One Fell Swoop

by David Linzee

  The Answer: The New Medical Park!

  An animated map appeared on screen. Across the highway from the medical center, a green blob appeared and quickly spread, as if a bottle of green ink had been tipped over. Parkdale’s streets and buildings disappeared. The music swelled. A suburban-style hospital campus arose from the green: low-lying, sprawling buildings, woods and lawns and fountains. The narrator was extolling the concentration of services, the easy availability of care, more beds, more parking spaces … but it was getting harder to hear him.

  Most of the crowd were on their feet, shouting, raising their signs, shaking their fists. The roars gradually coalesced into a chant: “REEVE, TIME TO LEAVE!”

  Peter spent the rest of the day in his old office, among his former colleagues. Everything in the world of Adams University seemed to be turning upside down, and Peter himself felt upended and backwards. He had never experienced a full-fledged media firestorm from the inside. He’d been through a couple as a reporter and remembered his indignation and contempt for the PR media-wranglers, who knew what was really going on but kept denying it, trying to palm him off with implausible assurances of good faith.

  Now he was on the other end of the phone, and that was all he had to offer to termagant reporters. No matter how much they cross-examined, menaced, or feigned sympathy with him, all he could do was deny that the Medical Park was an active plan, or that Chancellor Reeve had lied. In a brief meeting before they started answering phones, Roger had told them to take this line and hold it. Such was the atmosphere at Medical PR that one of Peter’s colleagues had called on the boss to promise that they weren’t going to have to eat these denials in the next news cycle. Roger had solemnly promised.

  No more information was forthcoming. Who had made the video? How had Baraku gotten hold of it? What was the university going to do to him? Most of all, the reporters wanted to know when Chancellor Reeve was going to face them. Peter and his colleagues had answers to none of these questions. As the hours passed he began to get very irritated with the sanctimonious reporters, and to feel solidarity with the flacks at the desks around him. These were emotions he had never expected to feel.

  He even began to respect Roger Merck, whom he had always liked but not esteemed. Roger was continuing to be calm and polite under heavy pressure. Lobbies, waiting rooms, and meeting rooms were full of angry delegations. Neighborhood groups and politicians from the neighborhoods surrounding the medical center were demanding to know what other land grabs the university was plotting. At the main campus, the same tumult was going on. Everyone wanted to see Reeve himself, of course. Roger was making excuses for him, scrambling to come up with senior administrators to speak to these groups. It wasn’t easy. Like the PR people, the associate provosts and vice-chancellors didn’t want to take stands that future revelations would force them to back away from.

  In mid-afternoon, Roger was making one of his regular rounds of the office suite to encourage the troops. Stopping at Peter’s desk, he said, “Come with me.”

  Peter wriggled out of his current phone call and picked up his cane. As they walked down the corridor, Roger whispered, “The chancellor wants to see you.”

  “We’re going to the main campus?”

  “No, he’s here. He came in early. He wanted to be on hand in case things got hairy.”

  Peter stared at his boss. He wondered how much hairier things would have to get before Reeve put in an appearance. But Roger said no more. His round, tan face, with its aureole of white hair, was unreadable.

  They went to the other side of the building, which housed the development offices. There the atmosphere was more tranquil. One door was guarded by an Adams security officer. Roger knocked and said, “Chancellor? I have Pete with me.” They went in.

  It was dim in the room. The lights were off and the blinds closed. A desk was against the wall. The chancellor, sitting behind it, seemed barricaded in the far corner of the big room. He said, apprehensively, “Who’s this?”

  “Pete Lombardo. He’s the PR man for Parkdale. You remember.”

  “Yes, of course.” As Reeve rose and came forward, putting out his left hand, Peter remembered an especially nasty reporter trying to get a rise out of him by saying, “Is it true they’re calling Reeve the one-armed bandit in St. Louis?” His hand felt clammy with sweat. Peter fought off an urge to wipe his own hand on his coattails. Reeve’s normally keen blue eyes were glassy and his face had an unhealthy pallor.

  Roger took his elbow and steered him to a small table in the middle of the room. They sat down and waited for Reeve. He didn’t say anything. Finally Roger said, “Pete’s here in case you want to ask him anything about Parkdale before the press conference.”

  “When is it?”

  “In an hour.”

  “That’s too soon.”

  “Well, Phil, it’s been announced. Postponing it will make a bad impression.”

  Reeve said nothing.

  “If you’re not right on the dot, no harm done,” Roger said. “Won’t hurt the reporters to sit there for a while.”

  Reeve fixed his eyes on Peter. “There is no Medical Park,” he said. “No such plan exists.”

  Peter nodded.

  “It’s crazy to think we would just abandon the med center we have. Just in the last year, we’ve spent $5.8 million dollars updating labs and clinics. We’ve just broken ground on a new pediatric research facility.”

  Reeve ran out of words. Peter felt the need to say something. “If you had been planning to level Parkdale, you would never have gotten up in front to the media three days ago and said what a fine neighborhood it was and how proud you were to save it.”

  “Exactly.” Reeve was nodding vigorously. “People seem to find it so easy to believe I’m a liar. Do they think I’m stupid, too?”

  “People aren’t convinced you’re a liar, Phil,” Roger said. “They’re hesitating, waiting for you to speak. You can get your credibility back.”

  Reeve did not seem to hear. He said, “That son of a bitch Baraku. He’s been out to get me for years. He fabricated that video himself. I’m going to fire him. I don’t care if he’s got tenure. This is a gross ethical violation. A crime. I’ll fire him and prosecute him.”

  “We better not say the video is a fake,” said Roger quietly. “That might not stand up.”

  Reeve looked at him, wide-eyed. “You knew about it.”

  “No.”

  “You knew and kept it from me.”

  “No, Phil, I had no idea the video existed. But I think somebody at Granger Hospital made it. They’re not talking now, of course, but it would fit. You know they’re always complaining about competition from the suburban hospitals and not enough parking spaces.”

  Reeve was nodding again. “That’s true. Bitching and moaning. All the time. We’ll go after the bastards. They let me get blindsided. Get their CEO—what’s his name—on the phone. I’m gonna demand to know who made that video and who leaked it. I’ll announce it at the press conference. Full investigation. With terminations and prosecutions to follow.”

  “Phil, we can’t pick a fight with Granger. If the media sees any daylight between the med school and the hospital, they’ll exploit it. They’ll get us flinging charges back and forth and everybody will look bad.”

  “Then what am I supposed to say? You’re sending me out to face the reporters and you won’t let me say anything. Cancel the press conference. There’s no point.”

  “It’s important for you to say the Medical Park is not your plan. It’s not going to happen.”

  “I shouldn’t have to say that. It’s so unfair. I mean—my God—people want to attack me for what I’ve done, fine. I’ll defend myself. But I didn’t do this. It’s not my fault.”

  “No, it’s not fair. But your credibility is on the line. You have to go out there in an hour and say the Medical Park is not going to happen.”

  “That’s not going to satisfy them. They’ll throw all kinds of shit at me.”r />
  “Let them. Just keep saying it’s not going to happen. Because that’s the truth. The reporters will work their sources, who won’t be able to confirm the story. Time will pass and nothing will happen except that we continue to rehab Parkdale. The story will slowly fade away. Phil, you can get through the worst of it this afternoon.”

  Reeve sat in silence, his head bowed. At length, he muttered, “Water.”

  Roger got up, went to the next-door bathroom, and returned with a glass of water. He waited to make sure Reeve had a good grip on it before he let it go.

  “Thank you, Pete, I’ll take it from here,” Roger said, accompanying him to the door.

  “Okay. Good luck.” Peter dropped his voice. “You think he’ll be ready for the press in an hour?”

  “He’ll be okay. It’s just that he’s been sandbagged. Anyone would react the way he’s reacting.”

  As the door closed, Peter was thinking that this was the first time it had occurred to him that Philip G. Reeve was just like anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At four o’clock Peter was standing on the curb outside the public relations building, waiting for Renata. She had called half an hour before to say that Frank Muldaur had notified her that he wanted to see them in his office at City Hall immediately. She would pick Peter up in the car she’d rented. He asked her what make of car to look out for, but she couldn’t tell him. Renata had no interest in cars.

  It was a Ford Escort that pulled up at the curb. He got in with relief. The sports coat he had put on this morning was no longer adequate for the weather, which had turned cold and blustery. She kissed him and said, “I expect you’re quite happy to escape. It must be a madhouse.”

  “Actually, I feel like a rat deserting a sinking ship.”

  “The radio said the chancellor didn’t show up for his press conference.”

  “No. Roger had to take it. They gave him a hard time, of course.”

  “What’s the matter with Reeve?”

  “I don’t understand it. I wouldn’t expect a few hostile reporters to scare him. He’s faced the Washington and New York press corps many times. He’s testified before Congress. Not to mention fighting in Iraq. But he’s come totally unstrung.”

  “You’re sure there’s nothing to the Medical Park plan?”

  “He never heard of it before today.”

  They drove a mile in silence.

  Renata said, “I’m wracking my brains. How does this fit in with everything else that’s happening?”

  “It doesn’t. This is nobody’s plan. It’s a train wreck.”

  City Hall was a tan and brown imitation of a French chateau. Built in 1914, it looked as if it had seen better days. They went in and gave their names.

  A page escorted them upstairs to Muldaur’s office. The big man was wearing a crimson power tie today. He was seated behind a wide desk under a tall window, which provided a view of the Gateway Arch, a silvery band against the gunmetal sky.

  “I don’t have much time,” he said. “Sit.”

  He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his broad gut, and gave Peter a heavy-lidded look. “What’s going on at Adams, Lombardo?”

  “Reeve never heard of the Medical Park plan.”

  “You mean you really believe what you’re being paid to say? I’m not going to waste any more time on you, then. I have a question for you, Ms. Radleigh, and if you give me a straight answer it will go better for everyone, especially your brother.”

  “All right.”

  “If he calls you, what are you going to say?”

  “Mr. Muldaur, I am the last person my brother would call.”

  “We think he’s about down to his last person.”

  “Muldaur, what are you saying?” Peter asked.

  “Only that the St. Louis Police turn out to be better at finding missing persons than you, Lombardo. Don Radleigh rented a Honda Accord day before yesterday. He probably wanted something less conspicuous than that old Jag. But he rented it under his own name, and a computer search turned it up. A patrol unit spotted the Honda early this afternoon in the parking lot of a motel on Hampton Avenue. He was registered at the hotel and they went to his room. Just in time to look out the window and see him going over the fence at the back of the motel. He got away, but now he’s on foot, and they have a description of what he’s wearing. So if I was your brother, I’d be thinking time was running out.”

  He leaned forward. The chair squeaked under his weight. He fixed his eyes on Renata’s. “I want to make sure we’re clear on a couple of things, Ms. Radleigh. There are no charges pending against Mr. Radleigh at this time. There are just a few questions we would like to ask him. If your brother calls, pass that information on. Advise him to turn himself in to the nearest police officer, who probably won’t be far away. Then he’ll have nothing to fear.”

  “I understand,” Renata said.

  Muldaur gazed at her a while longer. Then smiled and sat back, accompanied by more squeaks. “Okay. That’s all. I hope you’ll do as I ask.”

  He rose and went out a side door. Renata and Peter looked at each other, then got up and went out into the corridor.

  “What do you think?” she said softly.

  “I would never tell anyone they could trust Muldaur, but I think what he told us is true. The cops are closing in on Don.”

  “He won’t contact me, no matter what. His boss has probably ordered him not to.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure. You saved his ass before.”

  Peter noticed that the corridor was unusually busy. People kept passing them, all headed in the same direction. Many were talking excitedly, either to their companions or on their phones.

  “What’s going on?” Renata asked. “Is there a fire drill?”

  “We’ll see when we get to the atrium.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s where Mayor Skinner likes to make speeches. He also likes to have all the office workers fill the galleries. I guess this is why Muldaur was in a hurry.”

  The corridor ended in a gallery overlooking a spacious atrium, brightly lit by a skylight and bedecked with flags of the city, state, and nation. They joined the municipal employees lining the railing and looked down on a broad staircase. Muldaur was descending it, to join a dark-suited phalanx standing behind a podium bearing the city’s seal. Below them, the well of the atrium was filled with reporters and photographers. A man stepped out of the phalanx and took his place at the podium. The employees applauded; the media people did not.

  Rodney Skinner, the mayor of St. Louis, was the sort of politician the papers would have called “colorful” if he had not been African American. He had survived scandals sexual and financial as well as fiery feuds with powerful people. He was short and slender, bald and gray-bearded; he did not look at all like the ex-cop he was. But he had the voice of a giant, deep and powerful.

  “I’ve been asked to say a few words about the Adams University situation,” he boomed.

  Renata and Peter exchanged a glance.

  “Adams is a great institution. All St. Louisans are proud of it. I myself am as proud as a Saint Louis U man is allowed to be.” He waited out the laughter and resumed. “Every once in a while, I’ve heard the whispers, as I’m sure you have too, that Adams doesn’t return our affection. That it thinks being in St. Louis holds it back. It would like to be where the other great universities are. California. New York. New England. I never believed that. And I sure never believed it wanted to be in Kutar.”

  He drawled it out, Kooo-taaar, and got another laugh.

  “As I say, I believed Adams cared about St. Louis. So I wasn’t surprised, but I was very pleased, when Chancellor Reeve announced that he was buying one of our fine old city neighborhoods, and that he was going to set it on its feet again.” The crowd was murmuring now so that the mayor had to increase his volume. He had plenty to spare. “I can see I don’t have to tell you that the plan has changed.”

 
He allowed the audience to laugh and mutter among themselves for a moment, then resumed. “I’ve been trying to call my friend Phil, get him to clear up the confusion. But he’s not talking to me. Or anyone else. Guess he figures he doesn’t need anybody’s permission if he wants to tear down the homes of a lot of city residents and build a Medical Park.”

  There were stray shouts of “No way!” and “Stop Reeve!” from the galleries. The mayor held up his hand.

  “I’m not going to come out against the Medical Park. It’s a complicated question. We’ll all have to study it and talk about it, soon as Phil decides to start talking to people again. But there is one thing I want to get clear right now. The med center is a nonprofit. Doesn’t pay a penny in taxes. Which means that if the Medical Park goes through, the whole Parkdale neighborhood drops off the tax rolls. The city can’t take a hit like that. We shouldn’t have to.”

  Skinner straightened up and grasped both sides of the lectern. “You’ve all heard what Adams likes to call itself. The Yale of the Midwest. Fine with me. In fact, I encourage them to take note of what the Yale of the East is doing. It compensates the city of New Haven for lost tax revenue. Every year, this great university makes a voluntary payment of eight million dollars.”

  City employees were oohing and ahhing and clapping in the galleries.

  “So my message to Adams University is this: we’re happy to work with you on your Medical Park plans. But you ought to kick a little something into the kitty. And with an endowment of fifteen billion, you can afford to.”

  The mayor stepped back from the lectern, lifting his bearded chin at the applause. Peter and Renata turned away without waiting to see if he would take questions. As they stood before the elevator doors, Peter said, “The Mayor is up for re-election next spring. Seems he’s decided to run against Adams U.”