Breach of Ethics

by Sharon St. George

  Bernie and I worked out a schedule for his two mornings a week. He protested that he would need more to do than care for the plants. I noticed that he frequently ran a finger along any flat surface within reach to check for dust, so I added light housekeeping to his routine. I hoped he wouldn’t feel the chore was too menial, but instead of being disappointed, he seemed pleased.

  “Good on me.” He beamed and pulled a little white dust mask from his pocket. “I tend to get to sneezing if I’m around a lot of dust. We’ll get this place cleaned up right smart. Lola will be impressed, don’t you see?”

  I took out the can of furniture polish I kept in my desk and handed it over as if giving him the keys to the city.

  With Bernie’s three hours mapped out, I turned to the details of the Lowe mystery that were grappling for my attention. I had planned to walk over to the main tower to hear what Loren Davidson had told Cleo about Quinn’s mandatory leave of absence. Then we had to iron out the details of how to slip Harry into Quinn’s office during the fire drill. I warred with my conscience about leaving Bernie alone in the library on his first day, but I decided to risk it. I gave him specific instructions about how to answer the phone and take messages and asked him to tell any walk-in patrons I’d be back within the hour. With some misgivings, I headed to the main tower to meet Cleo.

  “Close the door.” Cleo got right to the point. “The fire drill in ER is scheduled for tomorrow night—or to be precise, one o’clock Thursday morning. I’ve convinced Sanjay that home office wants you and me to be there to act as his backup.”

  I sat across from her. “Excellent. I’ll let Harry know.”

  “All right," Cleo leaned toward me, "now tell me how this is going to work.”

  “I will, but first I want to hear what Loren Davidson had to say about Quinn.”

  “Not much.” Cleo glanced at a notepad on her desk. “Home office doesn’t like the idea of a murder suspect roaming the hospital. Admission numbers have dropped substantially in the week since Lowe’s death was reported in the media. A lot of doctors are refusing to admit their patients here until the grisly matter is resolved.”

  “So Quinn is banished, even though he hasn’t been charged? What about me … am I going to be next?”

  “I doubt it,” Cleo said. “You’re so low profile, home office is barely aware of your existence.” She reached across her desk and patted my arm. “Sorry if that sounds insulting, but in this situation it’s a blessing, so let’s get back to the fire drill and the plan you and your brother concocted.”

  “Okay. It’s pretty simple. You and I will tell Sanjay that during the drill, the fire alarm agency wants one of its employees to check something in Quinn’s office called an annunciator panel.”

  “Are you sure there’s a panel like that in his office?”

  “Yes. Harry showed me some photos of different models and I recognized one of them as that rectangular red box on the inside wall of Quinn’s office next to his bathroom door. Harry says it has groups of lights that show the status of all sorts of systems in the building. If it picks up anything abnormal, an audible signal goes off to alert the person in the office.”

  “Abnormal like a fire?” Cleo asked.

  “Right. Harry tried to explain more about how it works, but all I needed to know is that we can tell Sanjay it must be checked during the drill.”

  “So the person doing the checking is going to be your brother? Won’t he be recognized on the security cameras?”

  “I doubt it. No one at the hospital knows him except Quinn, and he’s not going to be around. We’ll rig him up a fake uniform, complete with a billed cap to obstruct the view of his face.”

  “This seems like a boatload of trouble.” Cleo looked up from her notepad where she'd been jotting. “Tell me again why Harry needs to get in there?”

  “Because no one has found any evidence of tampering with the data on the security cameras, yet somehow Lowe and his killer ended up in Quinn’s office. Harry thinks that room holds the key to finding the killer. I know it wasn’t me, and I’m almost certain it wasn’t Quinn.”

  Cleo blanched. “Almost? How can you say that? Of course Jared didn’t do it.”

  “So let’s see if we can figure out how Lowe and his killer got in there.”

  Cleo took a deep breath, and the color returned to her face. “Let’s. What time shall we show up for the fire drill tomorrow night?”

  “How about midnight in the parking garage? That’ll give the three of us plenty of time to go over our plan. Maybe we can get into the administrative suite a little ahead of time before the drill starts at one o’clock.” I glanced at my watch. “I’d better go. I left a new volunteer in the library by himself.”

  “Before you go, I thought you’d want to know the word is out that Natasha’s gaining ground. According to Hector Korba, she’s making remarkable progress.”

  I smiled with relief. “That’s great news. Have you heard any more about her mother and stepfather? Or about Hector’s efforts to get custody?”

  “Hector’s pushing it pretty hard right now. I guess he thinks Natasha’s hospitalization is going to make his case for him. It’s obvious that the girl was malnourished and in poor health even before the emergency appy.”

  “That appendectomy might have been a blessing in disguise,” I said, “if her restricted diet had set her up for brain damage and heart problems.”

  “Exactly.” Cleo nodded, dropping her pen on her desk. “Her condition might not have been discovered in time. I suspect all that’s been recorded in her chart where Hector has doubtless seen it.”

  It occurred to me, not for the first time, how lucky I was to have Cleo for an ally. “No wonder he’s determined to get her away from the Gailworths," I said. "I wonder if Sybil Snyder will testify for him if he and the Gailworths end up back in court.”

  “She won’t have a choice if Korba’s attorneys subpoena her.”

  “Without a doubt they would have subpoenaed Lowe if he had lived.”

  “Of course. Gives you something to think about, doesn’t it, Aimee?” Cleo picked up her pen and tapped it on her desk, lost in thought. “Who had a stake in making sure Lowe didn’t testify at a custody hearing?”

  “Only Natasha’s parents. But do the police know that?”

  She shook her head. “Doubtful. Who would have told them? The subject didn’t come up when I was interviewed. How about you?”

  I stood, glancing at my watch again. “No. It didn’t occur to me. I just answered the questions I was asked. Maybe Quinn mentioned it when he was interviewed.” I started for her door, nervous about leaving Bernie Kluckert alone in the library.

  “Wait, one more thing.” Cleo pulled an envelope out of her desk drawer. “I have two extra tickets for the Sawyer County Symphony on Saturday night. I wondered if you could use them.”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t afford to reimburse you.”

  “Nonsense.” She walked over and thrust them in my hand. “They’re yours if you want them. I thought you might invite Nick. Sig will be playing tuba for the first time since his surgery, so I’ll be by myself in the audience. I’d love to have the two of you sit with me.” Cleo never missed an opportunity to nudge me closer to Nick.

  “I should ask my grandmother first. If she can’t make it, I’ll try Nick.

  I thanked her for the tickets and headed back to the library. Cool, clean air filled my lungs, and pale winter sunshine cast a semblance of warmth across the TMC complex.

  Bernie gave me a little wave with his free hand as I entered the library. He pulled the white mask away from his face just long enough to greet me with a cheerful, “Hullo,” then went back to work. He had made good progress with the dusting while I was gone. By the time he left at noon, the metal bookshelves glistened and the whole place smelled of furniture polish.

  Chapter 13

  I was in my small break room washing down a peanut butter sandwich with coffee when I heard knocking on the
library door. The knocking had escalated to pounding by the time I reached the entrance and saw Hector Korba standing outside with his legs spread and fists clenched, fixing me with an impatient glare. I unlocked the door and invited him in.

  “Thank you, Miss Machado,” he said in a deceptively calm voice. “I’m surprised to find the library locked. Do no other people stop by during their lunch hour?”

  “Not really, Mr. Korba. I’m required to take a lunch hour myself, and there being no other staff, I have to lock up.”

  “Ah, I see.” Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him that I had the right to inconvenience him by feeding myself.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  “Read this.” With a self-satisfied flourish, he produced a note written on a sheet torn from Dr. Sybil Snyder’s prescription pad. It read: Please allow Mr. Korba to view the minutes of the Monday, February 3 Ethics Committee meeting. I recognized Dr. Snyder’s signature. It had taken him a full week to gain her permission. No wonder he was impatient.

  “Give me a moment.” I didn’t bother to offer him a seat. I remembered from his last visit that he preferred to stand so he could tower over me. I pulled the Ethics Committee binder from its drawer in one of my file cabinets and handed him the page with the minutes. He read the scant description of the meeting and handed the page back to me.

  “That’s of no use at all, is it?” His face turned dark. “It appears to be a whitewash.”

  “What do you mean?” I thought the description of the physical altercation was anything but a whitewash.

  “I mean that there is nothing specific in there about my Natasha’s condition. No record of her dire medical status. Surely Dr. Lowe must have testified to that in this meeting. I don’t see that here. Why is that?” His tense fingers creased the paper. I thought he might roll it into a ball and throw it at me.

  I took an involuntary step backward. “The minutes record only what happens between the time the meeting is called to order and the time it is adjourned, Mr. Korba. That’s all.”

  He shook the paper at me. “But there is nothing written that will help me to save her from her ridiculous mother and that con artist she married. You were present at that committee meeting. Do you know more than what is recorded?”

  I felt a traitorous rush of blood to my cheeks. Damn. I did know more, but I certainly wouldn’t admit it to him.

  “Mr. Korba, I have done what you and Dr. Snyder asked. You have seen the minutes. If you need Natasha’s medical details, you’ll have to get them from Dr. Snyder.”

  “Only Lowe could have testified to what he dealt with during Natasha’s surgery. Dr. Snyder was not present in the operating room.” A vein pulsed at Korba’s temple.

  I tried to reassure him, with what I hoped was a calming tone. “But Dr. Lowe would have dictated all of that in his operative report. It will be recorded in Natasha’s medical record. Dr. Snyder could interpret that in court. She would be the ideal person to do that, since she’s taken over the case.”

  Korba’s face flushed purple. He dropped his bulk into one of the chairs across from my desk. “Dr. Lowe’s operative report is inconclusive in that regard.”

  I thrust my hands out in a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” How did he know what was or wasn’t in Natasha’s medical record?

  “My Natasha has only two blood relatives on this earth, myself and her mother. As such, we are both allowed access to the information in her medical chart. I have made certain of that.”

  “I see.” News to me, but I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering Korba’s clout with the hospital.

  “Since your minutes are not helpful, it appears I must rely entirely on Dr. Snyder to support my bid for custody.”

  I didn’t envy Sybil Snyder and even felt a little guilty about hitting the ball into her court, but I had no other advice to offer the man. At least he would stop breathing down my neck.

  “That seems to be your best option,” I said. “I’m very sorry your granddaughter is ill, but I’ve heard that Natasha’s condition is rapidly improving. I hope, for her sake and for yours, that she’ll be well enough to be discharged soon.”

  “Discharge her and put her life in the hands of that insane couple?” His flash of anger was followed by signs of fatigue. He reached a hand up to massage the back of his neck. “We’ll see about that. I’ve demanded a new hearing. She must not leave this hospital until her custody has been decided.”

  As on his first visit, he surprised me with his unattractive rictus of a smile. He thanked me, and just as he stood, preparing to leave, an unfamiliar woman dressed entirely in black came into the library, walking toward my desk. Startled recognition flashed across Korba’s face, but he recovered his composure quickly.

  “Mrs. Lowe, my condolences.” He proffered a solemn nod of his head. The woman had to be Dr. Lowe’s widow, Rita. Why was she visiting the library? Thin and nondescript, with short gray hair and wearing no makeup or jewelry, she brought Cleo’s assessment to mind: a peahen to Gavin Lowe’s peacock.

  “Thank you, Hector.” She turned from him to extend her hand to me. “And you must be Aimee Machado. I apologize for coming by unannounced. I was tending to some affairs in the business office, so I thought I’d drop by to return several items Gavin had borrowed from your library.” She placed a soft leather briefcase on my desk. “You’ll find two books and a few medical journals in there.” Her face had the drawn look of someone in pain.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lowe. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I didn’t make reference to our previous phone conversation. Neither did she. Hector stood awkwardly by, as if uncertain whether to leave or stay.

  “Well, that’s another unpleasant task done.” Rita gestured toward the briefcase. “You may keep Gavin’s attaché case, if you like. Or donate it to a charity. I don’t particularly want it back.” She seemed eager to leave, so I thanked her and she went on her way. I expected Hector to follow, but he remained at my desk.

  “Poor woman.” He shook his head. “To think of returning books at such a difficult time.”

  I zipped the case open. “Yes, but I’m glad to have them back. Some of our medical texts are very expensive.” I lifted the books and journals out, noticing that they all had to do with nutrition. Lowe had obviously done his homework with regard to Natasha’s case. I didn’t recall processing his checkouts. Apparently Lola had handled them at a time when I was away from the library.

  Next I checked the various pockets of the briefcase to make sure they were empty. I felt something in one of the interior pockets and extracted a small flash drive. Opening my desk drawer, I dropped the drive inside my purse, thinking I’d call Rita later to see about returning it to her.

  Hector still stood at my desk, so I asked if he had any further business for us to discuss.

  “Not at this time, Miss Machado. Please carry on.” I watched him walk toward the exit. Carry on sounded so pompous. I hoped he used less formal language with his granddaughter.

  After dual visits from Rita Lowe and Hector Korba, my lunch hour was gone, along with my appetite. Before Rita’s unexpected arrival, Korba had seemed to view Lowe’s death mainly as a setback in the custody struggle for his precocious granddaughter. That, in spite of the fact that Gavin Lowe had saved little Natasha’s life. I was pleased that Korba had shown sympathy for the widow.

  Alone in the library, I glanced at the briefcase Rita had left behind, thinking Lola or Bernie might like to have it. That reminded me of the flash drive I’d put in my purse. Curious, I took it out and stared at the innocent-looking inch of plastic, wondering how guilty I would feel if I had a look. Did it hold something important to Gavin Lowe? Or to the hospital? I glanced at the time and checked my medical staff calendar. No committee meetings this lunch hour meant Cleo would be free, so I called her.

  I gave Cleo a quick rundown of the last hour, including Hector’s visit, Rita Lowe’s dropping by, and the flash drive she left behind.
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  “Do you think I should have a look?”

  “I think it would be justified,” Cleo said. “If it is related to one of our patients, we’ll want to see that it gets to where it belongs. If not, you can return it to Rita.”

  With a semi-clear conscience, I plugged the little drive into a port on my computer.

  Two files appeared. Lowe had named one of them NKOP. Natasha Korba’s initials? It was dated Sunday, February 2, the date he had operated on Natasha. I opened the file. It was unnerving reading notes written by a man who had died only a week ago.

  The first document was obviously Lowe’s OP report, following standard format. A list of the events in the order they had taken place during surgery, including the dangerous blood loss and the decision to go ahead with a transfusion in spite of the parents’ objections. The second document, separate from the OP note, captured my attention. He’d titled it Notes to self.

  Discharge will be complicated by pending custody hearing.

  Recommend mother and stepfather retain custody, but with two conditions: 1. presiding judge requires parents’ participation in nutritional counseling, and 2. regular monitoring of patient’s health status on a monthly basis—indefinitely.

  What to do with this information? In good conscience, I had to offer to return the drive to Rita Lowe, but the information it contained should go to someone involved in Natasha’s care. That would be Sybil Snyder, who I was reluctant to approach directly. Normally, I’d have gone to Quinn, but he was on leave. Sanjay? No. That left Cleo. With her depth of experience and knowledge of medical staff issues, she’d know how to handle the situation. I printed a copy of Lowe’s notes for her, put the flash drive back in my purse and made a quick trip across campus to her office.

  “What do you think? Should we turn the flash drive over to Sybil Snyder?”