by Gary Birken
“If the person’s heartbeat falls below a preset rate, the pacemaker kicks in and speeds it back up.”
“So the pacemaker would be kind of a backup.”
“In a manner of a speaking.”
“So why would you ever have to change the settings?” Morgan asked.
“If the patient’s cardiac condition changes, we might have to reprogram the pacemaker. You have to remember that these things are surgically implanted. Altering the settings would mean we’d have to reoperate on all these people. That’s why the manufacturers and bioengineers came up with the idea of using magnets to change the settings.”
Morgan pointed at the cross. “Is it possible that if a magnet was close enough to Alison Greene’s pacemaker, it could have changed the settings?”
“It’s possible,” Mira answered.
“Could that lead to a problem?”
“Absolutely. If this woman’s heart was beating normally, and for some reason the pacemaker started firing, it could have drastically upset the normal electrical currents of her heart. The heart’s wired very efficiently, but it’s also exquisitely sensitive. If a pacemaker was improperly set and fired at the wrong time of the cardiac cycle, it could upset the conduction system and cause a type of V-tach that would have been extremely difficult to reverse.”
“So it is possible,” Morgan whispered.
“In the absence of another plausible explanation, I would say it’s quite possible.”
“This is unbelievable,” Morgan muttered to herself as she slid the cross from the lamp. “I wonder how somebody would have gone about magnetizing it?”
“I doubt anybody magnetized it,” Mira informed her.
“I beg your pardon.”
“It was probably manufactured that way.” Mira reached for the cross and held it up. “I’ve seen these before in alternative health catalogues. They’re made by companies that sell products related to magnetic therapy.”
“What in God’s name is magnetic therapy?” Morgan asked.
“The theory is that a magnet creates an electrical field that has profound healing properties. Supposedly, it’s a very safe way to treat a myriad of aches and pains.”
“You can’t be serious,” Morgan said.
“I’m very serious. In fact, one of their hottest-selling products is a magnetic mattress. I guess it’s kind of a heal-while-you-sleep approach to perpetual wellness. It may all be a bunch of bologna, but it’s probably harmless.”
After a short sigh, Morgan said, “Not in Alison Greene’s case. Thanks, you’ve been a huge help.”
“Anytime. Good luck.”
Instead of returning to her office, Morgan took the elevator down to the first floor. Stepping out into the lobby, she couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that she was overlooking something that was so obvious a child would see it. She stopped at the information desk and smiled at a high school volunteer who was helping with visitor identification passes. Morgan reached for the physician’s phone and tapped in Ben’s number.
Much to her surprise, she didn’t get his voice mail.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” she asked.
“Absolutely. I’ll meet you at your hangar at three.” After a momentary pause, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why do you ask?”
“Because you already called me this morning to confirm.”
Realizing Ben was right and having no reasonable explanation for the repeat call, Morgan simply said, “I guess I forgot. I’ll see you out there.”
Morgan hung up the phone and turned around. Leaning back against the information desk, she quickly became lost in thought about her conversation with Mira. It was only the husky voice of a man inquiring about visiting hours that brought her back from her dreamlike state. Morgan smiled to herself and then started for the exit. A few feet from the revolving glass doors, she noticed a fine but readily apparent tremor of her hands. Trying to ignore the outward sign of anxiety, she continued through the doors and out onto the sidewalk.
Walking through a mist-like sprinkle from a single rain cloud, Morgan made her way toward the parking garage. Although she never questioned her ability or determination to remain emotionally functional, she couldn’t deny her level of anxiety was starting to soar. Not knowing how the events of the next few weeks would play out was nerve-racking. She never held herself up to be a spiritual person, but if she didn’t know better, she would swear that some higher authority was determined to test her resolve.
She looked up to see the cloud floating off to the east. She thought about her father and how much she missed him. Thinking about their inviolate ritual of going out for Sunday morning breakfast and talking about everything from hospital politics to professional basketball brought a smile to her face. There were many things that saddened her about his death. But more than anything, the realization that he wouldn’t be there to share in the joy of her baby’s birth was the most painful.
CHAPTER 21
DAY SIX
Staring at the monitor, Dr. Jenny Silverman passed the rectangular-shaped ultrasound probe across Morgan’s lower abdomen for a final time before concluding her examination. When she was finished studying the last image, she picked up a folded white towel from the countertop and wiped the ultrasound jelly from Morgan’s tummy. Jenny had one of the busiest obstetrical practices in the county but had never allowed her demanding schedule to damper her boundless enthusiasm and devotion to her patients.
“You were pretty accurate with your estimation,” Jenny said, helping Morgan to a sitting position. “I’d say you’re about two and a half months pregnant.”
Morgan dangled her legs over the side of the table. “Did everything look okay on the ultrasound?”
“Perfect,” Jenny answered. Morgan nodded briefly and then tossed her a flicker of a smile. She said nothing as Jenny rolled the ultrasound machine to the other side of the room.
“What’s going on with you and Kevin? Has anything changed since the last time we talked?”
“I’ve decided to file for divorce. I guess it finally sunk into my thick skull that Kevin’s never going to change.”
“This is not the same Morgan Connolly I spoke to last month. You sound a lot different.”
“I feel a lot different.”
“What about a social life?” Jenny asked.
“I’m not worried about that right now.”
A coy smile came to her face. “Really? I heard you went out with Ben Docherty.”
“How did you find out about that?”
“You guys shouldn’t have picked such a popular Italian restaurant,” she said with a wink.
“It was just dinner.”
“Who have you been talking to about all this?” Jenny inquired.
“I’ve interviewed a few attorneys but—”
“I wasn’t talking about a lawyer. I was asking if you’ve seen a therapist.”
Morgan shook her head.
Jenny continued, “I know you have a lot of friends, but sometimes it’s better to get the input of a professional.”
“I guess I haven’t thought seriously about . . . about talking—”
“If you need the name of somebody, just let me know.”
“Thanks.”
“What do your mom and brothers think about all this?”
“My mother’s been supportive, but she’s got her own life. It’s kind of the same with my brothers. We’re close when it comes to certain things, but not about our personal lives. Anyway, they both live overseas and we don’t get to see each other that often.”
“Let’s go out for dinner this week.”
“I’d love that.”
“I’ll check my on-call schedule and give you a call,” she said, shutting down the ultrasound machine. “We have a GNO scheduled this month. It’s been a while since you’ve been to one. You should come.”
GNO, as Jenny always refered to it, was an acronym for girls’ night out. She had organized the group of young professi
onal women about two years ago. Every few months they got together for dinner. Most of the early evening was spent trying new wines, complaining about their jobs, and bemoaning their relationships. But as the night progressed and the wine took hold, the conversation generally shifted to the more humorous side of their lives.
“Why don’t you e-mail me the information,” Morgan suggested. “I’ll do my best to make it.”
Jenny took her by the arm and escorted her out of the examination room and then down a broad, royal blue-carpeted corridor. When they reached the door that led to the waiting room, she gave Morgan a hug.
“Make sure you stop on your way out to make an appointment. I want to see you in four weeks.”
“I’ll do it,” Morgan promised.
“Good . . . and don’t forget about girls’ night out. I’m not taking no for an answer. Call me if you have any cramps, bleeding, or any other problems.”
After thanking Jenny again, Morgan left the office and rode the elevator to the lobby. She checked the time. She was running late for a meeting with the blood bank and she was still planning on going flying with Ben in the afternoon. Oblivious to her surroundings, she quick-walked toward the exit.
A stocky man seated on a tan leather sofa and wearing a blue denim shirt worked at his laptop. Having excellent peripheral vision, Gideon watched as Morgan disappeared into the parking lot. He then took a few moments to shut down his computer and snap the screen closed. When he finished, he slid it into a black leather computer case, stood up, and headed for the door.
CHAPTER 22
Morgan arrived at North Perry Airport at five minutes to three. The airfield, located in West Hollywood, was the busiest general aviation facility in Broward County and the one Ben had selected to open his flight school.
Morgan pulled up behind her hangar, a glorified prefab garage in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, parked on a dusty patch of barren ground, and stepped out of her car. When she hoisted the door and saw the sun reflect off the propeller of her red, white, and blue Cirrus, her mood was immediately elevated. A born aviator, Morgan first experienced the ecstasy of flight as a freshman in college. Once bitten by the flying bug, she flew every chance she got. Six months after her first flight, she earned her private pilot’s license. By the time she finished her internship, she was an instrument-rated instructor with a multi-engine certificate.
Morgan made her way around the airplane to the far end of the hangar where she kept a gas-powered dolly. After securing it to the nose wheel, she gave the rope a quick tug, bringing the dolly’s two-horsepower engine to life. She then flipped the dolly into gear and guided the plane out of the hangar onto the tarmac.
Before beginning the preflight, she opened the passenger side door and tossed her leather flight case and thermos of coffee on the backseat. Just as she stepped down off of the wing, she saw Ben pull up in his twenty-year-old black Porsche coupe. The car, which Morgan suspected he treasured more than life itself, looked as beautiful now as the day his father had driven it out of the showroom.
“Looks like we have a perfect day for flying,” he yelled as he maneuvered his way out of the car.
Joining her in front of the left wing, Ben slipped on his sunglasses. Morgan ran her hand over the leading edge of the wing and asked, “Where do you want to go?”
“Your call.”
“Why don’t we head out over the Everglades and then circle back over Key Biscayne?” she suggested.
“Are you sure? There’s a bunch of thunderstorms to the west.”
She looked at him sideways and then smiled. “Would that be according to your trick knee? Because I just checked with flight services and there isn’t any weather between here and Naples.” She shook her head. “You act like I’m one of your students. Since you opened that flight school you’ve become intolerable.”
“I just want to make sure the person I’m flying with is on her toes.”
“If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I got my instructor’s ticket before you did.” They walked around to the back of the wing. Ben tested one of the ailerons by carefully raising and lowering it.
“Anything new with the pacemaker case?”
“I went to see Mira Ramon this morning. I wanted to talk to her about the cross.”
“How come?”
“I remembered that magnets are sometimes used as a means to change pacemaker settings. I wanted to ask her if she thought it was possible that the cross could have altered Alison Greene’s pacemaker and caused the ventricular tachycardia.”
Ben nodded a couple of times. “Interesting idea. What did she say?”
“She felt in the absence of another reasonable explanation, it was quite possible. So I called the pacemaker manufacturer to get their opinion.”
“Let me guess,” he said with a chuckle. “They said it was an impossibility.”
“The rep I spoke to didn’t categorically deny it could happen, but he was quick to point out that they had never received a single report of such a malfunction.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with biotech executives. Admitting liability for their products is not exactly their strong suit.” Ben knelt down like a catcher and inspected the landing gear. “Have the police come up with anything regarding the note Gideon left?”
“If they have, they haven’t shared the information with me.”
“What about the Tony Wallace case? Have you made any progress figuring out what went wrong?”
“None.”
Ben stopped fussing with the landing gear and watched as Morgan looked overhead for a few seconds. The disappointment in her face couldn’t have been more apparent. She knelt down next to him and began examining the landing gear.
“I just did that,” he said patiently.
Slapping her hands together to shake off the dirt from the tire, she said, “Now, we’ve done it twice.”
Morgan stood back up. Ben followed.
“Did you speak to Bob Allenby about—”
“I have an idea,” Morgan announced, bringing her index finger up to her lips. “Let’s forget all this hospital stuff and go flying.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Whose turn is it in the left seat?”
“Yours.” Morgan pointed to her lower belly. “If this kid’s going to fly solo by the time she hits her first birthday, I want to get her up flying as soon as possible.”
Ben grinned and then without giving it a second thought, gave Morgan a huge hug. Standing there in silence, the impulse to kiss her swept over him. But even as awkward as he was when it came to affairs of the heart, he knew the timing was wrong.
A few more seconds passed and he stepped back. “Let’s get going.”
Morgan followed Ben into the plane and settled into the right seat. After putting his headphones on, he looked out the window to make sure the area around the plane was clear. He then started the engine and taxied out to the active runway. When he received clearance from the tower, he took one final look around, pushed the throttle forward, and started his takeoff roll.
With very little encouragement from Ben, the Cirrus lifted off of the runway. Climbing out to the west, they crossed Broward County, cleared Route 27, and then headed out over the Everglades. It was a cloudless day, and from twenty-five hundred feet, the endless waves of saw grass loomed over the dull earth tones of the wetlands.
Morgan unscrewed the cap of her thermos and poured herself half a cup of coffee. For the next hour, they talked about many things, but not a single word was uttered about Code 15s, her father’s death, or hospital politics. When he made a gentle bank over Key Biscayne, Ben, who was an avid tennis player, pointed out the nationally renowned tennis center.
“If you’ll give up the controls, I’ll take us in,” she told him.
“Even though you own this little beauty, I’m not sure you can fly a plane as demanding as this one.”
She laughed. “I could fly the box it came in. Just sit back and observe.”
; Concentrating on her flight instruments, Morgan descended through some broken clouds and entered the landing pattern at North Perry. A few minutes later she set the plane down on the centerline and taxied back to the hangar.
Ben walked Morgan to her car.
“Have you given any further thought to taking on a few students?” he asked her. “You have an instructor’s rating. It seems like a shame not to use it.”
“I’d like to . . . it’s just that I have so much going on right now. Why don’t you ask me again in a few months?”
“The offer’s always there. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Morgan got into her car and started the engine. “Call me later.”
Thinking about Ben the entire time, she followed the perimeter road toward the airport exit. Perhaps it was because she had given herself permission to move on, but whatever the reason, her romantic feelings for him were soaring. At the moment, other than her pregnancy, it seemed as if Ben Docherty was the only bright spot in her otherwise disastrous life.
CHAPTER 23
Morgan wasn’t more than a mile from the airport when her cell phone rang.
“I just thought of something,” Ben said. “I was wondering if you had spoken to Dana McGinley again?”
“Not since we met for drinks. Why?”
“It may be just a coincidence but you mentioned that the man who left the cross told Dana he was a professor at Broward College.”
“That’s what she said,” Morgan stated, reaching forward and turning the volume down on her radio. “What difference does it make?”
“I was just thinking that we’re seeing a more learned group of murderers these days.”
Morgan shook her head. “What are you talking about, Ben?”
“You also told me the man who attacked your father told Carrie that he taught at the University of Miami. I just thought it was a bit coincidental that both of these guys were college professors. It’s not exactly the profession that conjures up an image of a homicidal lunatic.” Morgan didn’t answer immediately. Her mind flashed back to her conversations with Dana and Carrie. “Are you still there?” Ben asked after a few more moments of dead silence.