Do No Harm

by Christina McDonald

  “Well, presumably. The clinic only just installed video surveillance equipment, so I hope it’s all working right.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “And Marjorie will just give it to you?”

  “It’s on her computer. I just need a copy.”

  “Can’t you have Kia take over?” Emma asked.

  “Afraid not. It would be a conflict of interest. Kia and Julia are dating, so the lieutenant asked me to do it.”

  “What? Julia never said she was dating Kia!”

  Nate turned the Crown Vic into the police department’s parking lot. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Emma sighed. “Can you just get the video tomorrow and come home after work? It would be nice to have dinner as a family for once. You’ve been working so much lately.”

  Nate hesitated. Emma had never been one of those wives who moaned about her husband’s awkward hours. She never complained or asked him to put things off. It just wasn’t in her nature to whine. But she was exhausted and worried and terrified about Josh’s diagnosis. He was too.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll come straight home after work.”

  “Thanks. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Nate got out of the car at the police station, a toothpick clenched between his teeth. Kia was already there, sitting on the bench in front, fiddling with her phone. A gust of wind ruffled her shaggy hair, and she dashed a hand through it as she jumped to her feet.

  “Lieutenant Dyson said she just appeared at the station earlier,” Kia said.

  “Any idea why she didn’t report him missing?”

  “No. Let’s go find out.”

  The police interrogation room was small and industrial, with a long white table and three chairs. Mariana Ramirez sat across the desk from Nate and Kia. She was Hispanic, tiny, with long, jet-black hair, an overbite, and tired eyes. Her fingers nervously twisted a chain of pink rosary beads at her throat.

  Kia informed her in Spanish that they would be recording, and Nate pressed Record.

  “Santiago, he didn’t show at my house on Monday.” Her accent was thick, but her English good. “He always comes on Monday. Always, to see our son.”

  Nate glanced at the notes he had in his hand. “Miss Ramirez. Mariana. Why didn’t you report him as a missing person?”

  Mariana’s eyes filled with tears. She pulled a tissue from her jeans pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “I was, cómo se dice, enojado?”

  “Angry?” Kia provided.

  “Sí. Yes. I was angry. I went to my mother’s on Tuesday with my son. She is very sick, and I was angry at Santiago, so I didn’t call.”

  Mariana bent over the table, the tissue pressed to her eyes. For a moment, the only sound in the room was her crying.

  “Why were you angry?” Nate asked gently.

  “We argued about money. I asked him for more—for our son. He needs shoes, but Santiago says he doesn’t have it right now.”

  Kia touched her arm and murmured to her in Spanish. Nate had never been good at Spanish in school. He jotted a note to follow up with Mariana Ramirez’s mother and check her alibi.

  “Mariana, your boyfriend had highly illegal substances at his house,” Nate said after a minute. “Do you know where he got these? Or what he planned to do with them?”

  Mariana sniffed. “Santiago doesn’t want to sell these things anymore. He… shouted on the phone a few days ago. Maybe Friday.”

  “Do you know who he was talking to?”

  Mariana shook her head. “He didn’t say names. But when the phone rang, I picked it up, and the phone said Ben.”

  CHAPTER 16

  USING JOSH TO MANIPULATE Nate was low; I knew that. I’d completely forgotten that the hospital had installed cameras in the clinic a few weeks back. I couldn’t have Nate see that video. He’d wonder why I’d lied and said I’d gone upstairs to Oncology, why I’d gone into the clinic’s supply closet instead. And what if, one day, investigators found out prescriptions had been stolen from my clinic? He’d easily put two and two together.

  I was catastrophizing, I knew, but I couldn’t risk it. I had to stop him from seeing that video.

  A flash of something, the glare of light, brought my attention to the bedroom window. I spread the blinds and peered outside. There was a black truck parked across the street from my house. It was the kind drug dealers and men worried about the size of their penis drove: shiny paint, chrome wheels, double cab.

  Tentacles of fear climbed up my neck. Charlie whined and nosed his palm against my knee, sensing my anxiety.

  The unmatched sock in my hand tumbled to the floor. I turned and raced downstairs, Charlie lumbering behind me. I pulled the front door open, but whoever was in the driver’s seat had seen me. The truck’s engine roared to life, and the squeal of tires hit my ears. I watched it disappear around the corner, my breath tight.

  I shut the door and locked the dead bolt. I peered out the peephole, staring at the empty space where the truck had been, hugging myself.

  Charlie whined again.

  “Who was that, Charlie?” I whispered. I stroked his ears, trying to ease some of his agitation. And mine.

  My heart was thudding almost painfully. The blood had drained to my feet, turning them into boulders. I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor. Charlie clambered onto my lap. Despite his age, he still acted like a puppy sometimes, his tail flapping, tongue lolling with excitement that he had my attention.

  “What am I going to do?” I murmured.

  Charlie tilted his head. His forehead skin folded into a bevy of wrinkles as he gave me that wise look basset hounds seemed to have.

  Stars prickled in front of my eyes. I felt like I’d been dropped down a rabbit hole with the wolf sitting right outside.

  And the wolf was my husband.

  I finally forced myself to stand and returned upstairs to my bedroom. I grabbed my purse from the dresser and unzipped the side compartment, pulling out my burner phone.

  “Mommy!” Josh called from the living room. He was watching Star Wars for the nine hundredth time. The distinctive zipping sound of lightsabers set my teeth on edge.

  “Just a minute, Joshy!” I called, dialing a familiar number.

  Gabe answered on the first ring.

  “Emma.” He sounded pissed. “You have to stop calling me. My girlfriend’s getting seriously weirded out.”

  “I need your help.”

  I picked up a sock and found the matching one as I told him about the video surveillance footage of the clinic. Marjorie’s desk computer was chock-full of random yellow sticky notes with various passwords and reminders jotted down. The video surveillance was new, and I was guessing—hoping—she still had the log-in details written on one of those Post-it Notes.

  “I need to get into her office, log in, and delete the surveillance files.”

  “Listen, sweetheart, this isn’t my problem,” Gabe drawled. “I can’t get into her office for you.”

  I ignored him. “She always works late. I need you to break into her car. Just create a distraction so she leaves the clinic, and I’ll sneak in when she’s gone.”

  “Have you lost your mind? No way! I’m not going to jail for you. There’ll be surveillance video in the parking lot too.”

  “Only in the southwest corner—the rest of that system broke last year. Park down the street, not in the hospital lot, and walk up.”

  “No!”

  I lowered my voice. “You know if I get caught, we’re both going down. They’ll find out about the prescription pads and that will lead them to Violeta. It won’t take them long before they connect me to you.”

  Gabe growled, a frustrated hum in his throat. He knew I was right. No matter how much he hated me, we were tied together.

  “Fine.”

  “Meet me outside the café at six.”

  I hung up and went to check on the briefcase I’d hidden at the back of the closet—I didn’t want it to look too hidde
n because it might seem suspicious. The briefcase had two locks, one on the left, one on the right. Both required a combination of numbers, neither of which I knew.

  I dropped to the floor next to the briefcase and wrapped my arms around Charlie, hugging him as a growing sense of dread filled me.

  * * *

  “MOMMY?” JOSH came into the bedroom, his Star Wars blanket trailing behind him, his pointer and middle fingers in his mouth. “What are you doing?” he asked around his fingers. “Is that a suitcase? Where are we going?”

  I stood and tucked the briefcase back in the closet under my clothes.

  “It’s just a briefcase for work. There are patient files in there, so you can’t touch it.” I stroked Josh’s cheek, which was pale, but cool to the touch. The extra fluids from the IV had helped in the short term. Now we just had to wait until chemo started next week. “How you feeling, sweetie? Are you okay?”

  He lifted his narrow shoulders. “Yeah. I’m bored. There’s a bird on the fence outside. One time at school I was with Jilly Murphy and I had jam on my finger and I touched a bird’s back.”

  I led Josh downstairs, glanced at the bird he was talking about—a giant crow that had pooped on my car—and started pulling toys out of the toy box to distract him.

  By 5:45 p.m., Nate still wasn’t home, and I was a bundle of nerves. The house looked like a bomb had hit it, picture books and toys scattered across the floor, interspersed with crayons and bits of colored paper. Josh had turned whiny and clingy, not wanting me to leave the room. He was sick, but bored: the worst combination for a child.

  I glanced at the clock again and finally called Moira. I told her I’d left my purse at the hospital and needed to run over really quick. She came over immediately. That was the thing about Moira: no matter her problem with me, she adored Josh.

  The first time we met was at a barbecue at her house a few months after I’d moved in with Nate. I’d adored Nate’s family the instant I met them, and thought they liked me too. I loved the easy banter, the camaraderie, the love. I felt happy and accepted, a baby in my belly and Nate’s arm around my shoulders.

  A little while later I escaped to the bathroom. I was just coming out when I heard Moira and Nate’s sister, Aimee, coming down the hall.

  “Don’t you think her maternity dress is a little… I don’t know, rrrarrrr?” Moira made a sexy roar sound at the back of her throat.

  I looked at my dress, which I’d scoured secondhand stores for. It was a navy body-con dress that stretched over my baby bump.

  “Yeah, she’s trying a little too hard,” Aimee agreed.

  I’d quietly shut the bathroom door, cheeks burning. Belonging to their family had been a mirage. A nice, pretty façade. I felt again like that little girl watching Kelly get her picture taken with her family: an outsider looking in.

  I’d used the baby as an excuse for the first time that day, saying I wasn’t feeling well and needed to go home and lie down. It was awkward with Moira after that. But then I realized that the family we were creating—Nate, our baby, and me—was all I needed. It was everything I’d dreamed of. I couldn’t risk losing it.

  I was in control of my family.

  I sent a quick text to Nate telling him I was going to get my purse, and headed to the hospital. I was driving too fast, burning through a yellow light and not stopping at a pedestrian crossing, but I didn’t care. I had to get there and back as quickly as possible.

  At the hospital, I did a loop around the parking lot, but saw no sign of Nate’s Crown Vic. I was safe.

  For now.

  A light rain had started up, coating my hair and my jacket as soon as I stepped out of the car into the night. My feet splashed in black puddles as I hurried across the pavement. The familiar sound of sirens made me stop abruptly, heart hammering. But they weren’t for me; an ambulance’s lights flashed as it whooped into the emergency bay.

  Cass was coming out the revolving doors as I entered. She lifted her coffee cup in a wave, her crooked teeth gleaming. I smiled but kept walking, not wanting to give the impression that I could linger to talk.

  I found Gabe in the café eating a bowl of teriyaki.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I hissed.

  He shrugged and spoke with his mouth full. “What? I haven’t had dinner.”

  I watched as he chewed, the food sliding slowly down his throat, and had the sudden urge to shove him off his chair. Anger and fear and adrenaline coiled in my veins.

  “We don’t have time for this!”

  “Sure we do. Sit down.” He shoved a chair out with his foot. After a moment, I dropped into it. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He looked closely at me.

  “We don’t really have a choice.”

  “We could just find someone to hack into the system.”

  “There isn’t time.”

  Had he always been this spineless? Back in high school, he’d been a bad boy with an attitude. If he saw a boundary, he’d cross it; a rule, he’d break it. I’d followed happily along, like a cow, stupid and naïve, desperate to be included.

  He lifted both hands. “It’s your funeral, sweetheart.”

  “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go upstairs and find out if anybody’s in the office. Once I know, I’ll text you. You have the phone I gave you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Break into her car, and then come back and sit in the café. That’s all you have to do.”

  I slid a piece of paper toward him with her license plate number, which I’d grabbed on my way in from the parking lot, written on it.

  “There’s a black-and-white bumper sticker on the back,” I told him. “Grateful not Hateful.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell the security guard I saw someone breaking into her car. He’ll call to let her know, and when she leaves the clinic, I’ll go back in. I just need you to tell me when she heads back upstairs.”

  He shoveled the last of the rice into his mouth and stood. “Let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I OPENED THE DOOR to the clinic loudly, clearing my throat as I entered. “Marjorie?”

  Marjorie came into the reception area, looking surprised.

  “Dr. Sweeney! Hello, dear. Are you okay? How is sweet little Josh?”

  “Oh.” I gave her a faint smile. “He’s the same. He’s home now while we wait for the T-cells to be reprogrammed. He’s scheduled for a week of chemo starting next week.”

  “Bless him. I donated to that GoFundMe account. I know this can’t be easy for you, but we’re all behind you guys.”

  “Thanks, Marjorie,” I replied, genuinely touched. “Listen, I know we talked about reducing my work hours, but I wanted to talk a bit more about my schedule.”

  “Certainly. Why don’t you come into my office?”

  I followed her through the clinic. She shut the door and shoved aside a tower of files stacked precariously on one chair. The rest of the office was a crush of paperwork, photos, empty coffee cups, and loose papers. Her desk monitor was covered with Post-its. I hoped one of them had the log-in details I needed.

  “Excuse the mess.” Marjorie laughed, deep and throaty; a smoker’s laugh. “I never seem to have the time to clean up.”

  She sat behind her desk and waved for me to sit across from her.

  “My mother-in-law has agreed to watch Josh in the mornings so I can work. Would that be okay for the next few weeks?”

  “Sure, of course. We’ll spread your patients around to the other doctors for now. You do understand we’ll need to change your contracted hours?”

  Rage swelled in me. The only thing I’d ever wanted to be was a doctor. As a child, watching my dad heal people had seemed a little like watching God. I’d put myself in debt up to my eyeballs to become a doctor. There’d been no money from my parents’ estate; my dad had lost it all to gambling. Even their life insurance didn’t cover much after settling taxes and loans and bills and funeral cost
s.

  And now that I needed money to save my son’s life, they didn’t want to pay me.

  Marjorie patted my knee, her leathery face softening. “I’m so sorry.”

  I shook my head. “It isn’t your fault.”

  It’s this system, I thought. Our medical system. It’s failing all of us.

  “And, uh…” Marjorie cleared her throat. “You might want to remember, you’ll need to maintain twenty-five hours in a week to keep your health insurance.”

  I nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll update your paperwork with human resources.”

  We agreed I’d come back to work on Wednesday, and I gathered my purse, scanning the Post-it Notes while trying not to be obvious.

  “May I ask, what’ll happen to Julia?” I asked.

  Marjorie shifted her butt, the chair creaking loudly. “Well, I suppose she’ll spend a little time in jail, lose her medical license.”

  “So you’re pressing charges?”

  “I’m afraid it’s up to the hospital. She’s committed a crime, so, yes, I believe they’ll press charges. It’s such a shame. Her whole career gone down the toilet, just for a few silly pills.”

  She tutted, throwing her gray ponytail over one shoulder. I wanted to punch her in the face. I’d never punched anyone before, but the urge was so strong it actually made my knuckles itch.

  She tilted her head at me, lips parting. She wanted me to agree with her. I blinked at her slowly, then turned and left.

  Addiction wasn’t silly. Marjorie didn’t have any clue how an addict’s brain structure changed over time, how serotonin levels became warped and the brain rewired to say it needed more. All these people—medical administrators, government officials, politicians, people who didn’t have a clue—discussed addiction and prescription fraud and setting up task forces to stop drugs, but what we really needed was a way for our many addicts to get treatment. They needed help, not criticism and ridicule.

  Out in the hall, I checked my phone. Gabe had texted.

  It’s done.

  I exited the back of the hospital near the ER and headed for the front.