Medical Error

by Richard Mabry

  Anna met Neil Fowler at the door to the surgeon's lounge. She gave him a brief rundown on the surgery she'd performed, careful to mention how Matt Ryan had functioned extremely well as her first assistant. "He's applying for a surgery residency here, and I hope you'll remember this when you review his application."

  "Sure. Why don't you send me a memo—an e-mail will do—and mention this? I'll be sure that Peggy attaches it to his application when we get it." He moved toward the coffee urn."I signed offon the narcotics order for your case, by the way. I'll be glad when the DEA gets that straightened out, and I know you will too."

  He held up a cup and Anna nodded. When they were both seated with their coffee, Fowler told her about his own case, a bus driver whose face was so badly injured in the crash that it took more than two hours to repair the damage, realigning broken bones and meticulously sewing up lacerations. "Wouldn't you know it? Half our plastic surgeons have gone to a meeting in Chicago, so I got drafted. I haven't done a case like that in years."

  "You know you enjoyed the challenge."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right." Fowler tossed his empty cup into the wastebasket. "Do you feel okay? I know Mike told you to take another week off, but if you hadn't been here today, I'm afraid that little girl would have bled out. You saved her life."

  "I'm fine," she said. "Just a little wrung out, I guess."

  "Well, head home. I'll look in on your patient tonight. Call me tomorrow and let me know how you're feeling. I don't want to push you."

  "Thanks. I'll stop by the waiting room and talk with Rosa's parents before I go."

  At home, Anna dropped her backpack inside the front door and headed straight for the fridge. She pulled out a can of Diet Coke and trudged back to the living room, where she collapsed onto the couch and rubbed the cold container against her throbbing temples.

  She closed her eyes but couldn't rest. Her mind kept going in circles that had no end. She remembered something she'd seen in geometry—or was it algebra?—called a Möbius strip. It was a paper strip twisted a half-turn and fastened together so it had no beginning and no end. Start to draw a line down the middle of it, and eventually you'd end up back where you started, with a line on both sides of the paper. Well, her problems were a Möbius strip, with no end in sight. The detectives who seemed determined to charge her with murder; the person or persons who were using her DEA number to write bogus narcotics prescriptions; the identity theft that threatened her credit, cost Eric Hatley his life, and almost convinced Nick she was HIV-positive.

  That set her thoughts on another track—something she never thought would be a problem for her. Two weeks ago there were no men in her life. Now there were two. Each seemed fond of her and growing fonder, and that was nice. But they both had problems, and she wasn't sure she was strong enough to deal with her own difficulties, much less those of Nick and Ross.

  "Lord, I need help." Anna wasn't sure whether she'd spoken the words aloud or just framed them in her mind, but they were certainly an outpouring of what she felt in her heart.

  A loud banging at her door made her jump. What now? Her first thought sent a chill down her spine. Was it the police with a warrant for her arrest? They'd take her downtown and book her. Wasn't she supposed to get one phone call? What was Ross Donovan's number? She couldn't imagine they'd let her keep her cell phone in a jail cell. She scrambled through a pile of unopened correspondence on her desk until she found the slip with Ross's number on it. She started to stick it in her pocket, then changed her mind and wrote it on her palm with a Sharpie.

  The banging continued. What else? Her mind raced. She'd never prepared to go to jail before.

  "Anna, open up. I know you're home. I can see your car in the driveway."

  At the sound of Nick's voice, Anna felt a mixture of relief and irritation wash over her. What was he doing here? She wasn't ready for company. She wanted to shower and fall into bed.

  When she opened the door and saw the look on Nick's face, Anna's irritation melted.

  "Anna," Nick said. "I've been trying to reach you all day. When I couldn't get you, I pictured all kinds of terrible things. At first, I thought maybe Mike Simpson found a problem from your head injury. I could picture you back in ICU, or on your way to surgery. Then I had visions of those detectives arresting you. I know it's silly, but I just had this bad feeling about you. I had to see you and know you're okay."

  "Funny," she said. "I had that last vision myself when I heard you pounding on the door. So I guess we're both relieved."

  "May I come in?"

  "Of course. Would you like something to drink?"

  In a moment, they were seated side-by-side on the sofa."I'm sorry I wasn't around when you phoned," she said. "There was a huge pileup on the freeway, and I was scrubbed in on an emergency case. What was it you wanted?"

  Nick decided this wasn't the time for the serious talk he had in mind. When he spoke with Anna about his relationship, he wanted her in a better mood than this. But there was still something Anna needed to know. He sipped his soft drink, but his throat remained dry. "I had another call from our detective friends."

  "Which one? Green or Dowling?"

  "Does it matter? Dowling seems to be a little easier to deal with than Green, but I get the impression they've played 'good cop-bad cop' for so long, they've kind of settled into those roles. I'm not fond of either one." Nick finished his soft drink in one long gulp. "Anyway, I got a call from Green. He wants me at police headquarters for a statement. Says he needs me on record about the cause of death in the Hatley case."

  "But why? You've already told them it was nothing more than an adverse consequence of a medication we administered based on flawed information. They should worry less about going after me and more about catching the person responsible for that false information in Hatley's medical records."

  Nick sighed and leaned toward Anna, as though he could add urgency to his message through his body language. "Anna, I went through all this when I shot that man years ago. I know how the authorities can twist your words and tie you in knots. Don't you think the police and the District Attorney can do that with my statement? I don't want to go on record. I don't want to give them even one word under oath because I'm afraid of how they might use it against you."

  "Nick, I appreciate your concern. Don't think I'm not worried too. I'm supposed to talk with Ross Donovan tomorrow to plan our strategy. We're both afraid that Green and Dowling are about to arrest me."

  Anna saw something flash in Nick's eyes when she mentioned Ross Donovan's name. Was it jealousy? Probably. Well, she didn't have the time or energy to deal with it.

  "You've probably got a couple of days," Nick said. "I tried to put offGreen until next week, but he finally pinned me down. I'll give them my statement on Friday afternoon. Be sure to tell Donovan when you talk to him."

  Anna tried to ignore the way Nick said the name of her attorney. "Thanks for those two days," she said. "I probably had a week's grace, but I blew that this afternoon."

  "What happened?"

  After she gave Nick a brief recap of the day's events, he shook his head. "Anna McIntyre, you're something else. I'm not sure I could have done that."

  "Of course you couldn't do that kind of surgery," Anna said."You're a pathologist."

  "That's not what I mean, and you know it. I mean the way you pitched in to help, even when you knew you might suffer for it in the end."

  "Nick, that's sort of the heart of everything I believe. 'Do unto others as you would have them do to you.' I don't know if I have the words exactly right, but you get the meaning."

  "You know, one of the things I admire about you is the way you've held on to your faith in the midst of all that's happened. I'm afraid mine's gone for good."

  "That's not true," Anna said. "Your faith is right where you left it." She yawned. "I'm sorry. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I need to get some rest, but I appreciate your coming by. I'll call you tomorrow."

  Nick opened his
mouth, closed it, and then shook his head."Sure. Give me a call."

  Anna woke slowly, swimming toward the surface of consciousness. She remembered falling into her bed as soon as Nick left. She squinted one eye open and tried to read the red numbers of her bedside clock. Was it seven a.m. or seven p.m.? There was a little red dot illuminated beside the numbers. Good. She hadn't slept the clock 'round. Maybe she could do something productive for the rest of the evening.

  Soon, fortified with a grilled cheese sandwich, she sat down at her desk to sort through the stack of mail she'd let pile up.Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Sale circular. Bill.

  Anna discarded the junk and set the bills aside. She'd deal with them last. Her fear was that she'd open them and see more charges made by someone else. Ross had taken the material Anna had dropped offfor him and assured her that her phone notifications and his filings would protect her from future unauthorized charges. But that was only part of the problem. She still had the feeling that her identity theft wasn't an isolated instance. And although she had nothing to substantiate it, she still wondered if it was connected to the unauthorized use of Eric Hatley's medical insurance that had indirectly caused his death.

  She felt a figurative light bulb go on over her head. Before she could change her mind, she pulled out a phone book from the desk drawer and thumbed through it, searching her memory for the right first name. Please, don't let it be unlisted. No, there it was. She punched in the numbers and waited, the beat of butterfly wings roiling her stomach.

  "Hello?"

  "Mrs. Hatley, this is Dr. Anna McIntyre. Please don't hang up."

  "What do you want? My lawyer told me not to talk with you."

  Anna hurried on. "No, please. I just have one question, and it has nothing to do with your lawsuit. Do you recall your son telling you about problems with his credit card?"

  There was a prolonged silence. "How did you know that?"

  "So, in addition to his medical insurance information, he'd suffered other instances of identity theft."

  "Just a few weeks before he . . ." There was a catch in the woman's voice, and Anna felt sorry for bringing back painful memories to her. "Not long before I lost him, he called me and complained that someone had used his credit cards and run up a big bill. He started to contest the charges, but he never—"

  "Mrs. Hatley, I'm sorry to bring this up. But if you have any of those receipts and bills, please, please don't destroy them. They could help the police find the person really at fault for your son's . . . for your loss."

  "How do I know this isn't some lawyer's trick?" Now there was suspicion in the woman's words.

  "Mrs. Hatley, you can talk with your own lawyer. Give the material to him to hold. Then it can only be released to the police if they have the proper papers. I won't be able to get hold of it. But believe me, it's imperative that information be preserved."

  "I'll think about it." A loud click signaled the end of the conversation.

  Anna cradled the phone and pulled a yellow legal pad toward her. She began to write, pausing for long periods between thoughts. She connected some of the words to others with lines that soon made the page look like the web of a drunken spider, searching for that loose end of the thread that would allow her to unravel the mystery.

  The ringing of her phone roused Anna from sleep. She raised her head from its resting place on her desk and squinted at her watch. Eleven o'clock. Who could be calling this late? Her father had told her once, "A phone call after ten p.m. is never good news." She had rarely experienced anything that proved that dictum wrong.

  Anna picked up the phone, but had to clear her throat twice before she could answer. "Dr. McIntyre."

  "I'm sorry to call this late, but what I have will probably let you sleep better." The urgency in Ross Donovan's voice was a marked contrast with Anna's fuzziness. "I just dug up some new information about that prescription bottle the police say links you to Eric Hatley."

  The words acted like a jolt of caffeine. Anna sat up straight. "That's great. Can you tell me about it?"

  "I don't want to seem paranoid, but I think we'd better talk in person about this, not on the phone. Can you come to my office at nine in the morning?"

  Anna didn't want to wait ten minutes, much less ten hours."Ross, you're awake and now I am too. Is there an all-night coffee shop where we could meet?"

  "No, that's not a good idea. Getting this information tonight was risky business. If someone is following me and I meet with you now, that sends up a red flag and puts both you and me in danger. But if you come to my office tomorrow, it's just another lawyer-client conference."

  "Can't you at least give me a hint what this is about?"

  The hum of the open line went on so long Anna thought the connection had been broken. Finally, Ross said, "I've been wondering all along if someone is trying to frame you for this."

  "And?"

  "Now I can prove it."

  18

  ROSS CLOSED HIS CELL PHONE AND STOWED IT IN HIS POCKET. HE PEERED out of the shadows of the alley before stepping onto the deserted sidewalk. A faint light shone through the stained glass windows of St. Barnabas Church, but otherwise the street around him was dark. As he walked to his car, his head was on a swivel, searching for a presence he felt but could not see. He hunched his shoulders, clenched his fists, and lengthened his stride.

  When he saw his car ahead, Ross breathed a little easier. Another hundred feet and he'd be safe inside. He wasted little time worrying that he might have put Glenn in jeopardy. Glenn had put his own neck in that noose. If anything, giving up the information tonight might help the man escape serious consequences. Right now, Ross's primary concern was for Anna. And with what he had, he should definitely be able to counter the police attempts to incriminate her.

  As he neared his car, Ross heard a quick shuffle of footsteps behind him. He turned just enough to take the first blow on his shoulder, but his attacker adjusted quickly, and the second and third strikes were on target, right at the base of his skull. He dropped to his knees and put out his hands to brace himself for impact with the pavement. As everything faded from gray to black, he heard a voice, faint and far away. "Hey, what's going on?" Then there was nothing.

  Anna was wide-awake now. That nap with her head on the desk might not have been the most comfortable one she'd ever had, but the rest, combined with the effect of Ross's phone call, had left her wide awake.

  She wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, so she might as well get some more of this paperwork out of the way. Armed with a cup of tea, she shoved aside the legal pad where she'd been trying to connect the dots of her life and turned her attention to the stack of bills.

  Anna took a sip from her cup and rolled her shoulders to relax them. She could recall when the only tension involved in opening her bills was wondering how she was going to pay them. Now she had to worry about whether the charges listed were her own or the work of someone else. Her latest MasterCard bill held no surprises. The identity thief, whoever it might be, apparently wasn't able to gain access to her new card number. Anna one, bad guy zero. The VISA bill was short—she generally used it only for backup—and like the MasterCard statement, it was free of unauthorized charges.

  Her utility bills were routine. She expected no surprises, and there were none. As Anna wrote the checks, she watched her dwindling bank balance and wondered how she could afford the fee of the private detective Ross had mentioned.

  Soon there was only one piece of mail left unopened: a large envelope marked "Personal." The return address was an unfamiliar one, a Dallas post office box. In Anna's experience, correspondence marked "Personal" was often part of a marketing scheme to entice the skeptical recipient to open the envelope. On the other hand, it might really be important, maybe medical information. She shivered as she thought of this last possibility. Was this yet another lab report, generated by a visit from someone using her insurance information? She still hadn't done anything to expunge that false report of a positive HIV
test from the lab's records. She hated to have something like that floating around with her name and identifying data attached to it. That was one more thing for her "to do" list.

  Anna slit the end of the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers with the heading "CSC Credit Services." Was this more bad news about her credit rating? As she read further, her eyes stopped at the line, "Your personal credit report." Then she remembered. When she'd first found out about the theft of her credit card information, she'd requested copies of her credit report from the three major companies that kept up with that stuff. The first two reports were in the packet she delivered to Ross. This one was just late.

  Well, she might as well see if this one showed anything different. She spread the pages on the desk and picked up a red pen, ready to circle items that would require attention. When she reached the bottom of the last page, she frowned. There were two unfamiliar charge accounts listed. She was sure they hadn't been listed on the other credit reports. Sure enough, the dates showed they'd only been open for a week. The name on the accounts was Anna Elizabeth McIntyre, but the address wasn't hers.

  Ross had warned her that sometimes credit reports contained inaccuracies. He'd told her not to be surprised if she found some accounts, either old or active, that weren't hers. For instance, it could be a case of two people with the same name. Could there be two Anna Elizabeth McIntyres in Dallas? She pulled the phone directory to her and began to search. When she laid it aside, she was satisfied that, if she did share a name with someone else in the city, that person's phone number was unlisted.

  So, what did this mean? Anna burrowed through the mound of papers she'd created and found her yellow legal pad. She entered the new information, but there was no instant flash of recognition, no sudden insight. Well, maybe it would look better in the morning. Anna yawned, stretched, and then padded offto the bedroom to snatch a few hours of sleep.