3 Executive Sick Days

by Maria E. Schneider

"I know, but look, all we have found so far is some patients being charged for services that didn't happen. The patient isn't gaining from that, but someone is. Until we find the money trail, we're not going to get anywhere!"

  Radar piped up with, "She's right. Not all the bills go through the hospital system. It's impossible to track all the various billing from the doctors, the radiologists and some of the other fringe people. If a radiologist is charging for all those extra services to line his pocket, the hospital records aren't going to show that. I'd have to break into the systems for every single doctor, radiologist, physical therapist office, you name it." He rubbed his hands together, looking way too pleased by that thought.

  Mark shot him down. "There's no point in trying to get into every single bank account until we narrow it down."

  "There were two main doctors who ordered the false x-rays we know about. Did that hold up across your stats?" I asked him.

  Radar shook his head. "Not really. Dr. Burns and Dr. Staple were on most of the x-rays and scans that matched the profile. Dr. Evans and Dr. Fox were on at least three others."

  "If we could get one of the other doctors to look at the x-rays, maybe that doctor could give us a clue about who might be likely to bilk insurance companies."

  "Or maybe the new consultant would get bashed in the head," Huntington growled.

  "Or bash someone in the head if we guess wrong like Dr. Dan did," Radar added unhelpfully.

  "When is Dr. Dan coming back?" I asked.

  Huntington glared at me. "You aren't thinking of involving him again."

  "If we tell him about the scans and everything else we know, it might trigger a memory. Maybe he'll recall who he talked to or who stopped by."

  “If he gets lucid enough to talk to, we can think about it,” Huntington said. “But right now, that’s a moot point.”

  Radar said, "From my statistics, Crestwood does about ten percent more x-rays and scans than other hospitals of the same size. The doctors don't benefit directly from the x-rays or scans. They only benefit if they do an actual procedure and bill for the procedure. Unless I access their bank accounts, I'm not going to be able to figure out who is getting a huge influx of cash. Even then, that could be disguised." He looked hopefully at Huntington.

  Huntington shook his head. "We've done several profiles already to check debt levels of some of the players, but it hasn't proved helpful. We have to narrow it down further."

  Working with these guys was going to make me an all cash person. "Speaking of looking through personal records, did you find anything out about Dr. Dan's phone calls?"

  Mark said, "No. Dr. Dan called the hospital's main switchboard three different times that morning. He also called Dr. Johnson, the chief of staff, but from the length of the cell phone record, it's likely he left a message."

  “Maybe he did eventually talk to him,” I said, thinking about the dogs again, wondering how they acted toward Dr. Johnson. “Even though Dr. Johnson isn’t active with patients, he still consults and has access to patient and hospital passwords. He's been around a while so he could be accessing and changing records."

  Radar said, "Whoever is duplicating scans only needs access to the electronic data, which essentially means passwords. I've tested it. Once you're in the system, the file can be copied easily and stashed in multiple electronic patient files. The x-ray scheme is probably an older one. I would bet there are fewer fake x-rays being done now that the perp has decided to add in the more expensive scans."

  I had to agree with that. "The x-rays are a huge hassle. A hard copy has to be created and then manually added to the files. It’s a lot riskier and requires access to an x-ray machine at least once in a while."

  Huntington nodded. “It's pretty likely that whoever has been doing this isn't just one person, not with the x-ray scheme in place. The financial records indicate this has been going on for seven to ten years and that takes organization and unfettered access to the equipment."

  "Why weren’t these bogus charges noticed sooner?" I asked.

  "The records are good enough. An audit would produce x-rays or scans and enough paperwork to make it look like the patient existed and had been in the hospital. Whoever is doing this knows the system inside and out."

  "What about asking Dr. Taylor? He already knows we're…" I rolled my eyes at the looks I was getting. "Okay, okay, no more inside consulting."

  Mark said, "Dr. Dan tipped someone off to the investigation. We've got to be very careful. No one asks any questions about the x-rays, Dr. Dan or money."

  Well, hell. That didn't leave any questions we could ask, did it?

  Chapter 29

  On Sunday I managed church and karate. I was happy and almost relaxed until Attila called me at home.

  "Ellen agreed it simply wasn't fair of you to give us no notice about changing departments. We can't have volunteers making these kinds of unsupervised decisions and running all over the hospital. You've been reassigned back to the third floor."

  I about blew a gasket. Had I been a real volunteer I would have quit on the spot. How dare this madwoman go around controlling my life? "I asked about changing over--"

  "Of course, this can be straightened out," the harpy interrupted me. "We can meet with Ellen later this week so that you can request the change, and we can do an official transfer. In a few weeks or so."

  I hung up on her. What was she going to do, fire me? I called Ellen and tried not to rip her head off.

  She sounded harassed. Apparently, Attila had been making her life miserable. "I know you want to change positions, but I do have to get along with the supervisors in order to accommodate the various programs. She could refuse volunteer help completely, and that would make it difficult for some of the others to get their hours in."

  Attila would cut off her nose to spite her face. I squeezed my cheeks to keep from shouting. "I understand your position. Since you know Attila, you can probably understand mine."

  "Attila?" She choked on a laugh. Then after a minute, she giggled harder. "Yes, I understand. I'll take the paperwork to her tomorrow morning and officially transfer you downstairs next week."

  "How about by Thursday," I proposed. I didn't want to make it hard on Ellen, but I needed to be in x-ray. I also didn't intend to be a volunteer for very long so it was difficult for me to care about appeasing Attila.

  She sighed. "I'll submit it. She might not sign it though."

  Through gritted teeth I said, "Then please tell her I'm taking Thursday and Friday off." I'd report to x-ray and not clock in. I didn't care if I was given credit for the hours.

  Who would have thought being a volunteer would be such a hassle???

  * * *

  Monday morning, I was still angry. It bugged me to no end to have to play Attila's game. It was bad enough to be a volunteer; it stunk to be a poorly treated one and not be able to do much about it. Sadly, I had to play the game long enough to work the case.

  On my way to the nurses' station, I ran into Paul as he was passing out medications. "Mrs. Johanna didn't make it through the morning," he said morosely, pursing his sorry fish lips together. "Poor thing was so old. Door is closed, don't take in a breakfast tray. She needs to be taken downstairs, but I've got the med cart. You'll have to do it." He slogged away, the drug cart in front of him.

  "What do you mean, downstairs?"

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "You need to wheel her down to the morgue."

  I was speechless for a full minute. "You want me to what?" Why, when I worked for Huntington, did I find myself doing jobs that were way beyond the call of duty?

  "It's no big deal, kid. She's dead."

  That was precisely the problem.

  "We need to get her down there before the undertaker gets here. Her nephew called after the doctor notified the family. I told the nephew he should go to the funeral home rather than here. Trust me, it can be bad news when the family members get emotional. It's much better if the funeral home can handle t
hings. I can't leave the med cart unattended. You can wait in the hallway for the undertaker or roll her into the morgue."

  Now there was a choice or two. Gosh. Empowerment at last.

  I procrastinated. My lunch was safer in my backpack, but the soup really should be refrigerated. Maybe if I tucked it way back in the vegetable bin, the thief wouldn't find it. If I were working in x-ray, as I had planned, this wouldn’t have been much of a problem. Dr. Burn’s wasn’t down there everyday.

  My jacket had to be hung just so. There were call lights blinking too; the patients still alive were more important, right? My shoe was untied, or close enough.

  Fifteen minutes later, there was still no way out and no one in sight to help.

  I walked slowly down the hall to three-oh-one. The door was closed. I looked up and down the hallway. No aides, no nurses, nobody. Wait, there was fish-face! Surely he was done with meds by now. "Paul--" He ducked inside a patient room without even acknowledging my call.

  "Loser," I muttered. At least the door was well-oiled, and it didn't creak when I opened it.

  Inside, Mrs. Johanna was covered with a sheet and thankfully someone had already put her on the wheeled bed. I checked the hallway again for help. Mornings were one of the busiest times; doctors making rounds, changing orders, meds being given, patients needing help brushing their teeth and hair.

  Maybe I should go looking for someone. Crissa would help. Well, she hadn't been all that friendly since Mark left her side to come after me in the parking lot. But trying to wheel one of these beds by myself was not a good idea. What if I lost control of the bed?

  Ohboy. I checked the hallway again. I definitely needed help, but how long could I stand here waiting like an idiot with…with…that...sheesh.

  I swallowed hard and got moving.

  It was probably impolite to wheel her quickly, but I did anyway. I tried not to look desperate or afraid, but my face felt frozen into a grimace. My eyes started burning because I didn't want to blink.

  My Indian grandmother would probably have some rule against doing this. I would ask Dad. I could quote the rule next time this happened. I would decline based on religious reasons, even though both Mom and Dad were Catholic.

  I refused to look at the bed. The floors might seem smooth, but that was only until you had to cart someone across them, especially a dead someone. Maybe I should drag the bed behind me so that not even my peripheral vision caught glimpses of poor Mrs. Johanna. No. Definitely not. I didn't want the body behind me either. If it sat up suddenly, I wanted to be the first to know about it.

  Everything jiggled getting in the elevator, but it was worse being alone inside with...the body. What was that smell?

  I stopped breathing. Then I wouldn't have to make a guess.

  The elevator jerked, which made...the body...move.

  At last, the doors slid open. The long hallway to the morgue was empty and quiet.

  I gulped and forged ahead.

  At the door to the ice room, I fidgeted. If the hospital were larger, there would be a pathologist to do autopsies and maybe they would come and get…bodies. As it was, anyone could go in the ice room. The security was abysmal. The room should definitely be locked, because then special personnel would be required to deliver things, right? They couldn't just send me down here.

  What if someone was inside the ice room? Like...a bunch of séance weirdos?

  "Would never happen twice," I muttered to myself.

  The door opened easily. Damn. I had been hoping it would stick shut. Not that it would help really. I'd still be standing here with...her.

  The inside of the morgue was completely dark. Like the other rooms in the basement there were no windows to the outside. The light from the hallway was fluorescent and not very reflective or effective in beating back the darkness.

  I peered anxiously into the three-foot area and debated whether to push the bed in and run or look for a light and then drag the bed in after. Of course, Mrs. Johanna was supposed to go in the freezer, not just the room, so that meant I had to go all the way in.

  I knew one thing. No way was I going in there with the lights off.

  I felt along the wall for a light switch. If any substance at all, and I mean the slightest hint of goo touched my hand, that was it, I would be gone. I'd make tracks so fast, not even a supersonic ghost could catch me.

  The lights took a moment to kick on even after I flipped the switch. From the doorway, I inspected the room apprehensively. No one was there. The door to the walk-in waited at the far end. There were no other carts, empty or otherwise. Whew.

  A desk and a couple of cabinets were backed against the far wall. I sniffed a bit, trying not to breathe too deeply. As far as I could tell, the room didn't smell bad. Nothing was rotting that shouldn't be.

  I carefully pushed Mrs. Johanna all the way in. The door clicked shut behind me. Before I could turn around, a body slammed against me, pushing my face into the nearby cabinet.

  Already a nervous wreck, I let loose a scream designed to knock out walls.

  Mark had been known to sneak up on me, but this was no friendly bear hug. Maybe I hadn't been as clever as I thought by working in x-ray. Maybe someone missed the chest x-ray that should have been in the back of the drawer in the development room.

  My face was mashed against the cabinets. I tried to scream again. "MMMGH!" I kicked backwards and connected with something hard. My face was suddenly free. I kicked again, missed, and tried to squeeze away. If I was going to die, it was not going to be in a room for corpses.

  I forced my body around and caught a glimpse of a blond head before a hand pushed my chin back into the cabinets. Metal pieces dug into my cheek, my arm and my ribs. My ear was assaulted by a screaming lunatic. "I've heard about you people! I know what you do!"

  From the corner of one eye I saw the blond head lean down to grab, of all things, a bat. Blondie couldn't keep me pinned while leaning over.

  "Aaaaagh!!" I twisted, squished myself against the cabinets even harder, and squirmed free. I ran around the side of the gurney.

  Had this very bat been used to bash in Dr. Dan's head?

  I stared in fascination at the bat, inspecting it for blood. It took me a few seconds of hard breathing and relative freedom to realize that the person holding the weapon was a he. A very short he. My assailant had probably been given the bat as a graduation present--from little league.

  "Uh…" How in the hell had a kid gotten to Dr. Dan? How could a little league kid be involved in falsifying hospital records? Was he some kind of egomaniac hacker doing it for fun?

  "You stop right now!" he bellowed. "I won't let you do it!"

  Did crazy Mr. Silva have a relative visiting? The kid didn't look old enough to drive a car. He did look determined to score a few home runs however, and he had obviously decided my face was the ball. The only thing saving me was the bed with Mrs. Johanna. It was really, really disrespectful to keep shoving it around to keep the kid at bay.

  He swung his bat wildly, walking first one way and then the other as we faced off over poor Mrs. Johanna.

  "You're crazy, you're all crazy and I won't have you talking to her!" he screamed at me.

  He was calling me crazy? "Listen kid--"

  The door to the room burst open. Radar ran in, emitting a full-fledged rebel yell. It echoed weirdly across the walls. The only difference between him and the kid was that he was carrying a long pipe instead of a bat.

  The kid now had a new, relatively unprotected target. He charged. "Aaarrraaaagh!"

  Radar looked like he was expecting to be charged. He stepped nimbly out of the way and stuck out his foot.

  Bat-man hit the wall, bounced and fell backwards on his butt with a bone-jarring crunch, dropping his bat in the process. Radar kicked it out of the way. I considered coming out from behind the gurney.

  The kid grabbed Radar's leg and held on for dear life. "Leave her alone! You leave my aunt alone! She doesn't want a séance. I asked her. I ca
me here and asked her, and she said she wasn't afraid, and we don't need a séance!"

  I blinked. "Aunt?" My voice was little more than a croak.

  Radar looked from me to the kid to the gurney. Maybe since he hadn't been mashed up against the cabinet and chased around by bat-man, he was quicker on the uptake. "Your aunt? She the lady on the bed?"

  The kid sobbed, "Le…le..ave her alone!

  "Séance?" I rubbed my sore cheek while I tried to find words. "Listen, kid. We don't do séances."

  "Ye..yes, you do!" He didn't release his death grip on Radar's leg.

  "No," I repeated. "I do not. That lady was fired. I don't do séances. I don't even do bodies. I'm just a volunteer working here, and trust me, this will be the last visit I make to this room."

  Something in my voice must have reached him, probably my honest disgust. He gazed up at me where I still stood on the other side of his aunt. Tears dripped down his face. Despite the fact that he had attacked me, I felt sorry for him. "I'm sorry about your aunt," I said softly.

  Radar asked, "Someone actually did a séance down here? Are you joking?"

  "It…it was in the paper," the kid hiccuped. "My aunt wants a nice little funeral. She said no way did she think a séance was cool. But the guys at school showed me the newspaper, and said we should sneak in and find out what she was going to say after she died."

  I really wanted to scream again.

  Radar said, "I gotta get a normal job."

  He needed a normal job? What about me? "How did you know I needed help?"

  Radar used the pipe in his hand to point at the edge of the ceiling. I followed his aim to the air vents.

  "That's a pretty hefty scream you got there. Took me a while to figure out where it was coming from. I tried the janitor closet first, and there are some other locked doors down here."

  I owed him one. Or two. "Well, thanks."

  We both stared down at the kid. He was probably all of ten years old.

  "How did you get here?" I asked the kid.

  "The bus. My mom told me about my aunt this morning. I got on the downtown line. I had to walk a ways."