Treating Murder: Book One of the Veronica Lane, M.D. series (medical thriller)

by Gabrielle Black

  The risk manager’s voice rose slightly. “Dr. Lane, I must urge you strongly not to say anything that accepts any sort of blame. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course.” I let my head drop back against the headboard.

  “So will you be able to send me those this week?”

  “I’ll have them faxed over today. Thanks.” I hung up, not sure what I was thanking her for—for dropping the other shoe? I dialed the office to get the records sent, and leaned back again for a minute before getting up and straightening the covers. I crossed the room to open the blinds; the room was instantly more cheerful. The walls were painted a buttery yellow, the lampshades covered in flower tendrils. Maybe it wasn't suitable for a marriage suite, but it was perfect for little ole me. I carried the phone to the small tea stand next to my favorite slipper chair by the window, and dialed another number. A male voice answered the phone. I reconsidered and hung up. It had been six months since our split, and I was still reaching out for Steve. I knew I shouldn’t, that I should let that part of my life be over with—Jacqueline told me so often enough—but it was hard. I missed having someone by my side, and warm arms around me.

  I showered and put on a bright red sweatshirt that I hoped would help cheer me up. Then I walked out to the back patio to read in the sun. When I pulled a vinyl chaise longue past a clump of weeds, I remembered with a wince that I hadn’t done any yard work since spring had arrived. Things were getting out of hand. Plants I could have sworn weren’t there last week were suddenly a foot high. But right now, I wanted only to lose myself in a book and not think about anything else. The yard would have to wait.

  I hadn’t stopped to read since we had moved from Atlanta to Rome, ninety minutes to Atlanta’s north, and I took up the job of running an office alone. They don’t teach about business or bookkeeping during medical training, so all of these things were a shock when I started out on my own. I’d found myself staying long after office hours most nights, just trying to learn about finances and the intricacies of modern day insurance and Medicare billing, as well as trying to hire good people. Hiring Vickie last year had been a salvation. She orchestrated things like vacation squabbles and collections of overdue bills. Since she had arrived, I had stayed at the office until midnight only once.

  In those early days in practice, Steve would come by the office to visit. If he arrived before I finished seeing patients, he would sit and chat with people in the waiting area, keeping them entertained until I could finish. Then he would come back in the back with some dinner and talk for a few minutes before he went home. He had been a kind and loving man. That is, I had thought he was a kind and loving man until someone called the office anonymously one day, and told me that he was cheating on me. I had dismissed them out of hand, until one night I came home early and he wasn't home.

  When he showed up later, I was sitting on the couch. He had paused at the door, then come into the living room with that gorgeous smile of his.

  “Hi, honey. I’m so glad you’re home early. Why didn’t you send me a text to let me know? I could have picked up some dinner for us.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I’d said standing and walking back toward the kitchen. “I thought I would surprise you.”

  He’d hugged me from behind, and leaned down to nuzzle my ear. I’d been so happy at that moment. My gorgeous, loving husband. He’d whispered how much he loved me, and I’d turned around to kiss him, resting my hands on his chest. His breath had smelled strongly of alcohol, which was the case more and more often lately. I’d wrinkled my nose. “Where have you been?”

  He’d stiffened against me, and pulled away, to go the rest of the way into the kitchen to open a beer. “Sweetheart, I just stopped in to see Reid. You don’t need me up at the office anymore with Vickie there.”

  My heart had stopped in my chest then. It was true. It was all true. “You don’t have to lie to me.” I’d said softly, dangerously, as I closed the distance between us again.

  “What are you talking about, Nic, baby?” He went to step into my arms.

  I slapped him as hard as I could and screamed from the agony of my breaking heart. I grunted as I reached up to slap him again.

  He caught my wrist that time and pulled it toward his chest trying to hug me and restrain me both. He spoke soothingly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight, baby. You’re scaring me. I know you don’t care for Reid, but he’s my friend baby.”

  I had yanked away, and yelled at the top of my lungs. “Quit calling me ‘baby’ you miserable, lying jerk! Reid is out of town. He’s been out of town all month. You’ve been complaining about it for weeks—to me! What kind of an idiot do you think I am?”

  He’d held his hands up as came toward me again. I backed away. “Don’t you touch me. I’ll do more than slap you this time!”

  “Baby, I mean Nic. Nic. You’re acting nuts. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. I love you. This is not whatever you’re thinking.”

  I’d dropped onto the nearest chair, and blew out a long breath. I’d lowered my voice to some semblance of calm. “Get out of my house.”

  He’d stepped toward me again, and I’d held up my hands to ward him off. “I said, get out. I know you’ve been having an affair. I surprised you when you were out and about, and I caught you in a lie about it.”

  “No, baby, Nic. No.” He’d sat down across from me. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand enough.” I’d said quietly and started to head to the bedroom. “Don’t even think about coming upstairs.”

  In the morning I’d come down to an apology note. He’d written that he’d gotten confused. Seduced. It was a mistake and he’d make it up to me. I had the locks changed that morning.

  Jacqueline reassured me that throwing him out was the right thing to do. She’d told me in college about her own family. Her mother had committed suicide when she was nine, because her father had been a philandering monster. He’d had repeated affairs, and made no effort to hide them. One time he even brought a date home for a home-cooked meal and her mother had actually served it without a word. A few months later, he failed to come home for several nights in a row, breaking his promise to come see her school play. Her mother had gone back to her bedroom that night and shot herself. After the police had located and notified him, he’d finally returned to Jacqueline and her brother, but Jacqueline had screamed and cried and thrown rocks at him until he left again. After the funeral her father never came back, and Jacqueline and her younger brother were raised by an aunt.

  Today, I had decided to take refuge in a place that I’d almost forgotten about. I stretched out on the chaise in the overgrown yard, buried my nose in my book, and left the world of hospitals and lawyers behind. Halfway through the novel, as the sun was starting to hit at a slant, and the shadow of the umbrella had long since stretched away, the phone rang. I got up, relaxed and cozy, and strolled inside to answer it.

  “District Attorney’s office,” responded a cheerful voice when I answered.

  “You’ve reached Veronica Lane.” I spoke easily, recognizing the secretary’s voice and the familiar routine.

  “Yes, Dr. Lane. I’ll put you right through,” said the secretary, who probably recognized my voice as well.

  “Jacqueline Greene,” lilted another voice after a short intermission of Bach’s third concerto.

  “Hi,” I would never understand why Jacqueline would have her secretary place personal calls for her. It added unnecessary time and formality to the call, things I hated to add to any occasion, but I supposed Jacqueline had her reasons.

  “Nic, how are you? I called the office, but they said that you were at home today.”

  I smiled involuntarily. It was nice to feel a little mothered now and then. “I’m taking some time away.”

  “Why? What’s gotten into you?”

  I knew that Jacqueline wouldn’t understand my decision. The thought of ever missing a day’s work was as alien to Jacqueline as placing
her own phone calls at work (personal or not). Besides, the intense pressures of her job in the DA’s office had never affected her, unless it was to fuel her fire.

  “I don’t want to discuss it right now. Come over later and we’ll talk.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop by on the way home.” Jacqueline clicked off the line promptly. I shook my head. I definitely preferred the more casual version of my friend, the one who appeared at home and between projects, over the compulsive machine that was work Jacqueline.

  She arrived at my secluded brick house a little after 6:00 pm. When she tapped at the front door, I let her right in.

  “Brrr.” I ducked back out of the doorway to let her inside. “It’s gotten a bit nippy since the sun went down.” The only things up-to-date about my little 70s two-story house, were the heavy insulation and double-paned windows. They kept my home so snug that I was often surprised by a drop in temperature.

  Jacqueline shrugged off a tailored wool jacket. “It isn’t bad out. This is my favorite time of year. It’s warming up more each day.”

  I laughed. “My favorite time is when the evenings are warm enough that I can still feel my toes after fifteen minutes in my car.”

  “So what happened that made you have to miss work today?”

  I led the way into the living room and sat down in my favorite recliner, tucking my stockinged feet beneath me. I pursed my lips as I considered how best to answer. “I don’t know, Jacqueline. I guess that I’m just finally overwhelmed.”

  “Nonsense.” Jacqueline sat delicately on the front edge of the worn couch.

  “What nonsense? This has been a helluva year and you know it.” I leaned forward in protest.

  “I know, Nic, but you’ve held up remarkably well until now. Why not now?”

  I scanned the framed prints on the wall above Jacqueline’s head. They too reminded me of Steve, and the afternoon we spent hanging them. “This patient’s death just hit me harder than it should have.” I paused again. “And now it looks like the family is suing me.” My voice broke and I bit my lip, frowning to hold back the tears. It was an effective maneuver which I had perfected over the years of medical school when the criticisms were too much, or the patient’s problems too tragic. It worked so well now that Jacqueline, my former roommate, perceived only a hiccup.

  “So you're going to what? Take a sabbatical?” Jacqueline pushed a strand of her thick, straight blonde hair back off her shoulder.

  “I don't know yet. I just know that I can’t face being there right now. I got a call from Risk Management today. They said they heard from some woman claiming to be my patient's sister, not that I thought she even had a sister.” I waved my hand at that. “This ‘sister’ was complaining about poor care. I would never suggest a procedure to any patient if I didn’t think the benefits outweighed the risks. That woman has to understand that. I just had no reason to expect it, not from the chemo part anyway.”

  “Okay, back up a minute. She doesn’t have a sister?”

  “No. But someone called. I freaked. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t really push for details. Jackie, I got too close to this patient. Her death has really thrown me for a loop. I mean, I know she had a chance of dying, later, if the actual transplant failed, but not like this. This was the low-risk part. This just shouldn't have happened.”

  “Did you treat her incorrectly?” Jacqueline asked pragmatically.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I researched it like crazy, I...”

  “Then that’s exactly why she can’t win a malpractice case,” Jacqueline interrupted. She spoke in careful, metered tones. “Calm down. You’re an excellent doctor. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I am worried though. I’m not even sure I understand what happened.” I frowned.

  “It doesn’t matter what happened.” Jacqueline stood up, slipping into business-mode. “We need to make sure that nothing else happens. It’s time to cover your tail." She paced across the room. “You’re making yourself look bad by taking off from work. You need to go back. One day is an illness. More is guilty. Also, have you gotten a lawyer yet? I can give you the name of someone very good.”

  “I have the hospital lawyer. We’re sending all of the records to him.”

  “Nic! This is the real thing. You are going to have to protect yourself. You can’t expect people to be fair. That attorney is going to look out for the hospital’s interests. You need someone specifically looking out for you because you know as well as anyone that you could take the blame when it comes to damage control at the hospital.”

  I slouched in the overstuffed recliner and harrumphed. “Okay, you’re right. I wasn't thinking. But, you know, this isn’t helping me feel any better.”

  “I’m sorry. Don’t worry any more about it tonight.”

  “I really don’t want to go back.” I pushed my bangs up off my forehead.

  “Take it from the mouth of a prosecutor. You need to go back to work until all of this is straightened out. After that you can take a nice long leave of absence if that’s what you want.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it. After one more day off.”

  “Nic,” she said warningly.

  “Two days can be illness too.” I pushed.

  Jacqueline tsked. I sat up and gave her my most winsome smile.

  She snorted at me, tried to glare, and then laughed as I tilted my head and folded my hands by my cheek. “I swear, Nic, you’re such a clown sometimes. Really, do people ever take you seriously?”

  I coughed.

  “Yes. You’re right, doctor. You can be ill two days. Do you think that’s wise?”

  “I think that it’s necessary for my mental health, if nothing else.” I resumed a serious demeanor, but the tension had lightened considerably.

  “Well, I can’t make you go,” she grumbled.

  I smiled and jumped up. “A sick day! Hooray!”

  Jacqueline shook her head, but she smiled, and she glowed with it. Her charming smile was quickly becoming infamous in legal circles. If, and when, she wanted to, Jacqueline charmed clients and juries alike. And naturally, her list of suitors was long, but Jacqueline kept them all at arm’s length. Her career was everything. “We’ll get this straightened out for you, Nic. I promise.” Jacqueline turned to leave, declaring an early court date, and I trailed her to the door.

  “Good night. Thanks for coming by to talk.” I waved her up the front walk, this time enjoying the refreshing coolness of the night air. After I finally closed the door, I went upstairs and collapsed in exhaustion on the bed.

  True to form, the phone rang early the next morning.

  I fumbled for the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Dr. Lane. Walt Pearman here. Pathology. We’ve met a few times at Grand Rounds.”

  “Of course. How are you, Dr. Pearman?” The weight of the hospital returned.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I called your office and they said that you were out today. We’ve been working on a patient of yours and I’ve noticed several unusual things. I need some clinical correlation from you. Is there a convenient time today that we could meet to talk about her?”

  I felt a tingle run down my arms. I’d never had a post-autopsy call before, or mid-autopsy this sounded like. “Yes. I can meet you later this morning. Is there anything that I can help you with now?”

  “No, it can wait until you get here.”

  “Okay. Give me about an hour.” My voice was more cheerful than I felt. I couldn't imagine what could be going on.

  I climbed out of bed and forced myself to put in my time on the treadmill. As the wide belt skimmed over the carpet, I searched for a reason why Pearman would call me to an autopsy. Was there a cancer? No, he could have sent that in his dictation, it was no longer pertinent. Fear jolted through my abdomen. Could I have made a misdiagnosis? I stopped jogging and leaned on the handlebars, slowing my breathing. He could have told me about that over the phone, then I wouldn’t have to endure my
embarrassment face to face. And clinical correlation??? I hurried to finish my morning ablutions.

  In the car on the way to the hospital, I watched the early rays of the sun glow orange across the back windows of the cars lined up ahead of me. I usually enjoyed the morning ride to work. It was a time to reflect, and I could feel the pulse of the city coming to life around me. Today, I swerved between lanes, alternately gunning the engine and slamming on worn brakes in a mad rush to reach the hospital.

  Eventually, I pulled my tired Prius into a physician slot and hurried down a back hallway to the rear of the pathology lab. None of the staff I passed registered—I didn't really see them—and I only heard a proffered ‘hello’ about twenty steps after it came. The pathology suite was accessible to authorized personnel by means of the morgue elevator at the back of the hospital facility. I tapped on the call button repeatedly while I waited for the battered old cage to pick me up. It had been built when the hospital first opened thirty years ago, and had not been a part of the recent hospital renovations because its passengers were generally not very particular. It bounced unsteadily when I stepped aboard once the doors finally opened, and the old conveyance ground its way down. This elevator opened directly into the main autopsy room and the sound of the normally inactive doors startled several nearby workers. Most pick-ups came in the evening, or at night, when fewer people could gawk. I stepped out and looked at the nearest turned head.

  “I’m Dr. Lane. Where can I find Dr. Pearman?”

  He answered readily, relieved that I belonged here. Random visitors occasionally found their way here and were always horrified at the dissections they stumbled onto. One woman had arrived there by mistake three months ago and had nearly had a heart attack when she mistook the room for her husband’s. The man gestured across the room, and then pointed at a coat rack behind me. “He’s up front, wearing the blue lab coat. You can get a gown over there.”

  I pulled a yellow protective gown off the rack, and put it on over my clothes. Most blood-related activity would be contained on the tables, but it never hurt to be safe. I walked between the two stainless steel tables, and cleared my throat. “Dr. Pearman?”