“Type one Kounis syndrome is an acute allergic event found in patients without predisposing factors for coronary artery disease. That sort of coronary artery spasm could cause apical ballooning in the left ventricle, could it or could it not?”
“Am I on the witness stand, Dr. Devereux?” Dr. Coffey gave a tight-lipped smile.
“It’s just a question,” Julie said.
“Sure. Why not. You seem to have all the answers. What do you need me for, anyway?”
“What if the allergen didn’t show on the pathology slide?”
Exasperation now from Dr. Coffey. “Then I’d say the lab tech screwed up the stain, or someone switched the slide.”
The twinkle in Dr. Coffey’s eyes made Julie uneasy. Someone switched the slide. Her thoughts went whirling. Could it be possible? If someone did that, could they also have planted morphine in Brandon’s apartment? Bribed Sherri Platt into testifying to ensure a conviction? If so, what was being covered up, and what was Dr. Coffey’s part? Why would he even plant the suggestion that someone switched the slide? Julie wondered. Overconfidence, she thought. Perhaps he considered her an unworthy adversary. He got a rush flying planes; maybe he was addicted to risks, like a criminal who left clues for the cops trying to catch him.
“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to go home now,” Dr. Coffey said. “I had a great flight, and I don’t want anything to spoil what has been until this moment a terrific day.”
Julie returned a wan smile. “I’m wondering if you know of any drug that could cause a Kounis syndrome reaction? Something that might have a connection to, I don’t know—hives.”
Julie held a breath. This was the moment. This was why she wanted to confront him in person. How would he react? What would he do or say?
A defense lawyer could not have coached a better facial expression. Dr. Coffey was stoic, utterly emotionless. He shook his head to show his disbelief.
“You can’t let this go, can you?” he said in a harsh voice. “I’ve seen you all over the news. Everywhere you go, Julie, bad things seem to follow. Why don’t you just leave this one alone?” Dr. Coffey looked over his shoulder at Julie’s son, and held his gaze long enough for Trevor to shrink under the weight of his stare. “For everyone’s sake, just leave this alone and move on with your life.”
“I can’t do that,” Julie said.
Dr. Coffey shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way. But if you confront me like this again, I will report you to the Mass Medical Board for erratic behavior and have your license pulled faster than I landed that plane. That’s a promise. You have a nice day.”
Dr. Coffey exchanged his regular glasses for his aviator sunglasses and marched away without looking back.
* * *
LINCOLN COLE watched as Julie and Trevor walked from the airport lounge to her Prius, parked in the public lot not far from his sedan. He called his employer and relayed the conversation as he remembered it. Some of the medical jargon was a bit much, but Lincoln had a good enough grasp to convey the key points. His level of knowledge might have been on a need-to-know basis, but Lincoln was right in thinking what he overheard meant big trouble for his employer.
“This has to be handled.”
“Sherri Platt handled?” Lincoln asked.
“Yes. But we need discretion.”
“Not another national media story?”
“That would be preferable.”
“I happen to know Julie is taking Jordan Cobb to Sherri Platt’s funeral and bringing him home.”
“And that matters why?”
“Mr. Cobb doesn’t live in the best neighborhood.”
“Well then, it seems we’re all set here.”
The call went silent. The beach, Lincoln’s Cole’s early retirement, was very close, so close he could almost feel the sand against the soles of his feet.
CHAPTER 39
Sherri Platt’s funeral was tragic in every way. It was the second funeral in as many months Julie had attended for a person who left this world well before their time. Sherri’s family and friends spoke eloquently of a woman with a kind heart who loved helping others and loved being a nurse. The pews of the small Congregational church in Melrose were full of mourners, and the tears flowed freely. Many of Sherri’s colleagues had come to pay their respects, but Julie was most impressed to see Roman Janowski, White’s CEO, there as well. He spoke with Julie before the service.
“How are you holding up? It must have been such a shock to make that horrible discovery,” Roman said.
“It was, and I’m doing all right. Thank you for asking.”
“If you need time off, we’ll make it happen. Don’t you worry there.”
“Thank you, Roman. But I’m glad to be at work. Honestly, I need the distraction.”
“Please, call me Romey. All my friends do.”
“Romey it is.”
Julie thought about sharing her concerns over possible Kounis syndrome in patients at White, but knew better than to go to Roman without absolute proof. Dr. Coffey would certainly call foul, accuse Julie of harassment, and while she wanted answers, Julie also wanted to keep her job.
“You’re a wonderful doctor, Julie,” Romey said. “Just know that we’re here for you in any way you need. You’ve been through an awful lot these past few months.”
Roman gave Julie a quick embrace and she realized they were about the same height. He always seemed taller to her, perhaps because of how he carried himself.
During the service, Jordan Cobb sat in solemn silence beside Julie. He looked handsome in his dark suit, but from the way he shifted in his seat, Julie could tell Jordan was more comfortable in a pair of scrubs. The service had deeply moved him and after the final eulogy Jordan wiped tears from his eyes. Julie was touched by his emotion, but she was crying as well. The service brought back disturbing memories of a cat with bloody paws, of Sherri’s collapsed skull and inert body on a blood-soaked bathroom floor, of those chilling words (For Brandon Stahl) crudely scrawled on the mirror in red lipstick.
Therapy had helped Julie deal with her divorce, but she questioned if anything could get her over the gruesome discovery and the guilt that had followed. Julie kept telling herself, if only she had not pushed for answers, Sherri Platt might be alive. The guilt reminded her of a phrase she uttered constantly in her head after Sam’s accident.
If only …
The afternoon service ended after five and Julie made the drive to Dorchester in the dark. Even if Jordan owned a car, Julie would still have offered to drive him to the service. They were both connected to Sherri Platt through Brandon Stahl and it felt fitting to be together on this solemn day. The world outside her car windows seemed to have slowed. Thanksgiving was on Thursday, and the coming holiday might have tamed the city’s typical kinetic energy. Paul would be joining Julie, Trevor, Julie’s mom, and a few other friends and relatives for a Thanksgiving meal at her Cambridge home. Julie was grateful her divorce was amicable so she and Paul could share holidays together, but it was still a solo effort and there was much to prepare. Julie was way behind schedule.
Julie and Jordan’s talk of the funeral turned to talk of their fledgling investigation.
Jordan said, “You still think Colchester had Sherri killed to keep her quiet about lying on the witness stand?”
“That’s my best guess,” Julie said. “I think he made it look like it was one of Brandon’s supporters to cover his tracks.”
“What’s the motive?”
“Bribery is not good for a political career, and I’m sure he wanted to keep Brandon in jail, as well. It’s why he planted the morphine. He believes for certain Brandon killed his son and had to make the case airtight. Couldn’t happen without the drugs and Sherri’s testimony.”
“Makes sense,” Jordan said. “But you told me Colchester played the grieving dad only to the media.”
“He did. And you make a good point. I think his wife had something to do with it. Colchester said something about her
being emotionally fragile. What if she was so convinced Brandon killed her son that William Colchester made it a reality for her well-being?”
“I’d say that’s a pretty twisted marriage.”
Julie said, “Though, I wonder why Colchester didn’t initially fight the request to exhume the body? That came after. Strange.”
Jordan gave it some thought.
“Maybe a doctor he consulted with told him exhuming the body could cast doubt in the mind of the jury.” Jordan tossed out the idea with a shrug. “Like it would muddy up the waters,” he continued, “make it harder to prove morphine did him in. I’d say that’s enough of a motive for Colchester to grease the judge’s palm.”
“Maybe the doctor he consulted was named Coffey.”
Jordan exhaled loudly. “Coffey? Why him?”
“Heart attacks in healthy hearts at White? It’s the equivalent of a politician caught making a bribe. Not a good advertisement for the hospital, and it’s a fast track to professional ruin. Coffey’s protecting his ego and reputation while jeopardizing patients’ lives, that’s what I think. Suppose he was following Brandon Stahl’s case closely because he knew it was really Kounis syndrome that killed him. If that were true, I’d say he knew about the motion to exhume the body, and then approached Colchester with some free advice about it, if you know what I mean.”
Jordan mulled it over. “Makes sense,” he said. “But if it’s Kounis syndrome killing the patients, how do you explain Sam’s slides? There was no indication of allergy there.”
A car that had been tailgating Julie gave an angry honk, changed lanes without signaling, and passed quickly on her left. Ah, the joys of driving in the city never ceased.
“It’s simple,” Julie said. “Dr. Coffey knew Sam would be autopsied, so he somehow switched the slides. With know-how and access, it’s easily done.”
“So let me get this straight,” Jordan said. “After the wiretap evidence gets tossed, Colchester bribes Sherri and plants evidence to get Brandon convicted.”
“Yes.”
“And we think he did this to help his emotionally unstable wife move on.”
“Theory, yes, but I like it.”
“Meanwhile, something is causing allergic reactions in healthy hearts at White. Coffey knows about it; he’s afraid of it for some reason. He plays to Colchester’s fears about Brandon going free. It’s fear enough for Colchester to bribe the judge into denying the request to exhume his son’s body, and Coffey’s dirty secret about Kounis syndrome stays buried in the ground. That about sum it up?”
“That’s my take.”
Jordan shook his head in disbelief. “Dr. Abruzzo has a saying anytime she comes up with an unusual cause of death,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be probable, it just has to be possible.”
Julie made a slight chuckle. “We’ll have to keep searching those medical records for cases of undiagnosed Kounis syndrome.”
“No more takotsubo, right?”
“No, this is allergic, not stress related.”
“Maybe interview staff to see if they remember patients breaking out in hives,” Jordan suggested, “and then see if there are matching records in the system.”
“I like that plan.”
Something still tugged at Jordan.
“How did Colchester know Sherri was going to come clean to you?” he asked.
Julie thought this over, but could not come up with an answer.
* * *
AS THEY drove into Dorchester, Julie stifled a yawn. She was bone tired, and the thought of getting the Thanksgiving preparations under way, under-caffeinated, was less appealing than driving through these confusing Dorchester streets.
“Do you know anyplace I could grab a good cup of coffee for the ride home?”
Jordan made a “pfft” sound, as if to say, but of course.
“Rico’s is one of the best coffee shops around and it’s right down the street from my apartment. The owner is a Puerto Rican guy named Juan, and if you think Colombian coffee is good, wait until you try his brew.”
Lucky for Julie, she found parking close to the quaint coffee shop. It was a nippy November evening and the streets were relatively quiet. The less walking she had to do in this unfamiliar neighborhood, the better.
Jordan escorted Julie into Rico’s. She had volunteered to drop him at home first, but he refused her offer.
“Better if I hang out with you while you’re in my hood,” he said.
Julie did not disagree.
The aromatic coffee shop had plenty of character but not a lot of space, and the few tables for seating were all occupied. One good whiff and Julie understood why. She went right to the counter, and was ordering her coffee, when a deep baritone voice spoke to her from behind.
“Dr. Devereux?”
Julie whirled and broke into a bright smile. The tall man with broad shoulders standing behind Julie was the quarterback for the Boston College Eagles whose life she’d once saved.
“Max Hartsock!” Julie exclaimed.
Max opened his arms and gave Julie a warm embrace.
“What are you doing here?” Max said with an accompanying head scratch. “Rico’s might be the last place I thought I’d run into you.”
Julie gave a little laugh.
“You’re not the first person I’ve surprised like that lately,” she said. “I’m bringing Jordan Cobb home. Do you two know each other?”
“Know him? Jordan’s my homey,” Max said, as he and Jordan went through a mesmerizing series of choreographed handshakes and slaps. “Wouldn’t have made it through algebra without him.”
“We were just at a funeral for a colleague of ours, Sherri Platt,” Julie said. “You may have read about her in the papers or seen her on the local news.”
“Local and CNN,” Max said. “Heard all about her and you. That’s a horrible discovery to make. I hope you’re doing all right.”
“I’m hanging in there. Thank you.”
Max invited Julie and Jordan to join them at his table. Once seated, Max again offered his condolences about Sam. Julie thanked him for his thoughtful note and for the football tickets.
“Paul took Trevor to the game. Speaking of which, what are you doing here? I would have thought Thanksgiving was all football all the time.”
“Yeah, well, we played yesterday. Game on Saturday against Louisville. Revenge, I should say.” Max followed a devilish grin with a wink. “Anyway, Coach gave us the day off so I came home to help my grandma get ready for the holiday. It’s kind of a tradition. You have not lived until you’ve had my grandma’s sweet potato pie.”
Julie laughed. She was glad to hear Max doing so well, and even better, looking and feeling so well. He was back on the field after his near-death experience and, according to Trevor, putting up some impressive stats. Forget playing football: the fact that Max Hartsock was even alive, talking to Julie, sharing stories, praising his grandmother’s cooking, was something awe-inspiring and beyond gratifying.
These were the moments when Julie loved being a doctor, and they balanced out the difficulties of caring for the ultra-sick. Max represented the best outcome possible—a return to health with a high quality of life. For Sam, this was not to be, nor was it likely for Shirley Mitchell, who remained on a ventilator, or for any number of patients Julie could name off the top of her head.
After a few more minutes catching up with Max, Julie got her coffee in a to-go cup and said her good-byes. Paul would be dropping Trevor off in a couple hours, and the thought of all she had to do was overwhelming.
Jordan walked Julie to her car. “Take care, Doc,” he said. “We’ll figure this thing out. Just know I’m on your team all the way.”
“I know it. Want a ride?”
Jordan pointed. “I’m just down the block. It’s cool. I’ll walk.”
There was a hug, and then Jordan waited curbside until Julie got settled in her car before he headed down the street for home. She pushed the Start button on her
Prius and the engine came to life, not that Julie could easily tell. The thing was silent as a panther on the hunt. Even though she had owned the car for a few years, it took a bit to get used to the quiet engine. She had grown accustomed to the roar of her motorcycle and to the vibrations it gave off. Julie set her coffee in the cup holder and took a moment to fiddle with her GPS. These streets would be impossible to navigate without some kind of assistance.
She’d just placed her hands on the steering wheel when a man stepped directly in front of her car. He was tall, with long braided dark hair covered by a black knit cap. He wore a puffy dark jacket and dark baggy jeans. His arms dangled at his sides, but one hand appeared unnaturally elongated. It took a moment for Julie to realize he was holding a gun. Before her terror had a chance to take root, her driver-side door flew open and another man was there, looming over Julie as he leaned into her car. He held a gun to her face and glared at her with angry eyes. He was close enough to bathe her in his hot breath. Julie gripped the wheel hard, her head dizzy with fear.
“Give me the keys, bitch, and move over. I’m taking this here car for a ride.”
Julie had several thoughts, but they came to her too fast to register as anything conscious.
I’m being carjacked!
That was one.
Give him the keys.
That was another.
And then came a third thought, which materialized with the speed of reflex.
He doesn’t know the car is already running.
Julie’s mind was gummed with terror, but a notion had been planted. The man at the door continued to shove his way inside, pushing against her, while the other man stationed in the front of her vehicle continued to block her way. Now she got it. Neither man knew the car was running. The engine was silent.
Julie screamed for help as she slammed her foot on the accelerator. The Prius responded instantly and shot forward at a high rate of speed. The man forcing his way into the driver’s seat was caught by surprise and dropped his gun in exchange for a grip on the wheel, which kept him from being sucked under the moving car. The man standing in front lifted his hands in a pointless attempt at self-defense.
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