by Mortal Fear
Shirley hung up and smiled. “This is a treat,” she said. “You are filled with surprises these days, aren’t you, Jason? I suppose you’re here to apologize for not having spent more time with me last night.”
Jason laughed. Her directness was disarming. “Maybe so. But there’s something else. I’m thinking of taking a few days off. I lost another patient this morning and I think I need some time away.”
Shirley clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Was it expected?”
“I guess so. At least over the last few days. But when I’d admitted her I had no idea she was terminal.”
Shirley sighed. “I don’t know how you deal with this sort of thing.”
“It’s never easy,” Jason agreed. “But what’s made it particularly hard lately is the frequency.”
Shirley’s phone rang, but she buzzed her secretary to take a message.
“Anyway,” Jason said, “I’ve decided to take a few days off.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Shirley said. “I wouldn’t mind doing the same if these damned union negotiations conclude. Where are you planning to go?”
“I’m not sure,” Jason lied. The trip to Seattle was such a long shot that he was ashamed to mention it.
“I have some friends who own a resort in the British Virgin Islands. I could give them a call,” Shirley offered.
“No, thanks. I’m not a sun person. What’s happened about the Brennquivist tragedy? Much fallout?”
“Don’t remind me,” Shirley said. “To tell you the truth, I couldn’t face it. Bob Walthrow is handling that.”
“I had nightmares all night,” admitted Jason.
“Not surprising,” Shirley said.
“Well, I’ve got a meeting,” Jason said, getting to his feet.
“Would you have time for dinner tonight?” Shirley asked. “Maybe we can cheer each other up.”
“Sure. What time?”
“Let’s say around eight.”
“Eight it is,” Jason said, heading for the door. As he left, Shirley called after him.
“I’m really sorry about your patient.”
The staff meeting was better attended than Jason had expected, given such short notice. Fourteen of the sixteen internists were there, and several had brought along their nurses. It seemed obvious they all recognized they were facing a serious problem.
Jason started with the statistics that he’d extracted from the computer printout listing all patients who’d died within a month of a complete physical. He pointed out that the number of deaths had increased in the last three months, and said he was trying to check up on all GHP clients who’d had executive physicals in the last sixty days.,
“Were the physicals evenly distributed among us?” Roger Wanamaker asked.
Jason nodded.
A number of the doctors spoke out, making it clear they feared the start of a nationwide epidemic. No one could understand the connection with the physicals, and why the deaths were not being anticipated. The acting chief of cardiology, Dr. Judith Rolander, tried to take much of the blame on herself, admitting that in most of the cases she’d reviewed, the EKG done during the physical did not predict the imminent problems, even when she was armed with hindsight.
The conversation then switched to stress testing as the main key to predicting catastrophic cardiac events. There were many opinions on this issue; all were duly discussed. Upon recommendation from the floor, an ad hoc committee was formed to look into specific ways to alter their stress testing in hopes of increasing its prognostic value.
Jerome Washington then took the floor. Getting heavily on his feet, he said, “I think we’re overlooking the significance of unhealthy lifestyles. That’s one factor that all these patients seem to share.”
There were a few joking references to Jerome’s weight and his affection for cigars. “All right, you guys,” he said. “You know patients should do what we say and not what we do.” Everyone laughed. “Seriously,” he continued. “We all know the dangers of poor diet, heavy smoking, excess alcohol and lack of exercise. Such social factors have far more predictive value than a mild EKG abnormality.”
“Jerome is right,” Jason said. “The poor risk-factor profile was the only negative commonality I could find.”
By a vote, it was decided to form a second committee to investigate risk-factor contribution to the current problem and come up with specific recommendations.
Harry Sarnoff, the current month’s consulting cardiologist, raised his hand, and Jason recognized him. When he got to his feet, he began to talk about noticing an increase in morbidity and mortality for his inpatients. Jason interrupted him.
“Excuse me, Harry,” Jason said. “I can appreciate your concern, and frankly I’ve had experience apparently similar to yours. However, this current meeting involves the problem with the outpatient executive physicals. We can schedule a second meeting if the staff desires to discuss any potential inpatient problem. They very well may be related.”
Harry threw up his hands, and reluctantly sat back down.
Jason then encouraged the staff to be sure to autopsy any patients who met unexpected deaths if the medical examiner didn’t take them. Jason then told the audience that the results from the medical examiner’s office on his patients suggested that the people were suffering multisystem disease including extensive cardiovascular problems. Of course, that fact only undermined the concern that their conditions had not been picked up on either resting or exercise EKGs. Jason added that Pathology thought there was an autoimmune component.
After the meeting broke up, the doctors gravitated to smaller groups to discuss the problem. Jason collected his printout and searched for Roger Wanamaker. He was in an animated conversation with Jerome.
“May I interrupt?” Jason asked. The two men separated to allow Jason to join them. “I’m about to leave town for a few days.”
Roger and Jerome exchanged glances. Roger spoke: “Seems like a poor time to be leaving.”
“I need it,” Jason said without elaborating. “But I have five patients in house. Would either of you gentlemen be willing to cover? I’ll admit right up front that they’re all pretty sick.”
“Wouldn’t much matter,” Roger said. “I’ve been in here night and day trying to keep my own half dozen alive. I’ll be happy to cover.”
With that problem solved, Jason went into his office and called Carol Donner, thinking late afternoon would be a good time to catch her. The phone rang a long time and he was about to give up when she answered, out of breath. She told him she’d been in the bath.
“I want to see you tonight,” Jason said.
“Oh,” Carol said noncommittally. She hesitated. “That might be difficult.” Then she added angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me about Helene Brennquivist last night? I read in the paper that you were the one who found the bodies.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason said defensively. “To be perfectly honest, you woke me last night and all I could think about was the package.”
“Did you get it?” Carol asked, her voice softening.
“I did,” Jason said. “Thank you.”
“And … ?”
“The material wasn’t as enlightening as I’d hoped.”
“I’m surprised,” said Carol. “The ledgers must have been important or Alvin wouldn’t have asked me to keep them. But that’s beside the point. What an awful thing about Helene. My boss is so distressed he won’t let me go anywhere without one of the club bouncers. He’s outside the building at this very moment.”
“It’s important that I see you alone,” Jason said.
“I don’t know if I can. This behemoth takes orders from my boss, not me. And I don’t want any trouble.”
“Well, call me the minute you get home,” Jason said. “Promise! We’ll think of something.”
“It’ll be late again,” Carol warned.
“That doesn’t matter. It’s important.”
“All right,” Carol agreed bef
ore hanging up. Jason made one more call, to United Airlines, and checked on service from Boston to Seattle. He learned there was a daily flight at four P.M.
Gathering his stethoscope, Jason left his office and headed for the hospital to make rounds. He knew he needed to thoroughly update his charts if Roger was going to cover. None of his patients was doing very well, and Jason was disturbed to find that another patient had developed advanced cataracts. Troubled, he arranged an ophthalmology consult. This time he was certain he hadn’t noticed the problem on admission. How could the cataracts have progressed so far so fast?
At home, he changed into jogging clothes and ran a good hour, trying to sort out his thoughts. By the time he showered, changed, and drove over to Shirley’s, he was in a better mood.
Shirley outdid herself with the dinner, and Jason began to think she’d fit into the Superwoman category. She’d worked all day running a multimilliondollar company and conducting crucial union negotiations, yet somehow she’d gotten home, put together a fabulous feast of roast duck with fresh pasta and artichoke. And on top of that she’d dressed herself in a black silk chemise that would have been appropriate for the opera. Jason felt embarrassed that he’d put on jeans and a rugby shirt over a turtleneck after his shower.
“You wore what you wanted and so did I,” Shirley said with a laugh. She gave him a Kir Royale and told him to wash the radicchio and the arugula for their salad. She checked the duck and said it was about done. To Jason, it smelled heavenly.
They, ate in the dining room, sitting at opposite ends of a long table with six empty chairs on either side. Every time Jason poured more wine. he had to get up and walk several steps. Shirley thought it was amusing.
As they ate, Jason described the staff meeting and added that all the doctors were going to intensify the quality of their stress testing. Shirley was pleased, reminding Jason that the executive physical was an important part of GHP’s sales pitch to corporate clients. She told Jason that there would be a new emphasis on preventive medicine for executive customers.
Later, over coffee, she said, “Michael Curran came by this afternoon.”
“Really,” said Jason. “I’m sure that was unpleasant. What did he want?”
“Background material on the Brennquivist woman. We gave him everything we had. He even interviewed the woman in personnel who’d hired her.”
“Did he mention if they had any suspects?”
“He didn’t say,” Shirley said. “I just hope it’s all over.”
“I wish I’d gotten to talk with Helene again. I still think she was covering for Hayes.”
“Do you still think he discovered something?” “Absolutely.” Jason went on to describe the lab ledgers and his visit to Gene, Inc., and to Samuel Schwartz. He told Shirley that Schwartz had set up a corporation for Hayes that was to market the new discovery, whatever it was.
“Didn’t the lawyer know what the product was?”
“Nope. Apparently Hayes trusted no one.”
“But he would have needed seed capital. He would have had to trust someone if he was planning to manufacture and distribute.”
“Maybe so,” Jason admitted. “But I can’t find anyone he told—at least not yet. Unfortunately, Helene was the best bet.”
“Are you still looking?”
“I guess so,” he admitted. “Does that sound stupid?”
“Not stupid,” Shirley said, “just disturbing. It would be a tragedy if an important discovery were lost, but I definitely think it’s time to put the Hayes affair to rest. I hope you’re taking time off to relax, not to continue this wild-goose chase.”
“Now why would you suggest that?” Jason asked, surprised at his own transparency.
“Because you don’t give up easily.” She moved over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go to the Caribbean? Maybe I could get away over the weekend and join you….”
Jason experienced an excitement he’d not felt since Danielle’s death. The idea of the hot sun and cool, clear water sounded wonderful, especially if Shirley were there too. But then he hesitated. He didn’t know if he was ready for the emotional commitment that would entail. And, more important, he’d promised himself he’d visit Seattle.
“I want to go out to the West Coast,” he said finally. “There’s an old friend out there I’d like to see.”
“That sounds innocent enough. But the Caribbean sounds better to me.”
“Maybe soon.” He gave Shirley’s arm a squeeze. “How about a cognac?”
As Shirley got up to get the Courvoisier, Jason studied her figure with increasing interest.
When Carol called at two-thirty in the morning, Jason was wide awake. He’d been so worried that she might forget, he hadn’t been able to sleep.
“I’m exhausted, Jason,” Carol announced, instead of saying hello.
“I’m sorry, but I must see you,” he said. “I can be over in ten minutes.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. As I told you this afternoon, I’m not alone. There’s someone outside watching my building. Why do you have to see me tonight? Maybe we can work something out tomorrow.”
Jason thought about asking her on the phone to go to Seattle, but decided he’d have a better chance convincing her in person. It was a bit out of the ordinary asking a young woman to accompany him to Seattle after only two meetings.
“Is this bodyguard alone?”
“Yes. But what difference does that make? The guy’s built like an ox.”
“There’s an alley in back of your building. I could come up the fire escape.”
“The fire escape! This is crazy! What on earth is so important that you have to see me tonight?”
“If I told you, I wouldn’t have to see you.”
“Well, I’m not crazy about men coming to my apartment at night.”
Oh, sure, Jason thought. “Look,” he said aloud, “I’ll tell you this much. I’ve been trying to figure out what Hayes could have discovered and I’m down to my last idea. I need your help.”
“That’s quite a line, Dr. Jason Howard.”
“It’s true. You’re the only one who can help me.”
Carol laughed. “When you put it that way, who could refuse? All right, come along. But you’re coming at your own risk. I have to warn you, I don’t have much control over Atlas outside.”
“My disability insurance is all paid up.”
“I live at …” Carol began.
“I know where you live,” Jason interrupted. “In fact, I’ve already had a run-in with Bruno, if that’s the charming fellow guarding your door.”
“You’ve met Bruno?” Carol asked incredulously.
“Lovely man. Such a wonderful conversationalist.”
“Let me warn you, then,” Carol said. “It was Bruno who walked me home.”
“Luckily he’s pretty easy to spot. Watch out your back window. I don’t want to be stranded on your fire escape.”
“This is really insane,” Carol said.
Jason changed into a dark slacks and sweater. He’d be visible enough on the fire escape without wearing light colors. He donned running shoes and went down to his car. Driving along Beacon Street, he kept an eye out for Bruno. He went left on Gloucester Street and left again on Commonwealth. When he crossed Marlborough, he slowed. He knew there was no chance to find a parking place, so he pulled in at the nearest hydrant. He left the doors unlocked; if need be the firemen could run the hoses right through the car.
Getting out of his car, Jason peered down the alleyway between Beacon and Marlborough streets. Intermittent lights formed pools of illumination. There were lots of dark areas, and trees threw spider-weblike shadows. Jason could vividly remember his last attempted flight from Bruno down the same alley.
Marshaling his courage, Jason started into the alley as tense as a sprinter waiting for the starting gun. A sudden movement to his left made him gasp. It was a rat the size of a small cat, and Jason felt the hairs on the
back of his neck spring up. He kept walking, happy to see no sign of Bruno. It was so quiet he could hear his breathing.
Arriving at Carol’s building, he noted the familiar light in the fourth-floor window before taking a good look at the fire escape. Unfortunately, it had one of those ladder mechanisms that have to be lowered from the first floor. Jason glanced around for something to stand on. The only thing available was a trash can, and that meant turning it over and dumping it. Despite the fact it would make a lot of noise, he realized he had no choice. But he shuddered as the metal clanged against the pavement and a number of beer cans clattered down the street.
Holding his breath, he looked up. No lights had come on. Satisfied, he climbed up on the garbage can and got hold of the lowest rung of the raised ladder.
“Hey!” someone yelled. Jason’s head turned and he saw a familiar bulky figure coming down the alley on the run, his thick arms pumping, his breaths coming in puffs like a steam engine. At that moment Bruno looked like a fullback for the Washington Redskins.
“Shit,” Jason said. With all his strength he pulled himself up on the ladder, half expecting it to drop under his weight. Luckily it didn’t. Hand over hand, he lifted himself until he could put his foot on the first rung and scamper up to the first floor.
“Hey, you goddamned little pervert!” Bruno was yelling. “You get the hell down here!”
Jason hesitated. He could hold the man off by stepping on his fingers if he tried to come up, but that wouldn’t get him in to see Carol. And somebody would call the police if there were enough ruckus. Jason decided to take the chance. He ran up the next two flights of the fire escape, arriving at Carol’s window. She was looking out and raised the sash the second she spotted him. Before she could speak, Jason gasped, “Your neo-Nazi is on his way up. Do you think he has a gun?” Jason found himself standing in a large kitchen.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s going to be here in a moment,” Jason said, slamming down the window and locking it. That was going to delay Bruno just about ten seconds.
“Maybe I should talk to him,” Carol suggested.
“Will he listen?”
