The Sixth Sense (Brier Hospital Series Book 3)

by Lawrence Gold

  I told him about my attempt to protect my sanity by overwhelming my nose with mint and other substances, and my difficulties when traveling to unfamiliar places.

  He stared at his notes. “That’s sensory exhaustion, not a long term-solution. We might consider desensitizing your olfactory receptors with a local anesthetic, but I’m afraid of permanent damage. We might also consider drugs that work on your brain, like the medicines we use to treat schizophrenia or depression, but that would be all guesswork.”

  I shook my head. “No thanks. I’ll find another other way.”

  “I won’t bullshit you, Arnie. For our work, you’re a once in a lifetime discovery. We can study you and write several dozen papers.”

  “I’m not interested. I have a life, a more complicated life for sure, but a life, a job, a family, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to protect that.”

  “I have one request, Arnie. I’m going to review your case with my colleagues, here and around the world, for suggestions. I’d love to have you come back after we can obtain an olfactometer to measure how good that nose really is. Can you do that for us? We’ll pay for your travel and accommodations.”

  “First class?”

  “Of course,” he said taken aback.

  “I’m only kidding.” I smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

  Irving Hodges sat head down in the middle of his sofa. The drawn drapes left him in the shadows even as sunlight streamed through the front door’s stained glass windows.

  Irving stared at the portable phone sitting on the coffee table. It rang again for the tenth time in the last two hours. After the fifth call, he’d stopped answering.

  The two weeks since Bea’s funeral had been intolerable. His daughters, others in the family, and many friends called and visited, but nothing could stem the overwhelming loneliness. He’d attended two different bereavement groups, but found no solace in the misery of others.

  Irving rose to answer the doorbell. It was Kathy, his oldest daughter.

  She hugged her father. “I was so worried when you didn’t answer.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just tired of the well-intentioned phone calls. I’d rather they leave me alone.”

  “Daddy, it’s not good for you to be alone so much now.”

  “I know, but, in truth, your mother and I didn’t socialize that much. It was mostly us together.” He hesitated a moment. “I love you and your sisters, and I know you’re trying to help, but I can’t be what I wasn’t before your mother died.”

  “Daddy…” she started as Irv stood to leave the room.

  “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

  Kathy heard the bathroom door close. Suddenly from within, came Irv’s pitiful cry. “How could you do this to me? How could you leave me, when I need you the most? How can I go on alone, without you?”

  She lowered her head and wept.

  When Irv returned, his face was expressionless. When he saw Kathy in tears, he embraced his daughter. “It’s okay, kitten, I miss her, too.”

  Kathy reached into her purse, found a tissue and wiped her tears, and blew her nose. “I miss her so much, and I’m worried about you. I can’t lose you, too.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Come to dinner tonight, okay?”

  “Sure, just tell me what time.”

  After Kathy left, Irv walked through the house. He gazed at each picture of his wife and their family. Their photos beamed, the camera’s view of their life’s events. It was all there from to their wedding picture fifty years ago to the Caribbean cruise. As he passed each object, he’d touch or adjust it, reliving their time together.

  Irv thought that he understood death and loss as he and Bea watched their friends and relatives age, become sick, and eventually die. Now, he felt it on a visceral level. The pain, the sense of loss, and the loneliness…maybe they were more than he could bear.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Stan Becker’s final comment to me about easing a patient’s journey toward death with dignity reverberated in my mind. I knew his philosophy reflected reality and while he was attempting kindness, applying it to Debbie Wallace felt profane.

  I called Jordan Goodman. “Do you have a few moments to meet with me today, Jordy? I want to talk about Debbie Wallace.”

  “Sure, Arnie. I’ll be at the cancer center all afternoon. Come over any time.”

  The day was overcast, drizzly, and threatening as I drove the few blocks to meet with Jordy. The air was heavy with the moist air’s heightened scents. I parked in the heavily puddled lot and raised my umbrella against the downpour. At the front desk, I nodded to the receptionist. “Dr. Roth for Dr. Goodman, he’s expecting me.”

  “Have a seat, Doctor. I’ll page him.”

  “Dr. Goodman, extension 102,” she said into her intercom. A moment later, her phone rang. She listened and said, “Dr. Goodman asked if you’d join him in the treatment pavilion,” pointing to the large green swinging door to her right.

  I thanked her and headed for the doors. As they parted, a confusion of aromas instantly inundated me. They were the individual aromas of patients, staff, blood, urine, feces, disinfectants, Desitin, plus an array of perfumes, aftershaves, deodorants and myriad chemicals, many I recognized, the rest remained a mystery. As I moved past the first patient group receiving infusions of God-knows-what, I noted again, as I had several times with Debbie, the unmistakable essence of tonic water.

  What was with that tonic water smell again?

  Jordy stood behind the central nursing station filling out forms and signing preprinted protocols for chemotherapy.

  When I approached, he beckoned me. “Come on over Arnie. I’ll be a few minutes more.”

  I walked behind the raised counter and sat beside him as he finished signing the last of the forms. “Have you been in here before?”

  “Sure, I’ve visited several times to see patients. It’s not exactly the kind of place I care to spend too much of my time.”

  “Me too,” he sighed, “but although we try, there’s no escaping the reasons why people come to us.”

  “What kind of chemo are that first group on the right as I entered, receiving?”

  “That’s our Taxol section. We try to group patients by the treatment they’re receiving. It simplifies the logistics.”

  The Taxol group? I thought.

  “Come into my office,” he said. “We can talk in private.”

  The clinic office was cool and utilitarian with a metal desk and chairs. They’d decorated the walls with floral reprints and copies of medical licenses and certificates of physicians who used the facility.

  “You don’t see patients here, do you, Jordy?”

  “God, no. It’s just for docs and staff.”

  “You heard about Debbie Wallace and her brain metastasis.”

  “That sucks. I thought she’d be one who’d do well after all that she’d been through.”

  “Me, too.” I paused. “Have you notice anything unusual with your Taxol patients lately, Jordy?”

  “Unusual?”

  “Yes, unusual, like less than expected responses to the drug or a lessening of its side effects.”

  He stared at me. “What’s going on here, Arnie? You know how unpredictable an individual’s response may be to a specific drug. Bad things happen. Cancer comes back in a certain percentage of patients in spite of our best efforts.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Jordy. I know all about the problems with chemotherapy, and you didn’t answer my question. Should I repeat it?”

  When Jordan Goodman rose from his desk and paced the small room, stopping to fix his eyes on me, I knew that I’d hit a nerve.

  “Are you accusing me or the clinic of something, Arnie? Do I need to contact our attorneys?”

  “Not on your life, Jordy. I know you. I trust you. You’re my friend. If I had cancer, you’re the one I’d come to. I know the clinic and many of your people and I’m not accusing any of you, but Jordy, wh
y haven’t you answered my question? That’s making me nervous.”

  “I don’t know what to think, Arnie. The most difficult part of my job is cancer recurrences, and although we try to maintain distance from our patients, we often fail. I think about treatment failure and cancer’s return as part of our limitations in dealing with the disease, but when you asked the question about treatment failures and side-effects, something clicked.”

  “What is it, Jordy?”

  “While I’m not certain that we’re seeing more recurrences, I’m sure about one thing,” he hesitated.

  “You’re killing me, Jordy. What is it?”

  “We’re using more Taxol than ever before and patients are showing fewer side-effects.”

  My God, I thought. Someone’s tampered with the Taxol!

  “How is Taxol prepared?”

  “It comes in a powdered form. The pharmacist adds sterile water and the drug is then placed in an IV bottle for infusion into our patients.”

  The tonic water aroma…that had to be it.

  “Can you think of any reason why quinine might be added to the Taxol infusions?”

  “Quinine? No way. That’s crazy!”

  “Check it. Send samples of the Taxol to the lab for quinine analysis,” I said. “And Jordy, do it now.”

  Taxol, Pneumovax failures, and the QA committee’s study of excessive use of EPO use, led to only one conclusion: some son-of-a-bitch is diluting or cutting the active component of these medications.

  “Who supplies Taxol to the clinic, Jordy?”

  “Horizon Drugs.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Sam Spade Detectives, Reggie Brand speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Reggie, it’s Tino Ruiz. We’ve got to talk.”

  Reggie’s pulse increased. This is it, he thought. “Can you come over?”

  “Yes, but I think that Mrs. Fischer should hear this, too.”

  Reggie didn’t want to lose control of the situation. “Let me decide if that’s appropriate, Tino.”

  “Take it or leave it. I could have gone to her first. Be smart. I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Let me put you on hold while I try to reach her,” he said as the line went silent.

  Two minutes later, Reggie returned. “Let’s say we meet here in an hour. Okay?”

  “See you then.”

  “Come in,” was Reggie’s response to Tino’s knock on the frosted glass door.

  Tino looked around the dreary office with its cheap furniture and musty smell. Ruth Fischer sat in front of Reggie’s desk. She stared at Tino as he approached.

  Ruth extended her hand. “Tino, what a surprise. I thought you were one of them.”

  “Them? Not in this life. To Henry and Brian I’m still a spic. They use me, pretend to trust me, but they never will.”

  Ruth turned toward Tino and straightened her skirt. “It’s no secret, Tino. You know what’s been going on.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tino said. “You’re a nice lady and you deserve much better than Henry Fischer.” He hesitated. “You know all about Henry and Monica Kelly. They didn’t even have the decency to try and keep their affair private.”

  Reggie patted the pile of photos. “We know and we’ve got the pictures to prove it.”

  Tino shifted in his chair. “There’s a lot of other shit…oh excuse me, Mrs. Fischer…”

  “Thanks for the concern, Tino, but I’ve heard a lot worse. Please call me Ruth.”

  “Okay, Mrs.…I mean Ruth, I’ve worked at Horizon Drug long enough to know that things are not exactly kosher.”

  “Reggie’s been looking into that for me. We know about the dramatic turnaround and success of the business, and we can’t tell why.”

  “It’s bad,” Tino said. “Really bad.”

  “You better tell it, Tino,” Reggie said. “I’m sure I’ve heard it a hundred times.”

  “Not this one, you haven’t.” Tino paused. “Let me try to put this in order, and then maybe you’ll understand. When I finally realized what they were doing, I called Reggie. I knew something was wrong, but I never knew what. Believe me, if I had known…”

  “Tell us,” Ruth said.

  “First was the secrecy. I thought it was because they didn’t trust me, but then I watched Brian working for hours in the locked clean room. He lost it once when I simply knocked on the door looking for something. Suddenly, the business is booming with money coming in hand over fist. Then I found the labels.”

  “The labels?” Ruth asked.

  “One night, I was looking for prescription labels, but I couldn’t find any. I thought they might be in the clean room, so I went inside. I found labels all right, but not prescription labels. They had a supply of labels for three drugs, Taxol, Pneumovax, and EPO.”

  “I don’t know these drugs,” Reggie said.

  “I do,” said Ruth. “Taxol is for treating cancer; Pneumovax is for preventing pneumonia, and EPO boosts the production of red blood cells.”

  “I still don’t get the significance of the labels you found,” Reggie said. “Don’t you use labels on these medications?”

  “These weren’t prescription labels. They were counterfeit medication labels, the kind used by the drug manufacturer for their products. Horizon ordered them from a printing company in Mexico.”

  Reggie scratched his head. “Why would they need these labels?”

  Tino looked from Reggie to Ruth and back. “Let me tell you what brought me here. Then you’ll understand. You know Debbie Wallace?”

  “Of course I know Debbie,” Ruth said. “It’s tragic what’s happened to her.”

  “When my cousin Beverly Ramirez, Arnie Roth’s office manager, told me about Debbie, it hit me.”

  “What?” said Ruth, getting to her feet.

  “Beverly told me about Debbie’s breast cancer recurrence, how treatment with Taxol had failed, how the Taxol infusions somehow had fewer side-effects for Debbie…and I knew. Horizon Drugs supplied Debbie’s Taxol and when I put it together, I could only think about two possibilities; they weren’t giving her Taxol or they’d diluted it to the point that it became worthless.”

  “Worthless?” Reggie asked.

  “Reggie,” shouted Tino, “those fucking bastards have been making their fortune over the bodies of cancer patients. They’re stealing from them their last chance at life. I’ve seen terrible things in my life, but this is greed gone wild. This is pure evil.”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God,” Ruth cried as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Reggie grabbed a handful of tissues and handed them to Ruth. It took a few minutes for her to regain control. “Henry…Henry couldn’t be a part of this…he couldn’t. I know he’s no angel, but this?”

  Tino felt the weight of her sadness, but if they were going anywhere with this, Ruth had to know. “When I think about it, Ruth, the parties, the Champagne, and all the backslapping, it makes me want to puke. That’s your Henry. He’s up to his ears in this.”

  Ruth wiped her tears, pulled her shoulders back, and turned to Reggie. “If they did this with Taxol, who knows what they’ve done with other drugs. Look at how much money they’ve made. It has to be more than Taxol. How many people have they injured or killed? How much misery have they brought to the people who trusted Horizon Drugs? We must stop them. Stop them now before they murder or injure more patients.”

  “Where do we go, Reggie?” asked Tino.

  “We go to the District Attorney, to Brier Hospital, and to every doctor and every patient who received medication from Horizon. This is going to be one hell of a mess.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Beverly Ramirez, handed me the phone as I arrived this morning. “It’s Dr. Davidson for you, Arnie.”

  “Ben, what’s up?”

  “Do you have a few minutes at lunchtime?”

  “Sure, Ben, what’s it about?”

  “I’ll tell you when we meet. Come to the medical staff office around noon.”
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br />   What in hell was this all about? I thought.

  I worked through the morning trying to keep focused on my patients’ problems. I was chewing five sticks of gum per hour or sucking on the most potent peppermint drops I could find. Nothing helped much.

  When Lois when came in to work for a few hours, I found her staring at me.

  “What?”

  “I don’t like all this gum-chewing, Arnie. It doesn’t look professional.”

  “I don’t like it either. I’ll use more drops, but I need the mints to prevent being overwhelmed with aromas. They’re driving me to distraction. So many coming my way; so many memories provoked, sometimes I can’t think straight.”

  “It’s not all bad, is it?”

  “No, but the peppermint doesn’t discriminate between the good and the bad smells, it overwhelms everything. I’ve come to relish the seductive sensory pleasure. Then I have the power to know things nobody else can. I look forward to the waning effects of the mint so I can resume my exploration of the world, yet I fear it as well. I know one thing, Lois it can’t go on this way. It’s threatening my sanity.”

  When I arrived at the medical staff’s conference room, Warren Davidson stood outside talking on the phone and gestured that I come in.

  Jack sat at the table. He shrugged his shoulders and turned up his palms in a don’t ask me, gesture.

  “What?…” I began as Warren entered.

  “Jack, Arnie,” said Warren, “take a seat.”

  “What’s this all about…” I began, but Warren interrupted.

  “Take it easy, Arnie, I have a few questions.”

  I glanced sideways at Jack who shook his head in ignorance of what was to come.

  “I’ve been hearing scuttlebutt about you, Arnie, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t bullshit me. I’m your friend. I want to help, but I can’t if you don’t level with me.”

  I sat in silence.

  “Jack, you know Arnie better than any of us. You’re his doc. What the hell’s happening?”

  Jack looked directly at me. He nodded for permission to speak, but I shook my head, no.