by Wally Duff
The guard took the card in his hand and looked at both sides. He handed the card back. “How did you get in here?”
She put the card in her purse and pulled out her house and car keys. She dangled them in front of his face. “Petey gave me my own key.”
“Petey? You mean Dr. Warren?”
“The one and only.” She dropped the keys back into her purse. “You don’t happen to know where he is, do you? He called last week and booked me for two hours, which is unusual for him.”
“Unusual?”
“He never lasts that long.”
The guard’s face turned bright red.
She glanced at her watch. “Could you be a dear and call him? I’m on kind of a tight schedule.”
“Warren can’t call you. He’s dead.”
“Dead?” She paused. “No kidding. Looks like I have a hole in my schedule, and since he’s obviously not coming, so to speak, I guess you can fill it. I hope you brought cash.”
“Cash?”
“Yeah, I don’t take credit cards. Paper trail and the IRS and all that.”
The guard’s mouth moved open and closed, but no sound came out. He began to sweat profusely, and his uniform top, especially the area under his armpits, turned dark gray.
“You’re up to bat,” she said as she inched closer to him. “What do you want to do?”
He pulled the gun out of its holster. “You need to leave.”
“You’re kinda cute.” She reached out and wiped a drop of sweat off the tip of his nose. “I love guys who sweat. They’re so hot.”
“Leave right now.”
“Whatever.”
She did her model-walk out the front door of the office. The guard followed.
52
Ten minutes later, I joined Molly in the lobby.
“What were you doing in Warren’s office?” I asked. “You were supposed to stay in the hall.”
“It’s these darn Louboutin heels,” she said. “They make my legs look killer, but they hurt my feet. I should have worn the Jimmy Choos. They’re way more comfortable.”
“And you had to sit down.”
“Uh-huh. I thought it would look stupid if I did that in the hall, and I went into his office. I figured I could watch from there as easily as out by the elevator.” She paused. “Plus, I didn’t want to get hall dirt on my skirt.”
“Good thinking.”
“IKR?”
Molly-speak for “I know, right”?
“We need to meet with Cas and Linda,” I said.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Why?”
“I didn’t find the clue we assumed Warren left for Cas, and unless they can figure it out, this story is finished.”
An hour later, the Hamlin Park Irregulars sat in a booth at Panera. Our kids were at Alicia’s. Linda and Cas joined us for the debriefing session. Linda and I munched on cookies. Cas nibbled from a cup of fruit. Molly filed her nails.
We looked at the videos and pictures of Warren’s office.
“I don’t see a computer,” Linda said. “Didn’t he have one?”
“He did, but it’s gone.” I said.
“What about that filing cabinet in the corner?” Cas asked.
“Empty,” I said. “The drawers in his desk were too. I didn’t find any hidden compartments or clues behind the remaining pictures.”
“Peter had to have left a message for me somewhere in his office,” Cas said.
“But where?” I asked. “I looked everywhere I could think of and didn’t find anything except evidence that someone searched his office.”
“What?!” Cas exclaimed. “You didn’t tell us that.”
I told them about the disturbed dust particles in front of each book in his library.
53
“Fertig got there before you did and stole the evidence,” Cas exclaimed. “It proves he killed Peter.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said. “The Chicago PD has signed off on Warren’s death as a motor vehicle accident caused by faulty brakes. End of story.”
“But Peter discovered what Fertig is doing!” Cas wailed. She fumbled in her purse and handed her cell phone to me. “Here. This is his text to me.”
It said he knew what Fertig had done, and he wanted to meet her for lunch to tell her.
But he didn’t tell her how Fertig had accomplished it.
“I have to admit this suggests that Warren did uncover evidence that Fertig is doing something,” Linda said. “Whether it meets the standard of being illegal or is simply unethical remains to be seen.”
“Have you had a chance to go over any of the charts?” I asked.
“I have completed the review of four sets of charts,” Linda said.
“And?” Cas asked.
“Three of the paper charts match the hospital records and the EMRs from Fertig’s office. There was one minor discrepancy in the fourth paper chart.”
We waited.
“There was a notation that the patient didn’t buy her supplements. This is not mentioned in the hospital record or Fertig’s office EMR.”
“What the heck are the supplements?” Molly asked.
“I assume they are vitamins of some type,” Linda said.
“And that was the only difference?” I asked.
“It was,” Linda said. “I’ll finish with the rest of the charts by the weekend, but I don’t hold out much hope that I will find anything incriminating.”
“Then supplements it is,” I said. “I’ll call Janet and see if she has been able to get an appointment with Fertig. If she has, I’ll go along and see what that’s all about.”
54
Monday afternoon, I returned to the doctor’s building. Alicia still babysat Kerry. This time I met Janet Corritore outside of Fertig’s office and we walked in together.
“Fancy,” Janet said to me, after she checked in with one of Fertig’s secretaries. The large waiting room was full of women. It took a few minutes for two chairs to be vacated before we could sit down together.
“There are a lot of women here,” I said. “How did you get an appointment so quickly?”
“My husband, Frankie, got it for me.”
“Does Frankie know Fertig?”
“No, but Frankie has friends who do things for him. I asked him for help and here we are.”
“I would like to meet Frankie sometime.”
“He said the same thing about you. I’ll see what I can do.”
The aroma from fresh cut flowers in four vases filled the room.
“Those flowers are new since the last time I was here,” I said.
“Thought you never met Fertig.”
“I haven’t.”
“How could you have been here without meeting him?”
“He wasn’t exactly here.”
“Where was he, exactly?”
“Don’t know. I was here on a Sunday.”
“Wasn’t the office closed?”
“It was until I opened it.”
“Probably the reason there weren’t any flowers.”
“Good point.”
“Do I want to know why you were here on a Sunday?”
“I was doing research for Dr. Warren.”
“By breaking the law?”
“Kind of, but it was more like breaking and entering without stealing anything.” I paused. “That’s not entirely true. I did take pictures of a couple of charts, but Peter needed the information.”
“Thought Warren was dead.”
“This was before he died, but the story is still active.”
A door on the opposite wall opened, and a woman with long, shimmering light-brown hair and perfect makeup, wearing a blue dress and white lab coat, stepped out. “Janet Corritore,” she said, as she scanned the room.
We both stood up. She walked over to us. “I’m Jackie Zimmerman, Dr. Fertig’s head nurse. Are there two of you for this appointment? We only have one down on the schedule.”
“I’m the patient,” Ja
net said. “This is Tina Thomas, my life coach, and she came along for support when I meet with Dr. Fertig.”
“I see,” she said. “I think it would be better if Ms. Thomas waited out here while we do the preliminary evaluation.”
“I’ll sit here and practice my coaching,” I said. “I do want to be present when Janet meets with Dr. Fertig. It that okay?”
“Yes. It will take at least an hour before that happens.” She walked to the door. “Mrs. Corritore, please follow me.”
I hugged Janet and whispered into her ear. “Life coach?”
“Sounded better than a reporter working on a story about her boss.”
55
I watched a steady stream of women enter and leave the office in the two hours that passed before Nurse Zimmerman came out and walked over to me. She had freshened her makeup and brushed her hair.
“Dr. Fertig is about to meet with Mrs. Corritore,” she said. “She is waiting for you in his office. Please follow me.”
I followed her to Fertig’s office. I sat down beside Janet and checked the position of the Picasso painting. It was perfect.
“Dr. Fertig will be with you shortly,” Zimmerman said. “We do have strict rules. Unless you wish to make a donation to the MidAmerica Hospital Foundation, do not try to shake hands with Doctor. Do not ask any questions or try to strike up a conversation. He will tell you what needs to be done, and if surgery is necessary, one of us will handle all the details.”
“If we want to talk to him, we have to pony up, is that right?” I asked.
“That is a colorful way to put it, but that would be correct.”
“How much are we talking about here?” Janet asked.
“Doctor’s consultation with you is part of the charge for the office visit. If you want him to shake hands with you that will be $25,000 cash U.S., but we do accept other currencies.”
“I assume there are other options,” I said.
She smiled. “But of course. For $50,000, Doctor will examine you.”
“Gosh, with his own hands?” Janet asked. “Sounds like a bargain.”
“It is, but for $100,000 he will sit down and have a conversation with you for exactly twelve minutes.”
“What can we talk about?” I asked.
“Doctor will not discuss politics or religion, but he will talk about other issues. Presently he is into French Bordeaux wine, so that would be a good subject to bring up.”
“It’s helpful that you’re telling us this in advance,” Janet said. “We wouldn’t want to waste one second of our time with him.”
“Precisely,” she said.
“Do we pay now or later?” I asked.
“The donations are always in advance and in cash. Of course, if you want to donate more later, we will gladly accept that too.”
“Nice to know,” Janet said. “But right now, I’ll hold on making a donation.”
I noticed a slight downturn of the corners of Zimmerman’s mouth. She wasn’t used to patients rejecting this “opportunity.”
The tone of her voice was now hard. “Doctor will be in momentarily, and remember, no contact or talking.”
Zimmerman opened the door and Fertig stepped in. He was dressed exactly the same as the last time I saw him when Linda was in the hospital, including the cowboy boots and Versace sunglasses.
With no wasted motion, he moved behind his desk, using it as a barrier to keep us from getting close to him. He didn’t offer to shake hands.
He looked back and forth at us. “Mrs. Corritore?”
Janet raised her hand. “I...”
“No talking!” Zimmerman barked.
Janet quickly lowered her hand and closed her mouth.
“Mrs. Corritore, the studies confirm that you have a benign cyst of your right breast.” His voice was low-pitched and raspy. “There is no need for even a fine needle biopsy.”
He turned around and got up to walk out.
Janet looked at me. “That went well.”
56
Fertig whispered something to Zimmerman. She nodded and closed the door behind him.
“Mrs. Corritore, Dr. Fertig has supplements you can purchase from our office to maintain good health.” The tone of her voice had softened.
She turned to me. “And he suggested you do the same, Ms. Thomas.”
“Nice of him to think about me,” I said.
She smiled.
“Tell me about these supplements,” Janet said.
“The concept is based on what Dr. Fertig calls complementary and alternative medicine, which he learned about during his travels to South America. It was there that he noticed the natives frequently lived to be over 100 years of age. He discovered they ate herbs that have been growing in their region for centuries. His company’s scientists extracted the important ingredients of these herbs, and they have made them into a pill you should take each day.”
“Company?” I asked.
“Fertig Health Care Supplements.”
She handed us a brochure with Fertig’s picture on the cover. He looked younger, with short hair and a trimmed beard. His eyebrows were thick and his face fuller.
“In here you will find the price point of his supplements,” she said.
Five hundred dollars a month!
“We pay cash for them?” Janet asked.
“That is correct. No credit cards are accepted.” She paused. “Oh, and you must pay for them in advance and on a yearly basis.”
“These seem to be kind of expensive,” I said. “Can we buy this anywhere else, like at Costco or Walgreen’s?”
Her carefully plucked eyebrows shot up. “These supplements are exclusive to this office and are only offered to our patients. But the good news is that as a first-time patient, Mrs. Corritore, you will receive a discount for the supplements.”
“How much would that be?” Janet asked.
“The first year will only cost you five thousand dollars, instead of the six thousand dollars Ms. Thomas will have to pay.”
I looked at Janet. She nodded to me. We stood up to leave.
“We’ll let you know,” Janet said.
Zimmerman cleared her throat. “Dr. Fertig wonders if you ladies would like to join him for a drink sometime.”
“A drink for both of us?” Janet asked. “How much will that cost?”
“Doctor will pay for everything, since it’s outside of the office.” She handed us each a card. “This is his private number. You can call at any time.”
She ushered us out. In the outside hall, I turned to Janet. “Unfreakingbelievable.”
57
“You look troubled,” Carter said.
My hubby knows my moods way too well. Monday night, he was late coming home. Kerry was asleep. I stared out our kitchen windows at the unrelenting rain that had been falling all day.
“Not troubled, exactly. More like confused,” I said.
Instead of going through the mail, which is his daily come-home-from-work ritual, he kissed me on the head and sat down next to me. “Confusion is alien to your basic personality.”
I smiled. Being married to a University of Chicago graduate whose parents have PhDs in English literature makes life interesting. I mean, do any other husbands talk like Carter?
“Remember that story about the doctor who invented an operation to cure each patient of breast cancer?”
“Of course I do, and I told you to pursue it because medical issues are hot right now. Is that why you’re confused?”
“Kind of. I found out that he might cure all of his patients.”
“Then this story seems fairly straightforward to me. The man must be a genius.”
“But he might be doing something to them to achieve the result.”
“Is this ‘something’ illegal?”
“It could be.”
“But the end result is that he cures the patients.”