Transplanted Death

by Ray Flynt

  Brad nestled back into his chair. “Well, you’ve got family members of dead patients who are going to want answers. I’m sure they would be happy to engage my services for, say, one dollar. Or better yet,” he added, “maybe their insurance companies would like to pay me a more lucrative retainer. I am prepared to seek justice on their behalf with all the resources at my command.”

  Danita Harris folded one arm across her chest and held her chin with her left hand. She stared at him with cold eyes.

  The phone rang on Ms. Harris’ desk. It wasn’t until after the fourth ring that she got up to answer it, saying. “I forgot, I told Tony he could leave.”

  At the same time, Brad’s digital phone sounded with its distinctive ring of the theme from Mozart’s Symphony No. 40. He liked it because he could easily distinguish it in a crowd of people.

  Arriving at her desk, she picked up the phone and answered, “Hello. Yes, Ed,” He heard Danita Harris say.

  Brad pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket, glanced at the number displayed, and said, “What is it Sharon?”

  Brad and Danita Harris looked at each other and said, nearly in unison, “There’s a Code Blue on the seventh floor.”

  Chapter Five

  5:20 p.m., Wednesday, January 10th

  The minute I heard the scream, I knew I’d be calling Brad, and reached into my purse to have the phone at the ready.

  As requested, I’d returned to the 7th floor following our meeting with Danita Williams-Harris, muttering Vesta Jackson’s name the whole way down in the elevator. I asked the male nurse, with the nametag Pedro, where I could find Ms. Jackson, and he pointed me to room 708, down the hall from the nurses’ station and just past a glass enclosed sun porch, which looked dark and foreboding now that the sun had set. I wished I knew more about the case and the players. I felt like I’d arrived thirty minutes after the start of a movie. The hallway felt chilly, and the door to 708 was closed, possibly, I thought to keep the heat in the room.

  I pushed on the door and entered. The curtains at the window were closed, and the room was lit only from the flickering glow of the television blaring local news—all of it about the snow storm. A frail elderly lady in the bed looked at me, muted the sound on her TV, and asked in clear tones, “Who are you?”

  “Hi, Ms. Jackson. I’m Sharon Porter.” Not that I’d fully answered her question.

  “Hello, Sharon,” she said in a clear voice. “You aren’t dressed like the other nurses.”

  I laughed. “I’m not a nurse. Actually, I wanted to ask you a few questions about what happened earlier today with your roommate…” I paused, trying to remember the name. “Ah, Ms. McCullough.”

  “Barbara.” Vesta Jackson added, helpfully.

  I nodded.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Vesta asked.

  There was no point in lying. Ms. Jackson looked to be an octogenarian, but still sharp. “Yes,” I said.

  Vesta reached for a tissue on her table tray and blew her nose. “I was wondering when someone would ask me about the strange man in our room.”

  Strange man? There was my opening. I wouldn’t have to offer any more explanations about who I was. I pulled a chair next to her bed, “That’s why I’m here. Tell me what happened.”

  “I took a nap after lunch,” she began. “You can’t do much more in here.”

  I smiled, to encourage her.

  “It was close to three when somebody entered the room.” Vesta pointed toward the clock on the wall next to the television. “Then the curtain at the foot of my bed was pulled closed. I couldn’t tell who had done it. The curtain between my bed and Barbara’s was already pulled, and I saw a shadow of a man standing on the other side of the curtain next to Barbara’s bed.”

  “How do you know it was a man?” I asked.

  “He had broad shoulders and narrow hips, and he stood near the head of Barbara’s bed.”

  I realized that was near the IV pole. “Did he say anything? Did you recognize his voice?”

  Vesta shook her head. “I heard Barbara say ‘Hi,’ but the man never responded. And then I thought she said, ‘What are you doing?’ or something like that.”

  “He never said anything?”

  Vesta shook her head. “He wasn’t in the room very long. When he left, I could see through the crack in the curtains that he wore a heavy sweater and a wool cap.”

  A heavy sweater with shoulder pads could give a woman the physique of a man, I thought. “Do you remember what color they were?”

  Vesta closed her eyes, as if trying to picture what she’d seen. “Blue. The sweater was dark blue.”

  “And the cap?”

  “Dark too…” Her eyes fluttered and then she shook her head. Vesta easily described the cap as wool, but was having trouble identifying the color. If she testified like that in court, a defense attorney would rip her to shreds. I looked at her expectantly, hoping she’d continue.

  A few seconds passed before she said, “After the man left, I asked Barbara ‘Who was that?’ She only grunted, and I thought she sounded tired, so I didn’t bother her anymore. About fifteen minutes later I rang for the nurse. The room was too quiet, and I didn’t like that my curtain remained shut. After the nurse came in and checked on Barbara, all hell broke loose, and they moved me out of there fast.”

  I thought about the scene that Vesta described. She may have been an arm’s length away from a killer. I was about to ask if she had any other observations, when we heard the scream, and looked toward the door at the same time.

  I quickly thanked her, and bolted for the door, then ran toward the nurses’ station where I could see a large woman in a yellow nurses’ uniform at the end of the west hallway yelling, “I need help in 728. Iola! Pedro!”

  Pedro was still behind the desk, and called out, “What’s wrong, Crystal?”

  “Cardiac arrest,” Crystal sputtered, “Dennis… Ayers. I tried to page the desk, but the system isn’t working.” She breathed heavily, and I worried that she might have an attack.

  Pedro shouted, “I’ll call Code Blue and be right there.” I watched as he punched a few buttons, and almost immediately an automated voice sounded from overhead speakers, “Code Blue, 7-West.” Pedro rolled a cart from behind the counter and dashed in Crystal’s direction.

  That’s when I called Brad.

  Several minutes later I met Brad near the public elevators. “All the action is in 728-West,” I explained, talking fast, “There’s five medical staff in there right now. After I spoke with you on the phone, two guys came running off the elevator carrying a defibrillator.”

  “Your call,” Brad said, “may have gotten us a reprieve from being kicked out of the hospital.”

  “May have?” I asked.

  “Danita Harris received a call about the Code Blue at the same time you called me. When I told her, ‘I ought to go down there.’ She said, ‘Go.’ I figure we have her tacit permission. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

  In spite of Brad’s grin, I wasn’t so sure. Harris’ response was vague enough she could always claim later that she’d meant for us to go out of the building.

  “What doctor is in 728?”

  “They paged Dr. Wu, and I thought I saw an Asian man in a white coat heading that way.”

  “Let’s casually drift over,” Brad said. “As long as we don’t see the Chief of Security, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve already been there,” I said proudly. “Right after I got off the phone with you I followed the nurse back to the room—big woman, yellow uniform.”

  “That’s Crystal Himes,” Brad said.

  “She started CPR almost immediately,” I continued. “He had definitely turned blue. Looked like a young kid, too. Crystal did mouth to mouth resuscitation, compression to his chest. I’m telling you, she threw all her body weight into the compression regimen. If he pulls through, his chest is gonna be sore in the morning.”

  At that moment, Ped
ro sauntered past us from the patient’s room heading for the nurses’ station. I stopped him, and flashed a big smile. “How’s he doing?”

  Padro smiled back. “The doctor gave him a shot of Lidocaine. They’re getting ready to do cardio version.”

  I didn’t recognize the word, which must have shown on my face, since he clarified, “You know… electric paddles on his chest. He’s got major atrial fibrillation. The guy is still breathing, but barely.”

  My smile must have worn off, since he asked, “Are you family?”

  “Godparents,” I said, glancing at Brad. “We’re concerned. We’ve known him all his life.”

  Brad touched my arm, apparently worried that I might get carried away.

  “Thanks,” I said, and Pedro resumed his journey back to the nurses’ station.

  Brad called after him, “What’s the extension for the emergency room?”

  Pedro, almost at the end of the hall, shouted back, “Two-nine-nine-eight.”

  Brad waved his thanks, then extracted the digital phone from his pocket, and punched in a telephone number. “Let’s walk down the hall,” he said.

  I could hear the digital connection on Brad’s phone as we lightly trod the quiet corridor. Room 728-North was mid-way down the hall on the right hand side. “Extension 2998,” Brad requested. “Dr. Fenimore, please. Brad Frame.”

  As Brad made his call, I found a metal chair in the hall across from Room 728, and sat down. The door to Dennis Ayers’ room stood open and I could see several medical personnel gathered around the lone bed. Drapes at the window were closed. A bag hung from the bottom of the bed with normal colored urine collecting in it. It dawned on me that I never heard why Dennis was in the hospital. I couldn’t ask Pedro now, since we’d claimed to be godparents. I should have thought that strategy through a little better.

  I heard Brad talking. “Alan, it’s Brad. We’re on the seventh floor. There’s a Code Blue situation with one of the patients.” After a pause, he said, “I see. I thought you’d want to know. Look, we need to talk.”

  I spotted something while Brad was on the phone that might be useful to the investigation. I knew I couldn’t go into room 728, so I got up and entered room 729 to check it out. This old geezer woke up just as I entered, and scared me. “It’s about time,” he yelled. “I’ve been ringing for an hour.”

  “What can I do for you?” I asked as cheerfully as I could.

  “I can’t find my false teeth,” he said. In case I had any doubts he opened his mouth wide to show me. The last time I was treated to a scene like that was a video at my dentist’s office on periodontal disease. Disgusting.

  “Where did you put them?” I asked.

  “If I could remember that, I wouldn’t need you, now would I?” he said.

  “Let me just check behind your bed,” I said. His bed was the one closest to the window. I tried to pull the headboard away from the wall seeming to search for his dentures in an attempt to appease the cantankerous old fart, but I had my own agenda.

  He grunted and folded his arms across his chest. I found the call buzzer next to him and followed the cord to see where it went behind the bed. It inserted into a jack mounted on a chrome plate and placed low on the wall. I had seen the same type of chrome plate on the wall behind the bed in room 728, but there I noticed the jack was unplugged. No wonder Crystal said she hadn’t been able to buzz anyone. I couldn’t wait to tell Brad.

  “Sir, your teeth aren’t back here,” I said, trying to sound disappointed. I couldn’t believe I was having a conversation about false teeth. “I’ll have to send a specialist down here and see what they can find.” My improvisation sounded lame. Specialist? What was I thinking?

  He was quiet, too quiet. I repeated, “Sir?” That’s when I heard the snoring.

  I tiptoed back into the hallway and heard Brad say, “Alan?” like he’d lost the connection. Brad held the phone at arm’s length and studied the digital display. Brad put the phone back to his ear and said, “Hello. Are you still there?” He spotted me and shook his head. “Can you meet me in the coffee shop in about ten minutes? On the first floor, just past the lobby. See you then, Alan.” Brad pocketed his phone.

  Just then the medical team exited Dennis Ayers’ room. An African-American nurse hugged Crystal. She was close enough that I could see her name badge—Iola T. “You go girl.” Iola said. “You saved that boy’s life.”

  Tears streamed down Crystal’s face, when the doctor emerged to join in the congratulations. “That was good work, nurse…” The doctor glanced at her name badge before acknowledging her name, “Nurse Himes. I’m going to recommend you for a commendation.”

  “How about a bonus?” Iola said. “I think she deserves a bonus.”

  The doctor smiled, noncommittally—it probably wasn‘t his call anyway—and patted Crystal on the back before continuing down the hall.

  I offered Crystal a tissue, and she dabbed her eyes. I asked, “Was he a transplant patient?”

  The nurse took a deep breath. “Yes, a kidney transplant. I really thought we were gonna lose him.”

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “We’re going to transfer him down to ICU where he can be under continuous observation,” Crystal said.

  “May I suggest—” Brad started to say.

  “No, you may not,” Ed Carlton’s voice interrupted him. “You aren’t even supposed to be here.”

  Chapter Six

  6:10 p.m., Wednesday, January 10th

  Ed Carlton stared warily at Brad, Sharon and the nurse, before motioning for Crystal Himes to return to the nurses’ station. Crystal scowled and quickly retreated, but kept looking back probably to see what the security chief was up to.

  “Ms. Harris knew I was coming here; she told me to go,” Brad explained to Carlton. He recognized a man with blinders on, and knew reasonable explanations wouldn’t cut it.

  Carlton snorted. “I don’t care what Ms. Harris knew. She’s payin’ me to provide security, and you guys aren’t part of the security plan.”

  “I can see you’re doing a good job, too.” Brad pointed at room 728. “Another transplant patient almost died a few minutes ago.”

  The security chief turned on his heels and peered into the now quiet room. “Looks like everything’s under control. I want you outta here.”

  “They’re gonna move the patient to intensive care,” Sharon said. “You should seal off that room. I think it’s a crime scene.”

  “Crime scene?” Carlton scoffed.

  “Three transplant patients have died today,” Sharon said. “He was almost the fourth. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “This is a hospital,” Carlton said, adding, “Unfortunately, patients die. I’ve been at this a lotta years, honey. I know what I’m doing.” Brad winced as Carlton put his hand on Sharon’s shoulder. Wrong move.

  Sharon turned to stare at the security chief and in a low, calm voice stated, “I am not your honey, and take your hand off my shoulder.”

  Ed Carlton jerked his hand back and stepped away from Sharon as if she were a ticking bomb, then turned to Brad. “I’m not playing games, Mr. Frame. I’ve tried to play nice, but I’ve got a job to do. I want you and Miss Congeniality out of this hospital. Now!”

  “We’re on our way,” Brad said. “I told Danita we’d stop at the coffee shop and get something to eat before we left.” He left out his plans to meet with Alan Fenimore and catch up with Nick Argostino.

  Carlton shrugged. “Fine with me. Just remember where the front door is.”

  As Brad and Sharon retreated down the hallway, he spotted Iola, and a guy he didn’t recognize, rolling a sheeted gurney toward Dennis Ayers’ room. Brad spotted the guy’s ID badge: Keith Blanton. The nurse everyone had been looking for. He was tall and fair, with gray eyes and a mottled pink complexion. His uniform looked like he’d slept in it. The stubble on his face nearly matched the length of his blonde hair, and as they passed, Brad saw a semi-circular scar curving
down Blanton’s neck from his right ear.

  When Brad turned to board the elevator he noticed that Ed Carlton managed to keep one eye on the arriving gurney and another on his departure. Sharon boarded the elevator after him, and stuck her hand back into the hallway from the elevator and flipped Carlton the bird.

  “What an asshole!” Sharon said with a self-satisfied smirk, as the elevator door slid closed.

  Brad smothered a laugh.

  “The call button on Dennis Ayers’ bed was unplugged,” Sharon said, as the elevator made its descent to the main floor.

  She had Brad’s attention.

  “As I sat in the hall, trying to see what was going on in Ayers’ room, I noticed a wire dangling and an empty jack on the wall behind the bed.” Her hands flew as she talked. “At first, I wasn’t sure if it was for the phone or the patient call button. So I went into the room next to me and investigated further, and discovered it was the hookup for the call button.”

  The elevator doors glided open, and Sharon added, “No wonder Crystal couldn’t get anyone to answer at the nurses’ station when she tried to call.”

  “Good work, Sharon,” Brad said. “Aren’t you glad you came?”

  Sharon rolled her eyes.

  “By the way, how did you get here?” Brad asked. “You mentioned parking across the street. I thought you were going to take a cab.”

  “I tried to call a cab, but they were so busy they couldn’t promise me one for at least two hours. So I drove, and took my time. The expressway wasn’t too bad, but the city streets are miserable. My wipers could hardly keep up with the snow, and I had to roll down the window and reach out to knock off the ice buildup on the windshield created by the wiperblades.”

  En route to the coffee shop, Brad paused near the main entrance and gawked at the storm. Ice crystals pelted the sidewalk, coating it with frosty whiteness. Snow swirled in the shafts of light from the poles lining the walkway. It reminded him of a churning snow cone machine.

  “It’s gotten worse.” Sharon stood gazing out the window, shaking her head.