Bone Pit: A Chilling Medical Suspense Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 3)

by Bette Golden Lamb

  She could tell neither of them was buying any of it, but Jeff said, “We only put together enough food for the patients.” His voice changed, hardened almost imperceptively. “So we don’t expect to see you here again. Right, Gina?”

  “Right!” She stepped into the elevator. As the door closed, Bernie glared at her, but Jeff only nodded.

  Chapter 11

  Ethan Dayton sat at his desk, fingers tapping a nervous beat on the two new employee folders that were side by side in front of him.

  Unfinished business. That’s what papers on his desk usually meant.

  Is that what these two new nurses are … unfinished business?

  Gina Mazzio, RN, and Harry Lucke, RN.

  He didn’t bother opening the files. There wasn’t much in them other than their employment histories, and he knew those by heart. Usually, his computer held all the vital and trivial information he needed, but these two files hadn’t been scanned and tucked away in the cyber world, yet.

  For a moment he allowed himself to visualize the virtual world that held all of his letters and secrets, big and small, floating in outer space … scattered like pearls of wisdom across a vast and glorious cosmos. He knew it was romantic drivel to view the cyber world that way. Pure logic told him that the information was really in some kind of contained electronic storage that he couldn’t even begin to see in his head.

  He tapped the computer keyboard lightly, patted his pants pocket to assure himself that his backup flash drive was where it was supposed to be—safe, next to his body, in his control. He’d been doing that a lot lately. And why not? Every single detail of Zelint’s drug trial AZ-1166 was stored in there. His future depended on presenting all of the necessary evidence of the clinical study—and he needed to get his part done flawlessly. If he didn’t … well, his life would turn to shit again.

  He’d sworn he’d never go back to working in a hospital environment.

  Never.

  No more carving his way through an endless assembly line of dead bodies that flowed through an autopsy lab. No more pressure from the police, hospital administrators, state investigators.

  Constant pressure. Constant dead bodies to cut up.

  He stared hard at the telephone and thought about his conversation with Jeff a few minutes ago. If there were any kitchen problems he was the one Ethan talked to. Bernie, the other one, was dumb as a fence post. But he did do what he was told. And that’s all Ethan required of kitchen help.

  Jeff had called about the new nurse, Gina. It seems she was wandering around the underground floor of the building. Jeff said she was looking for something to eat—something other than the junk in the vending machine. That really irked Ethan. He’d been trying to get the vending machine people to change the food on a daily basis, but they’d refused. Too much trouble, not cost effective to service them more than twice a week.

  Heck, maybe she was really only looking for something to eat.

  He leaned back into his chair and remembered the couple carrying bags of groceries from the car yesterday after coming back from Carson City.

  Am I being paranoid?

  No, she was nosing around. Just the edge of panic made him restless.

  Ethan tapped out a staccato beat on the two nurses’ files, alternating from one to the other. He was having serious second thoughts about having brought Lucke and Mazzio on board. And he’d even had to really sweet talk Comstock General Hospital’s OB supervisor into changing Mazzio’s travel assignment so he could steal her from the main campus, with its out-patient prenatal clinic. That had been her original assignment—temp nurse-in-charge of the busy, low-income clinic.

  Maybe instead of him doing the manipulating, maybe somehow he was being manipulated.

  Maybe there was another layer to this whole set-up with Zelint.

  Maybe there was an underbelly of hidden currents he was missing?

  Hadn’t the OB supervisor given in to Ethan’s request much too easily?

  Be careful what you wish for.

  His ex- wife used to say that all the time, but Ethan found that wishes never did much of anything for him, one way or the other—and neither did his wife. That realization came to him much too soon after they were married.

  What worked for him was being in the right place at the right time, willing to do anything and everything, bad or good. That’s what brought him here to Nevada from a thriving metropolitan hospital in LA. That and a huge pile of money and Zelint stock options. Growing up poor had taught him a thing or two about not taking things for granted; about how not to be a loser, how to turn something into a profitable deal.

  He looked back again at the files on his desk: The male nurse seemed more solid and less inquisitive. More compliant. He flipped through Lucke’s file and scanned his employment history. The man had done everything from ICU to rehab.

  Soup to nuts—tons of experience.

  And he has glowing references.

  The woman was the outspoken one, which usually didn’t bother him. Most of the nurses he’d been around in hospitals were always more independent and mouthy. And he needed that kind of person here; someone with self-confidence who could make the right decisions in an isolated environment like this. Besides, it didn’t take much to squelch questions after working a twelve-hour day. They were usually too tired and more than willing to put ethics aside when they were that bushed. All they wanted to do was sleep and try to fit in some kind of life of their own.

  Yet, right off the bat, this nurse seemed to be sticking her nose into things.

  He opened Mazzio’s file. This was her first independent travel nurse assignment. Did she need a little more time to settle in? After all, it was only day one on the job. But her references were guarded; there was an undertow of something unexplainable. They indicated she was a good nurse, but the language didn’t add up to outstanding. He remembered noticing and ignoring that before.

  Maybe I was too hasty bringing her here.

  A worse thought:

  Could these two possibly be undercover agents from the FDA’s Office of Criminal Investigations?

  Undercover agents!

  That would be a disaster. We can’t have the FDA’s criminal unit sticking its ugly nose into our AZ-1166 trial.

  He picked up the phone and punched in 06, the autodial to David Zelint.

  * * * *

  The founder and co-owner of Zelint Pharmaceuticals had just come from a board meeting, and was ecstatic. Not how he usually felt after those long, bitter meetings that mostly dealt with the heavy costs of a recent trial failure—a cancer drug that turned out to have only a positive side effect of slowing down an extremely rare disease that he couldn’t even remember the name of. It certainly hadn’t produced the promised remission for Stage lV breast cancer.

  The board hammered the Zelint twins about the money that was never going to be recovered from the R & D expenditures. His brother Saul didn’t see it that way; the failed cancer drug could help some people, even though it would become one of those orphan drugs that brought in low returns on their investment; it certainly wasn’t going to rake in the multimillions they’d anticipated.

  Saul wanted to continue manufacturing small production runs of the drug to help the people who would benefit from it. David agreed with the board that they should just drop the medication all together.

  His brother was a do-gooder and he couldn’t be taken for granted. He was someone who really cared about people.

  Maybe someday I’ll be that way… probably not.

  Still, David loved his twin brother and AZ-1166 had finally made not only Saul happy, but the board was wild with anticipation about the Alzheimer’s study results. It was going to be a winner—rake in money beyond their wildest dreams, while doing something monumental for the human race.

  David Zelint reached for the ringing telephone. He ignored a lot of calls, but never his private line.

  “David, it’s me, Ethan. Sorry to bother you, but it’s about AZ-1166.
”

  He felt the slight stirrings of discomfort. Ethan never used to call unless there was a critical problem. His whole rural Comstock operation had been created with the sole purpose of taking care of AZ-1166 problems. But lately, Ethan had been calling much too often.

  “Hi, Ethan. I hope you’re not going to ruin my good mood. Not often I can say that after a board meeting.”

  “When are you presenting the lab data to the FDA?”

  It was none of Ethan’s business when David did that, or for that matter anything in the step-by-step process he was going through to get AZ-1166 approved.

  “Soon, but, of course, it can't be soon enough.”

  “I need to run a few things by you. See what you think.”

  “Shoot!”

  David listened as Ethan reviewed his suspicions about the two nurses he’d just hired.

  “I don’t know,” David said. “We’ve absolutely no indication that the OCI is nosing around in our affairs.”

  “I think the male nurse is okay, and they are a couple. But she has very little experience in temp or travel nursing, and she’s straight out of the hospital/clinic labor force. Why would she choose to work here? I’m worried that they might be working undercover.”

  David thought about all the complications heading their way if Ethan’s suspicion was correct. The company needed a big win with AZ-1166 and they needed it soon, or money was going to become a real issue for Zelint Pharmaceutical’s survival.

  David let the silence grow as he thought about losing their company.

  Ethan piped in, “Do you think I’m imagining things? I mean I’ve asked myself that question a dozen times. What’s your take, David?”

  “Maybe it’s only because the nurse is a new hire. Maybe what you’re seeing is an imaginary monster in the closet.” David listened to Ethan’s breathing. Short, tight breaths. “Listen, man, we need this trial to be a winner. You asked for this job ... asked us what we needed … that’s what we need. A winner!”

  “I already know that, David.”

  “Do you really think you’ve got two undercover agents? Really?”

  “At this point, all I can say is, it’s possible. But too early to be sure.”

  “Well, find out for sure!”

  “David, you know I’ve been holding up my end of our deal.”

  There was a long moment of silence as David thought about the criminal unit of the FDA. About OCI, sticking its nose into Zelint’s operations.

  “Remember how you said you were never going to work in a hospital again, Ethan?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, do your job … get rich. Don’t come to me whining about problems you’re expected to handle. I have enough of my own. You hear me?”

  David didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed the phone down—his good mood already evaporated.

  Chapter 12

  The overnight orderly had been right on time for the 7 pm shift turnover. After a brief hello to Gina and a high five to Rocky, he wandered down the corridor, popping into patient rooms to take vital readings. Rocky gathered his things, and without a word, left the unit.

  Gina sat at the desk waiting, jiggling the narcotics keys and rereading her nurses’ notes. Delores finally arrived thirty minutes into the night shift.

  “Sorry,” was all she said. No real or phony excuses—for which Gina gave her points—but she turned her back on Gina and began putting together a tray full of narcotics as though Gina didn’t exist. The woman never said another word and never asked for a report or any patient status. A repeat of how the day began.

  “Hey, don’t you want to hear about the patients?”

  Delores turned and gave her a strange look. “Not necessary. I’ll read your nurse's notes later.”

  Well, now it’s official—that’s the way they run this operation. No reports. No nothing.

  And when Gina started down the hall to leave, Delores didn’t even return Gina's goodbye.

  What a bunch of dorks.

  Gina continued to feel letdown, unsettled, and annoyed at the gods … no, the whole flipping universe.

  Her skin was crawling with exhaustion when she shoved the key card into her apartment door and found the place silent and dark. Where was Harry? Why wasn’t he here?

  She hit the light switch, walked to the sofa, dropped like a stone, and began to sob.

  * * * *

  She barely heard Harry come in, but he folded her into his arms and rocked her.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” he whispered.

  She felt small, like a little girl again. When things went wrong, her father would hold her close and smooth her hair the same way.

  “I hate it here.”

  Whine, whine, whine.

  “Everyone is so unfriendly. I feel like I landed on the moon. There’s no one to talk to when I’m not with you, and it was terrible when I got back and you weren’t here.” She looked up at him. “I feel so lonely.”

  “I’m here, babe.”

  “I know, but it hit me really hard when I walked into a silent apartment and realized I’d spent the whole day only listening to irritated patients in terrible pain.” She took the tissue he offered and blew her nose. “Is that the way it’s going to be for the whole three months?”

  “It’s only the first day. Give it a chance.”

  “I know it sounds stupid, but I miss our apartment and my little Fiat.” She blew her nose again and the tears finally stopped gushing. “The thought of it sitting all by itself in a garage back in San Francisco … it’s horrible.”

  Harry laughed. “Well, I have to admit I don’t miss that temperamental Italian prima dona for one second. It never runs smoothly for me. I swear it has double pneumonia the way it coughs and snorts.” He looked at her with laughing eyes. “Well, at least you’re smiling again.”

  “Why were you so late?”

  “The overnight nurse was swamped. I stayed and helped out for a while.”

  “How are they running this place on such a minimal staff? It’s crazy.”

  “You’ve got to admit, except for their narcotics,” Harry said, “most of the patients are pretty self-reliant—especially after they have their fix.” He laughed again. “Nothing but a bunch of junkies.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Gina said. “I thought these patients had failed the study because of side effects. Yet, I haven’t found anything in their charts about individual treatments for those side effects. Isn’t that why they’re here? These people are in a lot of pain. Someone needs to help them, not mask their problems with narcotics.”

  “Guess I was too busy jousting with Pete, getting all the meds straight, and juicing up the patients to spend a lot of time thinking about that. It didn’t even cross my mind. Not too bright.”

  “Well, that’s all I’ve been thinking about,” Gina said.

  “What puzzles me,” Harry said, “is that the people I’ve seen show no sign that they ever had dementia. That AZ-1166 must be one helleva drug … they’re all as clear thinking as you and I … well, at least me.”

  “Aren’t you the funny one?” She fake-punched him in the arm. “Anyway, remember Emma Goldmich? The one who was in the elevator with us yesterday?”

  “Of course.”

  “She’s on my unit.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a lot of time to hang out with any one person,” Harry said, “but I did spend some time with an interesting woman: Rhonda Jenkins. She was a marketing CEO; worked for a New York firm for most of her career, but in later years she became a medical assistant. She’s almost blind now. But the worst part is her arthritis. I’ve never seen anything that severe.”

  “It’s the same for Emma Goldmich.”

  Harry gave her a wicked smile. “Rhonda almost sounds like you with your New Yawk accent. Only very refined … if that’s even possible.”

  “Okay, I’ve whined enough. I don’t have to sit here and listen to an air-head Californian. I’m going to make
dinner.” She went in to the kitchen area and took a couple of cans of soup from the cabinet. “Soup all right?”

  “I sort of had my heart set on a thick sandwich of some kind … and a pile of French fries on the side.”

  “Spoiled rotten,” she said, pulling out a package of frozen fries and popping them into the oven.

  “You’re supposed to wait until the oven heats up,” Harry said.

  “Listen, my little butternut,” she said, throwing him a kiss,” you cooka da dinna, you waita for the heata. Capish?” Then she gave him a wicked smile and repeated herself in pure Bronxese, hands flying in every direction, “When I cook, we do it my way.” She pulled out a wrapped package of hamburger and began to make thick patties. Peeling an onion, she cut a thick slice for herself, a thin one for him. “Tell me more about Rhonda Jenkins.”

  “Sure you don’t need some help?” he said, lying down on the sofa, smiling.

  “Nah. I got it tonight. But tomorrow … it’s your turn, and I’ll be on that sofa, you can bet your cute little butt on that.”

  Harry finger-gunned her. “Rhonda is really a sweet woman … after the pain meds kicked in. We briefly talked about the stock market. She gave me some great investment tips.”

  “You can invest. I like to handle my own money,” Gina said, pulling the catsup out of the cabinet and setting it on the table.

  “You mean stuff it under the mattress, don’t you?”

  “Eh! Whatever!”

  “Anyway, Rhonda said she did really well, more than just put bread and butter on the table to support herself and a small child, after her husband died.”

  “Ugh … finances and numbers.” Gina pulled the fries out of the oven, slid the broiled hamburgers onto the rolls while he stood up and grabbed a brand new Dijon jar from the cabinet. He set it down next to the catsup.