First Do No Harm

by L Jan Eira

  “Yes, I will be careful, too.” Another moment of silence as Claire continued to talk.

  “Not too well. My stomach is in a knot. I have a sinking feeling in my chest. What about you? How do you feel?” Jack listened as he drove.

  “This is terrible. I can’t believe this sort of thing happened here. In our hospital. In our town,” exclaimed Jack despondently, when it was his turn to speak again. Then, he listened again.

  “I love you, too. I’ll call you later, as soon as I know more.” Jack hung up. More tears. In anger, Jack slapped the steering wheel with a closed fist. Hard. He wept and drove on. Approaching the medical facility, he used a tissue to wipe his tearful eyes and blow his nose.

  As he entered the Newton Memorial Hospital campus, Jack realized that Stan was not exaggerating. This was big. There were police cars, trucks and vans all over, all flashing red and white lights.

  Jack stopped at the Doctor’s Parking Area gate and removed his wallet from his back pocket. In it, a keycard would automatically signal the electrical clearance that would allow the computerized gate to permit entrance. Just like every other morning for the last five years, the gate opened and he drove in. Unlike every other morning, however, two cops waited at the entry into the underground garage.

  “Hang on, sir. We’re checking ID for all people coming in and out,” ordered the younger of the two police officers.

  “Sure,” replied Jack showing his hospital badge. “What happened?” he continued, mystified.

  “Don’t know much yet, doc. We’re still assessing the crime scene.”

  Jack parked his car. The general parking garage was nearly full. The police had prevented the night shift personnel from leaving and the morning shift employees were arriving. Jack saw multiple people in groups discussing the morning’s events.

  The doctor’s parking area, however, was still deserted. The residents and doctors in fellowship training that were not on call were not expected to arrive until around eight o’clock in the morning. It was early. Jack was surprised to see Dr. Rupert’s car in its usual parking stall. “LAB RAT,” read the license plate of the black 745 Li BMW, which was impeccably clean. Reading the license plate, Jack could not help but smirk.

  “Geek,” he said softly under his breath shaking his head nonchalantly to no one in particular. The roomy interior with its elegant leather gave the Beamer the feel and comfort of a couch. Not that Jack had ever sat in it.

  “When you are as all-mighty important as the great Dr. Rupert, you simply don’t have to get out of bed early. You have people working for you that are willing to do the early chores,” mused Jack. Dr. John Connor was one of the blessed to work under the great research guru. Dr. Connor was also one of the dead.

  Never before had he noticed Rupert’s car in the parking lot so early. He had many people doing the grunt work so he could drive his 7-series BMW and wear expensive suits. Dr. Rupert did the thinking and got the research grants. He was known for his political shrewdness and prowess.

  As a powerhouse of a man, everybody knew the infamous Dr. Ian Rupert. Jack knew him well and he felt some degree of pity for him. Despite all that power and money, Rupert had never married. Jack’s thought reverted momentarily to his wife and how much he loved her.

  “Too busy for a family. Who would want to marry him, anyhow?” guessed Jack. “Why is he here so early today?” he whispered to no one. “Did Rupert get John killed?” Jack was in the throes of denial and rage. He needed someone to blame. More importantly, he needed someone to tell him that John Connor was not dead.

  As a cardiac electrophysiologist, Jack didn’t work closely with Dr. Rupert. Thank God for small favors. On a rare occasion, Jack had requested an appointment with the great Dr. Rupert to discuss a research patient on his service. Going to see Rupert, Jack had thought, was like petitioning an appointment with the pope. It was a complex and nerve-wracking task to accomplish. However, to Jack’s surprise, despite his air of arrogance and brilliance, Dr. Ian Rupert had been helpful and kind during the discussions. Jack understood why the man had acquired the power and importance he achieved. Maybe he deserved some of it. However, Jack’s last encounter with Rupert, that abominable man, was forever etched in his memory. The laboratory scene when Rupert literally and rudely kicked Jack and his entourage out continued to play and re-play widely in his mind.

  So, what’s the bastard doing here so early? The same thought returned. Jack remained pensive as he hurriedly headed to the cardiology department office on the third floor. To get there quicker, he took the stairs two by two. By the time he reached the first landing, his thoughts shifted to the horror he was about to face.

  “I paged you several times as soon as I heard about the shooting,” offered Beverly, the cardiology department secretary.

  “I was out flying. I couldn’t answer when you paged. What do you know, Bev?”

  Beverly was an older, proper woman who Jack thought was the most organized and sensible person on earth. She had worked at Newton Memorial for thirty-eight years in many different departments. She had gotten to know everyone. Everyone knew her well. Everyone admired her.

  “One of the cardiac patients in CCU shot Heather and Dr. Connor. Do you know Heather McCormick? She is—” Beverly paused and sighed deeply. “She was a nurse. She was such a beautiful and nice person. Very hard worker.” Beverly stopped and wept for a short moment, tears flowing down her cheeks. Jack had slowly approached the older woman. He gestured for a hug and she got up from her chair. The two embraced for a long moment in silence, all eyes tearing.

  “Yes, I knew Heather. She was a great nurse.” Jack paused. “Do you know of any other details?” asked the young doctor, barely able to talk, the emotions choking him at the throat.

  “He also killed Mike Huber. He was a nightshift security officer,” she continued, when she was able to speak again. Jack removed two tissues from a box nearby and handed Beverly one. He used the other to wipe his tears. She imitated Jack, sobbing.

  “That’s all I can tell you. I only know what people who stopped in the office have told me. And what I gathered from a few phone calls. Sorry,” apologized Beverly.

  “No, no need to apologize. I’m going to see if I can find out more. Page me if you need to talk, okay?” Jack forced a smile. Beverly dabbed her teary eyes again.

  Jack hurriedly exited the cardiology office and walked to the Coronary Care Unit on the second floor. Jack didn’t feel it was appropriate to press Beverly for any more information. She was obviously very upset. As was he.

  As he approached the Coronary Care Unit, he saw a huge commotion. The unit and the surrounding waiting room area were crowded with wall-to-wall cops. The entrance was roped off with a familiar yellow police tape. He had seen that sort of tape on TV cop shows but never before in real life. At every several feet stood a police sentinel, making sure those who entered the area had proper clearance. Jack couldn’t see inside the CCU. He noticed there were people taking pictures, observing occasional bursts of flashing lights coming from inside the unit, now turned into a crime scene.

  ****

  7:42 AM

  The older detective, Lieutenant Herbert Fuller, arrived at the scene later than the others. As the senior detective on the force, Herb would be in charge of the investigation. His partner, Detective Sergeant Susan Quentin, was busy snooping around looking for evidence and clues. White sheets covered the four lifeless bodies, two on the floor next to the bed, one on the hospital bed and a fourth farther away closer to the door into the room. Blood spatter was visible on the walls near the bodies. The pattern of spatter, or lack thereof, would surely mean something to Susan, Herb and the other criminologists. Evansville was a small community and Newton Memorial Hospital was a small community hospital. The four murders at the facility would cause quite a stir in the district. A swift resolution to the carnage was necessary.

  “Good morning, Suzy. What do we have here?” inquired Herb as he approached her.

  �
�Hey, Herb. A man was admitted yesterday. This morning, for no apparent reason, while everything appeared to be going well, he suddenly became confused and combative. The nurses say this is very unusual, to this degree anyhow. The man pulls out a gun and starts to shoot. No one knows where he got the gun. He killed Dr. John Connor.” She paused to point to one of the bodies on the ground covered with a blood-soaked white sheet. She lifted up the sheet, allowing Herb to inspect underneath. Herb bent down to take a closer look and make mental notes regarding the position of the body. Susan stayed on her feet holding up the corner of the sheet. The dead man was young and handsome. He was pale from the fatal bloodshed. A bullet wound had ceased spewing blood from the center of his chest, the obvious mode of death. Herb picked up the deceased’s hand to check for rigidity. None was present, the telltale sign of a recent kill. Herb stood up and Susan allowed the white sheet to drop and again cover the body.

  She continued as she slowly made her way towards the other remains on the floor: “He also shot and killed Heather McCormick, a nurse on the unit. She was caring for him.” She paused once again, bent at the waist and picked up the sheet. Herb repeated the previous steps, coming to similar conclusions. Her fatal wound was to the head, the bullet disfiguring her face. Both detectives stood as the white sheet fell on the nurse’s corpse.

  “After these two went down, there was exchange of gunfire between this man, Mike Huber, a security guard here at Memorial, and the shooter.” By the time she murmured these words they had circled around the small area stopping by the third covered bloodied body. Herb picked up a corner of the sheet as he had done before. He studied the remains making mental notes.

  “The shooter is the late Mr. Arthur Butterworth.” Susan made her way to the hospital bed in the center of the small room, followed by Herb. She once again lifted the blood-soaked white sheet covering the deceased patient. Herb eyed the body. Multiple gunshot wounds were visible on the man’s torso, dressed in a typical hospital gown, now soaked with bloodstains. Herb grabbed the corner of the linen to pick up the proverbial smoking gun, located next to the body. This would allow inspection of the revolver without placing unwanted fingerprints on the weapon. The typical smell of a recently fired revolver permeated the air, reaching the detective’s nostrils. Herb’s eyes connected with Susan’s. Herb gave a silent nod. Both detectives slowly backed away from the bed.

  “I checked earlier. The gun was fired six times,” added Susan unsolicited. Herb nodded in silence, taking it all in, in a thinking mode.

  “We know who shot whom. We have plenty of witnesses. What we need now is to find out why. We need to establish the routine around here. We should get someone from the hospital to help us with that part of the investigation,” said Herb, pensively. “Someone who knows medicine, who knows the routine here at the hospital, who knows which records we need to see, who knows—”

  “I agree. But who?” interrupted Susan. “What if we ask someone that is involved with the killings to help us?” she continued after a short pause.

  “We’ll pick somebody who seems right; we’ll watch him or her closely until we’re sure we’re not getting a wolf to help us shepherd our sheep. What’s the new kid’s name?” Herb looked at Susan and touched his right index finger to the right corner of his mouth, as if this would allow him to recollect a name he had obviously forgotten. This was a typical Herb-ism.

  “Jim Franklin?” answered Susan recalling the name of the young man that had joined the detective force only a few days before.

  With this Herb continued, “Yes, we’ll have him follow our medical helper.”

  With this said, both detectives turned to the crowd of medical personnel just outside CCU. Young and old doctors, nurses, technicians and secretaries loitered in the area with curiosity. They had been asked by the cops to wait until they could be interviewed and released to go home. The detectives joined the other detectives already interrogating the witnesses to the killings. Before so doing, Herb asked all detectives to give him a review of what had been learned already. They would compare notes later.

  *****

  8:17 AM

  “And you are?” asked a female voice coming from behind Jack as he approached the scene of the crime. Jack turned to face the woman.

  “I’m Jack Norris. I’m one of the doctors here,” he replied.

  “I’m Detective Susan Quentin of the Evansville Police Department.” A police badge and a photo ID over her left breast corroborated her story. The two shook hands firmly.

  “What happened in there?” asked Jack hoping to gain more insight from the woman.

  “Four people died. One of the patients became agitated and started shooting,” she said.

  “Where did he get the gun?” asked the young doctor.

  “We don’t know. I have been looking for you. We’d like to ask you some questions,” she persisted.

  “I just got here. I don’t know anything about what happened,” said Jack almost apologetically.

  “Yes, I know. You were flying your airplane.” Jack looked puzzled, amazed and intrigued by her words. Noticing his astonishment, she continued, “I’m a detective, that’s what I do.”

  “I was at 7,000 feet when the killings took place. But two of the people killed were my close friends. I’ll do anything I can to help you. What do you want to know?” asked Jack.

  “We need to know about usual routines, who is expected where and when, what happens when a patient is admitted, who sees the patient. That sort of thing. We also need to know what you know about the patient, Arthur Butterworth.”

  “Sure, not a problem. I’m glad to help any way I can.”

  “Where can we go to have some privacy?” she asked.

  “How about my office?” he replied.

  “Sounds good. Let me get my partner.” The woman entered the yellow-taped Do Not Cross area and disappeared into the crowd of law enforcement agents.

  Jack noticed the busy officers walking in and out of the area, the professionally sounding walkie-talkie lingo emanating from multiple belts, all in unison. Two men, jackets labeled Coroner, came across Jack’s area guiding an empty stretcher.

  “Excuse me, please,” they murmured repeatedly, walking towards the entrance into CCU. Jack helped the men by lifting the yellow tape so the two could pass. He found himself on the other side of the tape and slowly walked into CCU, unnoticed by the busy sentinels. Knowing he shouldn’t and that he would later be sorry, Jack became overwhelmed by curiosity and walked towards the crime scene. As he entered the unit, his eyes first focused on the two bodies on the ground, both of which had been uncovered to allow pictures to be taken. For a split second, Jack fixated his gaze on the empty, lifeless eyes of his best friend, John Connor. He didn’t tolerate this long, bothered mostly by the blood-drained pasty-ness in his face. He had to look away. His eyes unconsciously moved to John’s chest, now completely covered in blood, an obvious bullet hole right in the middle. The nightmarish scene only worsened, when Jack’s gaze unintentionally shifted to the young woman. Though in his mind he could still see her beautiful, youthful face, his vision returned a head with a faceless expression, the bullet having disfigured grotesquely all the elements of Heather’s previous attractive features. Instead, a large hole in what used to be her forehead and nose was now surrounded by blood and what appeared to be brain matter. A sense of fear and disgust overcame Jack and he hurriedly retreated to the waiting room right outside the CCU entrance door. Jack found a chair and sat down, his whole body trembling like it had never done before. It took several minutes for him to even begin to feel a little better. He walked slowly to a nearby cooler and had a big gulp of cold water. Then another. This soothed the intense fire inside but only infinitesimally. Susan emerged with her partner, an older man, also dressed impeccably with every hair in place.

  “This is my partner, Detective Herb Fuller,” introduced Susan. Herb extended his hand and shook Jack’s forcibly, looking him squarely in the eye. In all his years
as a detective, he had learned to look people in the eye. He knew the eyes were the windows into the soul, heart and brain. Herb made a vocation out of interpreting eye contact. Looking into Jack’s eyes, he saw concern, kindness, gentleness and strength. A little bit of horror, too. Just like that, he knew he could count on this young man for help.

  “How are you, doctor?” asked Herb.

  “Not too well,” answered Jack with tearful eyes.

  “I am sorry for the loss of your friends and all of this mess. Detective Quentin told me you were willing to talk in your office. We can step away from here right now, while the crime lab people take their photos and collect their specimens. If it’s okay with you, can we go now? We’d really welcome your input,” said the older detective appreciatively.

  “No problem. Follow me to my office.” The three walked in silence toward the cardiology office, Jack leading the group. They excused themselves as they wound in and out past many groups of people, mostly hospital staff and police personnel. Susan held a small notebook where she had written several bullet points. Herb had no such notebook.

  When they arrived at the staircase, reassured that they were no longer around people that might overhear their conversation, Detective Fuller resumed the exchange.

  “What we have here is Arthur Butterworth, a man in his sixties,” he said in a soft voice.

  “Sixty-three,” corrected Jack. “I admitted him yesterday.”

  The cops nodded, Susan wrote something on her notebook and Herb continued his narrative.

  “As I understand it, Butterworth was admitted routinely yesterday. This morning, and without provocation, he went berserk. Somehow, he managed to find a small-caliber revolver and took a nurse hostage in his CCU room; the other staff summoned hospital security and the police. When the security officer arrived, the man was described as wild and paranoid. The result was that the nurse and one of the doctors were shot and killed as they were retreating from the bedside. They had tried in vain to persuade the patient to give himself up. The man did not appear to understand and pulled the trigger. Shots were exchanged with the guard culminating in the perp’s death as well as the security officer.”