Saving Max

by Antoinette van Heugten

  “What happened then?”

  The man sighs. “The new girl brought the files into my office. She asked me to look them over because they confused her. Well, I took them home and read them cover to cover. Every single file had been changed.”

  “What do you mean, changed?”

  He looks away. “When I reviewed the patient’s chart and the notations I made during an office visit, I noticed that the computer version of the same account was…different.”

  Danielle leans forward. “Different how?”

  Jojanovich shakes his head. “The computer version—the one that became the official patient file—didn’t match the comments I made when I saw the patient. The changes were subtle in some cases and not so subtle in others.” His jaw tightens. “In some cases, even if the patient’s condition was correctly described, the treatment or medication I ordered was not.”

  Danielle cannot help her sharp intake of breath. She flashes on Marianne’s knowledge of the nurses’ password and hospital-security procedures. She imagines Marianne’s fingers flying over the keys of the Maitland computer. Changing Jonas’s entries? Changing Max’s entries?

  Jojanovich does not notice her reaction. “Many of the medications prescribed in the computer version were in fact contraindicated for the specific condition I had diagnosed.” His voice drops to a whisper. “In some cases, the medications she wrote down would have either seriously compromised the patient—or done terrible damage.”

  Oh, my God, she thinks. Jonas. Max. She turns to Jojanovich. “Why would she do something like that, Doctor?”

  His face darkens. “I’ll get to that in a moment. I also discovered that Sharon had created her own medical forms with my name on them. Apparently, she would enter a patient’s name, medical history, the date of the visit, that sort of thing. These were then scanned into the computer after they had my signature on them.” Danielle gives him a quizzical look.

  “Sharon had a stamp made of my signature,” he explains, “so I wouldn’t be bothered to sign routine correspondence. In other words, she fabricated symptoms and treatment protocols. I didn’t believe it at first, but when it became clear that at least twenty of my patients’ files were falsified, I had no choice.” He takes a sip of his now-watery drink.

  “Did you actually write prescriptions for the medications she noted on the falsified charts?”

  “Honestly, Ms. Parkman,” he says miserably. “I don’t know. Every doctor with a competent nurse lets them write prescriptions onto a signed pad. She was an excellent nurse. I had no reason to mistrust her.” He pauses. “Until later.”

  “Did any of your patients complain of unusual symptoms or problems?” She thinks of Max, in a drugged stupor, acting out violently, killing Jonas? She shudders.

  “After she left, a few of them reported irregular symptoms when compared to what I would have expected, but I called all of them in for free consultations,” says Jojanovich. “I had to change a number of the medications that Sharon had ‘prescribed’ without my knowledge. Fortunately, none of the patients were seriously affected. I was able to correct the problem in each case.” He looks up, a whipping boy ready to take his beating.

  “But why would she do that?” asks Danielle. “What possible reason could she have for prescribing the wrong medication to your patients?”

  “Of course,” he says softly, “it all sounds very strange until a woman walks into your office and wants to know about a patient you’ve never seen—one who has been murdered—and shows you a document with your signature on it.”

  Danielle considers what he has said. The same question troubles her. Why did Marianne have to fake a referral for Jonas to get into Maitland? And why, of all people, did she select a doctor whose practice she had brought to the very brink of ruin? It was a stupid thing to do. And Marianne is anything but stupid. “Why would…Sharon…use you as a reference for her son when she knew you would discover what she had done after she left?”

  Waste and dread fill the old man’s face. “This is very difficult for me, Ms. Parkman. There is another aspect to this matter I have been…reluctant to discuss.”

  “Like what?”

  “Blackmail,” he says simply.

  Danielle moves to the edge of the couch. Jojanovich gives her a warning glance. “You must promise me again that nothing I tell you will result in any criminal charges against Miss Miller.”

  She meets his glance squarely. “I have given you my word, Doctor. You can rely upon it.”

  He nods. “After Miss Miller had been in my employ for approximately six months, our relationship…changed. I attribute a good deal of my inability to detect some of the activities I told you about earlier to this lapse of judgment on my part.”

  “You had an affair with her.”

  The doctor nods, his face full of pain and longing.

  “And she fabricated the documents and wrote fake prescriptions in order to blackmail you in the event you didn’t stand behind Jonas’s referral to Maitland.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I never knew she had a son.”

  “She never mentioned Jonas?”

  “Never.” A reddening starts at the base of the old man’s neck and spreads in a sickly way toward his cheeks. “She wanted me to divorce my wife and move away with her to Florida. She told me I was the love of her life. That she never dreamed…”

  “Where does the blackmail come in?”

  “Oh, yes.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. Danielle takes it and reads. It is a Xerox copy on Jojanovich’s letterhead.

  My dearest Sharon,

  I am overwhelmed with emotion as I write this letter. As I have told you so often during our stolen time together, I have loved you from the moment I saw you. It wasn’t that you were the best nurse I have ever had the pleasure to employ; it was everything about you—your beauty, compassion, personality and obvious intelligence.

  I am sending this letter because I am too weak to leave my wife. It is with great despair and regret that I write these words that must set you free. I am an old man and you are young and beautiful. You can have any man you choose.

  I must confess something else. I am mortified to admit that, because of my obsession with you, I have not given my patients the attention they deserve. In fact, I live in fear that I may have committed diagnostic and treatment errors that rise to the level of medical malpractice.

  I know that this letter will devastate you—not only emotionally, but financially. I want you to be able to pursue your new life free of worry, so I am enclosing the sum of $175,000. I am providing this amount in cash—as a gift—as it is not my intent that you pay taxes upon it. It is yours to do with as you please. Please do not contact me. The result would only be disastrous for us both.

  Boris

  Danielle finds the medical record she brought from Plano and compares the doctor’s signature to the one on the letter. They are identical. She looks at Jojanovich, who stares at the floor. “You didn’t write this.”

  He smiles bitterly. “Of course not, Ms. Parkman. After she left, I received a large envelope in the mail with no return address.”

  “Always the efficient secretary.”

  He nods sadly. “The letterhead and signature line were the same as the hundreds she routinely prepared for me to sign for correspondence purposes. She always typed in the text to the patient.”

  Danielle shakes her head. “So she has the original of this letter somewhere. And if anyone asks her, she will say you sent it to her.”

  “Correct.”

  “Did you send her the money?”

  “Yes,” he replies stiffly. “I had to make a substantial withdrawal from my retirement fund, but I sent her the money.”

  “Did you ever try to go to her house in Chicago?”

  “Once,” he says. “She had already moved out.”

  “Has she contacted you since?”

  “No.” He gives her a hopeless look. “Why?”

/>   Danielle can’t think of anything else to ask. She holds the letter in her hand. “May I keep this?”

  “I wish you would, actually. I never want to see it again.” He sighs. “Anyway, Ms. Parkman, that is my story. A sad and pitiful tale from a stupid old man who was deceived. Not a novel one, to be sure.”

  Danielle nods. Jojanovich struggles out of his chair, as if giving the account of his downfall has made him older than when he started. Danielle takes his elbow as he walks to the door. He lets her. She opens the door as he puts on his hat and belts his raincoat.

  “Doctor,” she says. “I can’t thank you enough. It took a lot of courage to come here today. You did the right thing.”

  “Not soon enough, Ms. Parkman,” he says sadly. “Not nearly soon enough.”

  The door closes behind him. Danielle turns and walks to the window. Everything Jojanovich has told her swims in her head as she tries to match it to Marianne at Maitland, Jonas’s death and Max’s meds. She glances at her suitcase. She isn’t going anywhere until she figures out how all of this fits together. She turns back and gazes at the glittering city below, not seeing any of it. A tingle courses up her neck. She is electric.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Danielle stares out as the city lights flash by. She and Doaks are on their way to the Chicago airport. She stops typing on her laptop and puts the computer back in her bag. The drive has passed silently. They are at an impasse. Despite the information they have collectively uncovered about Marianne, Doaks insists that they call Sevillas before pursuing the investigation further. Danielle demands that they go on to Phoenix. The traffic is murderous.

  Doaks tosses her his cell phone. “Make the call.”

  She looks at him. “Why? You know what he’s going to say.”

  “And you know he’s right.” He takes the phone from her and punches in a number. There is a pause. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Hey, don’t ream me out, hotshot. She’s your client, remember?” There is another pause. “Well, we found some good stuff.” Doaks paraphrases what he and Danielle have uncovered about Marianne: her affair and successful black mailing of Jojanovich, the falsification of Jonas’s records and Doaks’s discovery of Marianne’s Phoenix address. There is another long silence. “Yeah, I hear you. I ain’t deaf, ya know. No way. I ain’t your messenger boy. You tell her.” He holds the cell phone out to Danielle.

  She sighs and holds it to her ear. She imagines the set of Sevillas’s jaw, his controlled anger. “Hello.”

  “That’s it?” The words are spit bullets. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

  “Tony, look, I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t go there with me, Danielle.” Frustration and anxiety lace his voice. “Get on that plane. I don’t want excuses; I don’t want explanations. You simply have to show up in the courtroom for this hearing tomorrow. Do you have any idea what position you’ll put me in with the court if you’re not there at your own bond hearing? I will not behave unethically or ruin my professional reputation so you can go off on some ridiculous witch hunt.”

  “I know I’ve put you in a terrible position, but—”

  “Forget about me,” he says. “Think about yourself. Think about Max.”

  “That’s exactly who I’m thinking of.”

  His words are hammer chinks on frozen metal. “Right now your son is so beside himself that you’ve left him that he’s driving himself crazy trying to prove that Fastow did it just so you’ll come back. Even with Georgia here, I don’t think he can take much more.”

  “But he’s all right, isn’t he?” she asks anxiously.

  “So far he is,” he says. “Georgia is here with me. She’s seen him. Since she’s your oldest friend, maybe you’ll listen to her.”

  Danielle hears a rustling and then Georgia’s mellifluous voice. “Danny, Max is fine. I just left him. But you know how he gets this monomaniacal focus on something when he’s really scared or nervous? That’s what he’s doing now.”

  Danielle closes her eyes. Dread fills her. “Do you think he’s on the verge of a break? Tell me right now, and I’ll come back.”

  “No,” she says slowly, as if to mask what she and Danielle are discussing for Sevillas’s sake. “Max is managing to hide most of the pills, and I haven’t noticed anything that indicates he’s losing touch with reality. Even so, you do need to be back for the hearing.”

  “But you think as long as I do that, I should follow up on what I’m doing if it means possibly getting Max free?”

  “I would say that’s true,” she says slowly.

  “You know why I don’t think going after Fastow is the answer?”

  “Yes, I do, and I would have to agree with you. It’s a temporary fix.”

  “I’ll be back for the hearing. I love you, Georgia. Take care of my boy for me until tomorrow.”

  “Will do. I’m going to be with him until he falls asleep tonight, and then I’m taking him to the hearing with us.”

  Danielle’s relief is overwhelming. “Bless you, Georgia.”

  “Love you, too, Danny.”

  Another rustle and then Tony. “I don’t know what that was about, but I don’t think Georgia appreciates how very serious your situation is.”

  “Tony, please understand,” she says. “I have to go to Phoenix. I’ll be back in time for the hearing.”

  She can almost hear his temperature rise. If he could spit bullets instead of words, she believes he would. “Listen to me, Danielle. You’ve jumped bond. You’re now a wanted felon who is at large. The sheriff’s office is in an uproar. They can tell your monitor isn’t moving. Do you think that just because they’re from Iowa, they’re stupid? All your son had to do was turn on his damned cell phone.”

  She hears him take a deep breath. A moment passes. “All I care about is what happens to you and Max. And unless you show up at the hearing in the morning, they’re going to get a warrant to search your apartment. When they find out you’re missing, they’re going to scope out the Des Moines airport and slap you in cuffs the minute you walk up the jetway.”

  She is terrified. “What did you tell them?”

  “That you’re sick in bed.” His voice is curt. “That you’re so seriously ill that you haven’t moved for forty-eight hours. That I’m planning to produce a doctor’s affidavit to that effect if the judge asks for it. That the damned bracelet is acting up again.”

  “Tony, I truly am sorry, but we’re onto something here. Marianne—”

  “Forget Marianne,” he says. “You’re a lawyer—act like one. So what if she blackmailed some old man she was screwing? So what if she falsified some records? We’re talking about murder here, Danielle, not monetary felonies. We’re talking about you standing there with the bloody comb in your purse—with Max covered in Jonas’s blood!”

  Danielle presses the phone closer to her ear and uses her most persuasive voice. “But I am certain that she was involved in Jonas’s murder.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s a liar and an extortionist,” she says. “Because she submitted false information to ensure that Jonas was admitted to Maitland when it was completely unnecessary.”

  “You’re grabbing at straws, Danielle,” he says wearily. “I’m trying to help you—to save Max, dammit—and you’re doing everything you can to screw it up.”

  “Tony, please listen to me,” she says. “I hope you know how much I…care for you.”

  “And I for you,” he says sadly. “But we can’t go anywhere if you keep this up. Listen, the whole deal with Fastow has split wide open. He did it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that we finally have a real suspect—other than Max.” His voice is firm. “You can stop this wild-goose chase and trying to pin the murder on the mother, which doesn’t wash, anyway, as you would realize if you weren’t so scared and could look at the evidence clearly.” He pauses a moment. She hears the rustle of papers. “Smythe’s toxicology report is back. So is Max’s blo
od sample and the chemical breakdown of the pills.”

  Danielle’s heart races. “What do they say?”

  “You were on the right track,” he says. “Fastow’s dismissal from the Viennese hospital was hushed up. He had developed a psychotropic ‘wonder drug’ which, while amazing in many respects, also had terrible side effects. It seems that Fastow was suspected of falsifying data during clinical trials, but apparently the hospital couldn’t prove it and so they fired him. When Fastow figured out that he was busted, he probably threatened to sue them for breach of his employment contract, knowing that they couldn’t prove anything. It looks like they gave him a good reference just to get him out of there.

  “Anyway, it’s pretty clear that Fastow has been hell-bent on making a name for himself for some time. Max found out that he has close ties with a certain Swiss pharmaceutical company to patent a new drug. That kid—he’s amazing.”

  The blue capsules flash in her mind’s eye. “What kind of drug?”

  Another rustle of papers. “Smythe’s final report and the toxicology results we’ve got concur. The labs don’t have a clue what the chemicals are in Max’s blood. They’ve been sent off to a specialty lab in New York for further analysis. No one knows what this stuff is.”

  She closes her eyes. “Max,” she whispers. Her eyes fly open. “Tony, you’ve got to get a T.R.O. against Fastow and Maitland. Max is still in there taking that medication—except for what he’s been able to hide under his tongue and flush away. They’ve got to be stopped. God knows how many other patients he’s poisoned.”

  “My plan, which you’d know if you’d been here, is to put Fastow and Smythe on the stand tomorrow and move immediately for a T.R.O. on Max’s behalf. That’ll be the quickest way to have the court grant it,” he says. “I’m tracking down the patent lawyer on the medication so I can subpoena his records. I probably won’t get them in time for the hearing, but we’ll get them, all right.” He pauses. “Where exactly are you?”