Deadly Errors

by Allen Wyler

  He felt compelled to justify the prescription. “You have no idea what it is like, being railroaded into a drug rehab program then having your wife walk out on you. I couldn’t sleep … still can’t … another doctor, a friend of mine …” He let the words die. No sense trying to justify it.

  “You think I give a damn why you did it? Think again.” Ferguson’s malicious grin widened. “But I do give a damn it’s a federal offense. ’Cause it means I have a hammer on you. So, here’s the deal, plain and simple. Bring us solid evidence the software’s flawed, and get it to me within the next seven days or I turn this evidence over to the DEA with the recommendation to prosecute you for forging prescriptions for a controlled substance.”

  Tyler didn’t try hiding his disgust. “You enjoy doing this to people, don’t you.”

  “Think I give a shit what you think?” Ferguson laughed. “Know a doc name of Michelle Lawrence?”

  A heavy premonition hit. He’d forgotten to check back with her. “Yes … ?”

  “She was found dead yesterday morning. Narcotics overdose. Only problem is she had no other signs of prior use.” He wagged his eyebrows again. “Seems kind of strange to the cops to OD the first time out, especially all alone in her bedroom with the door closed. Know what I’m saying?”

  Tyler swallowed a wave of nausea. He thought of Michelle’s fingernails, her manly swagger, her totally screwed up self-image. A real character, but a person he really liked.

  Although he suspected the answer, he had to ask, “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “No? Not even the fact she was your anesthesiologist on your unfortunate patient? Think about it, Mathews. And while you’re at it, think about one other thing. That JCAHO committee report’s due to come out in two weeks. They endorse Med-InDx and it will become the de facto standard. Prophesy, its only competition, will be forced out of the business. That happens, and Med-InDx becomes the only game in town. It’ll become kind of like Microsoft and operating systems. That software will be in all major hospitals in this country within five years. You think there’s a problem at Maynard with the present system? Well think what it’ll be if that problem’s magnified a couple thousand times.

  “And another thing,” Ferguson added before Tyler could respond, “our source believed the problems are much worse than they appear. You know for a fact that for the past two decades medicine has been moving toward more outpatient procedures. Only the sickest patients are the ones in hospitals now. Our informant firmly believed that the mistakes that software’s making are at least three times what’s being noticed. Probably worse than that. The problem is that many of the deaths are simply being chalked up to the fact the patients have life threatening problems in the first place.” He shot Tyler a serious look. “You getting any of this? It making any sense?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then. We have maybe a week before the committee’s report is sealed. After that … well it’s on your conscience, Mathews.”

  Ferguson pushed out of the booth. “One other thing … a word of advice. We think some of the Maynard upper echelon are fully aware of the bug and are helping to keep a lid on it. What I’m saying is don’t trust anybody. And I mean nobody. Learn something from your friend’s death, Mathews. Be smarter than you’re acting now.”

  Ferguson glanced at his bowl of chili, slapped a five dollar bill on the table. “Damn! Chili got cold.” He glanced at Tyler as if realizing he was still there, straightened up, adjusted the fit of his blazer. “I was nice a minute ago. Let me put it this way … if I don’t have something with which to bring down Med-InDx within a week I’ll have the DEA do a number on you that’ll make what happened in California look like foreplay.”

  13

  NANCY SAID, “WHY don’t you cut the small talk Tyler. I can tell it’s forced. Just tell me what’s got you so upset.”

  They occupied a corner table of a small Thai restaurant she claimed to be within walking distance of her apartment. The crammed-to-capacity interior buzzed with dinner conversation white noise and busy kitchen clatter. The air smelled of peanut sauce and spices.

  Her frankness triggered a short laugh. Pure Nancy. She could read him so easily no matter how hard he tried to disguise his emotions. Then again, I usually have my mood de jour displayed in block letters across my forehead.

  “I want to talk about you, and possibly us … not me.”

  “Fine, but as long as you seem so preoccupied with something else, we won’t be able to talk about anything at all. So you might as well cough it up.”

  He set his beer on the table and considered how much of the problem to divulge. He wanted to confide in her but couldn’t. Not as long as the Ambien thing threatened. Any chance at getting back together would be out the window if she knew about that.

  “Well?” She was eyed him with that inquisitive Chinese face he loved to kid her about.

  “There’s this problem at work.”

  “Oh, Tyler …”

  He finished the sentence for her, “not again,” with the weight of her unspoken condemnation heavy on his shoulders. She had warned him last time not to get involved—a stance he chalked up to growing up in a politically oppressive country.

  “Sorry Tyler, that wasn’t called for.” She reached across the table and took his right hand in hers. “Go on, tell me about it.”

  “As long as that issue’s come up … you need to know I was never abusing. The drugs found in my locker? They were planted.”

  “We’ve been through that a hundred times, Tyler. What about the urine tests? How could they turn up positive?”

  “Simple. Someone switched samples and gave the lab someone else’s … someone who was using. It’s easy enough to pull off if you really want to.”

  “I want to believe you, Tyler.” Her eyes softened and met his directly, underscoring the sincerity in her voice.

  “Think back, Nancy. You know the symptoms. Did I ever act like user? Did I have any of the characteristic signs?”

  She looked down at her folded hand in her lap. “I have thought about that. No you didn’t. That’s one of the reasons I took this job. To give us another chance.”

  A rush of vindication swept over him, almost making him cry with joy. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand. Maybe there was hope of salvaging their marriage.

  “Go on, tell me about what’s wrong at work,” she said.

  He told her about Larry Childs and the clinical trial he was involved in, the radiation overdose, the question of how it happened, and finally Larry’s death. He said nothing about Special Agent Gary Ferguson or the implication of their earlier conversation.

  She listened intently, asking only an occasional question to clarify a point.

  When he finished she asked, “How do you explain the mix up in radiation dose?”

  He paused to sip his beer and consider just how much detail to delve into. He thought of Michelle and Ferguson’s implication. “Only thing I can think of is a hacker,” he lied.

  At this point the waitress brought their orders of Pud Thai and Swimming Rama. Grateful for the distraction Tyler used it to steer the conversation back to Nancy and her work.

  DINNER FINISHED, BILL paid, Tyler folded the yellow VISA copy and stuffed it into his wallet. “It’s still early. Want to go someplace for a drink?’

  Nancy covered a yawn with her hand. “I better get home. I need to get up early tomorrow.”

  Both stood. “I’ll walk you home.”

  Outside, the summer sky was transitioning through deepening purple hues. To the west a burnt orange glow highlighted the Olympic Mountains. The air still contained enough warmth for Tyler to throw his windbreaker around his neck and be comfortable in short sleeves. As they started along the sidewalk he reached for her hand. She gave him a little squeeze, as if to say, good move, Tyler.

  Their conversation dwindled into a soft
comfortable silence bred from familiarity. They crossed Pine, then Pike Street, leaving the Capital Hill neighborhood for “Pill Hill”—an area dominated by hospitals and professional office buildings. Her brick apartment building was built in the 1930s and encircled a courtyard. A path entered the yard then T’d to entrances on opposing sides.

  Climbing the three stairs to the courtyard, Tyler said, “I like some of these older buildings. They have more character.” He thought of his parent’s home, the one he grew up in. It was older too.

  “The rooms are bigger but the downside is the bathroom. There’s only one. And that’s a problem in the mornings when we’re both trying to get out of there. But it suits me for now.”

  Tyler wondered what “for now” meant.

  As they reached the building’s front door she rummaged a key from her rucksack and turned to him. “I’d ask you up, but …”

  “But?”

  She nestled against him. “I have a roommate.”

  Without thinking he wrapped his arms around her and hugged. Gently he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. It felt as natural and familiar as if they had kissed goodbye at the door this morning.

  “Next time, your place,” she murmured.

  “How about tonight?”

  “Poor timing.” She broke away from his arms, stood on her tiptoes and pecked him on the lips. “Thanks, Mathews.”

  “Thanks, Fan.”

  She turned, put the key in the lock.

  “How about tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “I forgot to tell you. I have to fly back down to San Francisco tomorrow. It’s just an overnight trip to clean up some things in the lab. I’ll call you when I get back.” She blew him another kiss then slipped inside the door.

  Tyler walked the six blocks back to his car fantasizing what it would be like to have his wife back. The months away from her had blunted just how much he missed her. Although she had not followed through on the divorce, each passing month had left him with less hope of reconciliation. Now she was stepping back into his life and it appeared she was serious about making a go of it. Or if not, at least considering it. All of a sudden, today’s turmoil seemed to pale against the possibility of renewing his marriage.

  THE MAN TURNED toward a car and acted as if he was having difficulty with the door lock as Tyler Mathews stepped down from the apartment courtyard onto the sidewalk. He’d seen Mathews and the woman kiss and had read their body language well enough to back away just before Mathews had turned and started his way.

  He let Mathews walk away. The woman was of interest now. Who was she? He stepped up into the courtyard and into the shrubs. He’d wait, watch for a window to light up.

  12:07 AM

  FLAT ON HIS back, arms at his sides, Tyler stared into his bedroom ceiling as parallel lines of light from car headlights passing on the street below periodically streaked across gray shadows. He had yet to fall asleep. And it didn’t feel like he would any time soon. Hard as he tried, his muscles seemed incapable of relaxing. Or if they did, it was for only as long as he concentrated on them.

  His mind ruminated obsessively on Michelle. Was her death quick or had she suffered? Was it connected to the Med-InDx cover up? Ferguson implied as much, but without much more than an apparent hunch. That’s the kind of implication that can make you even more paranoid, pal, if you dwell on it. But, Tyler realized, there was no way he couldn’t dwell on it.

  Once again he ran a mental list of things to do tomorrow. Contact Robin Beck and Gail Walker. Find out their stories. Does Ferguson know about them? Should I even tell him?

  Take an Ambien.

  No way. Not now that there’s a chance of getting Nancy back.

  Go ahead. It’s been a rough day. You deserve it. Practice abstinence tomorrow night.

  But why should tomorrow night be any different?

  Face it, pal. You’re not going to get to sleep in this FUBAR state. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to take that pill if you have any hopes of relaxing. Besides, there’re only five more pills in that prescription before the jig’s up. Special Agent Gary Ferguson saw to that, now didn’t he!

  What to do about Ferguson was the big question. Spy for the FBI? What were the chances of getting caught? Especially with Khan in the way. To spy he’d have to use the computer. And if Khan—or anybody else in the organization with hooks into IT—suspected him, it would be a chip shot to track every one of his keystrokes. Which made the sixty-four thousand dollars question: did they—whoever “they” were—suspect him?

  For Christ’s sake, pal, what do you mean, does anybody suspect you? Khan knows damn well you suspect a hacker diddled the field. Not only that, but with Michelle dead …

  Sure, but that’s the only thing Khan knows. What if I simply make it look like I let it drop? Then what? Will Khan believe I dropped it?

  He doesn’t have to believe anything. All he has to do is insert a routine to monitor for your login ID and then record anything you do. Spy and sooner or later he’s going to know it.

  The apartment’s air conditioning flicked on. Tyler listened to the soft hum, welcoming the distraction.

  12:21 AM

  ON HIS LEFT side, Tyler stared at the glowing digits and reconsidered half an Ambien. Maybe just a half. That way he could stretch the remaining few out.

  He thought of Nancy. What was he going to do if she spent the night?

  Hide one, stupid. Where you can sneak it. If you needed it, that is.

  12:37 AM

  TYLER STOOD IN the bathroom, amber plastic prescription bottle in hand, thinking it over. If he took a half tablet, he would be that much closer to running out of the damned drug. Once that happened there was nothing more he could do. So, considering it from that angle, he owed it to himself to take it.

  Tyler opened the bottle, broke a pill in half, and chewed it to a paste he spread along his gums with the tip of his tongue.On the way back to bed he vowed to not take the other half tomorrow.

  Tomorrow… . Among other things, he’d look up Beck.

  CONFUSED, THE MAN stood in front of the apartment registry. The woman he’d seen in the restaurant was Asian. None of the names listed seemed Asian. Then again, maybe she was married. He smiled at the thought. Mathews … dipping the wick with another man’s wife. Perfect.

  He turned to leave the building lobby but he wasn’t satisfied. He’d be back, he decided, opening the door and stepping into the night, and next time he’d follow her in and find out which apartment she lived in.

  14

  7:30 AM, MAYNARD MEDICAL CENTER EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT

  “I’M SORRY, DOCTOR, Doctor Beck doesn’t work here anymore,” the young pimply-faced ward clerk answered in a singsong voice.

  Tyler stood in front of the Emergency Department work desk, the expansive main hall to the exam rooms and trauma bays stretching out to either side of him. His peripheral vision caught a flash of blue as a nurse in scrubs hurried by. From behind the desk the squelch broke on a fire department scanner. Tuned to the paramedic’s frequency, he figured. Even at this hour the department churned with activity, some non-emergent patients being treated after signing in during early morning hours.

  Tyler asked, “Really?” trying out his best friendly smile. “When did she leave?” Funny, I’m not surprised.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, we’re not allowed to give out any personal information about our staff.”

  “Then I suppose her home phone number is out of the question,” unable to hide a note of frustration.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, yes it is.”

  Tyler nodded, “Thanks,” and walked away wondering if he’d just carried on a conversation with a robot.

  One flight of stairs up and a block long hallway brought him to the physicians’ lounge. He punched in the access code, opened the door, and hung a right. Two of the three small computer cubicles were occupied. This time of morning the internists were printing out patient lists, most surgeons having already passed thro
ugh the lounge an hour or so ago before starting rounds or heading to the operating rooms.

  After settling into the unoccupied cubical, he picked up the telephone, punched 0. When the operator responded, he said, “This is Doctor Mathews. I need to reach Doctor Robin Beck. Can you could put me through to her home number?” No way would she give him the number, he knew.

  After a brief pause, “Sorry Doctor, she’s no longer listed as being on staff.”

  Tyler thanked her and hung up. Seeing no telephone book, he pulled over the computer keyboard and opened an Internet browser and requested QwestDex. A moment later he dialed Robin Beck’s telephone number.

  The phone was answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Doctor Beck?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know if you remember me,” he lied, having never met her—that he could remember. “I’m Tyler Mathews, a neurosurgeon at Maynard. I was wondering if I might be able to meet with you later today?”

  A pause. “About?” sounding mildly suspicious.

  “About the complication you had a while back. I had a serious one the other day and I think it may have some similarities to yours.”

  “This some sort of sick joke?”

  “No, no, please …” he scrambled to find the words to subdue her anger. “I’m serious. A patient of mine died because of an overdose of radiation to his brain. I think the computer may be responsible.”

  After several seconds, “Doctor Beck, you still there?”

  “Your name again?”

  “Tyler Mathews. I’m a neurosurgeon—”

  “Yeah yeah, you already said all that.” A pause. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “Wherever would be best for you.”

  “You can come here.” She gave him her address. “What time?”

  He calculated how long it’d take to drive to that part of town, figured in the few other things he needed to do and checked his watch. “How ’bout around 10:30.”