When You're Expecting Something Else

by Lowe, Whisper

  The morning flies by just like yesterday. Before I know it, I’m in the afternoon computer class. I catch on quickly. Inside of three hours, I’m assigned my own code numbers and handed my own mini-computer to use. When I rejoin Regina it’s almost time for dinner trays to come up.

  “We have a new admission coming,” she says. “Can you take telephone report while I do the dressing change on the patient in room 512?”

  I pick up the telephone in the Nurses Station. “Connie Harrison, I’ll take report. Patient’s name please?”

  I’m speechless when Dr. Mark Matthews responds. “It’s Jared Wise,” he says.

  *****

  Bradley Lawton waited until Maggie had called from her hotel room in Palo Alto. By then he had all the information he needed to act on his plan. By then Jeff Sterns had done some investigating and learned that Dr. Julius Fenway was not licensed with the state of California. Further investigation found that he was on the FBI watch list on several counts, stretching from immigration violations and drug trafficking to fraud. It gave Sterns the grounds to request a Stop Treatment Order from a judge, as well as an Order of Protection for Jared. If Jared remained lucid enough to give his statement, they’d have everything they’d need to put both Julius Fenway and Marta Lewski away for a long, long time.

  Bradley worried about Jared’s physical health, having been denied medical care since his discharge from Pacific West. Armed with this new information, it had been an easy task to get a police escort into Jared’s home for himself, Maggie, and ambulance personnel for Jared’s transport. Jeff Sterns had also given the San Jose Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation a heads up about Julius Fenway’s most recent activities. The FBI was following up with PAPD.

  It had been a full entourage that arrived at Jared’s house. Maggie and Bradley rang the doorbell with four uniformed police officers standing alongside them. Pac-West Ambulance sat at the curbside and unloaded a gurney, along with portable oxygen and other medical supplies. The three paramedics joined the others at the door. Dr. Mark Matthews went on ahead to Pacific West Hospital Emergency Room where he’d agreed to meet the ambulance and examine Jared.

  Marta had answered the door. When she saw the crowd, her face turned sheet white, so white that her cornflower blue eyes seemed to pop out of their eye sockets. “Step outside,” an officer instructed her. He told her the charges as he pulled her hands together behind her back and clicked handcuffs. “You have a right to an attorney,” he said, stating her Miranda rights.

  Bradley and Maggie bolted to Jared’s bedroom where Fred Thompson was helping Jared to sit up. One of the police officers immediately handcuffed Fred and led him out to join his accomplice. The other two officers went in search of Julius. They found him taking a nap in another bedroom where it appeared he had outfitted himself with all the comforts, courtesy of Jared’s credit cards.

  “We got you Jared. You’re going to be okay now,” Bradley said. Maggie wiped tears and touched Jared’s good shoulder. “We’re going to take you to Pacific West Hospital now, Jared. We’ll get you the treatment you need.”

  Jared attempted to smile, a lopsided grin, as if his mouth was trying to catch up with his brain. Using his good hand he reached under his cast to the secret pouch he’d created. “A little proof,” he said, handing a wadded mess of discarded pain pills to Maggie. “Poof they were drugging me. The prescription bottles, vials, and needles are on the dresser there, and in the top drawer,” he said, pointing.

  The paramedics carefully moved him onto the gurney and prepared him for transport.

  *****

  I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. Dr. Matthews is telling me that Jared’s been rescued by Palo Alto policemen, along with the help of Maggie and Bradley Lawton. He’d been held hostage in his own home by Marta and the others. How crazy is all that? The use of the word hostage tells me how serious it’s been. He’s in ER now awaiting some test results before being admitted to Medical-Five for treatment. Dr. Matthews is his attending physician again. I’m his admissions nurse. Just as I finish taking report, I see Maggie, Bradley and two police officers step off the elevator in front of the Nurses Station.

  One of the policemen motions that he wants to talk with me, so I ring for Regina and ask if I can take a short break. Oddly, I feel like I’m in trouble. I take them to a quiet conference room near Medical-Five where the five of us sit at a round table.

  “Marta Leswki has implicated you in her plan,” the blue uniformed officer says. Maggie and Bradley look at me with disappointment.

  “How? What did I do?” I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.

  “Did you break into Jared’s house, kidnap his cat, and case the rooms?” the officer asks.

  I have to think before I answer because I did sneak into Jared’s house, take his cat, and go through his desk. “I had keys,” is all I can think of to say. “I found Jared’s address book and found his grandfather’s name. I just wanted to help Jared notify his loved ones about the accident.” Tears are threatening to overflow my eyes. The realization that my snooping started this whole mess for Jared scares me beyond comprehension. I had no idea the chain of events I set in motion when I called San Francisco Geriatric Center that day and talked to Cassandra Turner.

  “The pieces of the puzzle are all coming together now,” Bradley says. He sounds so angry.

  “No, Bradley, you’ve got it wrong,” Maggie says gently. “Connie’s not in cahoots with them. Not at all, they’re just trying to victimize her along with Jared. You’re not with them, are you, Connie?”

  I shake my head, the motion setting loose the barrage of tears I’ve been trying to hold back. “I really just wanted to help. The police office gave me Jared’s keys by mistake. I just wanted to help.”

  “I need you to come to the police station with me,” one officer says. I go to find Regina, and then to tell the department manager that I have to leave in the middle of my shift. I’m sniffling and fighting a watershed of tears. I know the manager thinks I’m a criminal because the two policemen position me between then when we leave. Thank God they don’t handcuff me.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  FBI Special Agent John Rusk introduced Stan Miller to Special Agent Zachery Hack. They were meeting together in Rusk’s crowded office.

  “I have all my findings compiled in one very large report,” Stan said, slapping the large red folder onto the messy desk with a thump. “I even printed it out hard copy for you, but here’s the thumb drive, too. You want to look at how San Francisco Geriatric Center has clients fill out the Medicare form, page 96. They’ve got a unique format that sets them up right from their first encounter with a potential client.”

  Hack leafed through the pile of neatly printed pages until he found the one Stan directed him to. “Good job, you got it all right here!” Hack jumped from his chair sending it wheeling behind him.

  “There’s more,” Stan said. “A few of the employees from San Francisco Geriatric Center have gotten themselves in trouble by involving themselves with home healthcare ventures. They got a big illegitimate involvement in Palo Alto with a patient named Jared Wise. Look at pages 137 though 150. It’s all spelled out. You’ll see the link.”

  Hack sat back down, his mouth hanging open in a big, surprised circle, his head slanted with a quizzical glance towards Stan Miller. He read slowly, swinging his head from side to side, an occasional look thrown at the investigative reporter who’d just handed him proof enough for a sweeping bust that reached beyond California all way the to Polish gangsters involved in computer scams.

  “Palo Alto PD is already involved with their end of it,” Special Agent John Rusk offered. “Stan’s been working with me on the Medicare fraud for almost a year now. This piece from San Francisco Geriatric Center ties it all together.”

  “Excuse me a minute,” Hack said picking up the phone. He placed a call to Palo Alto PD asking for a status update. “Palo Alto PD has the rest of it,” he said when done. �
�They’ve got Lewski, Thompson, Fenway, and someone named Connie Harrison in custody, questioning them right now. But you’re coming with us. You want to the newspaper scoop for tomorrow’s paper along with your bestseller book? We’re set up for the sweep at San Francisco Geriatric Center right now.”

  “Wait a minute, did you say Connie Harrison was in custody, too? What the hell for? She’s not inside with them, not in the slightest.” Stan bit his tongue to keep himself from blurting out that Connie Harrison was his girlfriend. Then, he ran to keep up with Rusk and Hack and several other special agents already heading for their vehicles.

  A caravan of vans traveled Highway 101 from San Jose to San Francisco. Stan Miller rode along with Zack and two other special agents. “We’re going after all the administrative records, that’s why the van power. San Francisco agents will join us there. We want Cassandra Turner and Kaitleen Logan for questioning. According to PAPD, they’re working with Marta Lewski, Julius Fenway, and Fred Thompson. To answer your question, I’m not sure how Connie Harrison fits into it all. They think she might have been their front runner to gain access into the Wise house,” Hack said.

  “No,” Stan said. “I know her. She’s a nurse, new the area, and was in the accident with Jared Wise, that’s all. She got into the house to help find out who his relatives were to notify them. That’s how she learned about the grandfather being a resident at the geriatric center.”

  “Sounds like a valid link to me,” Hack said, quietly. “You sleeping with her?”

  “None of your business! She’s my girlfriend, and she’s not involved,” Stan snapped. Whatever it took, he resolved he’d be there to help her prove it. In that instant he knew that Connie, with her love of nature and good-hearted spirit, had burrowed her way deeply into his heart. He intended to keep her there, damn it. Come hell or high water.

  Forty-five minutes later, the four vans pulled up close to the ivy-cloaked hospital where Cassandra Turner sat as the gatekeeper. Stan saw the recognition in her eyes when he walked in. She stood to greet him until the four suits entered behind him. Recognizing the look of impending disaster, she immediately picked up the phone to warn Kaitleen.

  “Put the phone down,” Zachery Hack instructed. Then he read the charges leveled against her, handcuffed her, and handed her over to another agent who took her outside to the designated arrest vehicle. Kaitleen Logan would be joining her next.

  Several hours, four computers, and twenty boxes of documentation later and the vans were full. John Everest, the seldom seen owner of the facility had been called in for questioning and found to be naively innocent to the underworld workings of his senior center. He called in new managers from a second hospital he owned in Napa and guaranteed the continued functioning of legitimate patient care at San Francisco Geriatric Center while the federal investigation into Medicare fraud continued, promising full disclosure of all administrative communication that had gone between himself and Kaitleen Logan.

  Stan Miller wrote frantically in his computer notebook as he followed the agents through their paces. His book was sure to be a hit, but the journalistic piece for tomorrow’s paper is what held his attention now. It promised to be a front-page headline in all the major papers and computer screens across the state, a great way to plug his upcoming book. His publisher was going to love it. His heart pounded in a way it hadn’t in years when he finally pushed the send button and released the finished product to the press.

  Then, catching his breath from the first time in hours, he looked around the nursing home through the eyes of a casual observer. The night shift nurses went about their business of patient care dressed in colorful scrubs with stethoscopes dangling around their necks. A new receptionist from a temporary agency sat at the front desk as if it had never belonged to Cassandra Turner. A few sleepless patients wandered in the lit hallway, one with a walker, another ambulating independently but slowly wearing fluffy red slippers, another holding onto the side-bars as she walked. It was then that he thought of Jared Wise Senior and his promise to him. He wandered the hallway until he came to the room of the comatose old man.

  “Hey, Mr. Wise, remember me? Well guess what? We got your grandson out of that mess he was in. He’s going to be okay now, so you can go ahead and rest assured,” he said. The old man remained silent.

  By the time the special agents wrapped up their search it was nearing midnight and Stan was dead tired. On the ride back he let his thoughts wander back to Connie and her latest challenge. He’d tried calling her cell phone several times, but his calls all went to voicemail. He’d left two messages and then just gave up. More than anything, he hoped she was getting through it all without too much unrest. He knew without a doubt she was an innocent bystander who’d simply tried to do the right thing. It wouldn’t take long for the authorities to figure it out.

  Hopefully, she’d be available for Saturday night dinner. He’d tried to ask her the other night, but she’d just mumbled something about doing a dressing change or something, obviously dreaming about her work.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I’m so angry I can hardy see straight. Officer Mulligan, the one who kicked us out of Jared’s house saying that Aunt Margaret was calling the shots, is the idiot interrogating me now. It seems he’s forgotten which side of the room he made me sit on then. Now he thinks I’m in with the Marta and her evil cohorts.

  “So, you never talked to Marta Lewski before seeing her at Jared’s house that night?” he asks again. I’ve already told him that I’d met her at Pacific West Hospital when Jared was in ICU. He seems to have selective hearing. He only hears what he wants to hear no matter how many different ways I try to answer the same question, always giving him an answer with the same meaning.

  “Oh, so you did know her?” He’s trying to slant it against me no matter what I say, so now I think about how to not say anything effectively. At least, I’ve stopped crying because I’m cried out, but also because I’m so busy defending myself that I don’t have time for feeling anything but anger.

  At least Maggie Martin came to my defense. She knows I’m not involved with them. Oh, but when I think about how much trouble I caused when I called San Francisco Geriatric Center and asked to speak to Jared’s grandfather, I feel awful. How little did I know of the evil that lurked. I practically told Marta how to play her scheme by telling her about the vacant house and then by leaving the keys on the counter there. It does look suspicious. Maybe I should get a lawyer.

  “I want a lawyer,” I finally say. I’m just too exhausted to fight my own battle any more.

  Mulligan leaves the room and comes back fifteen minutes later. I expect him to say that I’m under arrest or something. In the time he’s been gone, I’ve been imagining myself locked in a tiny cell all night, worrying about Isabella home alone, crying her meows of abandonment. Instead of arresting me, Mulligan says, “You’re free to go.”

  I feel incredulous. I call a cab to take me to my car at Pacific West Hospital where I’d left it this morning. It’s almost midnight. I’m hungry and exhausted. By the time I get home, I’m yawning and practically falling asleep at the wheel. Still, I follow my routine of taking my shoes off at the door, going straight to the bathroom to strip off my work scrubs and shower away the germs. Poor Isabella follows me with her cries and doesn’t settle until I take her and a cold sandwich into bed with me. I have to work bright and early tomorrow morning, hoping they’ll still have me despite my almost being arrested.

  By morning I’m feeling surprisingly awake and cheerful despite my raccoon eyes, my sockets dark ringed from lack of sleep and too many shed tears the day before. At work I clock in to learn that I’m somewhat of a celebrity. The nurses are giving me credit for helping rescue Jared Wise, the patient in room 520, from a fraudulent home health agency. Regina holds up the morning paper, The San Francisco Chronicle, so I can see the full front-page story about a federal sweep at San Francisco Geriatric Center by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The byline is
Stan’s: by Stan Miller. I’m blown away by the complexity of it all. Stan is working with the FBI?

  I don’t have time right now to read the whole article because Regina and I have to take report on our patients and then do the morning finger-sticks and insulin administrations before breakfast trays. We hit the floor running again; the usual start to my new job. The difference today is that I have my own hand held computer and work an increment more autonomously than yesterday. I make a mental note to try to reach Stan on my cell phone at break. He’s left several urgent messages, not that I was in a position to receive.