Mama Tina studied me grimly. “That’s right. I think he’s a good doctor, for the most part. But he had differences of opinion with Dr. Phillips, and he almost got into a physical fight with Dr. Hall—Samuel—once. I don’t know what that whole situation was about, but it might be worth looking into.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I said, “All right. Thinking of all the angles here—of every reason you can think of that someone might have targeted both of these men—is there anyone else who you think might be a target?”

  She seemed to consider this, then shrugged. “Not that I can think of. Maybe one of the bureaucrats—hospital administrators, you know. Especially if it was about that NICU baby. But I don’t know of any other doctors, at least in maternity and the NICU, who are such notorious womanizers or who have so much tension with the other staff. I think—I hope—that the killer’s done.”

  I fervently hoped she was right. The note had said, They’ll never hurt anyone again. Maybe that meant the killer had finished what he or she had set out to do.

  But I still had to catch them. Samuel and Docta C may have been odious men and bad doctors, but that didn’t justify murder.

  “Thank you for telling me all this,” I said. “This is really helpful and confirms some theories I’m working on. Is there anything else you think I should know?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I think that’s it. Should I . . . should I tell the police? I thought about calling them, but I don’t actually know anything . . . I just have suspicions. I don’t want to file a report that turns out to be false.”

  “In a murder investigation, you can always tell the police your suspicions,” I assured her. “You don’t have to wait until you have something concrete. Detective Deb Fisher is the lead on this case, and I know she’d love to hear what you have to say.”

  “Okay.” Mama Tina nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’ll call her on my break.”

  “And I’ll start looking into the leads you’ve given me.” A wild idea bloomed in my mind. “Hey! Do you have access to the staff rooms?”

  She held up her badge. “Of course. Why?”

  “I have an idea.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mama Tina swiped her badge and grumbled under her breath.

  Beep, beep! The sensor light shone green, and the automatic unlocking mechanism buzzed.

  I nervously swept my hands over the XL scrubs Mama Tina had found for me, then grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled.

  My gaze swept over the room, and I found myself surprised.

  I’m not sure what I’d expected—maybe a windowless locker room with a couple of small tables. But this was a large, spacious lounge, with multiple rooms, comfortable chairs, and pleasant natural light. It smelled of antiseptic, like the rest of the hospital, but otherwise could have been a trendy study zone on a college campus.

  Several pairs of nurses sat chatting at the tables, and a young woman in a doctor’s coat snored, slumped in a cushy chair.

  “Act natural,” murmured Mama Tina. “As long as no one recognizes you, they won’t ask questions if you’re dressed in scrubs and act like you belong here.”

  “Where are the cubbies?” I whispered.

  “Turn right,” she replied quietly.

  Together, we walked right—well, she walked, I still toddled, my stride now encumbered from the sutures. We ducked behind a long wall. Once we were out of sight of the other staff, I relaxed a little. We reached the wall of cubbies, and I scanned them. About half of the cubbies were filled with personal possessions—purses and coats, sometimes an outfit.

  Three cubbies, in particular, caught my attention—the bags inside had a masculine look, the sort of thing that I could imagine Samuel or Docta C carrying. I reached out and grabbed one bag, opening it up and rummaging through its contents.

  A wallet! I flipped it open and looked at the driver’s license.

  Johnson, Jameson Drew.

  I tossed the wallet back in the bag and shoved the bag into the cubby.

  “Could you grab that one?” I asked, pointing to a bag just above my head.

  It wasn’t too high—I could have grabbed it myself if it weren’t for my C-section stitches.

  Mama Tina pulled down the satchel and handed it to me. I dug through it, looking for a wallet. No luck.

  But then my fingers closed around a phone. I pulled it out, clicking it on.

  The screensaver showed a picture of Docta C in a nightclub setting, a beautiful young woman on each arm.

  “Gotcha,” I murmured. “Goodness, what a jerk.”

  The phone was down to four percent battery, and it required a four-digit pin to access.

  I frowned at the screen, then asked Mama Tina. “You wouldn’t happen to have a flashlight on you, would you?”

  “No, sorry.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Oh! I have an idea. I brought my phone with me!”

  I pulled out my phone, turned on the flashlight feature, and handed it to Mama Tina.

  “Shine it on his screen,” I whispered.

  She shone the light steadily, and I held his phone horizontal, right at eye level. “There we are,” I whispered as the flashlight revealed a set of smudged fingerprints. “I think the numbers in the pin are 1280.”

  “So, that’s the pin?” Mama Tina asked, her jaw dropping.

  “Well, not necessarily in that order,” I replied, “but some combination of those numbers. Probably.”

  The battery dropped to three percent. “And we have to plug this in,” I added.

  I glanced at the charging port on Docta C’s phone, satisfied that my phone charger would work. Then I tucked his phone in my pocket, took mine back from Mama Tina, and fired off two identical texts, one to Deb and one to Galigani: What was Cory Phillips’s birthday?

  We slipped out of the staff lounge and headed back up the hallway to my room. By the time we reached it, Deb had replied, August 12, 1986. Why?

  “Bingo!” I whispered. August 12—08/12.

  “What?” asked Mama Tina, closing the door behind her.

  “Figured out the passcode.”

  I grabbed Docta C’s phone and tapped 0812. The screen unlocked.

  What should I check first? His text messages, I decided. Those would likely tell me how many women he’d been stringing along recently.

  I opened his texts and scanned the messages. A woman’s name caught my attention: Sarah. I glanced through that conversation but realized after about ten seconds that she must be his sister.

  Who else?

  There was a pair of appointment reminders, a group chat called Bar Hoppers, and . . .

  Samuel Hall.

  Docta C had texted Samuel shortly before Samuel’s murder! I opened the thread, my heart pounding, and started reading the messages in reverse order.

  Cory Phillips: Yeah, found an excuse, lol. Usually can with twins.

  Samuel Hall: Gonna get that extra $$$?

  Cory Phillips: Greene had the right idea. I need a trip to Europe. At least a twin birth just walked in.

  Cory Phillips: Yeah, got a job offer, but I turned it down. $ is worse, and hours are just as bad.

  Samuel Hall: Did you hear back from the hospital in LA?

  Cory Phillips: I swear, these hours are going to be the death of me. I’m exhausted.

  I stared at the screen and read the messages through again, this time in their proper order, once, twice, then three times. I thought I was going to be dizzy.

  Twin birth? He had to be talking about me!

  What does “gonna get that extra $$$?” mean? A horrifying suspicion took hold of me.

  Surely not . . .

  “Are you all right, dear?” asked Mama Tina. “You look pale. Do you need me to get a doctor?”

  “No.” I took a shaky step toward the bed and sank down to sit on it. Then I looked up at Mama Tina. “Do . . . do doctors make more money on C-sections than they do on . . .”

  She gasped aloud, grabbed the phone from me, and read through the messages. “He didn’t! Why, that good-for-nothing, low-life . . . I should have killed him myself!” She looked from the screen to me and back at the screen. “Yes . . . they . . . they do get paid more for C-sections.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. What a violation.

  Mama Tina rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “There, there. Just breathe, my dear. Just breathe.”

  For a heady moment, I wanted to drop the case—to walk away and let the murderer get away with it.

  What terrible, terrible men.

  I bit down on my tongue until I tasted blood, inhaling and exhaling great gasps of air and slowly gathering myself. When the dizziness finally subsided, I glanced up at Mama Tina and whispered, “Well, that was quite a discovery.”

  My C-section stitches ached more acutely now that I knew the surgery had been unnecessary. Had he lied about the baby being breech?

  I closed my eyes and pictured the moment. Docta C had been the only person with a good view of the ultrasound screen.

  Mama Tina’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I’m so sorry that he did that.”

  What if he put my babies at risk?

  “I . . . I have to go to NICU,” I said finally. “I have to see my husband. I—”

  My voice cracked, and Mama Tina enfolded me in a soft hug. “I’ll take you there right away.”

  She helped me sit in the wheelchair and wheeled me out of the maternity wing with the casual confidence of a territorial cat.

  When we reached the babies’ room, I found Jim and my mom there, each of them holding one of the boys.

  Jim’s face lit up when he saw me, but a moment later his expression faded to concern. “What’s wrong, Kate?”

  Mama Tina parked my wheelchair. “She’s had a shock,” she said. “But she’ll be all right. Everyone will be all right.”

  Then, in a low grumble, she added, “At least every decent soul in this hospital.”

  “Darling?” Mom asked, alarmed. “What happened? You can tell us.”

  I made eye contact with Mom, then Jim, tears brimming in my eyes. “I . . . was snooping around on the case. Mama Tina was helping me. She knows I’m a PI.”

  Jim nodded, his face a picture of concern.

  The baby in Mom’s arms started fussing, and she bounced him up and down to soothe him.

  I opened my mouth again, trying to find the words. “We found Dr. Phillips’s phone.” I glanced at Mom. “He was the one who performed the C-section on me.” Then, the words came all at once. “I read a text message thread he had with Samuel, the other victim. They were such . . . such terrible people, and it turns out that I didn’t need a C-section! Dr. Phillips made up an excuse to give me one because it made him more money!”

  “He did what!” Mom screeched.

  Jim looked like he was about to hit the ceiling. His face reddened, and he abruptly handed the baby to Mama Tina. Unfettered rage gleamed in his eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him this angry.

  But when he spoke, each word was tightly controlled, “He gave you unnecessary surgery, against your wishes, to make more money. And he bragged about it to a friend, breaking patient confidentiality?”

  My jaw dropped. I hadn’t considered that angle. “Well . . . yeah, I guess. I don’t know if that part’s strictly illegal—Samuel worked here and no doubt would see medical records, but . . .”

  “But that still doesn’t give him any right to send a friend text messages about it,” he hissed. “Do you still have that phone?”

  I showed him the text message thread, and a vein pulsed in his forehead. He clenched his hands into fists.

  “We’re going to sue,” he said, enunciating each word. “We’re going to sue the hospital, the doctor’s estate, and every person here who knew what he was up to.”

  The screen went black, and I realized dully that I’d forgotten to charge it.

  Mom bounced the baby more furiously—for once in her life, she’d been rendered speechless.

  “I’m calling the police,” Jim mumbled, whipping out his phone.

  He started dialing 911, and I grabbed his arm. “Wait,” I whispered. “Don’t call 911. That . . . that becomes public record. Call Deb.”

  After a brief hesitation, he nodded and made the call. Deb picked up after two rings—I could just barely make her voice out through the line.

  “Jim? What’s up?”

  “Deb.” His voice was still clipped, like he was barely containing his rage. “We have a situation.”

  “Is Kate all right?” Deb demanded.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I mean, she’s not hurt. Well . . . I mean, she is, but not like—”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  Jim’s gaze landed on me, fierce and protective. “She found out that the doctor pretended she needed a C-section so he could bill the insurance at a higher rate.”

  There was a long silence, and then Deb let loose a string of profanities so colorful my mom covered the baby’s ears.

  “Yeah,” said Jim. “My thoughts exactly.”

  I reached for the baby in Mama Tina’s arms, nestled him in my lap, and checked his tiny arm bracelet. “Hello, Primus,” I whispered, memorizing his handsome little face. Warmth filled my heart and I noted that Primus’ eyes were just a shade darker than his brother’s.

  “Put me on speakerphone,” Deb said.

  Jim clicked a button and said, “You’re on speaker.”

  “Kate?” Deb said, much louder.

  “Yeah?” I replied weakly.

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Well . . . I snooped through Dr. Phillips’s phone.” I didn’t look up. I just studied my baby’s face.

  She let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, well I can’t send a beat cop out to take your statement, then, for obvious reasons, but I am going to need to take that phone into evidence. Where’d you find it?”

  “Cubbies in the staff lounge,” I said tightly.

  “Okay, we’ll take it into evidence, along with anything else in that cubby, and once we’ve catalogued it, I’ll send the case over to our fraud department. If the doctor were still alive, I’d charge him with assault.” She sighed loudly. “Anyone else know about this?”

  “The orderly who helped me snoop.” I offered Mama Tina a soft smile. “She’s still here.”

  “Can she hear me? What’s her name?”

  “I’m Tina Henderson, ma’am,” Mama Tina replied.

  “All right, Tina Henderson,” she said. “Thanks for your help, and don’t tell a soul about any of this, okay?”

  “I won’t,” promised Mama Tina. “My lips are sealed.”

  “I’m serious,” Deb insisted. “Especially no one at the hospital—because that would constitute interfering with an investigation, got it?”

  “Got it,” Mama Tina replied.

  “All right. Anything else?” asked Deb.

  “When can I sue the hospital for everything they own?” grumbled Jim.

  “Not until after we catalogue the evidence in the phone. Keep all this to yourselves, and I’ll talk to you later.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mama Tina left me with Mom and Jim, and I tried my best to put the whole terrible C-section business out of my head. I didn’t want the twins to sense my turmoil.

  “When will Nurse Bindi be here?” I asked.

  Jim yawned. “I think her shift starts at like four, maybe? I don’t remember. But it shouldn’t be too long.”

  I glanced at the clock: it was just past two.

  “Should we think more about names?” I asked, running my fingertip along Primus’s tiny toes.

  Mom found her voice again, though her tone lacked its usual jubilation. “I like the Roman theme you have going with their nicknames,” she said.

  Jim and I exchanged looks, and I rolled my eyes. I’d hoped Mom wouldn’t find out about the nicknames. Was she about to suggest we keep Primus and Secundus?

  “But they’re not your first and second children,” she said, “they’re your first and second boys.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. Where is she going with this?

  “What about Secundus and Tertius?” she asked. “That means second and third.”

  Jim chuckled, seeming to relax a little, like he, too, was letting go of the C-section thing—for now. “I think that would only work if Laurie’s name was Prima—that’s the feminine version of Primus.”

  Mom nodded solemnly. “I thought of that, too. It’s a fair criticism.”

  I pressed my lips together to suppress a smirk.

  “What about Romulus and Remus?” Mom asked, her face devoid of even a trace of irony. “The founders of Rome!”

  “Hmm.” Jim tilted his head. “That’s an idea. What do you think, Kate?”

  I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was being serious. The gleam in his eyes told me he thought the idea as preposterous as I did.

  “Such regal names for such tiny babies,” I said as a peace offering, so Mom wouldn’t think I was rejecting her suggestions out of hand. “But I want the names to pair well with Laurie, you know? It sounds like a mismatch to say, ‘These are my children: Laurie, Romulus, and Remus.’”

  “Hmm.” Mom tilted her head, as if thinking. “True.”

  “Jim and I did both like Lucas, though. That sounds kind of Roman, and I think it pairs well with Laurie.”

  Mom nodded and snapped her fingers. “If you have a Laurie and a Lucas, you’ll need another L name. What about . . . Lucius?”

  I looked down at the baby in my arms. “Lucas and Lucius?”

  “Oh, you’re right,” Mom said, “those names are similar. What about Linus?”

  “Like the Peanuts character?” Jim pulled up a chair next to me, took Secundus from Mom, and sat down with him.

  As I looked into the eyes of both of my babies, my heart melted all over again. “We’ll be home soon,” I whispered. “Whatever names you end up with. We’ll be home safe and sound, all five of us together as a family.”

  “Will you be discharged tomorrow?” Mom asked. “That sweet nurse said the babies are almost ready to go home.”

  I glanced up at her. “It’s possible, but might be one more day. I . . . I might try to stay one more day to solve the case.”