Hardy let the silence extend another moment. Finally, he asked quietly, “So you didn’t go and explore the source of the noise when you heard it?”
“No. After a minute I got up and looked out the window, of course, but everything was still. Just so still.”
“Would you mind telling me what you saw, exactly?”
“Well, really nothing unusual at all. Carla’s house right there.” Husic seemed puzzled by the question. “Just her house.”
Not “their” house, Hardy noticed. Just “her.”
“But I knew people had been over and if they’d all gone home, I wasn’t going to bother her, not that night. Let her sleep, I thought.”
“So it was dark?”
Again, puzzlement. “Well…no. There were lights on in the kitchen and I remember over the front porch. And then the upstairs hall light was on.” He turned and pointed. “That’s that middle one, on the top.”
“And what did you do then?”
Husic blew out heavily. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hardy, but didn’t I already give you all this in my first statement?”
“Maybe not all of it, sir. Could we take five more minutes? I’d really appreciate it.”
Another sigh as Husic gave in. “I turned on Letterman. I thought if I could laugh, maybe I could get to sleep. But nothing was going to make me laugh that night. Not even Dave. I was still worried about Carla, couldn’t get her out of my mind, actually. What was she going to do now?” Absently, he reached for his drink and stirred the ice in it with his finger. “But I couldn’t do anything more that night, you know. I had to wait and let time…Anyway, I was still awake, so I came out here—see the little greenhouse back there?—and worked with my bonsais for an hour, maybe two. Then—by now it’s two o’clock, thereabouts—I saw the lights were out. So Carla had gone to sleep, at least I thought that at the time, and then suddenly I could, too.”
29
The first letter was dated nearly seven years ago.
* * *
Parnassus Medical Group
Embarcadero Center
San Francisco, California
Dear Dr. Kensing:
This letter will document the decisions mutually agreed to by you, the Parnassus Physicians’ Group, and the Parnassus Medical Group (collectively, the “Group”) pursuant to the disciplinary committee meeting held last week. You have admitted that at various times and in various locations since you commenced employment with the Group, you have taken unspecified quantities of morphine and Vicodin for your personal use. Additionally, you acknowledge that you are an alcoholic whose medical performance while in a diminished mental state due to alcohol consumption has on several occasions fallen below the standard of reasonable medical care.
The Group recognizes your considerable skills as a doctor and communicator and before the recent discoveries memorialized herein, considered you a valuable member of its community. Because of this consideration, after substantial discussion, and over the dissent of the Medical Director, the Group’s disciplinary committee decided at this time to issue only this formal letter of reprimand rather than terminate your employment and pursue possible criminal charges against you upon the following conditions: 1) you will immediately and forever desist from use of all alcohol and all narcotics, except those drugs that may from time to time be prescribed to you by another physician for legitimate medical reasons; 2) you will voluntarily submit to random urine sampling to determine the presence of drugs or alcohol in your system;3) you will immediately accept the recommendation of the substance abuse counselor and attend and cooperate with any programs recommended by the Group; 4) for the next calendar year, in addition to the regularly scheduled visits with your appointed counselor, you will daily attend a so-called 12-step program, approved by the Group, to address your problems with addiction and chemical dependency; 5) after the first year of such counseling, but for the remainder of your service time within the Group, you will attend such 12-step programs as the Group deems necessary, but in no event shall these be scheduled less frequently than once a week.
You freely acknowledge your culpability in these above matters, and further acknowledge that any breach of the points agreed to above will result in your immediate dismissal from the Group, without appeal, and may result in further criminal and civil proceedings, as may be appropriate.
Very truly yours,
Timothy G. Markham
* * *
* * *
Parnassus Medical Group
Embarcadero Center
San Francisco, California
Dear Dr. Kensing:
In view of the fraternal rather than militant approach that I’ve suggested the Group take in helping you deal with your problems over the past couple of years—and over some high-level objection, I might add—I’d like to personally request that you consider tempering your critical remarks, both to your colleagues and to the press, about our various internal policies regarding the drug formulary. I am not trying to muzzle you or interfere with your right to free speech in any way, but I believe you’re aware of the financial difficulties we’re encountering in many areas. We’d like to keep the Group solvent so that we can continue providing the best care we can to the greatest number of our subscribers. We’re not perfect, of course, but we are trying. If you have specific suggestions for improvement or disagreements with Group policy, I will be happy to discuss them with you at any time.
Sincerely,
Timothy G. Markham
* * *
* * *
Parnassus Medical Group
Embarcadero Center
San Francisco, California
Dear Dr. Kensing:
It has come to my attention that you intend to appear on the public affairs television program Bay Area Beat. Let me remind you that the several medical committees on which you sit with the Physicians’ Group have confidentiality arrangements with the Health Plan. I will interpret any breach of this confidentiality as grounds for dismissal. As a personal note, you are aware, I am sure, of the critical negotiations we are conducting with the city at this time. I find your public appearances and negative comments about some of the Group’s policies to be singularly ungrateful and morally unconscionable, particularly in light of the Group’s leniency and compassion toward you in other areas in the past.
Very truly yours,
Malachi Ross
Chief Medical Director and CFO
* * *
* * *
Parnassus Medical Group
Embarcadero Center San Francisco, California
Dear Dr. Kensing:
If you don’t want to prescribe Sinustop to your allergy patients, of course that is your prerogative and your medical decision. But it is a useful drug, and I have approved its inclusion on the formulary. Your continued efforts to undermine the Group’s profitability by questioning my decisions are inappropriate. I have been patient with you long enough on these matters. The next event will have disciplinary repercussions.
Malachi Ross
* * *
“Where did you get these?” Hardy asked Jeff Elliot. He flipped through the pages he held, maybe twenty more of them. They were at the counter at Carr’s, a nondescript and—due to the new Starbucks around the corner—possibly soon out-of-business coffee shop on Mission by the Chronicle building. “Especially this first one. Jesus.”
A twinkle shone in Elliot’s eyes. “As you know, Diz, I can never reveal a source.”
But Hardy didn’t have to think very hard to dredge it up. “Driscoll. Markham’s secretary.”
Elliot’s eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. Hardy knew he would rob Jeff blind at poker. “Why do you say that?”
“He’s come up a few times. He’s fired, right, and probably saw that coming in advance. So he e-mailed his files home in case he wanted some leverage for later. Or just simply to screw somebody for the pure joy of it.”
Elliot scratched at his beard. “Without either denying or admitting
your guess as to my source, he’s a reporter’s dream. Vindictive, gossipy, craves attention. He probably gave me five hundred pages.”
“All on Kensing?”
“No, no.” Elliot laughed at Hardy’s panicked response. “No, as far as I can tell, on the whole world at Parnassus.”
“Does Marlene Ash know about them?”
“She’d be trying to get them if she did, although of course I couldn’t give her any of it, either. I did tell him, though—my source, I mean—that if he wanted to keep any kind of exclusive control over its use, he might want to download it onto disks and put it someplace special, where Marlene or Glitsky wouldn’t think to look for it.”
“And yet you’ve got it here.”
“I know.” Elliot grinned. “Sometimes I like my job.”
Hardy picked up his spoon and stirred his coffee. “Anybody could have just typed them, you know. They might not be authentic.”
“You’re right. Maybe they’re not. But somebody would have to type really fast to get all this since last week.”
Hardy accepted this. In fact, he had no doubt that the letters were genuine. They’d never be accepted as proof of anything in court—not without hard copies and signatures—but this wasn’t the law. This was journalism and Jeff could decide to accept them if his source was credible enough. “So what are you going to do with them?”
This was the crux and they both knew it. Jeff had called Hardy as a courtesy because Hardy was Kensing’s lawyer. In view of the intense interest in nearly everything to do with Parnassus since Markham’s death, Elliot told him that Kensing’s substance abuse problems constituted real news. “On the other hand,” he said, “the heat’s kind of gone up under the Loring thing. If there’s a serial killer at Portola, that’s going to trump Kensing every time. I don’t really want to run this, Diz—I like the good doctor and it would ruin his day—but if it turns out to be important, I won’t have a choice.”
“What could make it that important, Jeff?”
“How about if he was high when he was working on Markham in the ICU?”
Hardy had to admit, that would do it. “Has anybody said boo about that?”
“No. But I’ll tell you something. If my source actually read most of these pages and thinks about it enough, I predict it’s going to come up.”
Hardy shook his head, marveling at the capacity for simple meanness in some people. Eric Kensing was only one doctor out of two or three hundred at Parnassus, but he’d unfortunately crossed Driscoll. Perhaps more importantly, he committed the cardinal sin of dissing the boss, with whom Driscoll identified heavily.
But a fresh thought surfaced. Driscoll might have a far better reason to impugn the characters of Kensing or anybody else than wanting to punish them for real or imagined past slights. He might simply want to keep people from looking at him.
“What are you thinking?” Elliot had been watching him.
Hardy covered. “Nothing really, except whether you’re going to tell me anything about the other four hundred and ninety-five pages.”
“I haven’t gotten to them. I can only read so fast. The Kensing letters popped up pretty quick and I thought I owed you.”
“As well you did, so now if you do me another favor, I’ll owe you, right?”
Elliot considered, nodded. “Maybe. What?”
“If you hear some more rumors from your unnamed source about Kensing’s sobriety a week ago Tuesday, don’t run the story until you get it confirmed someplace else.”
“I don’t think the letters are rumors, Diz.”
“I didn’t say they were. But I’ve got something that isn’t a rumor, either. Maybe we could trade.”
When Hardy finally got back to his office at about 3:30, he was both gratified and depressed by the delivery of more discovery on the Markham case from the Hall of Justice. It was nice that Glitsky had moved into a more cooperative mode, but he could do without another six hours of tedious reading material. But he opened the box, pulled out its contents, and placed them in the center of the blotter on his desk. Glancing at his phone, he saw that he had two messages.
“Diz. This is Eric Kensing. Checking in. I’m at home if you need me.” Hearing Kensing’s voice reminded Hardy of how frustrated he was with his client. Maybe he’d come to terms with his drug and alcohol problems long ago, but how could he possibly convince himself his lawyer didn’t need to know about them?
The next voice was Glitsky’s. Of course, it being Abe, there was no preamble of any kind. “If you’re really there, pick up.” A silent three-count pause. “All right, call me.” Hardy thinking, What a personality.
He picked up the phone, but didn’t call Abe. He called his client. When he finished, Kensing didn’t say anything for several seconds. “Eric?”
“I’m here. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to tell me. How’s that?”
“Why?” he asked. “All that’s far behind me. That was early career, early family pressure, and a giant mistake. I haven’t touched—” He stopped himself abruptly, said simply, “That’s not who I am anymore.”
Hardy heard the words and believed that they might be technically true. But their truth wasn’t his issue. “You’re saying you’re not an alcoholic? What’s the first thing you say at your AA meetings?” Hardy knew the answer: “My name’s Eric, and I’m an alcoholic,” present tense, a permanent condition of being for those in the program. “Look, this is water under the bridge now, Eric. But Jeff Elliot’s got this information and it’s the currency he deals in.”
A note of panic sounded in Kensing’s voice. “He’s not going to print this, is he? How did he find it out anyway? Everything about it has been confidential.” But Hardy didn’t have time to form a reply before Kensing said, “Shit. Driscoll.”
“He’s upset and taking it out on the world. The point is that the hospital’s under siege as it is. If it now comes out that they’re making secret deals to hide problems with their doctors…there’s no question that it’s news, Eric.”
“Driscoll’s trying to take the whole place down with him, isn’t he?” A sigh. “And the small shall inherit the earth.”
“Let’s hope not. Anyway, I made Jeff a deal to keep you out of the limelight a few more days, maybe forever. But I’ve told him he can’t use what I gave him—which means you’re still on the burner—until I tell him he can. And that’s going to depend on you.”
“Okay, whatever it is, I’m in.”
“All right.” Hardy realized that he’d been gripping the telephone tightly. He relaxed his grip, forced an even tone. “You remember the night Markham died, you went to his house.”
“Sure. I never said I didn’t.”
“I want you to think about what you did when you left. What time was that, by the way?”
“A little before ten, I think. That inspector, Bracco, he saw me drive away. He might have a record of it.”
“He might,” Hardy conceded. “But he didn’t stay around and it’s conceivable that you might have come back.”
“Well, I didn’t. Why would I do that?” He hesitated. “What’s this about?”
“It’s about Carla’s murder. I want to know what you did after you left there.”
“What I’ve always said I did. I drove home and went to sleep.”
“I know you’ve said that, but that doesn’t help me. I want you to try and remember if you met somebody in your building, or talked to anybody in the street, or used any of your phones or computer. Anything that could place you away from Markham’s house between ten and eleven or, even better, ten and twelve.”
Another pause. “I used my cell phone to call the clinic and see if I had messages.”
This was good, Hardy thought. There would be a record of the call. They would even be able to pinpoint its point of origin within a several-block radius. “Great. When was that?”
“Right after I left. I don’t think I’d gone two blocks.”
Wron
g answer. Kensing could have made the call, driven around the block, and been back in plenty of time. “Think of something else,” Hardy pleaded.
“Why? What’s this about?”
He wanted to scream at him to just answer the question—could he give himself an alibi? Instead, he answered, “It’s about me talking to a witness who heard the shots, Eric, and placed their time at about a quarter to eleven.”
“Which fixes the time of death.”
“Yep. Quarter to eleven, she’s dead and the lights are on. Two o’clock, they’re all off. I figure that whoever killed her waited around a while, then turned off the lights and snuck away.”
“Why would anybody wait, though?”
“I don’t know. Maybe spent the time looking for something. Maybe covering up. Maybe thought they’d be seen leaving the place after the shots. Your guess is as good as mine, but now we’ve got a murder and a time, which means you’re clear if you can think of anything that—”
“No!” Suddenly, Kensing blurted it out. “Just no, okay? Jesus, I didn’t kill anybody, Diz. I’m a doctor. I save lives, for Christ’s sake. I just didn’t do this. Can we leave it?”
Hardy’s exasperation boiled over. “Sure we can, Eric. But nobody else on the planet is going to. So you just take your own sweet time and if you remember exactly what you did that night, why don’t you call me back? If it isn’t too goddamned much trouble.”
Hardy slammed down the phone.
30
Brendan Driscoll couldn’t believe the emptiness.
He’d gotten up at his regular time, a little bit after 7:00, and made breakfast for himself and Roger. After Roger had gone to the bank, he’d spent a couple more hours with the Parnassus files. But even now they were beginning to lose some of their fascination for him. After all, Jeff Elliot wasn’t going to use everything, at least not just yet. Worse, this new situation over at Portola, with the lady they’d found murdered, was going to seem more important to Jeff than any inside information about the business side.
The Dismas Hardy Novels Page 85