Natural Causes

by Michael Palmer

  The Huron Pharmaceuticals truck had remained by the building for half an hour. The driver, a large, strong man from what Sarah could make out, had pulled the body from the back of the van, swung it up over his shoulder, and hauled it down into the basement. Through the binoculars, Sarah had gotten a clear, unmistakable look at the arms of the victim, dangling down the driver’s back. Thirty minutes later, the man returned to his van empty-handed and drove off.

  A few minutes after that, Sarah approached Wes. Charming the aide was easy. Charming him without having him touch her was not. She flirted as she had not for many, many years and pandered to his ego in every way she could. She made thinly veiled promises that had the man’s fantasies exploding like Independence Day fireworks. She ran her lips over the rim of her coffee cup as if it held vintage Dom Perignon. By dawn, she had learned how mealtimes were organized on Underwood Six. Group A—one of two classifications—were the least stable patients on the unit. They went down for meals in the cafeteria, but with no more than two patients per staff member. However, the evening shift staff had determined that Sarah was not predictable enough even for Group A. Her breakfast was to be sent up to the unit. The day shift could decide about lunch. Now, some flattery, some promises, and a few come-hither smiles had bought her a promotion. Wes had moved a patient to Group B and added her name to the Group A list. She would be dining in the cafeteria from six forty-five to seven-fifteen.

  A none-too-subtle allusion to the anatomical secrets known only to M.D.’s, and Wes also allowed her to use the phone in the staff office, although that deal almost fell through when she begged off sitting on his lap while doing so. Before Wes signaled that the shift nurse had finished preparing meds and Sarah needed to vacate the staff office, she had managed to make two calls. The first was to Matt’s home; she felt sick when she heard his answering machine come on. The second was to the hospital page operator, who functioned as the answering service for Eli Blankenship. Sarah had written out the message she wanted the operator to give him. However, after a minute on hold, to Sarah’s surprise, the medical chief himself came on the line. He had spent the night in the hospital, he said, and was napping on the couch in his office.

  “Sarah, are you all right?” he asked as soon as he heard her voice. “How did you get to a phone at this hour?”

  “I’ll tell you that one when I see you, Dr. Blankeship. And no, I’m not all right. I need to get off this ward, and quickly.”

  “Sarah, Dr. Goldschmidt is the only one who can discharge you from a locked ward. I’m sorry, but that’s the—”

  “Please, Dr. Blankenship. I don’t have much time on this phone. You said yesterday you believed me in your gut. And that was even before everyone found out I was telling the truth about Andrew. You’ve got to believe me now. Something terrible is going on in this hospital. It involves a company called Huron Pharmaceuticals—the company that supplies vitamins to Peter Ettinger’s weight loss company. I can prove it.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to be in the cafeteria for breakfast at six forty-five. Can you be there?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Just keep an eye on me. You’ll know what to do.”

  “You said proof.”

  “Can you get us into the Chilton Building?”

  “I … yes. Yes, I can.”

  “The proof is there. Dr. Blankenship, I’ve got to go. Please trust me. Please be there for me.”

  “Count on it,” Eli Blankenship said.

  One of the mental health workers called out the list of those in Group A. Sarah shuffled over to where they were convening by the electronically controlled door. After a brief discussion among the staff—Sarah sensed that it dealt with her—the door was buzzed open, and the procession of six patients and three overseers made its way off the locked ward. Standing off to one side, Wes gave her a wink and a thumbs-up sign.

  The MCB cafeteria was modestly busy, primarily with residents and nurses. Sarah felt herself under scrutiny as she queued with her group. But after nearly six months of the hell she had already endured, she barely noticed.

  Keep staring, everyone, she thought. In just a few minutes, you’re going to get a real eyeful.

  She selected items with no intention of eating them, and kept searching for Eli Blankenship. The mental health workers assigned each patient to one of two tables. Sarah positioned herself to get as wide a view of the cafeteria as possible. It was then that she noticed the delivery floor nurse, Joanne Delbanco, having coffee at the next table over.

  “Joanne,” she said in a half whisper.

  “Oh, hello, Sarah.”

  The nurse looked away quickly, but not before Sarah saw the expression of distaste on her face. Sarah knew the keepers were watching her. One sign that she was annoying the hospital staff, and she might find herself on the way back to Underwood Six. Still, she had to try.

  “Joanne, just tell me how Annalee is doing. Is she all right?”

  The nurse hesitated for an interminable few seconds and then made a partial turn back, almost speaking over her shoulder.

  “If you must know,” she said coolly, “she’s in active labor. She’ll probably deliver sometime this morning or early this afternoon.”

  Sarah was horrified.

  “What about the terbutaline?” she asked.

  Sarah could see the two keepers at her table exchanging glances. She was operating right on the edge of their tolerance now, and Blankenship still hadn’t appeared.

  “Dr. Snyder stopped all her medications,” Joanne replied. “He felt that the stress you—the stress she’s been through was enough. The baby’s big enough, and the surfactant level is—”

  “Joanne,” Sarah cut in excitedly, “you’ve got to find Dr. Snyder. He’s got to do a section on her before it’s too late.”

  “I’ve got to what?”

  “Sarah, I think that’s enough,” one of the keepers said.

  “Joanne, please. It’s—”

  “Sarah, if you don’t stop right now, we’re going back up to the unit early. Everyone in the group will be punished for your actions.”

  Sarah barely heard the man. The huge, bald pate and massive physique of Eli Blankenship had just appeared in the doorway farthest across the cafeteria from them.

  Thank God. Sarah sighed. The news from Joanne Delbanco had changed everything. She was no longer fixed on getting into the Chilton Building. Now the only thing that really mattered was to explain the situation to Blankenship and get him up to the labor and delivery floor. With his influence, and perhaps Rosa Suarez’s as well, they might be able to convince Snyder to perform a cesarean on Annalee before disaster struck.

  If, in addition, they could stop the demolition of the Chilton Building, so much the better. But Annalee and her baby were far higher priorities than anything—or anyone—that might be buried beneath the rubble.

  Okay, everyone, Sarah thought. It’s showtime.

  “I don’t feel well,” she whimpered.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I—I don’t know. I’m dizzy and—and I keep seeing these little flashing dots of light.”

  “Has this ever happened before?… Sarah, I asked you if this has ever happened before?”

  Sarah began by snapping her hands rhythmically at her wrists. Then she jerked her head up and down. Her eyelids flickered, and beneath them her eyes rolled up until only the whites showed.

  “Sarah!” someone cried out.

  At that instant, affecting a dreadful, gurgling moan, she threw herself backward, twisting just enough to avoid smashing her head against the linoleum.

  “She’s having a seizure!” she heard the mental health worker exclaim. “Back off, everyone! Back away! Just let her be!”

  You ass, Sarah thought. Get me on my side!

  “Out of the way!” she heard Eli Blankenship’s voice boom. “Get her on her side quickly, before she aspirates!”

  He worked his beefy hand beneath her head to cu
shion it, moved her on to her side, and then slipped his billfold between her teeth. Sarah bit down on the wallet, continued her seizure activity for another half a minute, and then allowed herself to slow down. Next would be a lapse into “unconsciousness.”

  “I’m her medical doctor,” Blankenship explained with calm authority. “She has a past history of epilepsy. There’s nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. Everything’s going to be all right. That’s it, Sarah. You’re doing fine. I think just in case, we ought to get her over to the ER. Would someone please call transportation and have a litter sent down?”

  One of the mental health workers rushed off to do as he requested.

  “What should we do about her?” another keeper asked.

  “Just notify Dr. Goldschmidt of what has happened. Tell him that for the time being, we’ll transfer Dr. Baldwin back to the medical service. I’m Dr. Blankenship.”

  “Yes, Doctor. I know.”

  Sarah sensed the gaggle of onlookers begin to disperse. Blankenship bent over and whispered in her ear that she was doing great, and to keep her eyes closed until he told her all was clear. She moaned. A minute or so later transportation arrived, and she was lifted up onto the litter.

  “Okay, everyone, she’s doing fine,” Blankenship said.

  Sarah kept her head lolling from side to side as she was wheeled from the cafeteria, then down the hall and into the elevator. Although the cafeteria was on the basement level, Sarah felt the car go down. She tried to picture where they were as she was wheeled out and down another fairly long corridor.

  “Okay, you can sit up and open your eyes now, my friend,” Blankenship said. “That was an Academy Award performance.”

  Sarah pushed herself up, blinked her vision into focus, and looked around. She and the medical chief were alone in the subbasement tunnel. They were outside a steel security gate, draped with canvas on the far side. It bore a large sign warning of the time and date of the demolition, and requiring that anyone entering the Chilton Building prior to the 29th of October be accompanied by hospital security. There was a wall phone by the gate. Taped above it, a printed card gave the number of the demolition company and the extension of the hospital security office.

  “Where’s the transportation guy?” she asked.

  “Abe left us at the elevator,” Blankenship said, unlocking the gate. “I got him his job about a million years ago, and I take care of his family. He does favors for me when he can.”

  “Dr. Blankenship, it’s all true. There’s a connection between Peter Ettinger’s diet product and those DIC cases. It’s a virus of some sort. Rosa Suarez went out yesterday to speak with the man who created it.”

  “I know. I got her the car she used.”

  “Well, now Annalee is in labor. Her terbutaline’s been stopped. Dr. Blankenship, Peter tested that diet powder on her several years ago. If she’s not sectioned soon, she’s going to go into DIC like the others. I’m sure of it. We’ve got to get up to the L and D floor and speak with him.”

  “Hey, slow down, slow down,” Blankenship said. “You just had a grand mal seizure, remember?”

  “Dr. Blankenship, this is serious.”

  “Well, what about that pharmaceutical truck you told me about? The proof.”

  “This is more important. Can you get them to hold off on the demolition?”

  “Maybe, provided I can come up with a damn good reason. The mayor, the governor, and dozens of high rollers are going to be up there in the grandstand. This is the biggest day of Paris’s career. But listen, Sarah. We used the Chilton Building for storage. That’s how I have the keys to these gates. I was in there just a week or so ago, helping to move the last of our stuff out. There’s a lot of debris and rubble. That’s all.”

  “Well, there’s a body inside now. I guarantee it. That’s reason enough to delay things, isn’t it? But please. Annalee took that weight loss powder. The farther she gets into labor, the more danger she’s in. We’ve got to help her.”

  Sarah was still seated on the litter. Moving too quickly for her to react, Blankenship opened the security gate, shoved the stretcher inside, and slammed the gate behind them. Instantly they were in near-total darkness.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah cried as Blankenship reached through and resecured the padlock.

  But in that moment, she knew. The broad hand supporting her head in the cafeteria … the distinct, unpleasant blend of body odor and cologne. She had experienced both before. He was the man—the assailant in room 512.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Help!”

  He pulled her roughly off the litter and shoved her down the darkened corridor.

  “Yell all you want,” he said. “It’s therapeutic. There’s no one within a few hundred yards of this place.”

  He twisted her wrist to keep her still and flicked on a powerful flashlight. They were at a second security gate, almost identical to the first.

  “The canvas is for dust protection during the big blow,” Blankenship said, withdrawing the ring of keys from his clinic coat pocket. “The last thing we want is dust in our hospital, right?”

  Sarah’s intense fear was quickly displaced by anger. She swung a fist at his face and actually connected a glancing blow. But he merely twisted her wrist a bit more and forced her down to one knee.

  “They know I’m with you,” she said. “Everyone knows.”

  “You broke free, took off, and disappeared,” he said simply.

  “Eli, that girl’s dying.”

  “Everyone dies.”

  He dragged her through the second security gate and again locked it behind them. His grip on her wrist kept her in check. The corridor was strewn with rubble—chunks of concrete and pieces of glass and plumbing. He flicked off the flashlight, giving her a sense of the oppressive, total darkness. Then, from somewhere down the hallway, a loudspeaker announced that there were ninety minutes to demolition and that absolutely no one should be in or around the Chilton Building.

  “I guess I’d do well not to lose these keys,” Blankenship said. He switched on his beam. “Now, then, let’s go find that body you’re so damn curious about.”

  CHAPTER 43

  ELI, PLEASE,” SARAH BEGGED AS HE PULLED HER into the subbasement of the Chilton Building “You’ve been such a wonderful physician and teacher. You’ve got to stop this before Annalee and a lot of others die.”

  “Do you know that nine days after the first infomercial hit the airways, I made more money than I had in twenty years as a wonderful physician and teacher? Everyone thinks we just get our M.D. degrees and step into the Cadillacs and country clubs. If you want to get angry at someone, get angry at them for setting up those expectations in us. You know, I didn’t even have a damn retirement fund. Well, I do now.”

  “Eli, please don’t let this happen to all those women.”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Science will figure out a way to overcome their problem. It always does. Besides, do you know how many man-years of life have already been saved by all of that blubber-melting we’ve accomplished? If the Nobel committee ever did that arithmetic, I’d be a shoo-in for the prize. Now look, we don’t have much time. Do you want to see this or not?”

  Sarah kicked his shin as hard as she could.

  “Stop it!” he ordered, tightening his grip. “Good.… That’s much better. Now, let’s take a brief tour of our facility. Then I promise I’ll set you up with that body you’re so intent on finding.”

  “Who is it?” she asked, frightened by the man’s imposing size and strength, but not nearly so much as by the total lack of feeling in his words. Perhaps the most brilliant man she had ever known, and he was absolutely mad.

  “Who is it? Well, who do you think?” he asked, half shoving, half dragging her down the coal-black corridor.

  “Oh, God. Eli, where is he?”

  “Now, behind this door was our virology lab. The nerve center of the Ayurvedic Weight Loss System, if you will.”

  He ki
cked the door open and panned the light about a large, fully equipped laboratory.

  “Where is he?”

  “Dr. Baldwin, are you going to pay attention? It took almost two years to get this operation going. No one but my virologist—make that my late virologist—and I have ever seen this room, until this morning. Do you realize how difficult that was to pull off?”

  “Damn it, where’s Matt? What did you do to him?”

  “Can you believe Singh and that fop Ettinger actually believed the herbs I concocted were causing people to lose weight? I spent a week in the library and came up with an Ayurvedic mix that I must admit the Maharishi himself would have been proud of. But a week. That’s all. I made the whole thing up. Every herb. I told Singh a friend had brought the mixture back from India, and I needed to test it out. The minute he heard the word Ayurvedic, he adopted it as his own. No questions asked. Now, isn’t that something? Later on, after the first group lost so much weight, I suggested that Singh ask your ex-lover to be the spokesman for the whole thing in exchange for a modest share of the profits. And Ettinger bit hook, line, and sinker. Why shouldn’t he, though, right? It was alternative medicine, and he loved that. And it was going to make him rich, and he loved that even more. Do I know human nature or what?”

  He kicked open another door, shined his light into the room, and snapped Sarah’s head around, making her look inside. “Here’s the little suite where my late virologist lived while he was putting together our product,” he went on. “Home, home in the hospital, and no one ever knew he was here. Now isn’t that just something?”

  “Where’s Matt?”

  “All in good time.”

  “Attention, attention please. This building will be demolished by explosion in seventy-five minutes. No one should be inside the structure or within the blue protective barriers. Repeat …”

  “Right on time,” Blankenship said. “That asshole Paris runs a tight ship.”

  In spite of herself, Sarah began to cry.