Fatal Cure

4

Traynor signed all the letters he'd dictated that morning and piled them neatly on the corner of his desk. Eagerly he got up and pulled on his coat. He was on his way through the outer office en route to the Iron Horse for lunch when his secretary, Collette, called him back to take a call from Tom Baringer.

Muttering under his breath, Traynor returned to his desk. Tom was too important a client to miss his call.

"You'll never guess where I am," Tom said. "I'm in the emergency room waiting for Dr. Portland to come in to put me back together."

"My God, what happened?" Traynor asked.

"Something stupid," Tom admitted. "I was cleaning some leaves out of my gutters when the ladder I was on fell over. I broke my damn hip. At least that's what the doctor tells me here in the emergency room."

"I'm sorry," Traynor said.

"Oh, it could be worse," Tom said. "But obviously I won't be able to make the meeting we had scheduled for this afternoon."

"Of course," Traynor said. "Was there something important you wanted to discuss?"

"It can wait," Tom said. "But listen, as long as I have you on the phone, how about giving the powers that be here at the hospital a call. I figure I deserve some VIP attention."

"You got it," Traynor said. "I'll see to it personally. I'm just on my way out to have lunch with the hospital's CEO."

"Good timing," Tom said. "Put in the good word."

After hanging up, Traynor told his secretary to cancel Tom's appointment and leave the slot open. The break would give him a chance to catch up on dictation.

Traynor was first to arrive for his luncheon meeting. After ordering a dry martini, he scanned the beam-ceilinged room. As usual of late, he'd been given the best table in the house, one in a cozy bay with a particularly dramatic view of the Roaring River which raced past the rear of the inn. Traynor's pleasure was enhanced when he saw Jeb Wiggins, his old rival and a scion of one of the few old moneyed families of Bartlet, sitting at a far less conspicuous table. Jeb had always treated Traynor with condescension. Traynor's father had worked in the coat-hanger factory, which at that time had been one of the Wigginses' holdings. Traynor relished the role reversal: now he was running the biggest business in town.

Helen Beaton and Barton Sherwood arrived together. "Sorry we're late," Sherwood said, holding back Beaton's chair.

Beaton and Sherwood were served their usual drinks and they all ordered their meals. As soon as the waiter left them, Beaton spoke: "I have some good news. I met with Charles Kelley this morning, and he has no problem with our idea of instituting a bonus program for the CMV doctors. His only concern is whether it would cost CMV anything, which it won't. He promised to run the idea past his bosses, but I don't anticipate any problem."

"Wonderful," Traynor said.

"We'll be meeting again on Monday," Beaton added. "I'd like you to attend if you have the time."

"By all means," Traynor said.

"Now all we need is the start-up capital," Beaton said. "So I met with Barton and I think we have it solved." Beaton gave Sherwood's arm a squeeze.

Sherwood leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones: "Remember that small slush fund we'd created with the kickbacks from the construction on the radiotherapy building? I'd deposited it in the Bahamas. What I'll do is bring it back in small increments as needed. Also we can use some of it for vacations in the Bahamas. That's the easiest. We can even pay for the air tickets in the Bahamas."

The food arrived and no one spoke until the waitress had departed.

"We thought a vacation in the Bahamas could function as a grand prize," Beaton explained. "It could be awarded to the doctor with the lowest hospitalization percentage for the year."

"That's perfect," Traynor said. "This whole idea is sounding better and better."

"We'd better get it up and running ASAP," Beaton said. "So far the May figures are worse than those for April. Admissions are higher and the money loss correspondingly greater."

"I have some good news," Sherwood said. "The hospital sinking fund is back to its projected level with the infusion of the cash from the insurance bequest. It was done in a way that none of the bond examiners will ever detect."

"It's just one crisis after another," Traynor complained. He wasn't about to give Sherwood credit for fixing a problem he'd created.

"Do you want me to go ahead with the bond issue for the parking garage?" Sherwood asked.

"No," Traynor answered. "Unfortunately, we can't. We have to go back to the Board of Selectmen for another vote. Their approval had been contingent on starting the project immediately." With a scornful expression Traynor gestured with his head toward a neighboring table. "The Selectmen's chairman, Jeb Wiggins, thinks the tourist season might get screwed up if we build during the summer."

"How unfortunate," Sherwood said.

"I've got a bit of good news myself," Traynor added. "I just heard this morning that our CON for open-heart surgery has been turned down for this year. Isn't that terrible?"

"Oh, what a tragedy," Beaton said with a laugh. "Thank God!"

After the coffee had been served, Traynor remembered the call from Tom Baringer. He relayed the information on to Beaton.

"I'm already aware of Mr. Baringer's admission," Beaton said. "Some time ago I programmed a tickler file into the computer to alert me when such a patient is hospitalized. I've already spoken to Caldwell and he'll be taking care to be sure Mr. Baringer gets proper VIP treatment. What's the value of the fund?"

"One million," Traynor said. "It's not huge, but nothing to scoff at."

After they had finished their lunch, they walked out into the bright late spring sunshine.

"What's the status on the lighting of the parking lots?" Traynor asked.

"It's all done," Beaton said. "It's been done for over a week. But we decided to restrict the lighting to the lower lot. The upper is used only during the day, and by doing only the lower, we saved a considerable amount of money."

"Sounds reasonable," Traynor said.

Close to the Green Mountain National Bank they ran into Wayne Robertson. His wide-brimmed, trooper style hat was low on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. As added protection he was wearing highly reflective sunglasses.

"Afternoon," Traynor said amicably.

Robertson touched the brim of his hat in a form of salute.

"Any startling developments in the Hodges case?" Traynor asked.

"Hardly," Robertson said. "In fact, we're thinking about dropping it."

"I wouldn't be too premature," Traynor warned. "Remember, that old geezer had a penchant for appearing when least expected."

"And unwanted," Beaton added.

"Dr. Cantor thinks he's in Florida," Robertson said. "I'm starting to believe it myself. I think that little scandal about the hospital taking care of his house embarrassed him enough to leave town."

"I would have thought he'd have thicker skin than that," Traynor said. "But who am I to guess."

After exchanging farewells and good wishes for the weekend, the four returned to their respective jobs.

As Beaton drove up the hill toward the hospital, she thought about Traynor and her relationship with him. She wasn't happy; she wanted more. Trysts once or twice a month were hardly what she'd expected.

Beaton had met Traynor several years previously when he'd come to Boston to take a refresher course in tax law. She'd been working in the city as an assistant administrator in one of the Harvard hospitals. The attraction was instantaneous and mutual. They spent a torrid week together, then rendezvoused intermittently until he'd recruited her to come to Bartlet to run the hospital. She'd been led to believe that they would eventually live together, but so far it hadn't happened. Traynor had not gotten the divorce he'd promised was imminent. Beaton felt she had to do something to rectify the situation; she just didn't know what.

Back at the hospital, Beaton went directly to room 204, where she expected to find Tom Baringer. She intended to make sure he was comfortable. He wasn't there. Instead Beaton was surprised to discover another patient: a woman by the name of Alice Nottingham. Beaton set her jaw, descended to the first floor, and marched into Caldwell's office.

"Where's Baringer?" she asked curtly.

"Room 204," Caldwell said.

"Unless Mr. Baringer has had a sex change operation and is going by the name of Alice, he's not in 204."

Caldwell quickly got to his feet. "Something's gone wrong." He pushed past Beaton and hurried across the hall to admissions. There he sought out Janice Sperling and asked her what had happened to Tom Baringer.

"I put him in 209," Janice said.

"I told you to put him in 204," Caldwell said.

"I know," Janice admitted. "But since we talked, 209 came available. It's a larger room. You said Mr. Baringer was a special patient. I thought he'd like 209 better."

"204 has a better view, plus it has the new orthopedic bed," Caldwell said. "The man has a broken hip. Either change rooms or change beds."

"Okay," Janice said, rolling her eyes. Some people could never be pleased.

Caldwell went to Beaton's office and stuck his head through the door. "I'm sorry for not having followed up on that situation," he said. "But it will be rectified within the hour. I promise."

Beaton nodded and went back to her work.