Do No Harm (2002)

by Gregg Hurwitz

  Gaines raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. The waitress approached the table and Yale shooed her with a flick of the wrist.

  "Veterans services, counseling, fund-raisers for families of men downed in the line of duty," Dalton said, anger still coloring his voice. "She was a good kid." He leveled his eyes on Gaines. "When's the last time you worked a mayhem?"

  "Plus it's state property," Blake continued, as if there had been no interruption in his conversation with Yale.

  "However," Yale said, "there's a five-hundred-yard jurisdiction overlay. Not to mention the fact that the suspect schemed to commit the crime in the city. Though the actual execution of the crime occurred on state property, in all likelihood, he had to go to and from the city to arrive at the crime scene."

  "In all likelihood," Blake repeated. A red bloom appeared beneath the rugged skin of his face, either anger or frustration.

  "Did you tighten down the hospital?" Yale asked. "On the off chance it was random?"

  Blake nodded. "Warned personnel."

  "Your report appeared to be devoid of leads," Yale said.

  "We have leads," Gaines said. "We're looking into an ex-husband."

  Dalton's elbow flared as he scratched the side of his head. "I think it's fairly safe to say he didn't do it."

  "Well," Yale said. "Now that we've run through all your leads . . . "

  Gaines fingered the edge of his plate. "She said the guy had a tattoo. Shape of a skull, but she wasn't sure. We're running it."

  "This case'll exhaust your resources," Yale said.

  "Bullshit," Blake said. "It's an isolated incident, and we have it under control."

  "Did you hold the crime scene?" Dalton asked.

  "We got there late." Gaines looked down at his toast, yellowed with yolk.

  "You found a jar with alkali residue thirty yards from the ER entrance, and you didn't hold the scene?"

  "We preserved the evidence," Blake said. "And combed the area for more. We found two cigarette butts nearby--lab pegged 'em as Marlboros--but they'd been ground to nothing."

  "No prints on the jar?" Yale asked.

  Blake shook his head. "Smooth gloves. Probably latex."

  "According to your report, the cigarette butts were found near a waist-high footlight off the sidewalk that curves down to the ER entrance. If he was smoking, that meant he was waiting there for some time. He might not have been wearing gloves while he waited, not wanting to look suspicious. The top of the light is aluminum. Given it's waist high, he very well could have leaned on it as he waited. Did you print it?"

  Blake ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. "No."

  "So let's go print it now," Gaines said. "It's off the sidewalk in the shrubs, not like people go back there and handle it all the time."

  Yale's face stretched tight in a flash of a smile. "The sprinklers at Zone Six of the Medical Center run at five-fifteen in the morning, something I would have assumed you'd know, given your tremendous UCLA expertise. Unfortunately, I didn't read your report until eight-thirty." He tapped the table with a forefinger. "That's why you hold a crime scene." He leaned back and crossed his arms, raising wrinkles in the shoulders of his blazer. "Sorry, boys. This one comes down from the Captain. We're taking it over."

  "Don't worry," Dalton said. "I'm sure there's some interesting campus cases you can work on. Harassing e-mails, late library books, a good date rape or two."

  "Have the evidence sent to our labs," Yale said. He threw a crumpled twenty on the table and rose. "Breakfast's on the West LA Detective Bureau this morning."

  Chapter 7

  THE iridescent fish caught the glimmer of the sun even through the store window. Separated in bowls sitting side by side on a table in a window display, the two Siamese fighting fish swam tight, excited circles. Every few seconds, they darted back to face each other through the glass, like compass needles pulled north.

  Clyde pressed his face against the outside of the window. The fish were all the more ferocious for their elegance. Long, flowing fins, scales shimmering red and blue, they drifted, tensed, drifted, Samurai warriors fighting in loose robes.

  The cheap cardboard sign folded name tag-style on the table beside them read BETTA SPLENDENS. KEEP SEPARATED.

  The bells on the door jangled as a gaunt man with wispy hair and round spectacles exited. He pulled a full ring of keys from his pocket and locked the dead bolt.

  "What're you doing?" Keeping his forehead pressed to the glass, Clyde rolled his head so he could see the store owner.

  "Closing up for lunch."

  "I want those fish." His puffy finger pressed into the glass, pointing.

  "Be back in twenty minutes."

  "I want them now."

  The store owner smiled curtly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle. "I'll be back in twenty minutes. I'll be happy to help you then."

  The store owner was a few steps around the corner when the loud crash startled him. He nearly lost his footing, one hand spreading wide across his chest. It took him a minute to catch his breath, the pale skin beating above his temple. He hesitated before taking small tentative steps back around the corner.

  He gasped. The store window had been smashed, and bits of glass were scattered through the display area. The man who'd stood out front was gone. A few curious pedestrians threw the store owner glances from across the street as he neared the window fearfully.

  A brick, pulled from the loose walkway of the arts and crafts shop next door, had been hurled through the window, smashing one of the fish bowls. The other lay on its side, water dripping off the table.

  The two magnificent fish flopped among the shards of wet glass on the tabletop. The blood leaking from the blue one's gills rouged its scales. It paused between movements, gills fluttering.

  The vermilion betta flipped itself off the table's edge, landing in an open bag of teal aquarium rocks. It wiggled a few times more, then lay still, its streamers limp like wet toilet paper.

  Chapter 8

  SANDRA Yee, the most animated of the ER residents, flashed David dueling thumbs-up as he walked down Hallway Two to the Central Work Area. She was literally bouncing in her white Reeboks. The fact that she was only 5'2"; made her excitement all the more endearing.

  "I caught a big-ass triple a on a fifty-five-year-old. Surgery just swept him upstairs." She bent gracefully in an operatic bow.

  "Abdominal aortic aneurysm? Good catch. Probably saved his life." David squeezed her shoulder, and she put her arm across his lower back.

  "Thank you, thank you." Sandra turned, heading down the hall, whistling her theme song, "Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee" from Grease.

  An elderly radiologist snapped his fingers after her. "Excuse me! You wanted the read on the broken arm?"

  "I'm sorry," Sandra called over her shoulder. "You must have me confused with some other short Asian." She jogged off, sneakers squeaking on the tile.

  David turned away to hide his smile. He entered the CWA, where a potpourri of scrub tops gathered around the main desktop, heads riveted on the portable TV the clerks kept on a cabinet near the board. "Any update on the alkali thrower?"

  A clerk glanced up from the phones, shaking his head. "Only good scoop was some guy stopped a robbery at the Kinko's on Wilshire. Scared off the robbers, took a bullet in the ass, then split before the cops showed. But no new word on the fuckhead who attacked Nancy."

  David felt his good mood instantly dissipate.

  One of the nurses shook her head. "I hope they nail the bastard soon."

  Two interns crashed through the door and jockeyed for position around David.

  "Fifty-two-year-old female presents with--"

  "Nineteen-year-old comes in with a nickel lodged in his--"

  David held up his hand, fighting his way to the board. "One at a time." A prescription order appeared in front of his face and he glanced at it, then signed it. Somewhere down the hall, someone moaned, a loud sound that gre
w to a scream.

  David slowed to accommodate the throng around him. "Who's screaming and why?"

  "Homeless Harry," a nurse said. "We've had to keep him in four-point restraints ever since Diane did a rectal on him."

  "You'd have to keep me in four-point restraints if Diane did a rectal on me," one of the medicine interns joked.

  David said, "She'll be flattered to hear that."

  "I need sign-offs in Six, Nine, and Fifteen-One," a resident said.

  David checked the board to see what patients they had where. "Why are we so far behind? Where's Don?"

  "Our other attending is, as usual, missing in action."

  Sandra swung her head around the corner. "I take odds on the lounge."

  "I'll take the cafeteria," someone else shouted out.

  David fought to keep his anger at Don from showing. "Excuse me for a minute." He walked down the hall to the doctors' lounge, but there was no sign of Don Lambert, the missing attending. As David left the lounge, Don nearly collided with him, cradling a banana, two bags of chips, a can of Coke, and an El Pollo Loco burrito in his arms. The banana slapped to the floor, and Don crouched to pick it up.

  "Goddamn it! Watch where you're--" Don stood up and looked at David's face for the first time. "Oh, Dave. I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was you."

  "You were in the cafeteria?"

  He nodded. "I haven't taken a break since--"

  "Dr. Lambert, we always have two attendings from three to eight because these are generally the busiest hours. No one--not even those of us who have been on since eight--have taken a break yet. Just because we aren't completely slammed today does not give you an excuse to go AWOL for half an hour at a time. Plus, you know the staff's been upset about Nancy's attack. You should be keeping a closer eye on them."

  Don set down his food on a nearby chair and skimmed a hand across the top of his perfect ledge of blond hair, a red stone glinting from his gold chunk of an alma mater ring. His piercing blue eyes and relaxed, apathetic air made him irresistible to the women on staff. He rarely walked through the hospital corridors without being accosted by female patients and visitors. "I was gone for fifteen minutes," Don said, doing little to hide his irritation.

  "Fifteen minutes is enough for two traumas to roll in here and put me on overload," David said. "Surely you've paid enough attention during your shifts to notice that things heat up rather quickly when they heat up."

  "Don't treat me like an imbecile."

  "Then don't give me reason to treat you like one." David sighed, then took a calmer tone. "Look, Dr. Lambert, I'm a relatively flexible guy--"

  At this, Don snickered.

  "--but there is one thing for which I will not stand and that is compromising the care in this facility. You've been irresponsible on more than a few occasions, and I'm reaching the end of my rope. As an attending, you should be setting an example."

  "Name one time I've put a patient at risk." Don picked up his banana and peeled it. "Well?"

  David could feel his face growing red, but he fought down his anger. "Think of it as taking preventative measures." He was walking away when he heard Don call his name. He took a moment before turning around.

  "When your wife came in here," Don said, "didn't I take excellent care of her? I mean, didn't I do everything that any excellent doctor would have thought to do? That you would have thought to do?"

  It took David a moment to find his voice. His right hand instinctively went to his wedding band, which he still wore. "Yes," he finally said. "You did."

  Don took a bite of banana and David felt his impatience growing as he waited for him to chew and swallow. Don gestured with his hand, the banana peel flopping over his thumb. "Let's just give the devil his due, all right?"

  Too disgusted to respond, David walked back toward the CWA. In the hall, Diane was talking Carson through the process of putting a shoulder back in joint, letting him use her arm to practice the motion. David passed the nearest doorway and saw a young man in a UCLA tank top on the gurney inside, cradling his right arm, the shoulder clearly out of joint. If the kid knew the medical student resetting his arm was practicing the gesture for the first time two feet from his line of sight, he probably would've gotten up and walked out of the building.

  "I hear you ducked out of tying sutures again this morning, Dr. Donalds," David said.

  Carson looked up sheepishly. "The kid was a little uneasy. I didn't want to cart out a big needle or anything and freak him out."

  "Oh. So you used Dermabond for his benefit."

  "Exactly."

  David pointed at him, mock authoritatively. "You're going to be my first professional embarrassment if you don't learn to stitch by the end of this rotation. Next windshield job we get in here, you're tying every last suture."

  Carson gloomily returned to practicing on Diane's arm. David saw her cringe when he rotated it too briskly, and felt a fresh wave of sympathy for the injured kid. Hands-on training. Despite its drawbacks, the only way to train doctors.

  When David swung into the CWA, Don was fielding questions and folders from a flurry of clerks and nurses. Pat was holding Don's arm a little too firmly, her face drawn tight. "I really think you should give Lembeck in Three something for the pain."

  Don tapped Pat's shoulder with the chart and gave her a brief smile. "If you want to fly the plane, you really oughta be a pilot." Using the chart, he pushed her gently toward the door. "We need a vaginitis whiff test in Exam Eight."

  "Carson told the wrong Martinez she was pregnant," one of the clerks said.

  "I did not," Carson yelled from the hall.

  "Poor girl was only fifteen." The clerk imitated a girl's crying voice: "But I only kissed him," he wailed.

  "Jesus," Don said. "Always double-check the Martinezes and the Ramirezes. They all lo-- " He caught David's glare and cut off his sentence midthought.

  Jill appeared before David out of nowhere. "Houston, we have a problem. Gunshot wound in Four. He claims he has no insurance and would like to pay in cash."

  "A GSW?" She nodded, and David quickened his pace to keep up with her. "Location of the wound?"

  She swung open the door, revealing a man with a clean-shaven head, lying facedown in a gown on the gurney. He did not look up.

  "Rear end," Jill said.

  Chapter 9

  WHEN David closed the door, the man rolled onto his side and regarded him with red, mouselike eyes. Though his scalp was shaven clean, David could see from his eyebrows and the tint of the stubble that he was a redhead. The Kinko's hero.

  "What's your position here?" he asked.

  "Why?" David said. "Am I in trouble?"

  "Are you the attending?"

  "I am." David picked up the chart, noticing much of it was blank. "And you are . . . ?"

  The man glanced nervously at the closed door. "Ed Pinkerton."

  "Ed Pinkerton," David said, writing it down. "That'll do."

  "Look, I had an accident cleaning my gun and shot myself."

  "In the ass?"

  "Yes. In the ass. I would prefer that we handle this quickly, and with as few people as possible. Getting through the press outside made me nervous enough."

  "Depending on how deeply that bullet is lodged, I may have to call surgery."

  Ed swung his legs down, leaning heavily on his hands to keep the weight off his rear end, and found his feet. "I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

  He grabbed his shirt from the chair and started putting it on. The shirt had been covering a red book. The title caught David's eye--Wiretapping and Electronic Surveillance. A bookmark with a logo that appeared to be a brain protruded from between the pages. Ed quickly draped his pants over the book, hiding it again.

  David went to rest a hand on Ed's shoulder, then thought better of it. "Listen," he said, "let me take a look. Maybe I can handle it down here."

  Ed held his eyes for a moment, as if deciding whether he could trust him. "You won't call PD?
"

  "I'm vaguely familiar with your history," David said. "This was a gruesome copy accident, correct?"

  Ed grimaced. "A day at Kinko's gone terribly awry." His skin was almost impossibly pale; the blue cubital veins forked through the soft underside of his forearm like roads on a map. Ed studied the ceiling for a moment. "I won't bullshit you," he finally said. "I'm on parole, and I've been making good for me and my little girl. I shouldn't have gotten involved the way I did, breaking up that robbery. I wanted to protect the workers in there, but I don't know how this'll play to my PO. It'll probably be fine, given the eyewitnesses and all, but I'm not eager to find out. I'd appreciate your help here."

  David studied his face, searching for signs of dishonesty. He decided he liked what he saw. "If I report the gunshot wound, you're going to limp out of here before the cops show up. Given that your injury was sustained on the right side of the law, I'd rather have you walk out upright." He nodded once, slowly. "Deal?"

  Ed ran a hand over his bald scalp. "Deal."

  He lay back down and David parted the gown in the back and examined the wound. "Someone's been prying at this," David said.

  "My buddy got the slug out with a pair of snub-nosed pliers."

  "A .38?"

  "Yeah. But it wasn't a full slug."

  "How can you tell?"

  Ed looked up at him, blank-faced.

  "Okay," David said. "Stupid question. So we're dealing with fragments."

  David spread the wound slightly to examine it, and Ed didn't so much as flinch. David removed a blanket from a cupboard and tossed it to Ed. "I'm going to have to get you down to fluoroscopy."

  "Is it on this floor?"

  "Yes." David kicked the foot paddle on the gurney to the right, releasing the brake, and slowly backed the gurney out the door. Lying on his side, Ed pulled the blanket up tight to his chin so it blocked most of his face, and turned his head into the pillow.

  David signaled Diane to follow him when he wheeled Ed past the CWA, and she came quickly, tapping a chart against her thigh. He immediately noted the firm set of her mouth. "What's the problem?"

  "Fifty-five-year-old Greek woman came in with some acute anxiety. I'd like to hold her until she settles but her insurance won't cover it." Diane looked down at the gurney as it rolled along, noticing Ed for the first time. "Hello."