Cutter's Trial

by Allen Wyler

  She laughed and spooned a few more ice cubes into her drink. “When are you going?”

  “Day after tomorrow. My flight’s already booked.”

  19

  “Not that it matters, but Waters built a reputation for academic excellence. What makes you ready to leave that place?” Reynolds asked. He was wearing smudged, slightly askew glasses, bright red suspenders, a rumpled navy suit, and a bad comb-over. Alex guessed him to be in his mid-fifties.

  Alex’s flight had connected through Chicago O’Hare after a two-hour layover, getting him to his destination a few minutes after 6:30 p.m. Reynolds had met him at the airport and driven them straight to Justine’s, a New Orleans-style restaurant in the heart of the city. They were now at a small table in a private side room, isolated from the clatter of cutlery and the din of muted conversations. In contrast to Alex’s accustomed West Coast casualness, the men here seemed to dress in sports coats or suits and the women in dresses. For the flight, Alex had chosen a blue blazer and grey slacks but hadn’t bothered with a tie, which he now regretted. It remained in the trunk of Reynolds’s car, still packed in his suitcase.

  Alex decided nothing would be gained from trivializing his situation, so he gave Reynolds a candid accounting of Weiner’s tactics, including setting up the Cleveland interview.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” Reynolds said when Alex had finished. “Know Dan Richards?”

  Took Alex a moment to register the name. “I know of him, but don’t know him personally.”

  “Well, Richards and Weiner are big buddies. When Dan took the job upstate, he inherited a huge raft of trouble. The faculty started to fight him on every single thing he tried to change. He eventually prevailed, but not after a massive amount of bloodletting. Know for a fact that Weiner stopped off there to visit Dan on his way out to your place. Suspect they sat up a couple nights with Dan detailing all the problems and how he ended up handling them. That could have something to do with his behavior now. But stealing your grant?” Reynolds shook his head. “Mm, mm, mm, that is low. Never heard of such a thing.” Reynolds paused. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was it made you turn down the Cleveland job?”

  Again, Alex saw no downside to being honest. “First, I wouldn’t have a lab. Second, although whoever takes the job will have a university appointment, the actual job is to cover the VA full time. I hate working in the VA system.”

  Reynolds straightened slightly. “Really? Why’s that?”

  Uh-oh. A blunder? This was, after all, the South. Home of numerous prestigious military academies, an area of the country in which military service was considered a noble, desirable career. Oh well, in for a pound … “The idea of providing medical care to veterans can’t be faulted. They’ve earned it. But the system itself sucks. I don’t want to be part of that, is all.”

  “Understood.” Reynolds adjusted his glasses slightly, but they remained a bit off-center. “Appreciate your candor. Which brings me to my next question: What are your goals? Where do you want to be career-wise in, say, five years?”

  Alex didn’t hesitate. “Ideally? To cure glioblastoma. I know that’s unrealistic. But I sure want to give it my best shot.”

  “Trying for something real simple, huh?” Reynolds let out a sarcastic laugh. “People been struggling to crack that miserable goddamn disease for decades now without one thing to show for it. What makes you think you can do something no one else been able to do?”

  “Isn’t that how progress is made? On the shoulders of others?”

  Reynolds considered that a moment. “True. But what are you doing that others haven’t done?”

  “Several things. I’m making progress, but I’d rather not discuss it in detail.”

  “Paranoid, huh? Afraid of me stealing your secrets?”

  Sounded ridiculous to put it that way, but … “Unfortunately, that’s happened all too often in science. After all, Weiner locked me out of my lab and took my grant.”

  Reynolds laughed. “True, but I know all about your NIH grants. I served on Council.” Council was the NIH group that determined funding levels. “Which means I know you’re telling someone what you’re up to.”

  “Not entirely,” Alex admitted. “Perhaps that’s one of the reasons it took me so long to actually get an award.” He shook his head, feeling sorry for himself. “I was just getting started again when this happened.”

  Reynolds busied himself with using the linen napkin to clean his glasses. “I find it sorta interesting that Weiner snatched your grant right out from under you. Especially seeing how y’all are doing pretty much the same thing.”

  Alex hadn’t considered that angle. He rolled that around in his mind a moment. Didn’t make sense. “You saying he planned on stealing my research?”

  “No.” Reynolds slipped on his glasses back on. “But once he was out there and you were exposed, well, why not? Easy pickings.”

  Alex’s anger flared at the thought. Lisa always claimed he was too trusting and that he always expected the best from people—which, in reality, seldom happened.

  After a moment of silence, Reynolds poured more Bordeaux into both of their glasses. “I like your candor, Alex, so let me be candid too. The job I called about is also a VA one. What are you now, assistant professor?”

  “I am.” He felt a heavy pang of disappointment he hadn’t expected. He liked Reynolds and was beginning to be hopeful about a potential job. All this way for nothing. And as much as he needed a job, covering the VA wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Y’all come down here, I’ll ask the dean to make you associate prof. Be a feather in your cap.”

  “I see.” He paused. “At least we’re being totally honest with each other. But I don’t think I can do that.”

  Reynolds flipped a dismissive wave. “If y’all excuse me a moment, I need to make a call.” He pushed back from the table and disappeared into another room.

  Reynolds returned minutes later grinning faintly. “Just had me a talk with Garrison Majors, senior partner in the Scranton Majors clinic. What’re the chances you could stick around an extra day?”

  Alex wasn’t sure he saw the point of staying. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Dr. Reynolds, but I can’t see a reason to stay if we’re talking about a VA job.”

  Reynolds smiled. “See, that’s just it. I’m thinking we might just have a place for y’all in the clinic. You know how we’re structured here?”

  Alex’s mood brightened. “I don’t have the foggiest. Tell me.”

  “I’m sure you know most of this, but let me take you through the history. When neurosurgery was in its infancy, about half the training programs were run out of private practices instead of universities. This one here started when Pappy Scranton finished training with Walter Dandy. Being from the area, it was natural for him to return and set up practice. Back then there wasn’t another neurosurgeon within a couple hundred miles, so he was busy as hell the first day he hung out his shingle. With so much work to do, he started taking on general surgeons who wanted to learn a bit about neurosurgery. Didn’t have a damn thing to do with the university back then. Then several years ago the powers within organized neurosurgery decided it was time to phase out training programs that weren’t university-based. Only way the clinic could keep its program was for us to make nice with the dean. On account of me being the residency director, the dean made me full professor and department chair. But see, I’m also a senior partner in the clinic. Way it works, my university salary goes straight to the clinic, but my real paycheck comes from the clinic. I’m residency director, but Garrison Majors is the clinic CEO. Old Garrison was Scranton’s handpicked successor. With me so far?”

  Seemed straightforward. “I am.”

  “The medical center here has three hospitals: Baptist Central, the VA, and the county hospital, which is a Level 1 trauma center. Clinic docs admit their patients to Baptist Central, but the residency covers all three hospitals. Seeing how y’all want to keep your res
earch going, I’m going raise the ante and sweet-talk the dean into bringing you on as full professor with tenure. But if we decide on this approach, y’all gonna have to stick around an extra day on account of the people who need to interview you. Interested?”

  Interested? Overwhelmed was more appropriate. He couldn’t believe it: an academic job with private practice income. “Let me make sure I understand the deal you just described; I’ll be a university professor in private practice?”

  “That’s right. But let me clarify something. New clinic members are hired as a salaried employee for one year to make sure everyone’s happy with the situation. When your year’s up, if everything goes well, you’ll become a full clinic partner eligible for profit sharing.”

  Later that evening, Alex telephoned Lisa from his hotel room to explain the details of the potential job. She quickly agreed that staying a day extra was well worth it to explore the opportunity, but they both worried things sounded too good to be true.

  Lying in bed, hands knitted under his head, Alex stared at the ceiling and replayed his discussion with Reynolds. He knew he should try to get sleep before tomorrow’s interviews, but the strange surroundings and the excitement of the offer kept him awake. Also gnawing on his mind was a niggling suspicion that Reynolds was right, that Weiner used his power to steal his lab out from under him. Had Weiner discovered the missing data? And what would happen when he did? Had he broken any laws by taking it from the lab? At the time, he didn’t think of these questions, reacting solely by instinct to protect his data. There would be repercussions, he was certain of that. But what? And how would that affect this new job?

  20

  “What’re your initial impressions?” Garrison Majors asked.

  Alex, Garrison, and Reynolds were back at the same table at Justine’s. Apparently it was touted to be one of the best dining facilities in town, second only to the Chickasaw Country Club, which, Reynolds explained, couldn’t accommodate a reservation on such short notice.

  “I’m definitely intrigued with the situation.” An understatement, as it sounded too good to be true.

  “In that case, I assume you’re okay with staying one more day?” Garrison said. “Reason is, I lined up a real estate agent to take you ’round to see a few homes.”

  Alex glanced at his watch. “No problem. I just need to check with the airline, see if I can change my ticket.”

  “I had Claude look into that already,” Reynolds said, referring to his university secretary, “Got y’all set up, assuming you’re willing to stay.”

  Alex marveled at their efficiency. “Okay then. Looks like I’ll be here another day.”

  Garrison smiled and raised his wine glass to toast. “To a wise decision.”

  After the customary clink, Reynolds said, “Talked with Dean Summers after you left him. Man agreed to appoint you full professor but said your CV has to be reviewed by the promotions committee if he’s gonna give you tenure. That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll talk with a couple friends on the committee to make sure there’re no issues. Once y’all come here, I’ll submit your credentials to the residency review committee, have you appointed vice program director. Suspect with your academic background there won’t be any problems with that either. Lastly, had me a talk with Steve Saito, chair of Cell Biology. He’s more than happy to give you a clinical professor appointment in his shop where you can share a lab with one of his junior people.”

  Alex tried to recall the proximity of Baptist Central to the main campus and the building that housed Cell Biology, which, if memory served, was a block further than Neurosurgery’s one-secretary, two-office suite in which Reynolds ran the residency and conducted university business. Keeping a separate—although redundant—office in a university building offered a layer of protection and a firewall to support the claim of a university-based residency.

  “That’s wonderful.” Alex was very pleased. Things were working out better than anticipated.

  Garrison added, “Let me take a moment to explain how coverage works. The clinic admits patients to two hospitals: Baptist Central and Baptist West. Residents cover Central but not West. That means when you’re on call, you’ll cover all hospitals—including Baptist West. That’s the bad news. The good news is, given the number of surgeons we have, you’ll pull call roughly every ten nights, depending on if someone’s on vacation. If, for any reason, you need to take a night off, you’re responsible for swapping with another partner and for notifying the exchange.” Referring to the after-hours answering service for the clinic. “Call schedule gets published a month ahead of time. Once it’s out, you’re responsible for any change. How does night call sound?”

  “Not bad at all. I expected worse.” And he did too. After his stint covering every night call at Costal County, this seemed like nirvana.

  Reynolds smiled and seemed about to say something when Alex continued. “I can begin revising my NIH grant when I get home. Who’s the Grants and Contracts person at Baptist?”

  Reynolds shot Garrison a glance. He nodded for Reynolds to answer. “That won’t work. Baptist doesn’t accept federal funding of any sort, certainly not from NIH.”

  Alex blinked. Had he heard correctly? “What? Why not?”

  “That policy,” Reynolds said, “was established years back, before World War II. Baptist’s hospital system was originally started to serve church members and church members only. They refused to treat non-church members regularly. Even when some pretty pathetic cases showed up on their doorstep. Since then, their mission has expanded, but they still remain selective in who they treat. If they accept just one penny of federal money, they’d be required by law to take all comers, if you get my drift. ’Cause of this, they refuse any and all federal assistance.”

  “Okay, so what if the grant was awarded to the university?”

  “Might work, but we’d have to make damn sure no one from Baptist gets a dime. Might be difficult if you have to ally with someone from their system, but it should be workable.”

  Alex sat back in his chair digesting the myriad details just discussed.

  “In the morning,” Garrison said, “Betsy Henry, the wife of a general surgeon who died of lung cancer few years back, is gonna pick you up at nine. She’s blocked out the entire day to take you ’round to see places. She’s our go-to girl for relocating docs to the area. Told her all about y’all, so she’s anxious to meet you. Also, she’s licking her chops to get Miss Lisa involved in some Women’s Auxiliary projects.”

  21

  “This next neighborhood is The Gardens. It’s a more established neighborhood than what you just saw … mmm, less in transition, you might say.” Betsy Henry—a diminutive dynamo in her early sixties with salt and pepper hair stacked and pinned to the back of her head—wore a string of yellow pearls big enough to choke a hippo. They clashed with the lanyard for her orange reading glasses. She had on a floral patterned dress with a frilly white lace collar hugging her neck, hiding age lines. She breezed along Central Avenue in her forest-green Mercedes, five miles over the speed limit.

  Alex figured her use of the word transition was real estate speak for gentrification. They just toured a residential area in an old section of the city characterized by gone-to-seed mansions selling at rock-bottom prices to young professionals eager to restore them to their past glory. Alex neither had the time nor inclination to get involved in a renovation, preferring instead a turnkey, move-in-ready home.

  Alex kept a city map open on his lap to learn streets and start the arduous process of familiarizing himself with general geography. He was also keeping track of the distance from neighborhoods to the medical center, an important issue for taking night call. A contiguous series of ratty, tired businesses—fast-food franchises, 7-Elevens, discount gas stations—lined both sides of the wide street, interspersed with residential stretches of peeling clapboard homes with cluttered, dead yards and an occasional refrigerator on a front porch. Overwhelmingly African American, from the pe
ople he saw walking the streets.

  Betty slowed and turned right into a short asphalt road, driving up to a brick guardhouse that stood between two sections of a ten-foot-high brick wall. A uniformed guard behind the lower half of a Dutch door stood as Betty pulled alongside and rolled down her window.

  “Howdy Miz Henry. Fixing to show today?”

  “Yes, George. Should be about an hour, give or take.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded as the gate began to slide open.

  “A nice feature of this neighborhood,” Betty said, slowly accelerating to twenty miles per hour, “is security. As you can see, it’s a gated community with random patrols day and night. You’ll appreciate that aspect when you’re at the hospital all hours of the night and your bride is home alone. When you leave for vacation, the guard service will stop by to pick up mail and newspapers and walk the perimeter of the house. All of this is extremely comforting.”

  Considering the economically depressed neighborhoods they just drove through, Alex figured these winding, oak-lined roads with substantial homes and manicured landscapes would be the first choice of any burglar in search of high-yield items. “You live here?”

  “No, but I’m in and out frequently enough that the guards know me. I’ve sold many a home in this neighborhood over the years, all to physicians.” She seemed pleased with herself.

  She parked next to an emerald lawn with parallel boxwood hedges on either side of the brick walk that led to a brick portico with balancing white columns. The one-story house had a large peaked roof. “I believe you’ll like this place.”

  “What’re your thoughts?” Betty asked as they strolled slowly back to her car.

  “It tops all the others we’ve seen so far.” He liked the location: equidistant between Baptist Central and Baptist West, the two opposite directions he’d drive if called out at night. This house was certainly much nicer than their present home. It quickly became clear the housing dollar went much further than in their present location, but he wasn’t so keen on living in a gated community. It seemed a bit pretentious. “I’ll have these pictures developed soon as I get home,” he said, holding up the disposable Kodak camera he’d purchased that morning at the hotel gift shop. “If Lisa likes the house, we’ll fly back so she can see it in person. I expect to have an answer by Friday.”