Silent Treatment

Chapter20

In this part of the city, people were notthat surprised to see a man dressed in loafers and a suit sprinting along thesidewalk, dodging pedestrians. Harry felt as if he was running throughmolasses. The morning was already nearing eighty and quite humid. Passersbymoved aside and a few turned to watch. But most of them were looking past Harryto see who was chasing him. Harry knew he had a faster gear, but with the chestpain still unresolved, he was reluctant to use it. As it was, he felt somesharp jabs inside his left chest. And he wondered, with each block, when thedebilitating, bandlike discomfort was going to take hold.

By the time he reached the hospital, hewas carrying his suit coat and using one sleeve to mop sweat off his face. Hedashed through the main doors, anticipating that the overhead page would becalling out a Code 99 on Alexander 5. There was no such announcement, nor hadthe pager hooked to his belt gone off. The lobby was crowded as usual. Out ofdeference to the hospital and the patients, Harry slowed to a rapid walk downthe main corridor to the Alexander Building cutoff. At certain times of theday, taking the elevator might have been faster than the stairs. But Harrynever gave it a thought. Grateful for his regular workouts on the track, hetook the stairs two at a time. Again, there was some discomfort in his chest,but nothing major, nothing that definitely said cardiac. Muscular orgastrointestinal, Harry decided, filing the conclusion away.

The Code 99 cart was parked outside thedoorway to room 505. Harry cursed out loud as he hurried toward it. He was justa few feet away when he realized that the cover had not been removed from thecart. The two nurses who had so blatantly snubbed him just an hour ago werestanding nearby, chatting. They looked over at him, and he could feel as muchas see their disdain. 'What's going on?' he asked.

'We don't know,' one of the womensaid pointedly. 'You tell us.'

Harry stepped past them and into the room.Steve Josephson, stethoscope in place, was standing on the far side of the bed,hunched over Andy Barlow, examining his chest and back. The young architect,with his oxygen running almost wide open at six liters a minute, looked aboutthe same to Harry as he had on rounds — sick but in no mortal distress.

'Stuff at both lung bases,' Josephsonmuttered to himself. He glanced up and noticed Harry. 'Hey, there you are,' hesaid. 'I was on the floor finishing rounds when the nurses grabbed me.Apparently your office nurse called and said there was an emergency with Mr.Barlow, here.'

Harry approached the bed, aware that acluster of people — nurses, the ward secretary, and a couple of residents — were now filling the doorway. He knew that no matter what he said, hiscredibility, already greatly diminished around the hospital, would soon beextinct. He had been set up by a maniac, and quite masterfully at that.

'I got a call on the private line in myoffice,' Harry said, in a near whisper that he hoped would not be audible tothe gallery. 'The man on the phone implied that' — he looked at his patient andmeasured his words carefully — 'that he might be planning to harm Andrew, here,in some way.'

'But why?' Barlow asked, the question nearlylost in a spasm of coughing.

Harry turned to the crowd.

'Look, could someone please close thedoor?' he asked.

No one in the group moved. Harry stalkedover to do it himself. The head nurse, Corinne Donnelly, stepped inside.

'I'll allow you to close the door,' shesaid. 'But I intend to stay and hear exactly what explanation you have to offerfor this.'

Donnelly, about Harry's age, had once senta close friend to him for medical care. Now, she eyed him challengingly, almostbegging for a confrontation.

'Come on in,' Harry said wearily.

The nurse nodded people away from the doorand then closed it behind her. Steve Josephson rested his considerable bulkagainst the wall. Harry turned to his patient.

'Andy, we haven't spoken about this, but Iassume you know about my wife's death and some of the newspaper and TV reportsabout me.'

'I do. I didn't believe them.'

The two sentences again sent Barlow into aracking cough. Harry wondered what this scene was costing him in stamina.

'You're right not to believe the papers,'Harry said. 'I didn't do anything to harm my wife. But whoever did administerthat lethal injection is very angry with me — I. . I'm not sure I know why.Apparently he's decided to hurt me by threatening my patients.'

Steve Josephson said, 'You mean thatbecause this guy has some sort of grudge against you, he's killed Evie, and nowwants to hurt your patients?'

'I think there are other reasons he killedEvie. I think he was threatened by some research she was doing. But as far asAndy goes, the answer is yes. I know it sounds crazy, Steve, but — '

'It doesn't sound crazy,' CorinneDonnelly cut in. 'It is crazy. Dr. Corbett, I think we should talk in myoffice.'

Harry looked down at his patient.

'Whatever you have to say, you can sayright here.'

'Okay, have it your way, Doctor. I intendto call the nursing director right now and ask her to speak with both Dr.Erdman and Dr. Lord immediately. I don't believe your story one bit — aboutyour wife or about this mystery caller. I don't know what's going on, what'swrong with you, but I do know that recently you've changed drastically. Maybeit's some sort of post-traumatic stress syndrome — something to do with thewar. Or maybe it has to do with your wife and Dr. Sidonis. Whatever it is, youneed to get help before anyone else gets hurt. And for everyone's sake, youshould voluntarily take yourself off the admitting staff of this hospital untilthe truth comes out. This young man has enough problems without being put injeopardy by his own physician.'

Harry looked over at his longtime friend.Josephson shifted uncomfortably and stared down at the floor. In the prolongedsilence, they could hear some scraping from the other side of the door. Thestaff was still there, undoubtedly pressing in to hear what was going on.Corinne Donnelly moved to put a stop to the eavesdropping, but Harry motionedfor her to stay put.

'That's okay,' he said. 'Mrs. Donnelly,you're right. I need to do whatever I can to keep my patients from beingendangered by this. . this sadistic lunatic. But there's no reason tobelieve that taking myself off the staff will accomplish that. Closing mypractice would be like admitting that I've done something wrong, and I haven't.I'm sorry, but I intend to stay on and see this thing through.'

'Not if I have anything to say about it,'the nurse snapped.

She turned and stalked from the room,nearly colliding with the assembly pressed against the door.

'Harry, I'm behind you one hundredpercent,' Josephson said. 'Just let me know if there's anything I can do. I'llsee you later, Mr. Barlow. I hope you know that you couldn't have a betterdoc.'

'I do know.'

Josephson shook hands with Andy, thenpatted Harry on the arm and left, closing the door behind him.

'Looks like we've both got some toughtimes ahead of us,' Barlow said.

His breathing was more labored than it hadbeen. Harry could see that he was exhausted and desperately in need of rest.Stress was dangerous for a man in Andy's condition. Harry felt at once angryand impotent. He was being manipulated like a puppet by a madman who thrived oninflicting pain.

'Andy, I'm sorry,' he said.

'Hey, what can you do?'

'I'll call here later on to check onthings if it's okay with you.'

'Thanks. . Hey, Doc?'

'Yes?'

The young man with newly diagnosed AIDSreached out for the second time that morning and took Harry's hand.

'Everything's going to be all right,' hesaid.

'Yeah, I know it will.'

Harry turned and hurried from the room,nearly colliding in the hall with a bronze-skinned man dressed in surgicalscrubs, carrying the metal basket of the intravenous service.

'Oh, excuse me, please,' the man said, ina dense Indian accent.

Harry muttered that it was no problem.Aware that backs had turned and all activity had gone freeze-frame as soon ashe neared the nurse's station, he left the floor as quickly as possible. Onceback at his office, he would call Doug Atwater at Manhattan Health to begindrumming up support should Corinne Donnelly or anyone else try to have himremoved from the staff. A call to Mel Wetstone might be in order as well.

As he headed back down the stairs, Harryfound himself wondering what might have happened if, instead of shooting thetwo men in Central Park, the unseen gunman had captured them and turned themover to the police. Maybe the whole nightmare would have been over by now.Instead, Evie's killer had decided that Harry would pay for that shooting.

He entered the main corridor, againsensing the stares and whispers. Could it possibly get any worse than this?

Five floors above, the male nurse from theintravenous service strolled unnoticed into room 505 and readied his equipmentby the bedside. He wore the headdress and beard of a Sikh. Andrew Barlowglanced up at him sleepily.

'Everything okay?' Andy asked.

'Oh, yes, everything is fine, just fine,'the man said in staccato English. He peered down at Andrew's IV site throughtortoiseshell glasses. 'Just a routine check. No needles. No new IV.'

'Oh, good.'

Andrew smiled weakly and drifted off.

The nurse, whose MMC name tag identifiedhim as Sanjay Samar, R.N., checked the bag of glucose and the plastic infusiontubing. Then he injected a small amount of liquid through the rubber port.

'Just to clear line,' he said softly.

'Mm-hm,' Andrew murmured without openinghis eyes.

Sanjay was putting his metal basket backin order when he noticed a patch of white skin just inside his elbow. In thefuture, he thought, when he used that particular skin dye, he would have to bemore careful. He left the room and walked purposefully to the stairway that wasfarthest from the nurse's station. His expression was all business, but beneathhis spectacles and his dark brown contact lenses, his pale blue eyes weresparkling.