Night Shift

Chapter 21

Tuesday, December 7, 8:51 p.m.

“Okay, Mama,” Cherine Gardener said to her mother, whom she called on a regular basis, especially since the pandemic started two years ago. Since then, she’d made it a point to do her mother’s grocery shopping online, having the items delivered from the nearest Kroger. Although Cherine had tried to get her mother to join the twenty-first century, she’d resisted and had refused to learn how to use a computer or even a smartphone. Getting her to use a mobile phone at all had been a major undertaking. “I’ll call you tomorrow night, but you call me if the groceries don’t arrive, okay?”

It was always a little hard for Cherine to terminate a call, and she could tell her mother was lonely. Destiny lived in the Church Street neighborhood of Galveston, Texas, in the same apartment Cherine had grown up in. It was not a good area, which was why Destiny rarely ventured out and usually only to see her other daughter, Shanice, and her three children. For a number of years, Cherine had tried to get her mother to move up to New York, but with grandchildren nearby, it had been a losing proposition.

Cherine had been in New York for a bit more than five years, having been recruited by MMH from University of Texas Medical Branch Hospital, where she had worked since graduating from the School of Nursing there. She was the first person in her family as far as she knew who had gone to college. It hadn’t been easy coming from a single-parent household. Her father, a merchant marine, left on a trip when she was four and never returned. From an early age, she’d been determined to be a nurse, having been introduced to the profession by her mother, who’d been a nurse’s aide.

Professionally Cherine couldn’t be happier, as she loved being a nurse even during the pandemic when so many of her colleagues complained bitterly about the working conditions and the stress. As a testament to her commitment, she was also enrolled in a Master of Science in Nursing program at Columbia, which she had every intention of completing, despite the effort of working while doing it. And although exhausted after twelve-hour shifts three days in a row, she intended to study that night and had her materials and laptop spread out on her kitchen table.

Cherine lived on the third floor of a converted brownstone on the west side of Manhattan that had two apartments on each level, one in the front and one in the rear. Cherine’s unit was in the rear facing a warren of backyards now populated by leafless trees. In the spring, summer, and fall it appeared verdant. Now too much trash, including discarded tires, could be seen.

Working twelve-hour shifts and studying most of the time she was off, Cherine didn’t know anybody in the building on a personal level; just enough to say hello in the rare instances she ran into someone in the hall. The stairs, particularly the first flight, were rather grand, serving as evidence of the days when the building was a single-family mansion. The hospital had helped her find the apartment, and Cherine thought of it as luxurious living. Although the rent was high, she made what she considered a good salary as a charge nurse. Despite sending money regularly to her mother, she was also able to save a significant amount as well as pay her bills.

After putting away the dishes she’d washed after eating the takeout she’d brought home, she was about to sit down to start her coursework when her door buzzer sounded. Jumping at the raucous sound since it was such a rare occurrence, she rushed over to the intercom unit next to the refrigerator. As she did so, she glanced at the time. It was after nine o’clock, making it even more unusual. She could feel her pulse in her temples.

“Cherine?” questioned a male voice after she’d said a quick hello.

“Who is it?” Cherine asked nervously, wondering if she should have even responded.

“It’s Ronnie Cavanaugh. I’m sorry to bother you so late, and I would have called but I never got your mobile number. My bad. Anyway, I need to talk with you briefly. It’s important.”

“I thought you were working tonight,” Cherine said.

“I was,” Ronnie said. “But I needed to talk with you, and I was able to convince Sarah Berman to come in and take the shift by offering her a two-nights-for-one trade. I tried to catch you up on the ortho floor, but you had already left.”

Debating what to do, Cherine looked down at herself. As per usual, the first thing she’d done on coming home was take a shower. It was a ritual started when the Covid-19 pandemic exploded. At that moment she was dressed in jammies with a robe, entirely unfitting for company, even with someone she knew as well as Ronnie Cavanaugh. “Okay, but I’m not dressed. Give me a minute.”

“No problem,” Ronnie said. “I’m sorry for the hour, but it is important.”

As quickly as she could, Cherine dashed into her bedroom, stripped off her nightclothes, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. After re-spiking her hair with a large comb in front of the bathroom mirror, she went back to the intercom panel and pressed the button, asking if Ronnie was still there.

“I’m here,” Ronnie responded.

“I’m in 3B,” she said as she pressed the door release button and held it in for a moment, which she had learned was necessary. Even though she was two floors up, she could hear the heavy front door close as it jarred the whole building. Walking to the door to the hallway, she again checked herself in the mirror over a small console table. Satisfied she looked reasonably presentable, she waited, but didn’t have to wait long. When there was a knock, she released the dead bolt and the chain lock and opened the door.

Ronnie was dressed in a navy-issued peacoat over hospital scrubs as well as a navy wool watch cap. He again apologized for the late hour and for arriving uninvited as he pulled off his coat and hat and placed them on a chair by the door.

“It’s okay,” Cherine said. “Can I get you anything to drink? I have some OJ.”

“No, I’m fine. This won’t take long. Where should we sit?”

With the kitchen table occupied by her course materials and computer, Cherine gestured toward the couch, which was a sleep sofa that she had been planning to use if she’d been successful in getting Destiny to move to New York. While Ronnie made himself comfortable, she turned around one of the chairs from the table.

“How did you find out where I lived?” Cherine asked.

“I looked it up in admin records in the computer,” Ronnie said.

“I thought that was supposed to be confidential.”

“Not for night nursing supervisors,” Ronnie explained. “We have full access. We even have all the administrators’ addresses and phone numbers, including the president.”

“I guess that’s understandable,” Cherine said. “Anyway, you are here. But what’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I wanted to talk about Sue’s passing,” Ronnie began. “She’s going to be sorely missed, particularly by you and me as we fight to make the M and M Committee live up to its obligations. Anyway, before I started my shift, I was interviewed by a medical examiner named Jack Stapleton. He’s looking into Sue’s death because he thinks she might not have had a heart attack as everyone assumed.”

“Oh, yes, I talked to him briefly this afternoon just before report. He told me the same thing about Sue. It’s curious and surprising.”

“I know you spoke to him because he told me about it. When I asked him if you had been helpful, he answered in the affirmative, describing it as having been shockingly helpful. He used that word, shockingly. Afterward, I started to wonder what you could have told him that made him describe it that way, and I could only think of one thing you might have said. And I’ll tell you why I’m thinking as I am. Early yesterday morning, when I was going off shift, I happened to run into Dr. Passero in the garage. Whenever we ran into each other, we’d chat briefly about M and M issues. This Monday’s conversation was different. She took me aside and then told me something in strict confidence that I truly found shocking. I’m wondering if it was the same thing that you told this Jack Stapleton, which would mean that Dr. Passero had confided in you as well. I’m sorry to beat around the bush like this, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to burden you with something if I don’t have to. I just want to know if you and I are privy to the same information, and if we are, what we’re going to do about it. I’ve been worried about what I was going to do and who I was going to tell the minute Sue was pronounced dead in the ED.”

Cherine stared at Ronnie when he finally paused in his monologue, but for a moment she didn’t respond. She was coming to realize that Dr. Passero must have decided on impulse to tell him about her belief a serial killer existed. It was the only thing that came to her mind that was truly shocking. Cherine knew that Dr. Passero had gotten the data that had convinced her from him, so in many respects, it made a lot of sense. As nursing supervisors, Ronnie and his colleagues knew more about the hospital’s internal affairs, petty interpersonal squabbles, and rumors than most of the staff, as it was part of their job to handle all the problems that arose involving staff members or patients.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Cherine confessed.

“I understand,” Ronnie replied. “It’s why I’m struggling as well. What I’m referring to is rather serious, and I don’t want to burden you with it if you don’t already know. Let me try to be slightly more direct: Did Sue tell you anything recently that you found shocking?”

“She did,” Cherine said, making up her mind that she and Ronnie were indirectly referring to the same disturbing issue. “She told me that she was worried a very active medical serial killer had been murdering patients over the last year at an increasing rate and had the data that strongly suggested it.”

“Okay,” Ronnie said, letting out a breath. “It’s good to know I’m not alone. What exactly did you tell Jack Stapleton?”

“Not much. We only spoke briefly as I was about to have report. I only got to say Dr. Passero was convinced that it was so.”

“Did you explain at all why she was convinced?”

“No, there wasn’t time. But I’m off tomorrow. He gave me his card. I’m going to call him in the morning and arrange a meeting. He impressed me. I think he can help us.”

“I do, too,” Ronnie said. “Maybe he can get a real look at some of the cases that made Dr. Passero suspicious and either prove they were murders or disprove it once and for all.”

“That’s a good point,” Cherine said. “You are right. He is a medical examiner. Maybe he can even find out why they hadn’t been medical examiner cases in the first place, which is what Dr. Passero questioned.”

“That’s another great question,” Ronnie said. “You are right! He’s the perfect person to get involved. I also like not having to go to Dr. Thomas or Dr. Wingate.”

“I agree,” Cherine said, feeling relieved herself. She didn’t realize how keyed up she was from having an unexpected visitor, even someone she knew. “I certainly wouldn’t like to mention it to them. No way. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past either one being the guilty party if it turns out Dr. Passero was correct. I’d only say this to you because of how often the three of us talked about them. They are both such self-centered odd ducks. I can never understand why people with their personalities ever go into medicine in the first place.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ronnie said.

“What do you think? Is there a medical serial killer, much less an active one?”

“I don’t think so,” Ronnie said. “As you know, the mortality ratio, which is used for hospital accreditation, has been going down.”

“But Sue told me you were the source of the material that made her think as she did. She briefly explained some of it to me, but we were in a rush at the time. What all did you give her?”

“I just gave her a bunch of raw data, but it wasn’t complete, so she was just looking at overall rates without factoring in which deaths were expected. You know as well as anyone that as an academic medical center we get far more serious cases than a regular hospital.”

“I see,” Cherine said. She nodded a few times. “That makes sense to me.”

Ronnie then cleared his throat before adding, “You know, that offer of OJ is sounding better and better. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Cherine responded.

“Might you have a little vodka to go with it?” Ronnie said. “I could use a shot. I need to calm down.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have any vodka,” Cherine said as she got to her feet and started for the refrigerator.

The second Cherine turned her back, Ronnie silently leaped to his feet, skirted the low coffee table, and lunged after her.