Night Shift

Chapter 11

Tuesday, December 7, 1:38 p.m.

Taking advantage of being alone, Jack removed his mask and put it to the side. He then went back to leafing through the collection of articles he was holding, recognizing they were enough to depress yet also motivate anyone interested in patient well-being. There were stories of regrettable hospital deaths due to a variety of inexcusable circumstances as well as gross screwups like huge overdoses of medications, medications given to the wrong patient, operations on the wrong patient, or on the wrong organ, or on the wrong limb. It was a litany of hospital horror stories.

Beneath these loose articles was another whole group isolated with a heavy metal clasp. These were equally as shocking and involved stories of a specific category of patient deaths: those caused by medical serial killers. The first article Jack recognized immediately. It was a New York Times piece only a little more than a month old about a nurse in Texas who’d killed a few patients in cardiac intensive care by injecting them with air, causing strokes. Other articles were equally horrific, several because of the sheer number of patients involved. One was about a doctor in the UK and another about a nurse in New Jersey, each responsible for hundreds of deaths. As Jack scanned article after article, he realized that he’d had no idea of the extent of the problem, and it begged the question of how many more medical serial killers there might be who hadn’t been exposed. The idea of an individual entering a profession to cure people but ending up killing them seemed so unbelievably perfidious. As a doctor himself, it was embarrassing as well as unconscionable.

One case he knew intimately. It was about a nurse named Jasmine Rakoczi. She had been paid to eliminate postoperative patients who carried genetic mutations that made them susceptible to future serious diseases, which would have ultimately cost their health insurance company millions of dollars. This was the same nurse he had recalled with trepidation as he crossed the pedestrian bridge with the head of security and whose exposé Laurie had spearheaded and who had tried to kill Laurie and shoot him.

It was at that point that Jack came across another group of articles bound together with a smaller metal clasp. These seemed to be primarily from psychology journals discussing medical serial killers from the point of view of motive. Scanning the titles, he could see that they discussed issues like mercy killing, where the killers, to some degree, believed they were saving patients from the ravages of terminal illnesses. Others were about hero killers, who purposely put patients in jeopardy so that they could save them and get the associated credit. He even noticed an article about Munchausen syndrome by proxy. Curious as to why Sue Passero might have included this piece, he scanned it rapidly. It involved a nurse who had been convicted of killing several of her foster children over a number of years by creating illnesses requiring multiple hospitalizations where she worked.

Suddenly the door to the hallway burst open, causing Jack to jump, as three people rushed into the office, all wearing masks. The first was a tall, tanned, striking woman with steely blue eyes and sleek, shoulder-length chestnut hair. She was impeccably dressed in a dark blue business suit with an open-neck white blouse. “Are you Dr. John Stapleton?” she demanded with authority, her arms akimbo.

“I prefer to answer to Jack,” he said, rescuing his mask and pressing it against his face.

A short man was standing behind the woman. He was dressed in a long white lab coat. Jack could see some culture tubes showing in his pockets among other laboratory paraphernalia, giving Jack an idea of who he was.

“Will you kindly tell me what you are doing in this office unannounced and unaccompanied, going through private hospital papers?” the woman demanded.

“Enjoying a little reading away from the fray,” Jack said, but he immediately regretted his response’s sarcastic overtone. The last thing he wanted to do was make waves that might get back to Laurie, yet he couldn’t help himself. He was put off by the woman’s officiousness, and sarcasm was reflexive for him.

“That kind of answer makes me think your concerns were justified, Dr. Cheveau,” the woman said to the smaller man. Then to the taller she said, “Mr. Alinsky, I think you should call security as you suggested and have Dr. Stapleton escorted off the premises.”

Jack’s ears perked up hearing the name Alinsky, remembering Virginia describing him as Sue’s bane. “I’m here on official medical examiner business investigating Dr. Susan Passero’s death,” he said. He put the articles he was holding down on the desk and stood, staring at Alinsky while the man stepped to the side with his phone, presumably calling security. Jack had the urge to ask him a few questions.

“Dr. Passero’s heart attack occurred in the parking garage,” the woman said, turning back to Jack. “She didn’t die in this office. Last night we fully cooperated with a medical legal investigator from the OCME. Then a few minutes ago I got word that you had showed up and were here asking questions. I checked with the hospital counsel about this situation and was told that for you to be here at this point, you’d need a warrant and to get one you’d have to have probable cause. At the very least, you could have had the decency to come to Administration to get permission. You probably would have gotten permission, as Dr. Cheveau told me that you provided a significant service to this institution in the past.”

“I beg to differ,” Jack said. “It was more than a service. I exposed a laboratory assistant hell-bent on spreading infectious diseases to patients, trying to start an epidemic.”

“Yes, so I was told, and I give you credit for that,” the woman said. “But in the process, according to Dr. Cheveau, you caused serious disruptions to the hospital and to a number of its staff. You are, in Dr. Cheveau’s words, a bull in a china shop.”

“As if he is an authority on character assessment,” Jack said with a roll of his eyes. “Dr. Cheveau was ultimately responsible for allowing his lab tech to get away with lethal shenanigans for months right under his nose. But, be that as it may, who exactly are you?”

“For your information, my name is Marsha Schechter. I happen to be the president of this hospital, having taken over from Charles Kelley, rest his soul.”

Jack eyed the impressive-looking woman and wondered if being tall, tan, and aristocratic-appearing was a requirement to be selected as the president of the MMH by the hospital board or by the powers that be at the AmeriCare corporate office. Although opposite genders, Marsha Schechter and Charles Kelley seemed as if they could have come from the same mold.

“I want to be damn certain you do not cause any disruptions on this occasion,” Marsha continued. “Our dealing with Dr. Passero’s untimely death is difficult enough for the hospital without it being in any way compounded. Do I make myself clear?”

“I’m certainly not here to cause any trouble,” Jack said. “I just want to make sure that we medical examiners are not missing anything.”

“What can you possibly mean about not missing anything? Dr. Passero died of a heart attack. Is that not true?”

“The cause and manner of death are still pending,” Jack said evasively. As he spoke, he noticed Alinsky had finished with his phone call. Jack looked at him directly and asked him if his name was Peter Alinsky. Although mildly taken aback at the question, he responded in the affirmative.

“Now that is a coincidence,” Jack said. “Tell me, what did you have against Dr. Passero being on the Mortality and Morbidity Task Force?”

Jack’s question must have struck a sensitive nerve because the man appeared stunned. Instead of answering, he glanced over at Marsha for help.

“What the hell does the Mortality and Morbidity Task Force have to do with Dr. Passero’s passing?” Marsha questioned irritably with her brow deeply furrowed, seemingly equally as surprised.

“I have no idea,” Jack said. “That’s why I asked.”

“I’m beginning to see why Dr. Cheveau thinks of you as a bull in a china shop,” Marsha said with a short, frustrated laugh, clearly losing patience. “Our Mortality and Morbidity Task Force is certainly none of your or the OCME’s business. Clearly Dr. Passero’s heart attack had nothing to do with the hospital’s internal affairs. Is this something you came across while looking at these private papers?” She leaned forward and used a hand to turn some the articles on the desk around to read their titles.

“Indirectly,” Jack admitted.

At that moment, David Andrews arrived out of breath along with an impressively large fellow security officer. Both were carrying radios. “What’s the problem here, Ms. Schechter?” he managed with his commanding baritone voice.

“We have an intruder here whom Dr. Cheveau happened to see leaving the ED, and I want him escorted off the premises.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” David said. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and confronted Jack. Meanwhile, out of sight of the others in the room, he rolled his eyes for Jack’s benefit, then gestured toward the door to the hallway.

“It’s been a fun party, but I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Jack said to Marsha as he started toward the door. As soon as the comment left his mouth, he regretted having made it, knowing that such flippancy could only possibly make the situation worse. Ultimately what he wanted to avoid was provoking an official complaint about his presence, which had happened in the past, but he particularly didn’t want it to happen now that Laurie was the chief.

“Watch yourself, Dr. Stapleton. I have eyes and ears everywhere,” said Marsha.

Once out in the hall and on the way to the elevators, David asked sotto voce what on earth Jack had done to incite the president’s wrath. The other security person followed silently several steps behind.

“I suppose just being myself,” Jack said. “Diplomacy is not one of my strong points.”

“But what the hell made her come and confront you in person?”

“I suppose because I’ve had a checkered relationship with the MMH,” Jack said. “I’ve been lionized by some and denounced by others. More important, I had a particularly rocky relationship with the previous president, and it’s already not looking good with this one.”

“She’s an impressive woman,” David said. “Supposedly one hell of a businessperson, and I respect her. She runs a tight ship.”

“To be truthful, the fact that she showed up surprised me as well,” Jack said. In the back of his mind, he’d been confused by the issue. When he combined it with the curious reaction he’d unexpectedly elicited from mentioning the Mortality and Morbidity Task Force, specifically the forceful denial it had evoked of not having anything to do with Sue Passero’s passing, he couldn’t help but be intrigued. It was the kind of random information that set off alarm bells for him by suggesting the idea there could be some mysterious relationship between Sue’s death and this enigmatic committee. And if Forensic Biology, Histology, and Toxicology didn’t come up with a cause and mechanism of death confirming it as natural, Jack was going to need some fresh ideas.

“How are you going to get back to the OCME?” David asked as they arrived at the elevator. “I only ask to know where I should take you to exit.”

“I came on my bike,” Jack said. “I left it near the main entrance. But first I have a favor to ask.”

“Bike?” David questioned with astonishment. “Are you serious?”

“Very much so,” Jack said. “It’s my preferred method of transportation. With no congestion pricing and traffic as it is in this city, and inconsistent subway service, it’s by far the best way to get around.”

“It’s the best way to get you dead,” David said. “But what’s this about a favor? Please don’t put me in trouble with the big boss. My orders are to escort you off the premises straightaway.”

“I wouldn’t think of coming between you and your glorious leader,” Jack said. “All I’d like to do is make a rapid revisit to Dr. Passero’s car, where I’m certainly authorized to be. I meant to take some pics of the interior for the record.”

Jack had no need of photos of the car, but claiming he did was the only way that came to mind to wrangle on impulse a return to the vehicle. If it turned out ultimately that there was to be no confirmation of Sue’s death being natural or accidental from Maureen, John, and Naomi, he was going to want to come back to the MMH to look into the Mortality and Morbidity Task Force issue that had been fortuitously dumped into his lap. With his persona non grata status he was going to need access, so he was thinking of borrowing for a time Sue Passero’s hospital ID, which was hanging by its lanyard on the BMW’s rearview mirror. Although he knew he’d have to make it a point to steer clear of Marsha Schechter and Dr. Cheveau, the hospital ID, even with the wrong name and photo, would mean his presence would be less likely to attract attention. If he turned the ID photo toward himself, he had reason to believe he might get away with it.

As they rode down in the elevator, David used his radio to have one of his security people meet them in the garage with the BMW key fob. And a little more than twenty minutes later and after a quick revisit to the BMW, Jack was unceremoniously escorted out the hospital’s main entrance.