Most Wanted Page 89


“Does he report directly to you?”

“Yes, and I report to the vice president of sales, who reports to the president of sales. They’re not in today. I knew Zachary better than they do, so you’re not missing anything.”

“Did you review his performance?”

“Yes, he’s gotten a bonus for going beyond his quotas, every quarter.”

“Could I see his personnel file?”

“Unfortunately, not. I thought you might ask that, so I checked with Legal, and they said no. You need to have his lawyer write us a letter.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Good. Legal said I could talk to you, and we’d like to help Zachary if we can. No way in the world is he guilty.” Tim puckered his lower lip, shaking his head. “No damn way.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He’s a good guy, all around. He always worked without complaint, he filled in when guys got sick. Like when Stan, one of our other account managers, got prostate cancer, he filled in for him while he was in the hospital. Zachary’s just that kind of a kid. He’s the youngest account manager here, and he’s interested in medicine. He got into med school but didn’t have the money to go. It helps him with the doctors and the purchasing people. It’s all good.”

“Did you know that he was dating nurses who worked at these hospitals?”

“No, but that’s his business, he’s single. I don’t blame him. I met my wife on this job. She’s a bookkeeper at Riddle Memorial.” Tim shrugged his heavy shoulders. “That’s who we meet at our accounts. Doesn’t mean he killed anybody. I can’t picture him doing that.”

Christine wanted to believe him, but she remembered that flash of anger she’d seen today. “Did he have a temper?”

“No, not that I saw.”

“Did you trust him?”

“Absolutely. I like him and trust him.”

“How about the accounts?”

“They all did. The docs, the purchasing people, everybody. I’ve been getting calls since he was arrested, and none of them believe that he did it.” Tim spoke with conviction. “He’s such a good guy. Did what I asked, even the things that I get pushback on from some of the others.”

“Like what?”

“Perfect example, I ask my account mangers not to have a Facebook page. I don’t want our accounts looking up my managers, finding out whether they’re Republican, Democrat, or anything about them, personally. You never know who you turn off these days.”

Christine thought it explained why Zachary didn’t have a Facebook page, which Lauren had thought was strange. “What about the fact that the killer used your instruments?”

“So what?” Tim’s dark eyes flared. “You know how many people come in contact with those instruments in the hospital or doc’s office? Everybody from the docs, to the nurses, to the orderlies, to the techs, to the people who unpack the boxes. Anybody could use our instruments.”

“What was his region?”

“Mid-Atlantic. Maryland, Virginia, Delaware, and Pennsylvania. It’s a big region, but he handled it. I was grooming him to succeed me. He was a real go-getter. Look at this.” Tim turned to a black bag on the floor, then lifted it onto the table and opened the top flap. “This is what they called his ‘kill bag’ or ‘hit kit’ in the papers. It’s the sample bag we give to our account managers. They said in the paper that it was a plain black bag, that’s intentional. It doesn’t say Brigham because these instruments cost a couple hundred bucks a pop. We don’t label the bag so they don’t get stolen.” Tim extracted a black nylon folder from inside the case and opened it to reveal an array of different tweezers on a field of blue velvet, held in place by black elastic bands. “This is what it looks like inside.”

“And these are … tweezers?”

“No, forceps. Top line of forceps, tissue forceps, Adson forceps, Adson-Brown forceps. It’s a typical sample bag for forceps.”

“Was this what Zachary had in his car?”

“Not specifically. He had our surgical general kit for top-of-the-line operating rooms. It includes a Langenbeck metacarpal saw, named for a Bernhard von Langenbeck, a Prussian army surgeon. Unfortunately, many surgical advances and instruments come from wars.”

Christine remembered what Zachary had said. “Was that the murder weapon? A saw used by hand surgeons?”

“Yes, I have one to show you.” Tim stuck a hammy hand into the bag and pulled out a long, shiny saw that had a serrated edge, then handed it over with care. “Watch out, it’s sharp.”

“Yikes, and it’s heavy.” Christine eyed the jagged edge, which gave her the creeps.

“It has to be. It’s nine and a half inches long, including the blade, which is four and a half inches long. The tip is part of the blade, the saw has no curvature, it’s straight. It’s stainless-steel, reusable, rigid, and strong enough to saw through small bones. It can also punch through a chest, but anybody could’ve had this.” Tim pointed to the saw. “This is a very common saw in an OR, and any trauma surgeon, hand surgeon, orthopedic surgeon, or podiatric surgeon could have these instruments. It costs about $160, so it’s not even as expensive as many medical instruments. So you see, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for Zachary’s having it in his car. It doesn’t mean he’s a serial killer.”

“How about the tourniquets?”

“Same, very common, everywhere. I pulled those for you, too.” Tim dug in a pocket of the sample bag and extracted a roll of bright turquoise bands. “You can find these a zillion places. We sell them, and so do a lot of other people.”

Christine knew as much. She got her yearly blood test, and her local Labcorp used the same tourniquet. “And the tourniquets are used by hand surgeons, but not only by hand surgeons?”

“Exactly.”

“Can laypeople buy these things?”

“No. We sell only to hospitals, hospital supply companies, and medical professionals.” Tim frowned. “I see our metacarpal saws on eBay sometimes, but that’s resellers.”

“May I take these things and some catalogs, to read through them later?”

“Sure.” Tim packed the saw, tourniquets, and some catalogs in the black nylon bag and flopped over the top flap.

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