As had been the case on the earlier visit, the two colorful doormen opened the double doors without Jennifer having to say a word. Because it was hotter outside than it had been that morning, it felt colder inside. As far as she was concerned, it was definitely over-air-conditioned.

At that time there were forty to fifty people in the lobby, all either upper-middle-class Indians or well-to-do foreigners. Near the admitting desk were a handful of prospective patients, some sitting in wheelchairs. A number of hospital staff were in evidence with their charges in varying stages of the admitting process. Glancing into the coffee shop, Jennifer could see it was full, with some people standing and waiting for tables.

With the aplomb garnered from all the hours she’d spent in a hospital, Jennifer didn’t hesitate in the slightest from making her way over to the elevators. When she boarded, she made certain the button for the fourth floor had been pressed, and then melted into the background.

For Jennifer, the patient floor was one of the most pleasant she’d seen, and she’d seen her share. The floor itself was covered with attractively colored high-quality sound-absorbing industrial carpet, and combining it with a high-tech acoustic ceiling and walls constructed of sound-dampening material, the ambient noise was muffled down to almost nothing. Even the sound of a large, fully loaded food tray cart was minimal as it passed behind Jennifer while she walked over to the nursing station.

Several patients had just returned from surgery, so most everyone was busy, including the floor clerk. Jennifer just watched. She was impressed how similar the protocols for running the floor seemed to be to what she’d experienced at UCLA Med Center, despite her being halfway around the world in a developing country.

In a relatively short time the immediately postoperative patients had been settled in their rooms, stabilized, and returned to the company of their next of kin. As abruptly as it had started, the flurry of activity dissipated. It was then that the floor clerk, whose nametag said merely “Kamna,” happened to notice Jennifer. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I believe you can,” Jennifer responded. She wondered if Kamna was a proper name or meant something like clerk. “My name is Jennifer Hernandez, and I am Maria Hernandez’s granddaughter. I believe she was a patient on this floor.”

“You are correct,” Kamna said. “She was in room four-oh-eight. I’m very sorry.”

“I am, too. Is this a common problem here?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Are deaths relatively frequent?”

Kamna jerked almost as if Jennifer had hit her. Even the head of one of the nurses using a computer terminal bobbed up with a shocked expression on her face.

“No, it is very rare,” Kamna said.

“But there was another one just last night around the same time. That’s two in a row.”