by Robin Cook
Janet glanced over at Tim who was still busy on the phone. On a scrap of paper, she wrote down the treatment information. She also wrote down the alpha numeric designator, T-9872, that was listed as the diagnosis along with the descriptive term: medulloblastoma, multiple.
Using the diagnostic designator, Janet next called up the names of the patients with medulloblastoma who were currently in the hospital. There were a total of five including the three on the fourth floor. The other two were Margaret Demars on the third floor, and Luke Kinsman, an eight-year-old, in the pediatric wings of the fifth floor. Janet wrote down the names.
“Having trouble?” Tim asked over Janet’s shoulder.
“Not at all,” Janet said. She quickly cleared the screen so that Tim wouldn’t see what she’d been up to. She couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion on her very first day.
“I’ve got to enter these lab values,” Tim told her. “It will only take a sec.”
While Tim was absorbed with the computer terminal, Janet scanned the chart rack for Cabot, Martin, or Sharenburg. To her chagrin, none of those charts was there.
Marjorie breezed into the station to get some narcotics from the pharmacy locker. “You’re supposed to be on your coffee break,” she called to Janet.
“I am,” Janet said, holding up her plastic foam cup. She mentally made a note to bring a mug into work. Everyone else had his or her own.
“I’m already impressed with you,” Marjorie teased from inside the pharmacy. “You needn’t work through your break. Kick back, girl, and take a load off your feet.”
Janet smiled and said that she’d be taking that kind of break after she was fully acclimated to the ward’s routine. When Tim was finished with the computer terminal, Janet asked him about the missing charts.
“They’re all down on the second floor,” Tim said. “Cabot’s getting pheresed while Martin and Scharenburg are being biopsied. Naturally the charts are with them.”
“Naturally,” Janet repeated. It seemed tough luck that not one of those charts could have been there when she had the chance to look at them. She began to suspect that the clinical espionage she’d committed herself to might not be quite as easy as she’d thought when she suggested her plan to Sean.
Giving up on the charts for the moment, Janet waited for one of the other shift nurses, Dolores Hodges, to finish up in the pharmacy closet. Once Dolores had headed down the hall, Janet made sure no one was watching before slipping into the tiny room. Each patient had an assigned cubbyhole containing his or her prescribed medications. The drugs had come up from the central pharmacy on the first floor.
Finding Helen’s cubbyhole, Janet quickly scanned the plethora of vials, bottles, and tubes that contained anti-seizure medication, general tranquilizers, anti-nausea pills, and non-narcotic pain pills. There were no containers designated MB300C or MB303C. On the chance that these medications were secured with the narcotics, Janet checked the narcotics locker, but she found only narcotics there.
Next Janet located Louis Martin’s cubbyhole. His was a low one, close to the floor. Janet had to squat down to search through it, but first she had to close the lower half of the Dutch door to make room. As with Helen’s cubby, Janet could find no drug containers with special MB code designations on the label.
“My goodness, you startled me,” Dolores exclaimed. She had returned in haste and had practically tripped headlong over Janet crouched before Louis Martin’s cubbyhole. “I’m so sorry,” Dolores said. “I didn’t think anyone was in here.”
“My fault,” Janet said, feeling herself blush. She was instantly afraid she was giving herself away and that Dolores would wonder what she’d been up to. Yet Dolores showed no signs of being suspicious. Instead, once Janet stepped back and out of the way, she came in to get what she needed. In a moment she was gone.
Janet left the pharmacy closet visibly trembling. This was only her first day and though nothing terrible had happened, she wasn’t sure she had the nerves for the furtive behavior espionage demanded.
When Janet reached Helen Cabot’s room, she paused. The door was propped open by a rubber stopper. Stepping inside, Janet gazed around. She didn’t expect to find any drugs there, but she wanted to check just the same. As she’d expected, there weren’t any.
Having recovered her composure, Janet headed back toward the nurses’ station, passing Gloria D’Amataglio’s room on the way. Taking a moment, Janet stuck her head through the open door. Gloria was sitting up in her armchair with a stainless steel kidney dish clutched in her hand. Her IV was still running.
When they’d chatted the day before Janet had learned that Gloria had gone to Wellesley College just as she herself had. Janet had been in the class a year ahead. After thinking about it overnight, Janet had decided to ask Gloria if she’d known a friend of hers who’d been in Gloria’s class. Getting Gloria’s attention, she posed her question.
“You knew Laura Lowell!” Gloria said with forced enthusiasm. “Amazing! I was great friends with her. I loved her parents.” It was painfully obvious to Janet that Gloria was making an effort to be sociable. Her chemotherapy was no doubt leaving her nauseous.
“I thought you might,” Janet said. “Everybody knew Laura.”
Janet was about to excuse herself and allow Gloria to rest when she heard a rattle behind her. She turned in time to see the housekeeping man appear at the door, then immediately disappear. Fearing her presence had interrupted his schedule, Janet told Gloria she’d stop by later and went out into the hall to tell the housekeeper the room was all his. But the man had disappeared. She looked up and down the corridor. She even checked a couple of the neighboring rooms. It was as if he’d simply vanished into thin air.
Janet headed back to the nurses’ station. Noticing she still had a bit of break time left, she took the elevator down to the second floor in hopes of getting a glimpse at one or more of the missing charts. Helen Cabot was still undergoing pheresis and would be for some time. Her chart was unavailable. Kathleen Sharenburg was undergoing a biopsy at that moment, and her chart was in the radiology office. With Louis Martin, Janet lucked out. His biopsy was scheduled to follow Kathleen Sharenburg’s. Janet discovered him on a gurney in the hallway. He was heavily tranquilized and soundly sleeping. His chart was tucked under the gurney pad.
After checking with a technician and learning that Louis would not be biopsied for at least an hour, Janet took a chance and pulled out his chart. Walking quickly as if leaving the scene of a crime with the evidence in hand, she carried the chart into medical records. It was all she could do not to break into a full sprint. Janet admitted to herself that she was probably the worst person in the world to be involved in this kind of thing. The anxiety she’d felt in the pharmacy locker came back in a flash.
“Of course you can use the copy machine,” one of the medical record librarians told her when she asked. “That’s what it’s here for. Just indicate nursing on the log.”
Janet wondered if this librarian was the mother of the woman in public relations who’d been in Sean’s apartment on the night of her arrival. She’d have to be careful. As she walked over to the copy machine, she glanced over her shoulder. The woman had gone back to the task she’d been doing when Janet had entered, paying no attention to Janet whatsoever.
Janet quickly copied Louis’s entire chart. There were more pages than she would have expected, particularly since he had only been hospitalized for one day. Glancing at some of them, Janet could tell that most of the chart consisted of referral material that had come from Boston Memorial.
Finished at last, Janet hurried the chart back to the gurney. She was relieved to see that Louis had not been moved. Janet slipped the chart under the pad, positioning it exactly as she’d found it. Louis didn’t stir.
Returning to the fourth floor, Janet panicked. She hadn’t given any thought to what she would do with the copy of the chart. It was too big to fit into her purse, and she couldn’t leave it lying about. She had to find
a temporary hiding place, somewhere the other nurses and nursing assistants would not be likely to go.
With no break time left, Janet had to think fast. The last thing she wanted to do on her first day of work was take more time off than she was due. Frantically, Janet tried to think. She considered the patient lounge, but it was currently occupied. She thought of one of the lower cabinets in the pharmacy closet, but dismissed that idea as too risky. Finally she thought of the housekeeping closet.
Janet looked up and down the corridor. There were plenty of people around, but they all seemed absorbed by what they were doing. She saw the housekeeper’s cart parked outside a nearby patient room, suggesting the man was busy cleaning within. Taking a breath, Janet slipped into the closet. The door with its automatic closer shut behind her instantly, plunging her into darkness. She groped for the light switch and turned it on.
The tiny room was dominated by a generous slop sink. On the wall opposite was a countertop with undercounter cabinets, a bank of shallow overcounter wall cabinets, and a broom closet. She opened the broom closet. There were a few shelves above the compartment that held the brooms and mops, but they were too exposed. Then she looked at the overcounter cabinets and her eyes kept rising.
Placing a foot on the edge of the slop sink, she climbed up atop the counter. Reaching up, she groped the area above the wall cabinets. As she’d guessed, there was a narrow depressed space between the top of the cabinets and the ceiling. Confident she’d found what she’d been looking for, she slipped the chart copy over the front lip and let it drop down. A bit of dust rose up in a cloud.
Satisfied, Janet climbed down, rinsed her hands in the sink, then emerged into the hall. If anybody had wondered what she’d been up to, they didn’t give any indication. One of the other nurses passed her and smiled cheerfully.
Returning to the nurses’ station, Janet threw herself into her work. After five minutes she began to calm down. After ten minutes even her pulse had returned to normal. When Marjorie appeared a few minutes later, Janet was calm enough to inquire about Helen Cabot’s coded medication.
“I’ve been going over each of the patients’ treatments,” Janet said. “I want to familiarize myself with their medications so I’ll be prepared for whomever I’m assigned to for the day. I saw reference to MB300C and MB303C. What are they, and where would I find them?”
Marjorie straightened up from bending over the desk. She grasped a key strung around her neck on a silver-colored chain and pulled it out in front of her. “MB medicine you get from me,” she said. “We keep it in a refrigerated lockup right here in the nursing station.” She pulled open a cabinet to expose a small refrigerator. “It’s up to the head nurse on each shift to dispense it. We control the MBs somewhat like narcotics only a bit stricter.”
“Well that explains why I couldn’t find it in the pharmacy,” Janet said, forcing a smile. All at once she realized that getting samples of the medicine was going to be a hundred times more difficult than she’d envisioned. In fact, she wondered if it was possible at all.
TOM WIDDICOMB was trying to calm down. He’d never felt so wired in his life. Usually his mother was able to calm him down, but now she wouldn’t even talk to him.
He’d made it a point to arrive extra early that morning. He’d kept an eye on that new nurse, Janet Reardon, from the moment she’d arrived. He’d trailed her carefully, watching her every move. After tracking her for an hour, he’d decided his concerns had been unjustified. She’d acted like any other nurse so Tom had felt relieved.
But then she’d ended up in Gloria’s room again! Tom could not believe it. Just when he’d let his guard down, she’d reappeared. That the same woman would thwart his attempt to relieve Gloria’s suffering not once but twice went past coincidence. “Two days in a row!” Tom had hissed in the solitude of his housekeeping closet. “She’s gotta be a spy!”
His only consolation was that this time he’d walked in on her rather than vice versa. Actually, it was even better than that. He’d almost walked in on her. He didn’t know whether she’d seen him or not, although she probably had.
From then on he’d followed her again. With her every step he became more and more convinced she was there to get him. She was not acting like a regular nurse, no way. Not with the sneaking around she was doing. The worst was when she’d sneaked into his housekeeping closet and started opening cabinets. He could hear her from the hall. He knew what she had been looking for, and he’d been sick with worry that she’d find his stuff. As soon as she’d left, he’d stepped inside. Climbing up on the counter, he’d blindly reached up on top of the wall cabinet at the very far end in the corner to feel for his succinylcholine and syringes. Thankfully they were there and hadn’t been disturbed.
After climbing down from the cabinet, Tom struggled to calm himself. He kept telling himself he was safe since the succinylcholine was still there. At least he was safe for the moment. But there was no doubt that he would have to deal with Janet Reardon, just as he’d had to deal with Sheila Arnold. He couldn’t let her stop his crusade. If he did, he might risk losing Alice.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Tom said aloud. “Everything will be all right.”
But Alice wouldn’t listen. She was scared.
After fifteen minutes, Tom felt calm enough to face the world. Taking a fortifying breath, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hall. His housekeeping cart was to his right pushed against the wall. He grabbed it and started pushing.
He kept his eyes directed at the floor as he headed toward the elevators. As he passed the nurses’ station he heard Marjorie yell to him about cleaning a room.
“I’ve been called to administration,” Tom said without looking up. Every so often if there’d been an accident, like spilled coffee, he’d be called up there to clean it up. Regular cleaning of the administration floor was handled by the night crew.
“Well, get back here on the double,” Marjorie yelled.
Tom swore under his breath.
When he got to the administration floor, Tom pushed his cleaning cart directly into the main secretarial area. It was always busy there, no one ever looking at him twice. He parked his cart directly in front of the wall chart of the floor plan of the Forbes residence in southeast Miami.
There were ten apartments on each floor, and each had a little slot for a name. Tom quickly found Janet Reardon’s name in the slot marked 207. Even more handy was a key box attached to the wall just below the chart. Inside were multiple sets of keys, all carefully labeled. The box was supposed to be locked, but the key to open it was always in the lock. Since the box was obscured by his cart, Tom calmly helped himself to a set for apartment 207.
To justify his presence Tom emptied a few wastebaskets before pushing his cart back to the elevators.
As he waited for an elevator to arrive he felt a wave of relief. Even Alice was willing to talk to him now. She told him how proud of him she was now that he would be able to take care of things. She told him that she’d been worried about this new nurse, Janet Reardon.
“I told you that you didn’t have to worry,” Tom said. “Nobody will ever bother us.”
STERLING ROMBAUER had always liked the adage that his schoolteacher mother had espoused: Chance favors the prepared mind. Figuring there were only a limited number of hotels in Boston that Tanaka Yamaguchi would find acceptable, Sterling had decided to try calling some of the hotel employee contacts he’d cultivated over the years. His efforts had been rewarded with immediate success. Sterling smiled when he learned that not only did he and Tanaka share the same profession, they shared the same taste in hotels.
This was a felicitous turn of events. Thanks to his frequent stays at Boston’s Ritz Carlton, Sterling’s contacts in the hotel were simply sterling. A few discreet inquiries revealed some helpful information. First, Tanaka had hired the same livery company Sterling himself used, which wasn’t surprising since it was by far the best. Second, he was scheduled to remain in the hote
l at least another night. Finally, he’d made a lunch reservation in the Ritz Café for two people.
Sterling went right to work. A call to the maître d’ in the café, a rattier crowded, intimate environment, produced a promise that Mr. Yamaguchi’s party would be seated at the far banquette. The neighboring corner table, literally inches away, would be reserved for Mr. Sterling Rombauer. A call to the owner of the livery company resulted in a promise of the name of Mr. Yamaguchi’s driver as well as a transcript of his stops.
“This Jap is well connected,” the owner of the livery company said when Sterling phoned him. “We picked him up from general aviation. He came in on a private jet, and it wasn’t one of those dinky ones either.”
A call to the airport confirmed the presence of the Sushita Gulfstream III and gave Sterling its call number. Phoning his contact at the FAA in Washington and providing the call numbers, Sterling obtained a promise to keep him informed of the jet’s movements.
With so much accomplished without even leaving his hotel room and a bit of time to spare before the luncheon rendezvous, Sterling walked across Newbury Street to Burberry’s to treat himself to several new shirts.
WITH HIS legs crossed and stretched out in front of him, Sean sat in one of the molded plastic chairs in the hospital cafeteria. His left elbow was resting on the table, cradling his chin; his right arm dangled over the back of the chair. Mood-wise, he was in approximately the same state of mind as he’d been the night before when Janet had come through his living-room slider. The morning had been an aggravating rerun of the previous day, confirming his belief that the Forbes was a bizarre and largely unfriendly place to work. Hiroshi was still trailing him like a bad detective. Practically every time Sean turned around when he was up on the sixth floor using some equipment not available on the fifth, he’d see the Japanese fellow. And the moment Sean looked at him, Hiroshi would quickly look away as if Sean were a moron and wouldn’t know that Hiroshi had been watching him.