“I can’t get the actual facts on Natasha’s case because of patient privacy, but I got a hypothetical from Edna Roda this morning. She said a patient with Natasha’s combination of problems would still be on IV meds and fluids. She’d be getting antibiotics for at least three days, and there would be a hematology workup to make sure iron deficiency is what’s making her anemic—to rule out other causes. They would also be watching for a possible abscess at the appendectomy site. If that occurred, she would need a drain.”
“Sounds like a complicated treatment plan,” I said.
“Yes, but the good news is that the hypothetical patient should do well under that treatment regimen. It’s just that the gains would be slow because of the combination of problems.”
“Getting back to our real patient, have you heard whether Hector is being allowed to visit Natasha?”
“No doubt about that. He’s been in and out of PICU several times a day. Imagine the tension around that little girl’s bed if her grandfather shows up while her mother and stepfather are visiting …. Oops, gotta go. Later.”
With that, our call ended. Not unusual. Cleo’s office was Timbergate’s Grand Central. Any one of the medical staff’s twenty committee chairmen might drop in to discuss an agenda or sign minutes, but that was only part of it. Cleo was the gatekeeper when nurses or other department heads needed to propose items for committee agendas. Those same people relied on her sympathetic ear when they wanted to vent frustrations in private.
Privacy in a hospital was scarce, which brought me back to my original problem. How to get Harry into Quinn’s office without being noticed? First, I’d need a key. I didn’t want Varsha or Sanjay involved just yet, and I definitely didn’t want to ask any of the security staff to open the office. They had already gotten me into enough trouble. I suspected Quinn would be happy to provide his key, since Harry would be looking for evidence that might explain how Lowe had died in there—especially anything to take the heat off Quinn and me.
The police were still focused on Quinn, and who could blame them? I couldn’t be sure how high I ranked as a suspect, but I grew uneasy every time I recalled my conversation with Detective Kass. Back then it seemed like a stretch to think I was Quinn’s accomplice in a murder just because I had restrained Lowe in the conference room. When Kass interviewed me, had he known about Lowe’s threats to have Quinn and me fired? If he did, he probably assumed I knew, too, and wondered why I didn’t bring it up. Not a comforting thought, but it was too late to correct misleading impressions.
The only people I could think of who had reason to be angry with Lowe were Natasha’s parents. Curious, I decided to have another look at the Abel’s Breath Ministry website. Gailworth’s verbiage was ambiguous, but he appeared to be operating outside the mainstream, to say the least. With his unconventional alternative religion and dangerous pseudo-veganism, it was hard to tell whether he believed in his doctrine, or whether he was a devious predator preying on an unsuspecting congregation. I wanted to know more.
Nick was already planning to investigate Abel Gailworth. Maybe if he and I showed up on Sunday as a couple looking for a church that suited our lifestyle, we could get a firsthand look at the Abel’s Breath Ministry. I had never met Gailworth or Melissa, so it was unlikely they would recognize me as a TMC employee. Unlikely, but not impossible. I decided it was worth the risk. I texted Nick, asking him to call me at home later. Convincing him would take more than a few keystrokes, and I didn’t want to deal with it at work.
Cleo’s comment about the change in Dr. Lowe’s personality nagged at me the rest of the morning. She was right on about his intermittent flares of temper. First striking out in the meeting, then apologizing, then flaring up again, wanting Quinn and me fired. I puzzled over his unpredictable behavior as I filled emailed requests for medical literature searches. I found myself longing for a flesh and blood patron to walk through my doors. When one finally did, it took me by surprise.
“You are Miss Machado, aren’t you?” Hector Korba said. The distance of twenty feet from the library entrance to my desk seemed to shrink under his long strides.
“Yes, Mr. Korba. What can I do for you?” I stood up, which only put me at eye level with his chest and brought to mind David and Goliath. Some powerful men don’t look the part, but that was not the case with Korba.
“You know about my granddaughter?” His voice, a deep bass, rumbled from low in his chest.
“Yes, I’m so sorry Natasha is ill.” I gestured toward the visitor’s chair next to my desk. “Would you like to sit?”
He gave the chair an appraising look, probably wondering if it would support his weight, and said, “I prefer to stand, thank you. But please be seated if you wish.”
I didn’t wish. I was already looking up at the man. Any higher and I’d develop a kink in my neck. Curiosity about his visit burned deep. He didn’t take long to get to the point.
“You are the keeper of Ethics Committee files. Is that right?”
“That’s right.” Where was he going with this? No place I wanted to go. I had already gone rounds with Quinn and Dr. Snyder about the minutes; now I had to refuse to discuss them with the president of TMC’s governing board.
“I want to read your minutes. I want to see what they say about my Natasha.” His Natasha. No beating around the bush. Natasha belonged to him. In his mind, she was not her mother’s child, and certainly not her stepfather’s.
Korba’s demand forced me into a gray area. Like Quinn, Korba was an ex-officio member of the Ethics Committee, and I wasn’t sure his status allowed him access to the minutes. This situation was even more problematic. Protocol had dictated that he be excluded from the meeting because of his relationship to the patient whose case was being discussed. Until I could get an opinion from Cleo—or failing that, from our legal counsel—I was not going to let him see the minutes.
I hesitated, praying silently for a convenient interruption—a phone call, another patron walking in, a slight stroke. His, not mine. But he loomed over me as if his wish were my command.
“There’s a problem,” I said. “I’m still learning the protocols involved in meetings and their minutes, particularly as they apply to a situation like yours.”
“Situation? What situation?” He folded his arms across his broad chest.
“You were absent from that meeting due to a conflict of interest. I’m afraid I can’t give you access to the minutes just yet.” He glowered at me. I tried not to flinch. “Mr. Korba, I’ll have to contact the committee chair. If she gives me an okay, I’ll let you know right away.”
“Miss Machado, you do realize I will hear them read at the next Ethics Committee meeting, so what is the problem?”
“But Ethics Committee meets only as needed. It could be a few months before we have another meeting. In the meantime, this situation is still ongoing and very sensitive because of Dr. Lowe’s death, and I don’t want to—”
“All right, enough. I understand.” Korba surprised me by smiling. The smile was a little creepy on a face as large as his, with bold features that seemed carved from granite, but apparently he intended to back off, at least temporarily.
“You know Natasha’s father is dead. My Darius gave his life to protect others.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“My wife is gone, too. Her heart was weak. A year ago, it stopped. Natasha is all I have now. Her mother, my former daughter-in-law, is under the spell of that huckster, Gailworth.” He worked his mouth as if the name left a foul taste.
“I’ll call Dr. Snyder about the minutes, Mr. Korba. If she tells me you may see them, I will let you know.” I maintained eye contact, hoping to convince him that was my best offer.
“Do as you must,” he said, “but take a word of advice. If you wish to succeed in life, you must learn your job well enough to make your own decisions.” With that, he strode out of the library. I felt the floor shake with each of his Goliath steps. I called Dr. Snyder’
s office immediately, leaving a request for a callback with her office manager.
Chapter 7
That night Nick sat at my dinette table rolling his empty beer bottle between his palms while I rinsed our dinner bowls. Amah had given me her leftover kale and linguiça soup the night before, and all day I had looked forward to having it for dinner. It was barely enough to share, but it was Nick’s favorite too. I had invited him to dinner so I could pitch my idea about attending Abel Gailworth’s Sunday service under the guise of wanting to join his congregation.
“I don’t like it,” Nick said.
“Why not?” I sat at the table across from him. “Have you dug up something alarming about Gailworth?”
“You mean since yesterday?” Nick asked. “I get that you’re in a hurry, but it can take a while to do that kind of digging. It requires the help of unusually talented folks.”
“You’ve recruited Buck’s geeks?”
“They’re the best. You want this done right, don’t you?”
“Of course, but, let’s speed things up by attending one of the Reverend Gailworth’s services. In the meantime, the geeks can keep digging.”
Nick’s silent stare told me he was calculating the odds of talking me out of the idea. Not good, and I was pretty sure he knew it. Plus, the prospect of pulling off an undercover visit appealed to his sense of adventure as much as it did mine. Harry had called us adrenaline junkies, making us sound like addicts who couldn’t resist poking around in a mystery. I wasn’t sure about Nick, but I only poked around in mysteries if they involved me or someone I cared about.
Finally, he said, “I assume you already know where and when Gailworth’s church meets.”
“They’ve converted the old Cartwright meat-packing building south of town.”
“No kidding?” Nick gave me a puzzled look. “Didn’t you say they’re vegans?”
“They are. And I don’t know if they chose that building to make some sort of statement, or if they just got a good deal on the rent.”
“Either way, it’s pretty damned ironic. Talk about leading lambs to slaughter. If we go, we’ll need a cover story. Any ideas?”
I shrugged. “I thought we’d just show up as a couple. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not if Gailworth starts asking questions. Why do we want to join his congregation? Are we looking for like-minded vegans? And if we’re a couple, we need to decide if we’re married or maybe engaged—at least committed to each other.”
I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I see your point. The vegan part is an easy yes.” But his questions about our status as a couple were hitting too close to home. “Since this is Thursday, we still have two days to figure out our relationship. We don’t have to do it tonight. It’s getting late.”
Nick reached across the table for my hand and turned it palm up. “Maybe the answer is here. He traced my heart line with his finger, sending an electric tingle up my arm. “We have to figure it out soon, Aimee.” I knew he wasn’t talking about our cover story.
“I know.” I eased my hand away, feeling dizzy and wondering if the level of desire I felt could actually make me swoon. I got up on slightly wobbly legs and walked across the kitchen toward my door. “Why don’t we talk again on Saturday?”
With that, Nick came to me, pulled me into his arms and lifted my chin. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
I leaned into him, taking comfort in his warmth and familiar scent. “Just tired. It’s been rough at work the past four days. Lowe’s unsolved murder is keeping everyone on edge. I haven’t slept much since it happened.”
“Shall I kiss you goodnight and let you get some rest?”
“Probably.”
He did a thorough job with the kiss, then left as promised. I watched his taillights until he reached the road in front of Jack and Amah’s house. My empty apartment seemed to mock me, leaving me to wonder if I would have slept better if he stayed.
I crawled into bed and listened to the tick of my wall clock as the weight of the lonely night settled over me.
My cell phone jerked me awake at five thirty Friday morning.
“What?” I croaked.
“Any luck getting me into Quinn’s office?” Harry.
“Not yet. I’m still working on it. Why are you calling so early?”
“I don’t get to sleep in. I have a mall to build.” Harry’s three-story mall project was quite a feather in his cap, and I didn’t blame him for being protective of it. According to the latest estimate, it would be almost three years before it was finished. The City of Timbergate had placed a lot of faith in him as the architect and general contractor, and knowing my brother, he would get the job done in time and on budget.
“Let me see what’s going on today,” I said. “I’ll get back to you.”
I checked my email as soon as I got to the library. A message from Cleo told me Quinn was back at work. She made a point of mentioning that he was working out of his own office. Apparently the crime scene people had finished that part of their investigation. I still needed to get Harry into that office, and I wasn’t sure if Quinn’s presence would be a plus or a problem.
My second message was an automatic reminder sent out from Quinn once a month. Due to the increased incidence of shootings at hospitals in the past few years, employees of TMC were required to wear their name badges at all times while on the hospital premises and to be on the lookout for anyone seen in the building without an employee name tag or a visitor’s badge. The shooting death in Quinn’s office gave the reminder a new sense of urgency.
I read through another dozen messages, answered what I could, and made notes to follow up on the rest. Then I called Varsha Singh and asked for a few minutes with Quinn. When Lola Rampley arrived at nine o’clock to begin her volunteer chores, I left her in the library and walked to the main tower, hugging my light sweater close against a brisk breeze hinting at rain. The warmth of Quinn’s office chased away the chill.
“How are you, Aimee?” Sitting at his desk, he held himself rigid, as if prepared to ward off a blow.
“I’m all right, under the circumstances.” I sat across from him. “What about you? It must seem surreal, working in here.” I stopped to clear my throat. “I mean, right here where it happened.”
“It’s bloody hell. Worse than a nightmare, because I’m not going to wake up, and it’s not going to go away. And I can’t think of a damn thing I can do to prove I didn’t do it.”
“But you haven’t been arrested. And you’re back at work, so that must mean the home office isn’t too freaked out.”
“That’s not quite true. I’m only working part-time. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And that’s because they think Sanjay is too green to run the place by himself. He’ll be acting administrator on Tuesday, Thursday, and weekends.”
“Still, they haven’t suspended you.”
“Not yet, but they’ve warned me an administrative leave of absence could be the next step. It all depends on how the investigation goes.”
Suddenly chilled again, I sat down and hugged my sweater close around me. “That’s what I wanted to see you about. I don’t know if it would help, but I was hoping you’d let my brother have a look at your office.”
“Why?” Quinn pushed back in his chair, looking surprised and unhappy.
“I’m not sure, but I told him the cameras didn’t show anyone entering or leaving the administrative suite that night, and he said he’d like to take a look. Maybe his architect’s eye would notice something.”
“That’s not going to happen. This is none of your brother’s business.”
Like a fist to the solar plexus, Quinn’s harsh rebuke took my breath away. Never had he used that tone with me. Not long after I was hired, a work-related crisis had caused us to confide in each other on a deeply personal level. When the crisis passed, we had settled into a bond of loyalty and friendship that had remained constant over the past six months.
“I’m sorry, I thoug
ht it might help.”
“I want to show you something.” He walked over to a large Persian rug in the center of the floor. I stood next to him as he pulled it back to reveal a dark stain on the beige wall-to-wall carpet. It had to be blood.
“See that? They’ve covered it with this damned rug until the carpet can be replaced. I’m supposed to pretend it isn’t there and get back to doing my job while I wait to see if I’m going to be arrested for something I didn’t do.” He let the rug drop.
“But Harry might notice something the police missed. And it is his business, in a way. He’s afraid I might be accused along with you.”
I watched Quinn calm himself with a deep breath before he spoke. “Aimee, I don’t want your brother anywhere near this office, do you understand?” A scowl distorted his attractive features. With a jolt of sadness, I realized there had to be something he was hiding. Could this person I liked and trusted be a murderer? There must be some other explanation.
“But maybe he—”
“No.” Quinn stared down at the rug for a moment, then looked up at me. “I almost forgot. Edna Roda called just before you got here. Apparently she was told you were on your way. She asked if you would stop by her office before you go back over to the library.”
“I’ll do that.” I was glad for a change of subject. Edna was our chief nursing officer, and I’d recently worked with her to put together a collection of forensic references for the TMC nursing staff.
Quinn walked to his door and opened it, an obvious invitation for me to leave. “Once again, keep your brother out of this. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
I lied, of course. It would be more difficult without Quinn’s permission, but now more than ever I wanted Harry to see that office. What was Quinn hiding?
I took the elevator to the first floor and stopped in at Edna Roda’s office. Her secretary said she had left for the ER about ten minutes earlier to handle a scheduling mix-up. The emergency room was nearby, so I headed over to see if I could catch up with her. When I got there, Edna had just left, so I retraced my path back to her office, where her secretary asked me to wait while Edna finished a conference call. When I finally got in to see her, she asked about an online forensic nursing magazine she had heard about. I assured her the TMC library could afford to subscribe to The Journal of Forensic Nursing, and that I’d submit a purchase order right away.
Breach of Ethics Page 6