John gave Guinness instructions to stay in the truck, and they went inside, where they had to queue up behind a short line and wait for a table. In the five minutes they stood there, six of the customers who left recognized John.
“Do you know everybody in Southaven?” Sarchi asked.
“Most of those were from Hernando, where I went to school. People from all over north Mississippi eat here.”
“Is this what you wanted to show me?”
“One of the things, but not the main thing.”
Following a hearty lunch of country cooking, and after Guinness ate the chicken fried steak John bought him, they drove back to I-55 and once more headed south, passing the exits for Nesbit and Hernando. Finally, on the other side of a picturesque wetland that flanked the highway for a mile, they turned off at the Coldwater exit and drove for a while through rolling countryside that reminded Sarchi a little of where she grew up. They left that road and took a country lane for perhaps a mile before John turned into the dirt driveway of a little white clapboard house on a small hill.
“Here we are,” he said, getting out.
Guinness jumped from the back of the truck and ran ahead of them to a big farm gate. They went through the gate and walked toward a herd of cows, dodging piles of manure, some of which were sending up wisps of steam.
“Whose cows?” Sarchi asked.
“A neighbor who rents this part of the property. That’s what pays the taxes.”
Before they reached the herd, John detoured through another gate, taking them on a route that led behind the little house, through a large stand of waist-high pines, and into a hilly pasture.
“This is it,” John said, turning to his left and sweeping his hand from one side to the other. “Nine Ponds . . . the Metcalf family estate.”
Fifty yards away, a succession of eight ponds on a gentle slope brought the blue sky to earth. The ninth was a huge blue horseshoe that filled the valley to their right.
“There are about eighty acres here,” John said. “My plan is for all this to eventually be garden and walkways. The area we came through will be pines with an under planting of azaleas, rhododendrons, and dogwoods. I’m going to fill in the second pond to a depth of a foot and make it a marsh. Cattails, lilies, that kind of thing, with a footbridge across it so you can see what’s growing and what’s living in it. Over there, between the first two ponds, will be daffodils, thousands of them, growing as if they just appeared on their own. On this side, fifty beds of tulips about four feet from the edge of the ponds. And willows . . . there and there.”
He went on describing his vision, his eyes obviously seeing it all, his face glowing. Finally, he turned to her. “What do you think?”
“It sounds glorious. I’d love to see it when it’s finished.”
“Will you be here? I mean, when you’ve completed your residency, where will you go?”
“I thought I’d be heading back to east Tennessee.”
His face showed his disappointment.
“But now, I’m not so sure.”
Catching her meaning, he looked into her eyes. The distance between them closed.
Suddenly, Guinness barked and bolted after a blue jay that had the gall to land nearby. Their intimate moment gone, they watched the chase until the bird landed in a tree near the road and began taunting the dog for being so slow.
Before the interruption, a kiss would have been natural. Now, both felt it would seem forced. Covering the awkwardness hanging in the air, Sarchi pointed at the little white house. “Is that where your parents live?”
“They’re both dead. Most of the week Guinness and I live in Memphis. When I’ve got my two nights off, we spend those days here, so he can chase birds and rabbits and I can work on the garden. And there’s plenty to do as you can see.” He pointed at a small outbuilding behind the house. “I’ve got two thousand daffodil bulbs in there I need to get in the ground.”
“So let’s do it.”
“Now?”
“Why not? It’s the right time of year, isn’t it?”
“Sure, but . . .”
“We won’t be able to get all of them in, but we can make a dent in the job. I should warn you though, plants hate me.”
“It’s only because they don’t know you as I do. Anyway, daffodils are foolproof. Next year’s flower is already locked in the bulb.”
“What are we waiting for?”
They were only able to work a few hours before John had to get back to Memphis and dress for duty, but they managed to plant two hundred bulbs before leaving.
At her door, John said, “Ever since I met you, ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison has been running through my head.”
“I know the song.”
“You’re a fan?”
“I’ve got a concert T-shirt around somewhere. Bought when I was younger, of course.”
“Brown eyed girl,” John said reverently. He bent forward and finally kissed her. At first she merely accepted it, then she responded.
Letting herself inside after he’d left, Sarchi thought it was the most unusual date she’d ever had and definitely one of the best.
Had Sarchi spent the day at the hospital instead of with Metcalf, it’s possible she would have noticed the presence of a nicely dressed gray-haired man who spent several hours talking to Kate McDaniels, Mel Pierce, Linda Grainger, and several other people who were known to be fond of Sarchi. Since Gail and Carl Lanza worked somewhere else, it’s unlikely she would have seen the man also talk to them.
In all those conversations, the man explained at length the importance of confidentiality regarding his inquiry. And everyone he spoke with assured him they understood. But a secret is a difficult thing for active minds to contain, so even though the man had specifically chosen not to speak to Dr. Koesler, by the end of the day, Koesler knew he’d been around and was aware of his purpose.
AFRAID THAT ONCE her official admitting shift started, it might be several hours before she could see if the wayward charts had reappeared, Sarchi got to the hospital a few minutes early the next morning. She checked the asthma case first and found that the boy had been sent home. His missing chart had not reappeared.
The child with cellulitis was improving but still wasn’t ready to be discharged. Like the asthma case, her missing chart was still AWOL. Sarchi added a few notes to the current page in that chart and put the book back in the rack. She left the floor with the same impression as on her previous stop—that the nursing staff was staring at her when they thought she wasn’t looking.
On her way down to the emergency room to take over admitting duties from the resident who’d been on call last night, Sarchi ran into Janie Ledbetter, a third year resident from Iowa. Janie was a large woman with a disconcerting amount of dark hair shadowing her upper lip. Aware that she tended to frighten kids when they met her, she always carried a hand puppet to break the ice. Normally, Janie’s moods were easy to read, but today Sarchi saw conflicting messages on her face. Her first reaction at seeing Sarchi had been open pleasure. Then something had muted that.
“Hi, Janie. What’s new?”
Sarchi thought Janie wasn’t going to stop, but the question seemed to change her mind.
“Have you seen the morning paper?” Janie asked.
“Didn’t have time. What’d I miss?”
“Harry Bright, the HMO rep, is dead . . . murdered.”
“When did that happen?”
“Sometime yesterday. They found his body in Riverside Park.”
As a physician, Sarchi was far better acquainted with the clinical details of death than the average person, but she was as shocked as anyone would be to hear that someone she knew would never draw another breath. “God, I just saw him the day before yesterday. We talked. How was he killed?”
“The paper didn’t say. Guess they’re withholding those details until they catch the killer.”
Sarchi felt obligated to say something nice about Bright. “I’m sure his company will miss him. He was very conscientious in his work.”
“And an asshole,” Janie said.
“That too, at least superficially.”
“I guess superficially is the only way we ever know anybody.”
Janie was searching Sarchi’s eyes for something. “What do you mean?”
“Just that people often have traits and problems they don’t let others see.” Janie had an expectant look on her face, as though she had more than a casual interest in the response this would elicit.
“I get the impression we’re having two different conversations,” Sarchi said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do. What’s going on? A few minutes ago I had the feeling the nursing staff was staring at me behind my back, and now you’re acting strange.”
“Is it strange to be concerned about a friend?”
“If I’m the friend you’re referring to, yes.”
Before Janie could reply, her pager went off. She checked it, then looked up apologetically. “I have to go. If you want to talk some more, locate me when you’re free, and we’ll find a quiet place . . .”
As Sarchi watched Janie lumber off down the hall, she was so full of curiosity about how she had suddenly become the focus of everyone’s attention that she didn’t feel she could go one more minute without knowing why.
Once she hit the emergency room, all that was forgotten. Over the course of the next hour she saw ten kids, four of whom were sick enough to be admitted. Just as things began to slack off, she got a page that displayed an extension she wasn’t happy to see. She picked up the phone and entered the number.
“This is Doctor Seminoux.”
“Yes, Doctor,” a woman said. “Doctor Koesler would like to see you.”
Sarchi felt a surge of apprehension. “When?”
“Right now if you can.”
The room suddenly felt icy. “I’ll be right there.”
When she arrived at his office, Koesler’s secretary sent her in. She found him head down, reading something in a folder on his desk. Without looking up, he pecked the air in front of him with his finger, ordering her into a chair.
Hands freezing, she sat and waited for him to get around to her. On the front of his desk sat one of those toys in which a swinging steel ball hitting a row of stationary balls produces enough clattering activity to amuse someone without much to do. She was thinking what a surprisingly frivolous object this was for him to have when suddenly he looked up. “Second in your class,” he said. “Impressive.”
He was, as usual, impeccably groomed. Looking directly into his face, Sarchi realized for the first time, contrary to the opinion she’d had of him up to that moment, that he was not a handsome man, had probably not been even when he was young. But he had a dignity and bearing that made you see what wasn’t there. The power he wielded over the hospital’s residents, though, was no illusion. The emperor may have had no clothes, but he was still the emperor.
“You have great promise as a physician,” he said. “A fine intellect, keen clinical instincts, and a bedside manner that puts both frightened children and their parents at ease.”
Suspecting now that he’d summoned her to explain why he’d picked someone else as chief resident, Sarchi relaxed a bit. At the same time, she wondered how he would handle the fact that Latham had influenced his decision. Surely he’d never admit he’d done it as a favor to a friend.
“But mere promise doesn’t carry us far,” Koesler continued, interlacing the manicured fingers of both hands and resting them on his desk. “To succeed, promise must translate into accomplishment. There are countless examples in life of promising men and women who through a certain deficiency in character have squandered that promise. Do you have any idea what I’m getting at?”
“Actually, no,” Sarchi said, now confused.
Koesler squinted at her. “I’m referring to the lack of a will to succeed, an unwillingness to face hard work and long hours with nothing but backbone.”
Eyebrows lifting, he leaned forward and paused to see if she got it now.
Sarchi shook her head. “Sorry.”
Koesler’s lips firmed, and he nodded in resignation. “I understand you reported your car stolen a few days ago.”
“Someone moved it from where I had parked it.”
“I see. And there was something about your purse being stolen, but it was actually on a chair in your kitchen?”
“How did you know about that?”
“It’s my responsibility to be aware of everything that affects the way my residents function here.”
“With all due respect, Doctor Koesler, my bag wasn’t ‘actually’ on that chair. It was taken forcibly from me and placed there without my knowledge by the man who took it. I don’t know why he did it, but those are the facts. All that aside, I don’t see how what happened to my handbag has any relevance to the operation of this hospital.”
“By itself, I wouldn’t either. But it appears to be part of a pattern that includes some slipshod work in your clinical duties.”
“You mean those two missing charts?”
“Don’t you see how absurd all this sounds? Someone moving your car, stealing your purse, stealing your charts. It’s never you, it’s always someone else. I want you to tell me the real explanation for these events.”
“Those are the explanations.”
“No, they aren’t. Show some backbone and admit the truth. I’m not here to destroy you. I want to help you. But I can only do that after you admit the truth.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“You need to say it.”
“I can’t say what I don’t know.”
“Don’t fight it. Tell me now, and we can start you on the road back.”
“Back to what?”
“To becoming that physician I believe is inside you.”
While Koesler waited for her to answer, Sarchi went swimming for a reply, because she had no earthly idea what he was talking about. “If you’ll forgive the analogy, Doctor Koesler, I feel like I’ve just chased the white rabbit into wonderland.”
Koesler’s face grew hard. “Believe me, Doctor, this isn’t wonderland. It’s the real world, and it’s time you faced up to it. Since you refuse to do so, I’ll help you. Do you know who Doctor Sam Brookings is?”
“No.”
“He’s the investigator for the Tennessee impaired physicians program. He was here yesterday gathering information about you. It seems his office has received information that you are so strung out on uppers and downers it’s finally affecting your work.”
“That’s absurd. Who said that?”
“The call was anonymous.”
Sarchi sat straighter in her seat. Now it all made sense. The car, the handbag, the missing charts. It was Latham harassing her, trying to make it appear as though she was a drug abuser. It was so clear now, she couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t seen it earlier. With her mind speeding through the possibilities, she wondered if Koesler was in on it. He’d already cooperated once with Latham. Why not again?
“So you’re willing to take the word of a faceless accuser over mine?” she said.
“It does explain things.”
“But it’s wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll take a drug test.”
“Which only tells me you know the standard screens won’t detect the ones you’re abusing.” He shook his head. “I gave you a chance to come clean with me, but you’ve chosen to squander the opportunity. I’m not prepared to suspend you at this time. Bu
t you’d better watch your step, Doctor, because you and I are on a collision course. Now get out.”
21
SARCHI WANTED ALL this to stop. She wanted to go back to the way life had been before she met Latham. She’d tried to tell Pelligrino what Latham was doing, but he’d ignored her. Fine. She had no further responsibility in this. Let someone else take up the cause.
For the rest of that day and the next, every time she filled out a chart, she wondered if she’d ever see it again. And the thought of being in Koesler’s doghouse was enervating. When she left the hospital at the end of her shift, she was completely wiped out.
Arriving home, she found that, as usual, all of the workmen who were renovating the house next door had gone home. Before getting out of her car, she checked the surroundings for lurking figures. The Dumpster next door was a worry, but it was on the far side of the property, so anyone running toward her from behind it couldn’t surprise her. Still, she waited until another car came down the street before starting for the house.
Pushing her front door open a few seconds later, she smelled gas. Now what? Was Latham trying to blow her up?
She remembered an old warning: Never turn on a light switch in the presence of gas. So she immediately went back onto the porch. There, in the waning daylight, she tried to look up the number for Light, Gas, and Water on her cell phone, but for some reason she had no signal. So even if she could find the number, she couldn’t make a call. She went back inside, grabbed the landline phone by the door and the yellow pages in the drawer under the phone. Taking both back onto the porch, she soon had an LG&W rep on the line.
“Where are you now?” the rep asked.
“On my porch.”
“We’ll send an inspector right over. Wait nearby, but not in the house.”
Leaving the phone outside, she went back to her car and moved it across the street. In about ten minutes, with the sun now set, a white LG&W car arrived and parked at the curb opposite her. A young man carrying a toolbox and a flashlight that looked as though it would produce a beam he could climb, stepped from the car.
The Killing Harvest Page 17