Final Mercy

by Frank J Edwards

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The term ER goes back to when there were no trained emergency physicians, and I find the term belittling. You know, they don’t call surgeons ‘OR docs.’”

  “I can see you’re sensitive about it.”

  “And now you can forget about it. So, who did you get to interview today?”

  “Oh, I wanted to tell you about that. It was Dr. Delancy.”

  “Delancy?”

  “He told me he’s just been assigned to your old job as the ER—excuse me—ED director. He’s so young, though.”

  “Good Lord, how did you get hooked up with Randy Delancy?”

  She held his eyes and pursed her lips.

  “Take a guess.”

  “Witner?”

  She nodded.

  “Dr. Delancy said some very respectful things about you, but regarding the paging system, you’re guilty as charged.”

  “Of course. What did he have to say about Dr. Witner?”

  “My God, if I hadn’t met Dr. Witner myself, I’d have come away believing the man was an amalgamation of Christ, Einstein and Edison.”

  Jack couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I feel bad for Randy. He’s in way over his head.”

  “He also told me Dr. Witner and Dr. Gavin were close friends. Is that true?”

  Jack’s smile died abruptly.

  “Absolutely not, Zellie.”

  “I didn’t think so. On the other hand, I don’t think he was lying to me. He believed it.”

  “Zellie, trust me—”

  “I do trust you. I’m just saying he believed it.”

  “Then he’d been coached, and I can imagine Witner loading the dice like that.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s got a fetish about polishing his image.”

  “Or is he trying to hide something?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Something very strange is going on around this place. I thought medical centers were supposed to focus on medicine.”

  “You should be writing detective stories.”

  “Are you poking fun?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, you’re right, I am a good people reader. You’d better watch your step.”

  The waitress arrived with their meal. Zellie picked up a forkful but stopped as she was lifting it to her mouth.

  “I had a strange dream last night, Jack. I was near this big body of water, and there were creatures moving below the surface, roiling the water, but I couldn’t see them. They were just large dark shapes. It was frightening.”

  Jack looked into her eyes.

  “Interesting,” he said,

  Without thinking of what he was doing, he moved the statuette a few inches in her direction.

  “Jack, I want to talk with Dr. Witner’s assistant, Greta Carpenter. Do you know her?”

  “Yes, and I think that’s a great idea. She worked with Dr. Gavin for fifteen years or more. She’ll give you some great insights.”

  “I definitely want to pick her brain about Dr. Witner.”

  “Even though your article is about Dr. Gavin?”

  “I couldn’t shake the sense, when I talked with Dr. Witner, that he was not unhappy about what happened.”

  “Witner’s an opportunist, and he got lucky. Jim Gavin was the one person who might have kept him away from the permanent position. Now, the way’s almost clear.”

  “Isn’t that awfully convenient?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean two and two equals four.” She fixed him with her large eyes. “Hasn’t anybody here thought of that yet? That Dr. Witner might be more than just an opportunist?”

  “That’s a pretty wild idea,” he protested.

  “I’m a fiction writer, remember? We sit by ourselves for hours and hours, rearrange things in our minds, thinking of all possible scenarios. I’m surprised you find it hard to imagine someone like Dr. Witner might be actively involved in securing his position. As a doctor, aren’t you supposed to consider all possibilities when you’re dealing with a mysterious symptom?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I know Witner’s a manipulative, power-hungry SOB, but I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of him trying to kill someone.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, he’d have needed help. He couldn’t do it alone. I remember him saying he was on the phone with Debussy at the exact time Dr. Gavin was hurt. I don’t think Witner has many friends outside of the hospital, much less someone who’d help him commit murder.”

  Nevertheless, a tingle traveled up his spine, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

  “I hope you don’t mind me rambling,” Zellie said. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Not at all. My friend Tim’s got an even wilder theory. Tim suspects Dr. Gavin stumbled across a revolutionary anticancer medication down in the rain forest and that he was being stalked by a pharmaceutical consortium.”

  She laughed.

  “Did I tell you about the letter Dr. Gavin received just before he came back?”

  “No. What letter?”

  Jack described the message from Dr. Zyman, and told her about his unsuccessful efforts to locate it.

  “Wow. Finding that letter would be a good thing. You say the man who sent it to him died right after he’d sent it?”

  “Yes. Gavin called it a message from the grave.”

  * * *

  After dinner, they drove to the hospital in the Jaguar, which was running smoothly since he’d tinkered with the carburetor after work today. Three police cars and the Channel 11 News van were parked in front of the ED.

  Jack’s chest tightened.

  “Christmas, this looks too familiar. We’d better see what’s up.”

  “I’m with you.”

  A moment later, they entered through the main entrance, and Jack spotted Susee Baker talking to a police officer. He quickly ushered Zellie into the registration area and found Darcy McFeely standing by the triage desk, a dazed look on her face.

  “Jack, we tried to call you at home to let you know,” she said when she saw him.

  “Let me know what?”

  “God, I still can’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “Dr. Atwood just shot himself.”

  The ED was abnormally quiet. Ed Williams emerged from the trauma suite. He was one of the old-time staff emergency physicians, a short, brusque-looking man in his late-sixties. He was stripping off a pair of bloodied gloves. Jack went to intercept him.

  “Ed, this is my friend Zellie Anderson. Listen, I just heard what happened.”

  Williams shook Zellie’s hand then looked at Jack grimly.

  “Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. “They found him up in his office with a pistol wound in his head. He’s got brainstem respiratory drive left, but otherwise he’s an organ donor.

  Jack was aware of Zellie taking his hand. He swallowed.

  “Good God. Who found him?”

  “Bryson Witner was still up in his office and heard the shot.” Williams paused a moment, heaving a sigh. There was a splotch of blood on the toe of his white tennis shoe. “Jack, I’d better give you a heads-up about something.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes at the other man, who averted his, and Williams seemed suddenly reluctant to continue.

  “Humphrey left a suicide note,” he said after another pause.

  “And?”

  “Jack, the note blames what he did all on you.” Williams heaved a deep sigh that seemed to lift his entire compact frame off the ground. “Listen, I need to go see how his wife is doing. That’s her in the quiet room.”

  Jack could hear a woman crying. He watched Williams stride away, stethoscope dangling from his right hand, then turned to Zellie.

  “I’m sorry I brought you into this.”

  “Please, no need to apologize,” she said. “Are you going to be okay? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

  “I’v
e been through this before, but never someone I knew. I won’t believe it until I see it for myself. I’ve got to see him.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  Humphrey Atwood lay on his back, a ventilator hissing next to the stretcher. Jack approached slowly. Atwood’s eyelids were grotesquely swollen and purple. The entrance wound was visible on his right temple, a small hole surrounded by a dark powder burn. A trickle of blood still oozed from it. On the opposite side of his head, his scalp was matted with blood clots and flecks of brain tissue. It was the exit wound of a substantial bullet, probably a nine-millimeter.

  He checked the monitor at the head of the stretcher. Atwood’s vital signs were stable and within normal limits. Though his heart might go on beating for days, one thing was certain—the being that had been Humphrey Atwood no longer existed. Regardless of their previous conflicts, Jack felt tears prick his eyes, thinking of Atwood’s wife and children.

  It was then he noticed something that struck him as odd and incongruent. In Atwood’s right ear canal was a small blood-soaked wad of what appeared to be cotton.

  The ED staff wouldn’t have put it there—there was no medical reason for it. Strange. It was as if, just before pulling the trigger, Atwood had wanted to protect his ear from the sound.

  Then again, there was something “Atwood” about that little detail, something meticulous and beside the point.

  Back in the hallway, a sight greeted him that made his entire body stiffen. Bryson Witner was standing next to Zellie, leaning toward her and talking. Seeing Jack, he straightened.

  “Dr. Forester,” he said as Jack slowed. “Ms. Andersen tells me you’d planned to give her a tour. I didn’t realize the two of you were acquainted.”

  There was tension written in the look she gave him. He went and stood close beside her.

  “That’s right. We were going to pay Dr. Gavin a visit.”

  “I see. Bad timing, though.” Witner tilted his head toward the trauma suite. “May this be our last tragedy. So, Ms. Andersen, you felt the need to talk with Dr. Forester to get information? I had hoped I’d supplied you with enough, but I can understand.”

  “One can never have too much information,” Zellie said.

  “Certainly, so long as it’s reliable. Listen, Dr. Forester, could I have a private word with you?” He turned to Zellie. “I won’t keep him long, and a pleasure to see you again. I’ll be happy to talk with you tomorrow, if you’d care to stop by.” He led Jack into a nearby empty cubicle and pulled the curtain closed. “Have you heard about Humphrey’s suicide note?”

  “Not in great detail.”

  “You will soon enough. I’m afraid it is going to make a great deal of negative feelings flow in your direction.”

  “What’s your point, Witner?”

  “You haven’t given Nelson your decision with regard to resigning.”

  “I thought I had until tomorrow.”

  “That’s right, but I wanted you to know the offer remains in force, but I don’t know for how long. When the content of Humphrey’s note becomes common knowledge, any political capital you may possess will evaporate.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Furthermore, the offer is contingent upon an amicable parting of the ways, free of negative comments made by either party. Please, keep that in mind when you talk to people like Ms. Andersen. Calumny is a two-way street. Just as the medical center would like to avoid being smeared, you, I’m sure, would not enjoy becoming unemployable.”

  Jack glared at him.

  “So, pack my bags and don’t say anything bad about you on the way out?”

  Witner looked away for a moment, inhaled, his nostrils flaring, then shook his head.

  “Dr. Forester, I gave you many opportunities to be collegial, but you keep beating your little drum.”

  “That’s not the way it seems to me, Witner.”

  The interim dean started hard at him now, and Jack had never seen his eyes so focused or cold.

  “You need to be careful about casting any aspersions you might regret. I’ll let you get on with your tour.”

  XXIII

  A Picture Comes To Light

  “If you’ve come to see Dr. Gavin, I’m afraid you’re too late,” said the nurse in the SICU, looking up from her desk at Jack and Zellie.

  Too late! Good God, no.

  Seeing Jack’s look of horror, the nurse realized her poor choice of words.

  “Oh, no, he’s okay, Dr. Forester,” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I meant that they decided to move him a few hours ago. He’s fine. Or, at least, he’s been the same all day. I’m sorry.”

  Jack let out a breath.

  “No problem. Where is he now?”

  “Up in a monitored suite on Seven East. He didn’t need the SICU anymore, and all the visitors were getting underfoot.”

  “Is Dr. Hansen still his attending?”

  “Dr. Witner is his attending now.”

  “Witner?” Jack and Zellie exchanged a look of surprise.

  “Yes, they switched him from surgery to one of the medical teams.”

  His heart sagging, Jack took Zellie’s arm and spun around, heading back down the corridor toward the elevators. On the seventh floor, an orderly directed them along a dim hallway. Close to the end, a desk had been placed crosswise, like a traffic barrier. A nurse sat there, and next to her stood a security guard with his arms folded. Jack didn’t recognize either of them.

  He introduced Zellie and himself.

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse said, “Dr. Witner says no more visitors tonight.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “No more visitors,” repeated the guard.

  “Listen, I’m on the medical staff here, and I’m an old friend of Dr. Gavin’s.”

  “It doesn’t matter who you are,” the guard stated. “It’s the doctor’s orders.”

  “Dr. Witner really did say no exceptions,” the nurse confirmed.

  Anger began stirring inside him. He stared at each of them in turn, glanced at Zellie, then looked back at the nurse.

  “I’m like a family member. Couldn’t you just look the other way for a few minutes? We won’t disturb him.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “How would you feel in my shoes?”

  “It’s really out of my hands.”

  “This is not right,” Jack said, his voice beginning to rise.

  The security guard unfolded his arms.

  “Jack,” Zellie said softly, “I agree with you, but we can come back tomorrow.”

  The nurse’s expression was sincere and regretful.

  “Listen, if you like, I’ll page Dr. Witner and ask him if it’s okay.”

  Jack snorted.

  “Never mind. Just tell me how he’s doing.”

  “Everything’s stable,” she answered, glancing over at the remote cardiac monitor sitting on the desk.

  * * *

  In the car, Jack was unable to escape the image of Atwood lying on the stretcher, which mingled with the pain he felt at being denied access on the seventh floor.

  Zellie broke the silence.

  “Is your life always this interesting?”

  “Not usually.”

  He turned toward her so she could see his face in the glow of the dashboard lights, which he had turned up high.

  “Can you see me okay?”

  “So-so, but I can hear you fairly well. Your voice must be in my best frequency zone.”

  He gripped the wheel hard.

  “Zellie, I still can’t believe Humphrey killed himself.”

  “I didn’t know him like you did, but I understand what you mean. I remember him telling me about his children. He had one of each. Very proud of that.”

  “What’s that old saying about a suicide? It kills more than one person?”

  They drove in silence a while longer, then Zellie spoke again.

  “You told me last night that Dr. Witner became the interim dean after Dr. M
cConnick—was that his name?—died in an accident.”

  “McCarthy. Bob McCarthy. He was a terrific guy.”

  “It was a scuba-diving accident, right?”

  “Right. He was diving in Lake Stanwick, exploring an underwater cave, and he got lost, ran out of air. How did you know?”

  “A nice old gentleman I met at the bookstore in town mentioned it. Was he diving alone? I thought they always went down in pairs.”

  “He had another diver with him, but McCarthy apparently went off on his own.”

  “The police definitely consider it an accident?”

  He looked over at her. They were stopped at a light, and she was watching him, her eyes roaming his face.

  “Yes, it was ruled an accident, not related to an equipment malfunction. He just took too many wrong turns. Why?”

  “Think about it, Jack. Dr. McCarthy dies, and Bryson Witner becomes the interim dean. And then Dr. Gavin comes back, and now he’s no longer a threat.”

  “Maybe Witner is mixed up with Tim Bonadonna’s pharmaceutical consortium.”

  “Maybe it’s just a conspiracy of one.”

  He looked at her. The light turned green, and he accelerated.

  “I don’t know, Zellie. It’s just doesn’t compute. He’s definitely not my favorite person in the world, but he’s an accomplished physician.”

  “So?”

  “He’s passed a lot of screening tests for character flaws, in a sense. You know what I mean? And he’d have so much to lose.”

  He found a parking spot close to the hotel entrance. He walked with her into the warmth of the lobby and over to the bank of elevators.

  “Well,” he said. “Listen, there was something I was going to ask you.”

  “Oh?”

  “What do you think of New Canterbury in general?” he asked in a mock serious tone.

  She laughed.

  “That is not what you wanted to ask.”

  “All right. If you’re so perspicacious, what was I going to ask you?”

  “If I had any plans for tomorrow.”

  He looked into her eyes and smiled.

  “I don’t,” she added.

  “Listen, Zellie, I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  “I’ll let you know if that happens.”

  A knot was forming in Jack’s throat.