Harmful Intent

by Robin Cook

  “What is it?” he asked as Kelly turned back to her work.

  “The lists from Valley Hospital. Hart came through again. He faxed it over this afternoon. He was a little curious this time, though.”

  “What did you tell him?” Jeffrey asked.

  “I told him the truth,” Kelly said. “That there was something about Chris’s case that still bothered me. But, Jeffrey, I can’t talk right now. Go in the back room. I’ll be off duty in a few minutes.”

  Jeffrey went into the narrow room and sat down. In marked contrast to the busy ICU, the only noise was from the compressor of a small refrigerator and the omnipresent coffeepot. Jeffrey opened the envelope and took out the fax.

  There were two separate sheets. One was a list of doctors issued parking stickers for the year 1987 and was organized by department. The other was a payroll manifest for the same year for all employees of the hospital.

  Eagerly, Jeffrey took out his own list of the thirty-four doctors who had privileges at both Memorial and St. Joseph’s. Checking down the list of names, Jeffrey was able to narrow the list of thirty-four down to a list of six. One of the six was a Dr. Nancy Bennett. She was from Valley Hospital’s department of anesthesia. For the moment she became Jeffrey’s prime suspect. Now he would have to get equivalent lists from Commonwealth Hospital and Suffolk General. Once he had those he was confident his list would be even smaller. In fact, he hoped he would be down to a single individual.

  The door from the ICU opened and Kelly came in. She looked as tired as Jeffrey felt. She came over and took a chair next to Jeffrey. “What a day!” she sighed. “Five admissions on our shift alone.”

  “I’ve got some encouraging news,” Jeffrey said eagerly. “Using the Valley professional staff list, we’re down to only six doctors. Now if we could just think of a way to get lists from the other two hospitals.”

  “I don’t think I can help there,” Kelly said. “I don’t know a soul at either Commonwealth or Suffolk.”

  “What would you think of just going out there and visiting the nursing office?”

  “Wait a second!” Kelly said suddenly. “Amy worked at Suffolk in their ICU.”

  “Who’s Amy?” Jeffrey asked.

  “She’s one of my nurses,” Kelly said. “Let me see if she’s left yet.” Kelly sprang from the chair and disappeared into the ICU again.

  Jeffrey’s eyes went back to his list of six doctors, then to the list of thirty-four. It was encouraging progress, indeed. Six was a lot more reasonable number of people to consider. Then he spotted the two names to the right of the list of M.D.s. He’d forgotten about the employees. Moving over to the Valley Hospital employee roster, he looked for Maureen Gallop’s name. As he expected, it was not there. Next he checked Trent Harding. To his utter amazement, the man’s name was on the Valley Hospital roster. He’d actually worked in their nursing department in 1987!

  Jeffrey’s heartbeat quickened. The name shouted at him from the page. Trent Harding had worked at Valley Hospital, Memorial, and St. Joseph’s.

  Stay cool, Jeffrey advised himself as his excitement soared. It was probably just a coincidence. But it was one hell of a coincidence and a lot less easy to explain than a doctor’s having multiple privileges.

  The door to the ICU opened and Kelly reappeared. She dropped back into her seat, pushing her hair off her forehead. “I missed her,” she said with disappointment. “But I’ll be seeing her tomorrow. I’ll ask her then.”

  “I’m not sure it will be necessary,” Jeffrey said. “Look what I found!” He placed the Valley employee list in front of her and pointed to Trent Harding’s name. “This guy’s worked in all three hospitals at the critical times,” he said. “I know it’s circumstantial, but it’s hard to believe his having been at each of the three at the right time is mere coincidence.”

  “And he’s working here at St. Joseph’s now?”

  “According to the list you brought me.”

  “Do you know where in the hospital?”

  “I don’t know where but I know the department,” Jeffrey said. “He’s in the same department as you: nursing.”

  Kelly drew in a sharp breath. “No!” she said.

  “That’s what was indicated on the list. Do you know him?”

  Kelly shook her head. “I’ve never even heard his name before, but then I certainly don’t know everybody.”

  “We have to find out where he works,” Jeffrey said.

  “Let’s go see Polly Arnsdorf,” Kelly said, quickly getting to her feet.

  Jeffrey grabbed her arm. “Hold on. We have to be careful. I don’t want Polly Arnsdorf scaring this guy. Remember, we have no proof. It’s all circumstantial. If this Harding character suspects we’re on to him, he could run, and that’s the last thing we want. And besides, we can’t use my real name. She might recognize it.”

  “But if Harding is the killer, we can’t have him stalking the halls of this hospital.”

  “The interval between the anesthetic complications has been eight or more months,” Jeffrey said. “A couple of days won’t matter.”

  “What about Gail?” Kelly demanded.

  “We still don’t know what was behind her death.”

  “But you implied—” Kelly began.

  “I said I was suspicious,” Jeffrey interrupted. “Calm down. You’re getting more worked up than I am. Remember, all we know for sure is that this Harding fellow has worked at all three hospitals at the time of the anesthetic problems. We’re going to need a lot more than that to put the finger on him. And it might turn out we’re wrong. I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk to Polly. We just have to get our story straight. That’s all.”

  “All right,” Kelly said. “How should I introduce you?”

  “I’ve been using the name Webber but I’m afraid I haven’t been consistent with the first name. Let’s call me Dr. Justin Webber. And as far as this Harding fellow is concerned, let’s say that we are concerned about his competence.”

  Together they went downstairs and into the administration office. When they arrived outside Polly Arnsdorf’s office they were told she was on a long distance telephone call. They sat in the waiting area until she could see them. From the flurry of activity around her office, it was clear how busy she was.

  When they were finally let in to see her, Kelly introduced Jeffrey as Dr. Justin Webber, according to plan.

  “And what can I do for you?” Polly asked. Her tone was friendly but businesslike.

  Kelly looked briefly at Jeffrey, then started. “We wanted to inquire about one of the nurses here,” she said. “His name is Trent Harding.”

  Polly nodded and waited. When Kelly didn’t speak, she said, “And what is it you’d like to know?”

  “First, we’re curious as to where in the hospital he works,” Jeffrey asked.

  “Worked,” Polly corrected. “Mr. Harding quit yesterday.”

  Jeffrey felt a pang of disappointment. Oh no, he thought; would he lose this man after coming this close? On the positive side, Harding’s quitting right after the latest anesthetic complication was another circumstantially incriminating piece of information.

  “Where in the hospital did he work?” Jeffrey asked.

  “The OR,” Polly answered. She looked back and forth between Jeffrey and Kelly. Her instincts told her that something was up, something fairly serious.

  “What shift did he work?” Kelly asked.

  “For the first month he worked evenings,” Polly said. “But then he’d been shifted to days. He’d been on days until yesterday.”

  “Was it a surprise that he quit?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Not really,” Polly said. “If there wasn’t such a shortage of good nurses, I would have asked him to leave some time ago. He’s had a history of normative problems with respect to getting along with superiors, not only here but in other institutions where he’d worked. Mrs. Raleigh had her hands full with him. He was always telling her how to run the OR. But as a nurse he wa
s superb. Extremely intelligent, I might add.”

  “Where else has the man worked?” Jeffrey asked.

  “He’s worked at most of the Boston hospitals. I believe the only major hospital he has yet to work in is Boston City.”

  “He worked at Commonwealth and Suffolk General?” Jeffrey asked.

  Polly nodded. “To my best recollection.”

  Jeffrey could barely contain himself. “Would it be possible to look at his file?”

  “That I can’t let you do,” Polly told him. “Our files are confidential.”

  Jeffrey nodded. He’d expected as much. “What about a photo? Surely that would be all right.”

  Polly used her intercom to call out to her secretary, asking him to locate a photo of Trent Harding. Then she asked, “May I ask what this interest in Mr. Harding is all about?”

  Both Jeffrey and Kelly started to speak at the same time. Then Jeffrey nodded for her to go on. “There is some question about his credentials and competence,” she said.

  “That’s not the part I’d question,” Polly said as her secretary came in with a photo. She took it and handed it across to Jeffrey. Kelly leaned over to look at it as well.

  Jeffrey had seen the man in the Memorial OR on many occasions. He recognized his startling blond crewcut and stocky build. Jeffrey had never spoken with him directly as far as he could remember, but he remembered him as having always been deferential and conscientious. He certainly didn’t look like a killer. He looked rather all-American, like a football player from a college in Texas.

  Looking up from the photo, Jeffrey asked, “Do you have any idea of the man’s plans?”

  “Oh, yes,” Polly said. “Mr. Harding was quite specific. He said he was going to apply to Boston City because he wanted a more academic program.”

  “One other thing,” Jeffrey asked. “Could you give us Trent Harding’s address and phone number?”

  “I suppose that would be all right,” Polly said. “I’m sure it’s in the phone book.” She took out a piece of paper and pencil. She reached across and took the photo of Trent Harding from Kelly, turned it over, and copied the information from the back, then handed the paper to Jeffrey.

  Jeffrey thanked Polly for her time. Kelly did the same. Then they left administration. Walking out the front door to the hospital, they went to Kelly’s car.

  “This could really be it!” Jeffrey said excitedly once they were out of earshot. “Trent Harding could be the murderer!”

  “I agree,” Kelly said. They got to the car and faced each other over the top. Kelly had yet to open the door. “I also think we have an obligation to go to the police right away. We’ve got to put a stop to him before he strikes again. If he’s the man, he must be insane.”

  “We can’t go to the police,” Jeffrey said with some exasperation. “And for the same reasons I told you last time. As incriminating as we think this information is, it’s still circumstantial. Remember, we have no proof. None! There isn’t even any proof the patients were poisoned. I’ve got the Medical Examiner looking for a toxin, but the chances of his isolating one are not good. There are limits to toxicological capability.”

  “But the idea someone like this is walking around terrifies me,” Kelly said.

  “Hey, I agree with you—but the fact of the matter is at this point the authorities wouldn’t be able to do anything even if they believed us. And at least for the moment he’s not in the hospital.”

  Kelly reluctantly opened the door to her car. Both of them climbed in.

  “What we need is proof,” Jeffrey said. “And the first thing we have to do is make sure that this character is still in town.”

  “And how are we going to do that?” Kelly asked.

  Jeffrey unfolded the piece of notepaper Polly had given him. “We’re going to drive over to his apartment and make sure it’s still occupied.”

  “You’re not going to try to talk with him, are you?”

  “Not yet,” Jeffrey said. “But I’ll probably have to at some point. Let’s go. The address is Garden Street on Beacon Hill.”

  Kelly did as she was told, even though she didn’t like the idea of going anywhere near this fiend’s home. Proof or no proof, she was already convinced of Harding’s guilt. What other reason could there be for his being at each of those hospitals at precisely the right time?

  Kelly drove onto Storrow Drive, then turned right on Revere Street, which took them straight up to Beacon Hill. At Garden Street they turned down toward Cambridge Street. They didn’t speak again until they came to the address. Kelly double-parked. She pulled on the emergency brake. It was a steep hill.

  Jeffrey leaned across Kelly’s lap to look up at the building. In contrast to those neighboring it, Harding’s building was built of yellow, not red, brick. But, like the others, it was a five-story tenement. Because of the steepness of the street, the rooflines stepped down from building to building like a giant stair. Trent’s building was capped with a decorative parapet sheathed in copper that was weathered to the familiar greenish patina. It would have been attractive except that the right corner had split and a large section hung down. The front door, the fire escape, and all the trim were badly in need of repair, and, like its neighbors, the building had a dilapidated appearance.

  “It doesn’t look like a good area,” Kelly said. There was trash littering the street. The cars parked on either side were junky and battered except for one: a red Corvette.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jeffrey said as he made a move to open his door.

  Kelly grabbed his arm. “Are you sure you should do this?”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Jeffrey said. “Besides, I’m just going to check in the foyer and see if his name’s listed. I’ll be right back.”

  Kelly’s concern gave Jeffrey pause. He stood in the street for a moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing. But he had to make sure Harding was still in Boston. Setting his jaw, he crossed between parked cars and tried the yellow building’s outer door. It opened into a small foyer.

  Jeffrey stepped inside. The building was even shabbier on the inside. A cheap fixture dangling from an exposed wire hung from the foyer ceiling. At one time the inner door must have been forced open with a crowbar and never repaired. A ripped plastic trash bag had been tossed in the foyer’s corner. Trash had spilled from the tear, adding the disagreeable smell of garbage to the air.

  There were six apartments listed by the intercom. Jeffrey guessed that meant there was one apartment per floor, including the basement. Trent Harding’s name was at the top of the list. His name was also on the front of one of the mailboxes. Jeffrey saw that all the locks on the mailboxes were broken. He reached up and opened Harding’s box to see if there was any mail. The instant his hand touched the box, the inner door to the building was pulled open.

  Jeffrey found himself face to face with Trent Harding. He had not remembered how strong the man appeared. There was also a meanness about him that Jeffrey had never appreciated when he’d seen him in the Memorial OR. His eyes were blue and cold and deeply set beneath thick brows. Harding also had a scar that Jeffrey had forgotten about and that hadn’t been apparent in the photograph.

  Jeffrey was able to pull his hand off the mailbox in the split second before Harding could see. At first Jeffrey was afraid Harding would recognize him. But with an expression akin to a sneer, the man gruffly pushed past Jeffrey without a pause.

  Jeffrey took a deep breath. He leaned against the wall of mailboxes for a moment to catch his breath. The brief, unexpected encounter had momentarily unnerved him. But at least he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. He knew Trent Harding had not left town. He might have quit St. Joe’s, but he was still in Boston.

  Emerging from the building, Jeffrey stepped between the parked cars and climbed back into Kelly’s car. Kelly was livid.

  “The guy just came out of the building!” she snapped. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone in. I knew it!”

  “No
thing happened,” Jeffrey assured her. “At least we know he hasn’t skipped town. But I admit he startled me. I can’t say for sure if he’s the murderer, but he’s pretty scary-looking up close. He’s got a scar under his eye that didn’t show up in the photo and there’s something wild about his eyes.”

  “He’s got to be crazy if he’s been putting something in the anesthetic,” Kelly said as she reached forward and started the car.

  Jeffrey leaned over and put his hand on her arm. “Wait,” he said.

  “What now?” Kelly questioned.

  “Just a second,” Jeffrey said. He jumped out of the car again and jogged up to the corner of Revere Street. Looking down Revere, he could just make out Harding’s form receding in the distance.

  Jeffrey trotted back to Kelly, but instead of getting in the car, he appeared at her driver’s-side window. “This is too good an opportunity to pass up,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Whatever it was, Kelly was sure she wasn’t going to like it.

  “The inner foyer door to Trent’s building is open. I think I’ll take a quick look around his apartment. Maybe I’ll find some sort of evidence to confirm our suspicions.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Kelly said. “Besides, how will you get into his apartment?”

  Jeffrey pointed up at the roof. Kelly craned her neck.

  “See that window by the fire escape on the top floor?” Jeffrey said. “It’s open. Trent Harding lives on the top floor. I can go to the roof, climb down the fire escape, and get inside.”

  “I think we should just get out of here,” Kelly said.

  “A few minutes ago you were the one who was so concerned about this guy on the loose,” Jeffrey said. “If I can get the proof we need to stop him, isn’t it worth the risk? I don’t think we can pass up the opportunity.”

  “What if Mr. Muscle Beach comes back while you’re in there? He could tear you apart with his hands.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Jeffrey said. “Besides, in the unlikely event that he does come back while I’m still there, just let him go inside. Wait for five seconds, then come in and ring his buzzer. His name is right by the button. If I hear the buzzer, I’ll go back out the window and up to the roof.”