropy, but you know something? We give him some slack because he's a damn good anesthesiologist, and I should know, since I work with him almost every night."

"That's reassuring," Roger said, although he was hardly convinced. "Did you happen to hear what he said about Dr. Najah?"

"I got the gist."

"Is that the general feeling up here in the OR?"

"I suppose," Cindy said with a shrug. "It's true Dr. Najah doesn't socialize and hang around with us, but no one minds except José. I mean, this is the graveyard shift, after all."

"What does that mean?"

"We all have our quirks, which is why we work this shift. Maybe we're all a little misanthropic in our own ways. I know I like the fact that there's less supervision and a lot less bureaucratic crap. Why Motilal prefers this shift, I don't know. Maybe it's as simple as just being shy. He's hard to read since he's so quiet, but I'll tell you, he's definitely a good anesthesiologist, and don't get me wrong because I said it about José, because I don't say that about everybody."

"So you wouldn't say Dr. Najah is antisocial."

"Certainly not in the psychiatric sense. At least, I don't think so, but to be honest, I really don't know. I've probably only spoken ten words to him."

"José complained about him wandering around in the hospital. Do you have any idea where he goes?"

"I believe so. I think he visits all the in-house preops scheduled for morning. Why I think so is because he's always carrying around the next day's surgery schedule."