Plan to Kill

by Gregg E. Brickman

  "I guess you'll have to keep teaching me."

  Katie took his hand. "Sure."

  "Did you go swimming?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you go to the movies this afternoon? Isn't that the plan for Fridays?"

  "Yes."

  "I understand now. Nothing. Works for me."

  Walden adjusted his pace to Katie's shorter stride, and they marched along in step, hand-in-hand.

  "I think Grandma should braid your hair the way Mommy did."

  "Mommy never braided my hair. Mommy said she didn't like me in braids."

  Walden recalled his memory of Madeline braiding the long, blond tresses. "You sure?"

  "Yup, but if you want Grandma to braid it, I'll let her. Mommy won't know. She doesn't know anything anymore."

  Walden cringed and considered arguing the point. Then he remembered Katie sitting for hours with her mother the past Sunday, and Madeline not even moving her finger. "I—"

  "Ouch. My tummy hurts." Katie stopped short and bent at the waist. "Oh, oh, oh."

  "Does anything else hurt?"

  "No."

  He studied her face and thought she was paler than usual. "When did the pain start, sweetie?"

  "This morning, then it went away, now it's here again." She moved her hand in a circle over her abdomen.

  "Maybe you're hungry. Did you eat lunch?"

  "No, I wasn't hungry. I don't want to eat now either." Katie screwed-up her face. "Oh, oh, oh. It's getting worse."

  Walden swooped Katie into his arms, hurried the last half-block to his mother's house, then barged into the living room. He lowered Katie to the sofa and knelt beside her. "Mom, Katie's sick. Bring the thermometer."

  Elsie Walden appeared from the kitchen, pushing her bottle-blond hair away from her thin face. "I'll get it." She returned a minute later. "This is brand new."

  Walden took the thermometer, removed the green cap, and checked to be sure it registered a low reading. "Put this under your tongue and close your lips."

  Katie did as instructed. Her face contorted with pain, and tears appeared in her eyes.

  Walden felt the child's forehead. "Mom, she's on fire." He turned to his daughter. "Show me where it hurts. Point with your finger."

  Katie pointed to the lower, right side of her belly.

  "Maybe it's appendicitis. We need to take her to the hospital." He took the thermometer out of Katie's mouth. "One-o-three."

  "Maybe we should call 9-1-1."

  "By the time they get here, we'll be half way to the hospital."

  "Mom, get your purse. I'll run down the street for my car."

  21

  While he drove, Walden called the ER, connecting with Kimberly Hackim. "Hey, Kimberly."

  "John, we've been trying to reach you."

  Walden focused on his concern. "Katie is having an appendicitis attack. I'm bringing her myself. Be there in five. She's real sick. She was sick the entire day, I think, but she didn't say anything to the counselors at her camp." He gave Hackim a rundown on Katie's condition, then glanced at his watch. It was almost six.

  "The lobby is crammed. Pull into the ambulance entrance. I'll send someone with a stretcher to help you inside."

  "Good. Who's the doc?"

  "Baxter's here now, and he's taking patients, but his scheduled shift doesn't start until seven. He said the supervisor called him in early."

  "Ephraim coming in, too?"

  "Think so. Want her instead?"

  "No. I prefer Baxter, if you can work it for me." He paused, checking oncoming traffic and timing his turn. "Why were you looking for me? And, why are you there now?"

  "The detectives are here to ask questions, so they called some of us in early, too. I talked to them a while ago, now I'm relieving at the desk. We're taking turns. We've been trying to reach you, and the cops said they've been calling your house all day."

  "I had my phone off so I could sleep." He paused, negotiating a sharp corner. "I'm entering the driveway now."

  "I'll meet you."

  When Walden pulled in, Hackim was waiting under the canopy with a stretcher. He lifted Katie from the rear seat and lowered her onto the cart. Then as Hackim moved toward the double doors with Katie, he leaned into the car to speak with his mother. "Park over there, please, Mom. I'll go in with Katie."

  Elsie stopped by her granddaughter on her way around the car to the driver's side. "I'll be inside with you in a minute, Katie." She brushed her lips across her girl's forehead.

  Katie didn't move or open her eyes.

  "I think her temperature is higher than when we took it at home," Elsie said.

  Walden touched the child's face with the back of his fingers. "I agree. Kimberly, let's get her inside."

  Hackim pulled the stretcher through the doorway to the pediatric section of the ER. Several treatment bays opened into a square central core. A border print of blue waves and jumping dolphins over pale blue walls tied the area together, making it look like one large room. Hackim directed the stretcher into the empty space closest to the nurses' desk.

  Walden reached for the tympanic thermometer hanging on the headwall.

  Hackim took the thermometer from him. "Just be the dad. Let us take care of her now."

  "That's almost exactly what Arlene Porter told me when I brought my wife in here. I won't have Katie in the same position." In spite of the air-conditioning, perspiration beaded his face and neck.

  "Alright, John." Hackim gave the thermometer to him. "Take her temperature."

  With Walden's assistance, Hackim admitted Katie to the ER. "I'll go get the doctor now. Meanwhile, tell her we'll be drawing blood, and she might be going for a CT scan."

  "Who's the surgeon on call?"

  "Johnson."

  "Which one?"

  "Phil."

  "Good. Did you call him yet?"

  "No." Hackim sounded annoyed. "First Baxter needs to see her, make a diagnosis, then we call the surgeon—or whoever."

  "I . . . I know. I'm worried." He ran his fingers through his short blond hair. "Hurry, damn it."

  Hackim stomped out of the pediatric section, throwing a nasty glare over her shoulder.

  Walden leaned close to his daughter. "Katie, you awake?"

  "Yes, Daddy. It hurts if I move." She opened her eyes, which were wet with tears.

  "Don't move then, sweetie. Just listen." He told her what he thought would happen. "If you have appendicitis, you'll have an operation right away."

  "Will I be like Mommy and have to live in the hospital forever?"

  "No, sweetie. Mommy had a problem in surgery. I told you about it. That's why she's still sick. You'll be fine."

  "Promise?"

  "I promise. You know I always keep my promises."

  When Katie closed her eyes, Walden pulled a stool close. He kept her hand in his and sat to wait. When his mother came in, he motioned to a chair.

  Elsie bent close to Katie. "I'm here with you, too."

  "I know you are, Grandma."

  A couple of minutes later Hackim reappeared equipped to draw several tubes of blood and start an intravenous infusion. "Dr. Baxter wants me to get these in the works instead of waiting until after his exam. He'll be here in a few minutes. He's talking with a family. Then you're next. I'm going to use the IV catheter to draw the blood so I only have to stick her once."

  "Thank the Lord." Walden stood, then straightened one of Katie's arms. He explained what was about to happen.

  "Daddy, my belly hurts."

  "They'll fix it soon, sweetie. Real soon. I'll make sure." He watched as she closed her eyes.

  Katie didn't flinch when Hackim inserted the IV catheter into a vein in her left hand and seemed unaware as Hackim filled several small tubes with blood.

  Hackim connected a large bag of IV solution to the tubing and attached it to the catheter. "As soon as Baxter examines her, I'll be able to medicate her."

  "Can't you do it sooner? My daughter is hurting." Walden squeezed h
is eyes to stem his tears. "I can't bear to see her hurting like this. First Madeline. Now my Katie."

  Hackim patted Walden's shoulder. "In a few minutes, John. Hang in there. I'm going to run this blood over to the lab myself. By the way, Miki is on her way to make sure everything moves along for Katie."

  As Hackim left the area, Baxter entered, gliding across the floor with an effeminate gait. He was a short, round man about Walden's age. "Oh, John," he said, his voice high pitched, "let me have a look at her."

  Walden watched as Baxter conducted his examination. "What do you think?"

  "I agree with your suspicions. Acute appendicitis. I called Johnson. He's finishing a case in the OR. He'll be here soon. Meanwhile, we'll get her prepped and ready."

  Walden exhaled, a big shaking breath. "Thank you. Who's the anesthesiologist?"

  "Dempsey. I know because I heard Johnson ask him to hang around in case Katie needed to go to the OR."

  Walden whole body shook. "No. Never. Over my dead body." His legs felt weak. He collapsed onto the wheeled stool, almost falling as it moved under his weight. He raised his voice to near shouting. "No. Get someone else. He killed my Madeline. The bastard killed my Madeline."

  Baxter's mouth dropped open. "But . . ."

  Elsie rose and rushed to her son's side. "John, we'll take care of it. Don't worry."

  Miki entered. "Dr. Baxter, I'll phone upstairs and make arrangements for someone else to do Katie's anesthesia. Dempsey is on call and there aren't any other anesthesiologists in house, so they'll have to get someone in."

  "Yes, yes. Thank you. Oh my." Baxter hurried toward the door. "I'll have Dr. Johnson come and check on the patient. I think it's rather urgent, I believe she's getting ready to rupture."

  Miki used her cell phone to contact the surgical suite and explain the problem. When she disconnected, she touched Walden's arm. "It's all set, John. Dr. Weber-Smith will do the anesthesia."

  "I don't want Dempsey near my baby. Not even in the same room."

  "When Dempsey heard it was Katie, he made the arrangements with Weber-Smith to come in for her case. He knew it would be a problem for you."

  22

  Miki sat at the secretary's desk in the reception area of the nursing office. The day supervisor had given her a brief verbal report and an extensive version in writing.

  Katie was on her mind. The little girl's appendix ruptured while waiting for surgery. Now Dr. Johnson had a delicate situation as he cleaned the spilled toxins from the child's abdomen. Miki expected the operation to continue for at least two more hours.

  Miki scanned the pages, noting possible patient problems she could anticipate as the night progressed. There was a man on the fifth floor in danger of coding, but the staff was transporting him to the ICU where the nurses could better meet his needs. A young, soon-to-be mother in the OB unit labored with delivering triplets. Miki flipped to the census list. There were adequate vacant beds to accommodate admissions from the emergency department. She didn't foresee any major issues.

  Miki called the Pediatric ICU, told them about the case, and asked them to hold a bed for Katie's first post-op night. "There are circumstances," she told the charge nurse, "and I'm sure Dr. Johnson will cover me with an order. The patient is John Walden's kid."

  "The paramedic? The one with the wife upstairs?" the nurse asked.

  "Yes. When I escorted him to the surgical waiting room—I found him pacing outside the OR—he was almost incoherent from the stress. Johnson didn't want to wait for Weber-Smith to arrive, but Walden wouldn't let Dempsey near the child."

  "Wow, he put his kid at risk delaying surgery like that. I think Dempsey is one of our better anesthesiologists."

  "I suppose so. However, from Walden's point of view, it's understandable. I'm not sure anyone could have talked Dempsey into doing the case anyway. I mean, given the issues."

  The women discussed hospital gossip for a minute or two, then Miki disconnected. She looked up and caught her breath. Al Gentry stood in front of the desk. Dressed in a dark pinstripe suit, white shirt, and red tie, he seemed in every way the successful executive. He pulled a chair next to the desk and sat.

  The warmth in Gentry's expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "I missed you."

  "You've been in town several times since . . . Ah, you couldn't have missed me that much."

  "It's complicated."

  "I'm sure it is." Miki forced a smile, shoving her memories of his abrupt severing of their relationship into the recesses of her mind. "Do you know about Katie's surgery?"

  "Phil Johnson called me."

  "Does John know you're aware?"

  "Oh, yeah." His voice was musical and laced with negative vibes. "I saw him upstairs in the hall outside surgery before I came here."

  "Did he talk to you?"

  Gentry bit his bottom lip, then pushed his jaw-length, white hair back from his long, thin face. "I talked to him. I advised him I'd be in town until Katie recovered."

  Miki nodded.

  "He told me to stick my head where the sun doesn't shine."

  "Succinct." Miki grimaced. "I heard you came in for the board meeting and retreat."

  "Big hullabaloo and a waste of my time, if you ask me."

  "Why?"

  "Troicki is required to notify me of the meetings, but he doesn't want me there. Not a reasonable point of view in the whole damnable bunch anymore, including Tim Gardner—took my support, then took my job. Damn. To think I went to bat for the son of a bitch to make him chief operating officer when I became CEO." He smacked a fist into the palm of his other hand.

  Miki and Gentry shared a long history. When she was a novice nursing supervisor, he'd hung around on the evening shift, showed her the ropes, and saved her neck on more than a few occasions. After he became hospital president, he no longer spent significant time on her shift, but he had maintained contact, then asked her to dinner. An intense romance followed.

  When Troicki snatched the chairmanship of the board, things changed. Gardner aligned himself with the new chairman and, some say, was instrumental in Troicki forcing Gentry to retire. During the upheaval, Gentry resumed his evening walks in the halls, often searching for Miki and forcing their private relationship into the public eye.

  "If he has no use for you, why did he put you on the board? For that matter, why do you bother to come?"

  "I refused to resign unless I got a permanent board seat, threatened to make a bunch of shit public."

  Miki nodded.

  "At first, I did it for spite. I keep the seat because they have to fly me in for every meeting. It gives me a chance to see Madeline and sometimes, if Elsie and I can manage, my granddaughter, too."

  "It seems to me you can afford to fly south once a month." Miki raised an eyebrow to punctuate her comment. She knew from newspaper reports Gentry's severance package was substantial.

  "True, but I think my son-in-law will finish losing his marbles. Then, who will take care of Katie? Elsie doesn't have any money. Madeline is going to die upstairs." He rubbed his well-trimmed beard. "I want Katie to have a good inheritance, not just the pittance John got from the settlement, which is his to spend in any way he sees fit, by the way. She'll be alone in the world before she's an adult. Besides, I want to make that bastard Troicki pay in any way I can."

  Miki caught her breath, then exhaled with a whoosh. "Alright, then." She shifted the papers on the desk, thinking Walden had good reason to act erratic. His whole life changed when Madeline got sick.

  Gentry wrote on a small square of paper he took off the desk and handed it to Miki. "Here's my current cell number. Please, keep me posted on Katie's progress tonight. I'm going to leave John to his demons and maybe catch him in a more rational moment tomorrow."

  "Are you staying in your condo?"

  "I am." He paused as if considering saying something more.

  "You might consider showing John some compassion. He's been through a lot, and he's only thirty-two."

  Gent
ry grunted, shrugging. "The way I see it, I was twenty-five when my wife and son were killed in the car wreck. Madeline was five. I raised her, finished school, and made my way in the world. The boy could do the same."

  Miki grimaced at his tone, then glanced at the information on the paper. She knew he'd been in residence for several days, given the Thursday morning board meeting and the special session the week before.

  Catching movement at the door, she saw Walden enter.

  Gentry stood, coming eye-to-eye with his son-in-law. Given their similarity in height and build, they appeared evenly matched. Gentry—well-muscled and fit for his fifty years. Walden—a bit out of shape.

  Walden's face reddened as he encroached on Gentry's personal space. "I want you to leave the hospital. Keep away from my wife—and my daughter, too."

  Gentry closed the gap between them, standing nose-to-nose with the younger man. "Son, you are not now, and never have been, man enough to enforce your order."

  "You're wrong. You were wrong believing I hurt Madeline. You're wrong thinking I can't take care of my Katie. And you're wrong saying I can't hurt you. Stay away from me, or I'll kill you." Walden growled, "I mean it. I'll kill you."

  Miki squeezed between the two men, placing a hand on each man's abdomen. She pushed. They moved apart.

  "What in the hell do you think you're doing, Miki?" Gentry said, his voice rough.

  "Stopping you two from having a fight."

  Gentry stepped away and sat in the chair he had vacated, laughing loud and long. "Brave to step between two men who are half-again your size, little one."

  She flinched at the use of the pet name he favored during their relationship. "Stupid, probably. John, sit." She pointed to a chair on the other side of the room. "I know I'm being presumptuous, but we have to get some things understood here. What I don't want is another death in the hospital. You're both my friends. I don't want either of you hurt." After closing the door to the hallway, Miki returned to her desk. "John, tell me what your problem is with Al."

  "Besides the fact he pisses me off?" Walden said.

  "Yes. Besides that."