Medical Error pft-2

by Richard L Mabry

  "You've probably got a couple of days," Nick said. "I tried to put offGreen until next week, but he finally pinned me down. I'll give them my statement on Friday afternoon. Be sure to tell Donovan when you talk to him."

  Anna tried to ignore the way Nick said the name of her attorney. "Thanks for those two days," she said. "I probably had a week's grace, but I blew that this afternoon."

  "What happened?"

  After she gave Nick a brief recap of the day's events, he shook his head. "Anna McIntyre, you're something else. I'm not sure I could have done that."

  "Of course you couldn't do that kind of surgery," Anna said."You're a pathologist."

  "That's not what I mean, and you know it. I mean the way you pitched in to help, even when you knew you might suffer for it in the end."

  "Nick, that's sort of the heart of everything I believe. 'Do unto others as you would have them do to you.' I don't know if I have the words exactly right, but you get the meaning."

  "You know, one of the things I admire about you is the way you've held on to your faith in the midst of all that's happened. I'm afraid mine's gone for good."

  "That's not true," Anna said. "Your faith is right where you left it." She yawned. "I'm sorry. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I need to get some rest, but I appreciate your coming by. I'll call you tomorrow."

  Nick opened his mouth, closed it, and then shook his head."Sure. Give me a call."

  Anna woke slowly, swimming toward the surface of consciousness. She remembered falling into her bed as soon as Nick left. She squinted one eye open and tried to read the red numbers of her bedside clock. Was it seven a.m. or seven p.m.? There was a little red dot illuminated beside the numbers. Good. She hadn't slept the clock 'round. Maybe she could do something productive for the rest of the evening.

  Soon, fortified with a grilled cheese sandwich, she sat down at her desk to sort through the stack of mail she'd let pile up. Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Sale circular. Bill.

  Anna discarded the junk and set the bills aside. She'd deal with them last. Her fear was that she'd open them and see more charges made by someone else. Ross had taken the material Anna had dropped offfor him and assured her that her phone notifications and his filings would protect her from future unauthorized charges. But that was only part of the problem. She still had the feeling that her identity theft wasn't an isolated instance. And although she had nothing to substantiate it, she still wondered if it was connected to the unauthorized use of Eric Hatley's medical insurance that had indirectly caused his death.

  She felt a figurative light bulb go on over her head. Before she could change her mind, she pulled out a phone book from the desk drawer and thumbed through it, searching her memory for the right first name. Please, don't let it be unlisted. No, there it was. She punched in the numbers and waited, the beat of butterfly wings roiling her stomach.

  "Hello?"

  "Mrs. Hatley, this is Dr. Anna McIntyre. Please don't hang up."

  "What do you want? My lawyer told me not to talk with you."

  Anna hurried on. "No, please. I just have one question, and it has nothing to do with your lawsuit. Do you recall your son telling you about problems with his credit card?"

  There was a prolonged silence. "How did you know that?"

  "So, in addition to his medical insurance information, he'd suffered other instances of identity theft."

  "Just a few weeks before he…" There was a catch in the woman's voice, and Anna felt sorry for bringing back painful memories to her. "Not long before I lost him, he called me and complained that someone had used his credit cards and run up a big bill. He started to contest the charges, but he never-"

  "Mrs. Hatley, I'm sorry to bring this up. But if you have any of those receipts and bills, please, please don't destroy them. They could help the police find the person really at fault for your son's. .. for your loss."

  "How do I know this isn't some lawyer's trick?" Now there was suspicion in the woman's words.

  "Mrs. Hatley, you can talk with your own lawyer. Give the material to him to hold. Then it can only be released to the police if they have the proper papers. I won't be able to get hold of it. But believe me, it's imperative that information be preserved."

  "I'll think about it." A loud click signaled the end of the conversation.

  Anna cradled the phone and pulled a yellow legal pad toward her. She began to write, pausing for long periods between thoughts. She connected some of the words to others with lines that soon made the page look like the web of a drunken spider, searching for that loose end of the thread that would allow her to unravel the mystery.

  The ringing of her phone roused Anna from sleep. She raised her head from its resting place on her desk and squinted at her watch. Eleven o'clock. Who could be calling this late? Her father had told her once, "A phone call after ten p.m. is never good news." She had rarely experienced anything that proved that dictum wrong.

  Anna picked up the phone, but had to clear her throat twice before she could answer. "Dr. McIntyre."

  "I'm sorry to call this late, but what I have will probably let you sleep better." The urgency in Ross Donovan's voice was a marked contrast with Anna's fuzziness. "I just dug up some new information about that prescription bottle the police say links you to Eric Hatley."

  The words acted like a jolt of caffeine. Anna sat up straight. "That's great. Can you tell me about it?"

  "I don't want to seem paranoid, but I think we'd better talk in person about this, not on the phone. Can you come to my office at nine in the morning?"

  Anna didn't want to wait ten minutes, much less ten hours."Ross, you're awake and now I am too. Is there an all-night coffee shop where we could meet?"

  "No, that's not a good idea. Getting this information tonight was risky business. If someone is following me and I meet with you now, that sends up a red flag and puts both you and me in danger. But if you come to my office tomorrow, it's just another lawyer-client conference."

  "Can't you at least give me a hint what this is about?"

  The hum of the open line went on so long Anna thought the connection had been broken. Finally, Ross said, "I've been wondering all along if someone is trying to frame you for this."

  "And?"

  "Now I can prove it."

  18

  Ross closed his cell phone and stowed it in his pocket. He peered out of the shadows of the alley before stepping onto the deserted sidewalk. A faint light shone through the stained glass windows of St. Barnabas Church, but otherwise the street around him was dark. As he walked to his car, his head was on a swivel, searching for a presence he felt but could not see. He hunched his shoulders, clenched his fists, and lengthened his stride.

  When he saw his car ahead, Ross breathed a little easier. Another hundred feet and he'd be safe inside. He wasted little time worrying that he might have put Glenn in jeopardy. Glenn had put his own neck in that noose. If anything, giving up the information tonight might help the man escape serious consequences. Right now, Ross's primary concern was for Anna. And with what he had, he should definitely be able to counter the police attempts to incriminate her.

  As he neared his car, Ross heard a quick shuffle of footsteps behind him. He turned just enough to take the first blow on his shoulder, but his attacker adjusted quickly, and the second and third strikes were on target, right at the base of his skull. He dropped to his knees and put out his hands to brace himself for impact with the pavement. As everything faded from gray to black, he heard a voice, faint and far away. "Hey, what's going on?" Then there was nothing.

  Anna was wide-awake now. That nap with her head on the desk might not have been the most comfortable one she'd ever had, but the rest, combined with the effect of Ross's phone call, had left her wide awake.

  She wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, so she might as well get some more of this paperwork out of the way. Armed with a cup of tea, she shoved aside the legal pad where she'd been trying to connect the dots of her life and turned
her attention to the stack of bills.

  Anna took a sip from her cup and rolled her shoulders to relax them. She could recall when the only tension involved in opening her bills was wondering how she was going to pay them. Now she had to worry about whether the charges listed were her own or the work of someone else. Her latest MasterCard bill held no surprises. The identity thief, whoever it might be, apparently wasn't able to gain access to her new card number. Anna one, bad guy zero. The VISA bill was short-she generally used it only for backup-and like the MasterCard statement, it was free of unauthorized charges.

  Her utility bills were routine. She expected no surprises, and there were none. As Anna wrote the checks, she watched her dwindling bank balance and wondered how she could afford the fee of the private detective Ross had mentioned.

  Soon there was only one piece of mail left unopened: a large envelope marked "Personal." The return address was an unfamiliar one, a Dallas post office box. In Anna's experience, correspondence marked "Personal" was often part of a marketing scheme to entice the skeptical recipient to open the envelope. On the other hand, it might really be important, maybe medical information. She shivered as she thought of this last possibility. Was this yet another lab report, generated by a visit from someone using her insurance information? She still hadn't done anything to expunge that false report of a positive HIV test from the lab's records. She hated to have something like that floating around with her name and identifying data attached to it. That was one more thing for her "to do" list.

  Anna slit the end of the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers with the heading "CSC Credit Services." Was this more bad news about her credit rating? As she read further, her eyes stopped at the line, "Your personal credit report." Then she remembered. When she'd first found out about the theft of her credit card information, she'd requested copies of her credit report from the three major companies that kept up with that stuff. The first two reports were in the packet she delivered to Ross. This one was just late.

  Well, she might as well see if this one showed anything different. She spread the pages on the desk and picked up a red pen, ready to circle items that would require attention. When she reached the bottom of the last page, she frowned. There were two unfamiliar charge accounts listed. She was sure they hadn't been listed on the other credit reports. Sure enough, the dates showed they'd only been open for a week. The name on the accounts was Anna Elizabeth McIntyre, but the address wasn't hers.

  Ross had warned her that sometimes credit reports contained inaccuracies. He'd told her not to be surprised if she found some accounts, either old or active, that weren't hers. For instance, it could be a case of two people with the same name. Could there be two Anna Elizabeth McIntyres in Dallas? She pulled the phone directory to her and began to search. When she laid it aside, she was satisfied that, if she did share a name with someone else in the city, that person's phone number was unlisted.

  So, what did this mean? Anna burrowed through the mound of papers she'd created and found her yellow legal pad. She entered the new information, but there was no instant flash of recognition, no sudden insight. Well, maybe it would look better in the morning. Anna yawned, stretched, and then padded offto the bedroom to snatch a few hours of sleep.

  Anna poured a second cup of coffee and looked at her watch. She moved to her desk, where she picked up the phone and punched in a familiar number.

  "Good morning, Dr. Fowler's office. This is Peggy."

  "Peggy, this is Dr. McIntyre. Has Dr. Fowler come in yet?"

  There was the expected exchange of good wishes, during which Anna felt alternate pleasure at being missed and shame that she wasn't at work right now. "He just walked in," Peggy finally said. "Let me tell him you're on the line."

  In a moment, she heard Fowler's voice. "Anna, how are you today?"

  "Doing pretty well. I was hoping to be back at work today, but some things have come up. Can you do without me for another day or two and let me try to tie up some loose ends?"

  He paused long enough to make Anna wonder if he was about to deny her request. "Tell you what," he said. "This is Thursday. Why don't you plan on coming back on Monday. I'll schedule you to staffin the resident clinic that day, maybe a few cases in the OR on Tuesday, so you can ease back into things. Sound okay?"

  Anna figured that would be fine, if she wasn't in jail by then. But there was no need to tell her chairman right now. "Yes, that'll be fine. And thanks for your patience."

  Okay, she'd cleared the decks for the balance of the week. Nick's meeting with the detectives was on Friday afternoon. Green and Dowling were obviously getting things lined up to ask a judge for an arrest warrant. Was Nick's statement the last piece of the puzzle for them? And, if so, could they get a warrant on the weekend? Did judges work on Saturday? Sunday?

  What if Nick dropped by unannounced over the weekend just when the police came for her? That would be great, to have him show up at her door just as she was being led away in handcuffs. She silently asked God to show her a way out of the pit into which she seemed to be sinking day by day.

  No need to sit here feeling sorry for herself. Time to get moving. By now, her coffee was cold. She shoved the cup aside and reached for the notes she'd made last evening. Maybe something would jump out at her this morning. Names, dates, addresses were scrawled across the page. Ideas came and went like shoppers at Christmas hurrying through the mall. Then it hit her.

  The address for the new charge accounts, the ones she was sure weren't hers, was in her neighborhood. No wonder the address had tickled her memory last evening. She drove down that street every day on her way to work. Like most people, her routine was so set that she could navigate her way to the hospital on automatic pilot. But seen out of context, the address hadn't meant anything. Now it meant… what?

  She let her finger roam over the page, looking for the other addresses she'd jotted down. Then she found it-another one in her neighborhood. She squinted to decipher the name scrawled above the address. Yes, that was it. Eric Hatley.

  Anna looked at her watch and realized she was due in Ross Donovan's office in half an hour. Time to get moving. She could puzzle over her latest discovery as she drove. She'd almost forgotten Ross's phone call, telling her he had proof someone was trying to frame her. He'd sounded hopeful. Maybe deliverance was in sight after all.

  "I tell you, I'm all right." Ross Donovan did his best to be emphatic and forceful, but it was hard when you were sitting on the edge of a gurney with your bare rear end hanging out of a hospital gown. "I don't see double. I don't hear bells ringing. I know what day it is and who's president. It was just a blow on the head. I've had worse than that playing football. Now let me have my pants. I have an appointment to keep."

  The intern might have been young, but she knew she was in charge, and she refused to back down. "Mr. Donovan, the citizen who called the ambulance said a man was beating you with a club. That's assault, and it's a crime. I've notified the police, and they're sending someone to take your statement. You can't go until they're through with you."

  This wasn't medicine, this was law, and now Ross was in his element. Talking to the police wouldn't help, and he knew his rights. "Doctor, I have no obligation, legal or otherwise, to talk with the police. This was a mugging, interrupted by a passerby. I have no idea who my attacker was, I'm not going to press charges, and it would take the police about five minutes to put any paperwork generated by my report into a drawer and forget it."

  "But-"

  Ross gathered his dignity, reaching behind him to hold his gown closed. "Do you have any medical reason to hold me? Are you going to force me to sign out AMA?" He figured that having a patient leave the hospital against medical advice would make the young doctor fill out a ream of paperwork, and he hoped this would be the leverage he needed.

  She chewed on her lip for a moment before opening his chart and starting to write. "If you have a headache that Tylenol or Advil doesn't relieve, if you start seeing double, if y
ou begin vomiting, if you find yourself stumbling or falling…"

  Ross half-listened to the rest of the instructions. They had taken his watch along with his clothing and other valuables, but the clock on the exam room wall told him that if he hurried he would only be a few minutes late for his appointment with Anna. And after the events of last night, that seemed more important than ever.

  Anna looked at her watch again. Nine-thirty. She tapped once more on the door of Ross's office, knowing there wouldn't be any response. The lights were off, and when she pressed her ear against the glass of the upper part of the door she heard only silence.

  All sorts of scenarios ran through her head. Ross had hinted of danger last night. Had something happened to him? Was he lying behind the locked door, maybe in a pool of blood? She pulled out her cell phone and hit the "redial" button. She counted the rings as she heard them, slightly out of phase, first the buzz of her phone and then the electronic ring inside the office. She hung up when Ross's answering machine kicked in.

  Try his cell phone again? There'd been no answer when she arrived here early for her appointment and anxious to hear Ross's news. She was punching in the numbers when she heard a "ding" from the elevator nearby. A few seconds later, Ross rounded the corner.

  She almost didn't recognize her attorney. His clothes were rumpled and dirty, his hair mussed. He was unshaven. Her first thought was that he'd been drinking again, and her stomach clenched. What would this do to her case? She was already formulating alternate strategies when a sense of shame hit her. She'd completely ignored the possible consequences to Ross if he had slipped back into his old pattern of alcoholism. How could she be so self-centered? This was a man who had gone out on a limb for her, apparently put himself in danger last night. No, whatever he'd done, she'd help him through it. They'd deal with it together.

  "Anna, I'm so sorry to be late. Let's go inside."

  He pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket and opened the door. The smell of liquor made Anna's nostrils quiver. The office smelled like a distillery-or, at least, what she imagined a distillery would smell like. She'd been around lots of alcohol in her life, sometimes at parties, more often in the emergency room as she dealt with drunks and accident victims. There was no mistaking the aroma. She felt a tear form in her eye, but not just from the fumes. No question, Ross had been drinking.