Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt

by Mortal Fear (lit)

  thrusting out her hand.

  Jason stood up, awkwardly catching his chair to keep it from falling

  over.

  He was nonplussed by her sudden departure.

  "I don't mean to be rude," she said, "but I have an appointment. I hope

  you solve the mystery. Alvin worked very hard. It would be a tragedy if

  he'd discovered something important and it was lost."

  "My, feelings exactly," said Jason, frantic not to see her disappear.

  "Can we meet again? There's so much more I'd like to discuss."

  "I suppose. But I'm quite busy. When did you have in mind?"

  "How about tomortow?" Jason suggested eagerly. "Sunday brunch."

  "It would have to be late. I work at night and Saturday is the busiest."

  Jason could well imagine. "Please," he said. "It could be important."

  "All right. Let's say two P. m. Where?"

  "How about the Hampshire House?"

  "Okay," Carol said, gathering up her bags and umbrella. With a final

  smile she left the cafe.

  Glancing at her watch, Carol quickened her step. The impromptu meeting

  with Jason hadn't figured in her tight schedule, and she didn't want to

  be late for the meeting with her Phd adviser. She'd spent the late

  evening and early afternoon polishing the third chapter of her

  dissertation and she was eager to hear her professor's response. Carol

  took the escalator down to the street level, thinking about her

  conversation with Dr. Howard.

  It had been a surprise to meet the man after hearing about him for so

  long.

  Alvin had told her that Jason had lost his wife and had reacted to the

  tragedy by completely changing his environment and submerging himself in

  his work. Carol had found the story fascinating because her thesis

  involved the psychology of grief. Dr. Jason Howard sounded like

  perfect case study.

  The Weston Hotel doorman blew his whistle with shriek that hurt

  Carol's ears, making her wince. As the taxi lumbered toward her, she

  admitted that her response to Dr. Jason Howard went a bit further than

  pure professional interest. She'd found the man unusually attractive,

  and realized that her knowledge of his vulnerabilities contributed to

  his appeal. Even his social awkwardness had an endearing quality.

  "Harvard Square," Carol said as she got into the cab. She found herself

  looking forward to brunch the following morning.

  Still seated in front of his cooling coffee, Jason admitted to being

  totally bowled over by Carol's unexpected intelligence and charm. He'd

  expected an unsophisticated small-town girl who'd somehow been lured

  away from high school by money or drugs. Instead she was a lovely,

  mature woman quite capable of holding her own in any conversation. What

  a tragedy that a person with her obvious assets had become mixed up in

  the sordid world she inhabited ... The insistent and jarring sound of

  his beeper snapped Jason back to reality. He switched it off and looked

  at the LCD display. The word "urgent" blinked twice, followed by a

  telephone number Jason did not recognize. After. seeing his medical

  identification, the Au Bon Pain manager allowed Jason to use the phone

  behind the cash register.

  "Thank you for calling, Dr. Howard. This is Mrs. Farr. My husband,

  Gerald Farr, has developed terrible chest pains and he's having trouble

  breathing."

  "Call an ambulance," Jason said. "Bring him to the GHP emergency. Is Mr.

  Farr a patient of mine?"

  Jason thought the name sounded familiar but he couldn't place it.

  "Yes," Mrs. Farr said. "You did a physical on him two weeks ago. He's

  the senior vice president of the Boston Banking Company."

  Oh, no, Jason thought as he hung up the receiver. It's happening again.

  Deciding to leave his car on Beacon Street until he'd handled the

  emergency, he ran. from the cafe, dashed over the pedestrian connection

  to the hotel side of the Copley Plaza complex, and leaped into a cab.

  Jason arrived at the GHP emergency room before the Farrs. He told Judith

  what he expected and even called anesthesia, pleased to learn Philip

  Barnes was on call.

  When he saw Gerald Farr, Jason knew immediately that his worst fears

  were realized. The man was in agonizing pain and was pale as skim milk,

  with crystalline beads of perspiration on his forehead.

  The initial EKG showed that a large area of the man's heart had been

  damaged. It was not going to be an easy case. Morphine and oxygen helped

  to calm the patient, and lidocaine was given for prophylaxis against

  irregular heartbeats. But, despite everything, Farr wasn't responding.

  Studying an other EKG, Jason had the feeling that the infarcted area of

  the heart was expanding.

  In desperation, he tried everything. But it was all for naught. At five

  minutes to four, Gerald Farr's eyes rolled up inside his head and his

  heart stopped. Unwilling as usual to give up, Jason commanded the

  resuscitative efforts. They got the heart to start several more times,

  but each time it would slip back into a deadly pattern and fail again.

  Farr never regained consciousness. At six-fifteen, Jason finally

  declared the patient dead.

  " Shit! " said Jason with disgust at himself and life in general. He was

  unaccustomed to swearing, and the effect of his doing so was not lost on

  Judith Reinhart. She leaned her forehead against Jason's shoulder and

  put her arm around his neck.

  "Jason, you did the best you could," she said softly. "You did the best

  anybody could. But our powers are limited."

  "The man's only fifty-eight," said Jason, choking back tears of

  frustration.

  Judith cleared the room of the other nurses and residents. Coming back

  to Jason, she put her hand on his shoulder, "Look at me, Jason!" she

  said.

  Reluctantly, Jason turned his face toward the nurse. A single tear had

  run down from the comer of his eye, along the crease of his nose. Softly

  but ' firmly she told Jason that'he could not take these episodes so

  personally. "I know that two in one day is an awful burden," she added.

  "But it's not your fault."

  Jason knew intellectually that she was right, but emotionally it was

  another story. Besides, Judi-th had no idea how badly his inpatients

  were doing, especially Matthew Cowen, and Jason was embarrassed to tell

  her. For the first time, he seriously contemplated giving up medicine.

  Unfortunately, he had no idea of what else he could do. He wasn't

  trained for anything else.

  After promising Judith that he was okay, Jason went out to face Mrs.

  Farr, steeling himself against the expected anger. But Mrs. Farr, in the

  depths of her grief, had decided to take the burden of guilt on herself.

  She said her husband had been complaining of feeling ill for a week, but

  that she'd ignored his complaints because, frankly, he'd always been a

  bit of a hypochondriac. Jason tried to comfort the woman as Judith had

  tried to comfort him. He was about equally successful.

  Confident that the medical examiner would take the case, Jason didn't

  burden Mrs. Farr with an autopsy request. By law, the ME didn't need

&nb
sp; authorization to do a postmortem in cases of questionable death. But to

  be sure, he called Margaret Danforth. The response was as expected: she

  indeed wanted the case, and while she had Jason on the phone, she spoke

  to him about Holly Jennings.

  "I take back that snide comment I made this morning," Margaret said.

  "You people are just having bad luck. The Jennings woman was as bad off

  as Cedric Harring. All her vessels looked terrible, not just the heart."

  "That's not a lot of consolation," Jason said. "I had just given her a

  physical showing everything was fine. I did a follow-up EKG on Thursday,

  but that showed only minimal changes."

  "No kidding? Wait till you see the sections.

  Grossly the coronary vessels looked ninety percent occluded, and it was

  disseminated, not focal. Surgery wouldn't have done a damn thing; Oh, by

  the way, I checked and it's okay for us to give you small specimens from

  Jennings's case. But I should have a formal request in writing."

  "No problem," Jason said. "Same with Fam?"

  "Sure thing."

  Jason took a cab back to his car and drove home. Despite the fog and

  rain, when he got home, he went for a jog. Getting mud-spattered and

  soaked had a mild cathartic effect, and after a shower he felt some

  relief from his burdensome emotions and depressive feelings. Just when

  he was starting to think about food, Shirley called and asked him over

  for dinner. Jason's first response was to say no. But then he recognized

  he felt too depressed to be alone, so he accepted. After changing into

  more reasonable clothes, he went down to his car and headed west toward

  Brookline.

  Eastern's flight #409, nonstop from Miami to Boston, banked sharply

  before lining up for the final approach. It touched down at seven

  thirty-seven as Juan Dfaz closed his magazine and looked out at the

  fog-shrouded Boston skyline. It was his second trip to Boston and he

  wasn't all that pleased.

  He wondered why anyone would choose to live in such predictably bad

  weather. It had rained on his previous trip just a few days ago. Looking

  down on the tarmac, he saw the wind and rain in the puddles and

  thought nostalgically of Miami, where late fall had finally put an end

  to the searing summer heat.

  Getting'his bag from under the seat in front of him, Juan wondered how

  long he'd be in Boston. He remembered that on the previous trip he'd

  been there only two days, and he hadn't had to do a thing. He wondered

  if he'd have the same good fortune. After all, he got his five thousand

  no matter what.

  The plane taxied toward the terminal. Juan looked around the compartment

  with a sense of pride. He wished his family back in Cuba could see him

  now.

  Would they be surprised! There he was, flying first class. After being

  sentenced to life in prison by the Castro government, he'd been released

  after only eight months and sent first to Mariel and then, to his

  astonishment, to the USA. That was to be his punishment for having been

  convicted of multiple murder and rape-being sent to the USA! It was so

  much easier to do his type of work in the United States. Juan felt that

  the one person in the world whose hand he'd most like to shake was a

  peanut farmer someplace in Georgia.

  The plane gave a final lurch, then was still. Juan rose to his feet and

  stretched. Taking his carry-on bag, he headed for baggage. After

  retrieving his suitcase, he caught a cab to the Royal Sonesta, Hotel,

  where he registered as Carlos Hernfindez from Los Angeles. He even had a

  credit card in that name, with a legitimate number. He knew the number

  was good, since he'd taken it off a receipt he'd found at the Bal

  Harbour shopping plaza in Miami.

  Once he was comfortably relaxed in his room, with his second silk suit

  hanging in the closet, Juan sat at the desk and called a number he'd

  been given in Miami. When the phone was answered, he told the person he

  needed a gun, preferably a 22 caliber. With that business taken care of,

  he got out the name and address of the hit and looked up the location on

  the map supplied by the hotel. It wasn't far away.

  The evening with Shirley was a great success. They dined on roast

  chicken, artichokes, and wild rice. Afterward they had Grand Marnier in

  front of the fire in the living room and talked. Jason learned that

  Shirley's father had been a doctor and that back in college she'd

  entertained the idea of following in his footsteps.

  "But my father talked me out of it," Shirley said. "He said that

  medicine was changing."

  "He was right about that."

  "He told me that it would be taken over by big business and that someone

  who cared about the profession should go into management. So I switched

  to business courses, and I believe I made the right choice."

  "I'm sure you did, too," Jason agreed, thinking about the explosion of

  paperwork and the malpracfice dilemma. Medicine had indeed changed. The

  fact that he now worked for a salary for a corporation stood as

  testament to that change. When he'd been in medical school he'd always

  imagined he'd work for himself. That had been part of the appeal.

  At the end of the evening, there was a bit of awkwardness. Jason said

  he'd best be going, but Shirley encouraged him to stay.

  "You think that would be a good idea?" Jason asked.

  She nodded.

  Jason wasn't so sure, saying he'd have to get up early for rounds and

  wouldn't want to disturb her. Shirley insisted she was up at

  seven-thirty as a matter of course, Sundays included.

  They stared at each other for a time, the firelight making Shirley's

  face glow.

  "There's no obligation," Shirley said softly. "I know we both have to be

  slow about this. Let's just be together. We've both been under stress."

  "Okay," Jason said, recognizing he did not have the strength to resist.

  Besides, he was flattered that Shirley was so insistent. He was becoming

  more open to the idea that not only could he care about another person

  but another person could care about him.

  But Jason did not get to sleep the whole night through. At three-thirty

  he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he sat up, momentarily confused as

  to his whereabouts. In the half light, he could just make out Shirley's

  face.

  "I'm sorry to have to bother you," she said gently, "but I'm afraid the

  phone is for you." She handed him the receiver from the nightstand.

  Jason took the phone and thanked her. He hadn't even heard the phone

  ring.

  Propping himself on one elbow, he put the receiver to his ear. He was

  certain it would be bad news, and he was right. Matthew Cowen had been

  found dead in his bed, apparently having suffered a final, massive

  stroke.

  "Has the family been notified?" Jason asked.

  "Yes," said the nurse. "They live in Minneapolis. They said they'd come

  in the morning."

  "Thanks," Jason said, absently giving the phone back to Shirley.

  "Trouble?" Shirley asked. She set the receiver back in the cradle.

  Jason nodded. Trouble had become his middle n
ame. "A young patient died.

  Thirty-five or so. He had rheumatic heart disease. He was in for

  evaluation for surgery."

  "How bad was his heart disease?" asked Shirley.

  $'It was bad," Jason said, seeing Matthew's face, remembering him as

  he'd been when he entered the hospital. "Three of his four valves were

  affected.

  They would have had to replace all of them."

  "So there were no guarantees," Shirley said.

  ."No guarantees," Jason agreed. "Three valve replacements can be tricky.

  He's had congestive heart failure for a long, time, undoubtedly

  affecting his heart, . lungs, kidneys and liver. There would have been

  problems, but he had age on his side."

  "Maybe it was for the best," Shirley suggested. "Maybe he's been spared

  from a lot of suffering. Sounds like he would have been in and out of

  the hospital for the rest of his life."

  "Maybe so," Jason said without conviction. He knew what Shirley was

  doing: she was trying to make him feel better. Jason appreciated her

  effort. He patted the thigh through the thin cover of her robe. "Thanks

  for your support."

  The night seemed awfully cold when Jason ran out to his car. It was

  still raining, in fact, harder than before. Turning up the heat, he

  rubbed his thighs to get his circulation going. At least there was no