Transplanted Death

by Ray Flynt

  I walked over to a courtesy phone at one of the end tables and called Brad.

  Chapter Seventeen

  2:55 a.m., Thursday, January 11th

  Brad woke with a start and heard his phone ringing. He didn’t think it had rung more than three times, but couldn’t be sure. “Hello,” he said, and then ran his tongue along the edge of his lips.

  “Brad, it’s Sharon. I need you on the seventh floor. I’ll explain when you get here.”

  Almost before she disconnected the call, Brad was locking the door and heading for the elevators. If she said he was needed, he was on his way.

  Sharon was waiting for him near the seventh floor elevator doors, but the sight of her in the pink chenille robe took him aback. He couldn’t help but laugh.

  She aimed a finger at him and said, “Don’t start!”

  He raised his hand like he was taking an oath and then crossed his heart.

  “Eileen Henness is waiting for us in the sun porch,” Sharon explained. “She’s the sister of Barbara McCullough, the liver transplant patient who died.”

  Brad followed Sharon into the sun porch where he spotted a well-dressed woman in her mid-fifties perched on the edge of one of the vinyl sofas. The woman looked haggard, and stood as they entered. “Ms. Henness, this is my boss, Brad Frame,” Sharon said, as she stole a look at her own tired reflection in the darkened windows.

  “Eileen, please,” the woman said softly, and looked confused.

  Brad took her hand in both of his, and noticed she was trembling. “I’m sorry for your loss, Eileen. I’d appreciate the chance to talk with you about your sister.”

  Sharon sat next to Eileen, and Brad pulled one of the arm chairs around to face the two women.

  “Eileen was with Barbara starting Monday,” Sharon explained. “She headed home yesterday morning, but had a harrowing journey and ended up back here.”

  “When I left, Barbara was recovering from her surgery,” Eileen said. “Now she’s dead…” The word caught in her throat. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your sister’s wasn’t the only suspicious death in the last twenty-four hours,” Brad said. “It appears that she may have been poisoned, along with several other transplant patients.”

  Eileen drew her hands up in front of her face, and her eyes widened in shock. She grabbed a tissue from the Kleenex pack, and blew loudly.

  “You might have information that could be helpful to us,” Brad said gently. “If you could answer a few questions, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I don’t know how I could possibly help, but sure.” She sniffled.

  Brad leaned forward. “What time did you arrive yesterday—Wednesday?” He needed details about what she might have seen before Barbara was murdered.

  “Mid-morning.” She dabbed at her eyes with the crumpled tissue in her hands. “I’d had a long couple of days and finally checked into a hotel the night before. I wanted to get some rest, but it took me half the night to get to sleep and I didn’t wake up until about eight. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “Were you at the hospital when your sister first checked-in?”

  “No… but not long afterward,” Eileen said. “It was Monday morning. Barbara called me early, before six, to tell me that they had a liver for her—she’d been on a waiting list for five months and nearly given up hope. She asked if I could meet her at the hospital. I got the first train I could from Lancaster then took a cab here from 30th St. Station. I arrived shortly before she went into surgery… I think it was ten-thirty. The doctors had already given her something… you know, medication… to help her relax, so she wasn’t talkative. But she smiled at me and knew I was here. I was glad I got a chance to see her beforehand.”

  Sharon covered a yawn with her hand, and Brad wondered if she’d gotten any sleep.

  “Did you stay in her room while she was in the operating room?” Brad asked.

  “No. I spent time in the coffee shop, gift shop, cafeteria, this waiting room, and went outside occasionally for a smoke. Mostly I paced the halls.” Brad noticed that as she responded Eileen shifted her focus back and forth between him and Sharon.

  “You saw your sister after the surgery?”

  Eileen shook her head. “Not right away. Doctor Erikson came to see me around six-thirty that evening. He told me that the surgery went well, Barbara was in the recovery room and would probably be back in her own room within two to three hours.” Eileen cleared her throat, and turned to Sharon, “I called my husband in Lancaster and my brother in Van Nuys, California. I must have fallen asleep because one of the nurses woke me up, and he told me there had been complications and Barbara would be in the recovery room longer than expected. He suggested I go home.” Eileen’s voice got more rapid as she continued, “I told him I lived in Lancaster and couldn’t get home, and I wasn’t going to leave until I knew my sister was okay.”

  Eileen fumbled with the buttons on her wool coat, and once again blew her nose into the overworked tissue.

  Brad turned to Sharon. “Would you mind finding a glass of water for Eileen?” He hoped she would understand that he needed a one-on-one connection with Ms. Henness.

  Sharon stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What time did you finally see your sister after her operation?”

  “It was close to eleven p.m.—a long day. They wheeled her back into the room. Barbara was hooked up to IVs and monitors, and it took them awhile to get her situated in bed. She was groggy, but I could tell from the look in her eyes that she recognized me. After they got her settled, I sat in a chair beside her bed… waited through the night.” Eileen pointed toward the nurse’s station. “They kept wanting me to go home or get a hotel room, but I told them she was the only sister I have and… I was going to stay right here.”

  “So you stayed at the hospital from Monday morning until you left to get a hotel room late Tuesday night?” Brad asked.

  Eileen nodded. “Barbara woke up about six o’clock Tuesday morning. She smiled when she saw me sitting there. She started to speak but had difficulty. She mouthed the words ‘I love you,’ and then she reached for her water pitcher. I poured her a glass and she sipped it slowly through a straw. ‘That tastes good,’ she whispered. I asked her how she was feeling and she said, ‘Okay.’ I asked if she wanted to sit up in the bed and she nodded. But when I tried to elevate her mattress she told me to stop and said her abdomen hurt. I called the nurse, her name was Crystal—it was easy for me to remember since my best friend in school was named Crystal—and she came in and told us the pain was normal. She showed her how to use a machine attached to her IV line so that when she was in pain she could press a button and dispense a pre-determined amount of pain killer.”

  Sharon returned and handed a Dixie cup of water to Eileen who promptly downed it. Sharon took the empty cup, looked at Brad, and said, “Let me get rid of this.” She understood the need to keep Eileen focused.

  While Eileen rifled through her purse and extracted a lip balm, Brad gazed out the windows and noticed rooftops silhouetted against the veil of falling snow illuminated by Philadelphia’s street lights. Snow hit the window panes, melted, and created a wet film that distorted the view.

  “I’d like to concentrate on what happened yesterday. You said that you arrived at the hospital about eleven o’clock?”

  “Yes,” Eileen said, brushing her shoulder length hair away from her face with her hand.

  Brad leaned toward her and maintained eye contact. “And you immediately came up to your sister’s room?”

  Eileen nodded.

  “Did you notice anything different yesterday afternoon?”

  Eileen Henness cast her eyes upward as she thought, then shook her head. “Nothing I can think of.”

  “Barbara’s roommate told us you got her a large-print book to read at the gift shop.”

  She tightened her grip on the shredded Kleenex. “Yes, I’m afraid I had an ulterior motive for that.”

  Brad flashed
a quizzical look.

  “I wanted my sister to rest. Her roommate was a charming lady but I think she was lonely. No matter what Barbara and I talked about she’d intrude with her own comments. We were talking about our nephew and his winning football season, and then she’d chime in about her nephew and his soccer trophy.”

  “Why didn’t you just draw the curtain between the two beds?” Brad asked.

  “It was already drawn. It made no difference.”

  Brad nodded. Sharon returned, and once again sat next to Eileen on the sofa.

  Eileen continued, “I tried to pass on a Southern Living magazine to her roommate that I’d already read—to help her pass the time—hoping she would leave us alone. She thanked me and said she had trouble reading magazines. She said the only thing she could read, even with her glasses on, were large-print books. That gave me an idea. They had a small supply in the hospital gift shop—Mary Higgins Clark, Danielle Steele, and Tom Clancy.”

  “All the literary giants.” Sharon said. Brad recalled Sharon’s report on her conversation with Vesta Jackson and her observing a man on the other side of the curtain. Eileen’s story called Jackson’s eyesight into question.

  “When you returned from the gift shop was there anything that caught your attention?”

  “Let’s see, I gave Mrs. Jackson the book. She was very appreciative and started reading immediately. A nurse came in and took my sister’s blood pressure and temperature. Someone else picked up her lunch tray. She hadn’t eaten very much. She offered me her soup, but I told her I’d get a sandwich in the cafeteria.”

  “Which nurse took her vital signs?” Brad asked casually.

  “It was one of the guys… I think his name is Keith.”

  “Do you remember when they replaced the bag on her IV line?”

  “There were two bags. Crystal replaced the larger one right after I arrived. Someone else, I can’t remember who it was… it might have been Iola… replaced the smaller one shortly before I left.”

  “Did you see anyone wearing a blue knit cap?”

  “A nurse?” she asked.

  “Anyone.”

  Eileen sighed and shook her head.

  “What time did you leave?”

  “It was shortly before three. Gene—my husband—wanted me to come home. Barbara was worried about the storm and urged me to go. She said it was okay and that I could come back and visit her on the weekend.” Eileen sniffled and wiped her nose. “There was an Amtrak train scheduled to leave at four. I caught a cab to 30th Street Station and it’s been a nightmare ever since.”

  “Your train was cancelled?” Sharon asked.

  Eileen shivered and tightened her coat about her. “I wish the train had been cancelled, but it was only delayed. At first they posted an hour delay, but an hour and a half went by and then it became a two-hour delay… and so on. It was almost eight before we boarded and then it just crept along the track… stopping and starting. By the time we got to Paoli the conductors told us they would be changing engines, but we just sat there for a long time. It was dark and cold when they finally disconnected the engine. At three o’clock in the morning they escorted everyone out of the train and we had to walk—through the snowstorm—to the eastbound platform at the Paoli station. They told us the next train would arrive in fifteen minutes to take us back to Philadelphia. Oh, how I wish I had never left, then I would have been here—possibly prevented her death.”

  Eileen gazed at the Kleenex in her hand and threw the tattered pieces in a nearby wastebasket. She unzipped her purse, apparently in search of a fresh tissue, and then uttered, “Oh my God.” She brought out a small pink envelope with an address on it, but no postage. “Barbara asked me to mail this. I stuck it in my purse and forgot about it.” Eileen stared at the envelope before saying, “It’s addressed to the social worker here at Strickland Memorial Hospital.”

  Eileen caught her fingernail under the edge of the flap and quickly tore it open, then eased the note card out of the envelope. A separate piece of white paper fluttered out at the same time, but Eileen caught it in mid-air and read it. “It’s a note to the family of her liver donor,” she announced. “Along with a note to the social worker asking him to pass it along anonymously.” Eileen unfolded the note card, embossed with pink roses. “She must have written it when I went to get lunch. Barbara said she didn’t know very much about the donor, a man from New Jersey. She began to read.

  To Whom It May Concern: For your gift of life I will be forever grateful. Five months ago I thought my life was ending. After more than a year and a half of visits to doctors and hospitals, I was told that unless a donor organ became available, I faced death. I prepared myself, but at the same time I prayed for a miracle. Thanks to you, I’m... facing... life...

  She sobbed. She shoved the note into Sharon’s hands and said, “You finish it.”

  Sharon quickly scanned the page and resumed reading:

  ...Thanks to you, I’m facing life again. Please know that your family’s loss has brought a new spirit of hope to my life. God bless you!

  Eileen continued to sob. Brad got up from his chair and put a hand on her shoulder, which only seemed to intensify her wailing. He turned to Sharon, shrugged his shoulders, and mouthed the word help. Sharon stepped into the hall, where she appeared to signal someone at the nurse’s station. Iola arrived a few minutes later.

  “Come with me, Mrs. Henness,” Iola said, as she and Sharon helped her to her feet. “We’ll make a little trip down to the ladies room.” Eileen moved tentatively.

  After Iola escorted Eileen down the hall, Brad walked to the window. The snow had let up for the moment and ice crystals formed on the outside of the panes. Brad clasped his hands behind his head and stretched, rotating first one shoulder then the other.

  He turned to Sharon and asked, “Have you gotten any sleep?”

  “Not much. How ‘bout you?”

  Brad shook his head. “I hate these interviews,” he said, still gazing out the window.

  “Why?” Sharon asked.

  “Give me a killer to interview who’s trying to play mind games with me, or a witness who wants to be helpful but doesn’t have a clue as to what he has seen. Or better still, give me a dead body that doesn’t talk and won’t care if I notice a coffee stain on her blouse or a bruise on his chin. I’d much rather deal with those circumstances than grieving victims. There’s nothing I can do to take away their pain.”

  “Not immediately,” Sharon said, “but eventually you can give them justice, which is an antidote to the pain. You should know that.”

  “Intellectually, I know what you’re saying is true. It’s because of my own experience that I can’t detach myself… their pain conjures up the memory of my own anguish. It’s the way I am.”

  “Eileen will be back in a minute,” Sharon said.

  “Come on,” Brad said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Brad approached Eileen in the hallway, saying, “I don’t think we need to trouble you anymore with questions. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.”

  Eileen gamely smiled before a look of panic came on her face and she clutched Iola’s arm. “Where am I going to go? The storm. I can’t get home.”

  “Your sister lived in Philadelphia?” Brad asked.

  “Yes, she has… I mean she got an apartment on Rittenhouse Square to be near the hospital. Her home is in Reading.”

  “Do you have a key to her apartment?”

  “Yes…” Her face brightened. “Yes, I do.”

  “Why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get yourself breakfast and a cup of coffee. Call your husband and let him know what has happened and where you will be. Hospital security has been coordinating transportation for the medical staff using volunteers with four wheel drive vehicles. Maybe they can arrange to get you to Rittenhouse Square on one of their runs.”

  She reached for his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Frame.”

  Brad watched as Iola guided Eileen safel
y on to the elevator.

  “I better get back to my room,” Sharon said, sounding reluctant.

  “I’m still waiting to see security videotapes,” Brad said, glancing at his watch. “Maybe before dawn.”

  They parted company and Brad headed for the elevator. He thought about Eileen’s regrets at not being able to say goodbye to her sister. He knew exactly how she felt, since he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to his mother and sister either.

  Just as the elevator door opened a fire alarm began. Nursing staff scurried past him closing patient room doors that weren’t already closed to keep in the heat.

  “The stairs are that way,” Iola said, pointing to the end of the hall.

  Chapter Eighteen

  3:45 a.m., Thursday, January 11th

  Brad hustled down the stairwell to the annoying clang of the fire bell and an octave–swooping siren. When he reached the fifth floor landing, the noise abruptly stopped. “Thank, God.” With the alarm stopped, he decided to use the nearest elevator, and pushed through the fire doors.

  He found a floor similar to the one he’d just left, except that the walls were reconfigured at the end of the hall near the stairwell, which served as a children’s play area. He must have stumbled on the pediatric ward. Brad didn’t spot any nursing staff, but a large table drew his attention in the area lit only by blue night lights. He found a four by eight foot sheet of plywood placed on two wooden saw horses with a model railroad display. A figure eight track, situated on a bed of cotton batting, held an old-fashioned steam engine, a passenger car, and red caboose. Scattered around the “snow” were miniature pine trees, figurines of skaters on a mirrored pond, a station of early-20th century vintage, and a freight siding with a chocolate brown boxcar bearing a Hershey’s logo. Though the layout looked paltry compared to the model railroad in the attic of his Bryn Mawr home, nonetheless Brad hovered over the train with keen interest.

  He recognized Lionel’s O-27 gauge track, and it brought back memories of his very first train set when he was ten years old. The display must have been erected for the Christmas holidays along with a nearby bulletin board with a checkerboard of red and green construction paper framed in silver tinsel. He ran his hand over the small transformer, tempted to run the model train through its paces.