HARMED - Book 1: First Do No Harm

by L Jan Eira

  “We’ll meet again every morning to gather our thoughts and get marching orders for the day,” said Fuller, disrupting Jack’s meditative state and jerking him back into reality. Fuller removed his reading glasses and inserted them into his pocket. He took a sip from his coffee mug. “Any information you discover, let me know right away. I’ll coordinate the data.”

  Everyone in the room nodded, and soon the room began to empty out.

  While gathering his things, Jack’s mind was again churning. I know you got my buddy killed, Rupert, you monster from hell. I will prove it and hang you for it myself.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jack felt some of his angst melt away and took a deep breath when he finally arrived home. “Lucy, I’m home!” said Jack from the doorway, trying to put on a happy face.

  “That has to be the worst-ever imitation of a Cuban accent,” said Claire. She was busy in the kitchen. Jack went to her, and they kissed.

  “What?” asked Jack. “Not a great imitation of Ricky Ricardo?”

  Claire shook her head. “I’m afraid not. So what did you learn at the meeting, Dick Tracy?” She put a grape in Jack’s mouth. “Incidentally, I’m completely aware of your tactics to convince me you’re coping well.”

  “You’ll be surprised to know the meeting at the cop shop was a bit intimidating. It went on for several hours going over all the evidence.” Jack’s initial smile faded as he continued. “Claire, I’ve been thinking about this all day. I think Rupert had something to do with the murders.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I have worked at Newton Memorial for how many years now? Rupert has been there almost as long. Every morning I drive in to the doctors’ lot and drive by his parking stall. I always read his name on the placard posted on the wall. Do you know why? It’s always empty.” Jack placed a grape in his mouth and another in Claire’s. “The day of the murders, his car was in there when I got in at seven thirty a.m. for the first time ever. I hear he was in around five o’clock. Why? Is it a coincidence?”

  “Hmmm, I see what you’re saying, Jack. But what motive could Rupert possibly have? And how did he do it? He didn’t pull the trigger. How could he influence that man to kill John, Heather, and the guard?”

  Jack’s jaw tightened. “Those are the real questions. The man had to be put under some hypnotic state. Drugged, perhaps?”

  “What kind of drug could do this? Did they send out for a drug screen?”

  Jack placed another grape in his mouth. “Yes, and preliminarily it was negative.” He chewed and swallowed. “You know, in real life the process is much slower than on TV. Law and Order Detectives Logan or Boren or CSI Grisham would have the whole case solved in one hour, and that includes commercials. They get lab results pronto. In the real world, a full toxicology analysis takes weeks. Maybe months.”

  “What about hypnosis?” asked Claire. “Could Rupert or anyone else put somebody under hypnosis to such a degree that he would perform these heinous acts?”

  “I don’t know. Rupert had been in the unit an hour or so beforehand. He apparently was not present at the time. If it was hypnosis, wouldn’t he have to be present at the onset of the delusional state?”

  “You’re probably right.” Claire paused for a moment. “Did you talk to the police about your suspicions of Rupert?”

  “Not yet. It would be premature. I hate the son of a bitch, but I want to be fair. I don’t want to be like those doctors who fall in love with their diagnosis too early and then pursue data in support of their biased first impression and neglect the truth and facts. I’ll do my own investigation into Rupert and keep my mind open.”

  “Your own investigation? Listen to you, Detective Norris,” exclaimed Claire.

  “While the cops do their thing, I will do my parallel analysis from the medical and hospital point of view. I know I can add to the search for the truth. I want you to help me.”

  “OK, sure. What about motive? That’s what I can’t figure out.”

  “Another million-dollar question.”

  “What about the patient I was telling you about last night? Did you tell the cops?”

  “No. Get me more information. Did you find out the name?”

  “No, not yet. I want to get permission from my patient. I need to be ethical. I already divulged too much to you. Give me a bit more time.”

  Jack swallowed and shook his head. “Sure, no problem.”

  “What about the cardiac-arrest epidemic? How does all that fit in?”

  “I don’t know.” Tears moistened Jack’s lower eyelids. “Heather was one of the nurses who pointed that out to me. Now she’s dead.” Claire came to him and hugged him. “John, too, tried to talk to me about something that was bothering him at work. I didn’t pay much attention at the time and then—”

  “Jack, you don’t think it’s your fault, do you?” Claire dabbed Jack’s eyes with a tissue.

  “No, I don’t think it was my fault,” lied Jack. “But what if I had paid more attention to them? What if I looked at the patient records with cardiac arrests and found something obvious? Some connection to this madness! What if—”

  Claire clutched Jack’s hands and held them tightly. “Jack, don’t ‘what if’ yourself. This is not on you.” She peered into Jack’s eyes.

  “I know. I know. My resolve to help solve this case to its conclusion is strong, Claire. Maybe I should have done more before, but I will give it all I got now.”

  Claire gave a faint smile. “That’s what the doctor ordered. Therapy through action!”

  In better spirits, Jack stood up straight. “Heather and Julie were going to pull out the medical records for the cardiac arrests at Memorial over the last year, so I can see if there was anything unusual. I’ll see if Julie has them.”

  With renewed interest, Jack gave a fake smile and walked to the small decorative table in the kitchen on which his cell phone rested. He removed the mobile device from its charging perch and prepared to dial the CCU at Newton Memorial Hospital.

  As Jack waited for the call to go through, Claire said softly, “Be gentle with her. Just like you, Julie has lost her best friend in a terrible tragedy. She may not be ready to deal with this yet.”

  “I know Julie pretty well,” said Jack. “Believe you me; she’s ready to kick some ass. And so am I.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Like all others, the takeoff had been precise.

  “Golf-Kilo, radar contact; climb to nine thousand feet direct to Indianapolis,” instructed the air traffic controller.

  The purpose for this trip was twofold. Most important, Jack wanted to clear his mind and think. The calming properties of flight were therapeutic for Jack and badly needed. For this effect to be maximal, Jack engaged the autopilot, which would reduce his need to concentrate on flying. The second reason for the trip was to visit the medical-school library to continue his research endeavors for a drug that could have caused the effects observed on the man turned delusional killer.

  Where did the gun come from? Who could gain from these catastrophes? What could Rupert’s involvement be? These questions tumbled inside Jack’s brain.

  Time flew by, and before Jack knew it, the airplane approached its destination airport, now seven miles from touchdown.

  “Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, descend to three thousand and join the localizer; cleared for the I-L-S-two-three-right approach,” instructed the approach controller. Jack repeated the instructions, acknowledging them.

  The landing was impeccable, and soon the plane was parked at the ramp in front of the Indianapolis Signature FBO, the local business that provided services for general aviators. They would be requested to fuel the airplane and keep it safe until Jack’s return later in the day. Jack had called ahead and requested a rental car, which was ready to go. Very familiar with the city from his days as a medical student, Jack drove to the medical-school library. He detoured briefly from his journey to stop at Starbucks for a grande, dry, one-extra-shot cappucc
ino. Caffeine ammunition was a necessary ingredient for this mission.

  The library was almost a home away from home. Having been in school before the Internet explosion, Jack had spent a lot of time at the medical library. He was familiar with the place, and it was like coming home to Mama. He placed his coffee cup on an out-of-sight table in the back of the cavernous room and went about procuring knowledge.

  The search itself took almost two hours. Several books of different sizes, ages, and states of repair were strewn on the table. Jack’s hunt for information was long and lasted way past lunch. It had also been fruitless and unrewarding. Beginning to be aware of hunger pangs, he stopped to take a sip of coffee. This was the third time in the last hour he tried to drink out of an empty cup.

  It can’t be a drug, he thought. There is no known drug that could do all this to a man. This has to be the wrong angle. He threw his empty Starbucks cup in the garbage. Unless it’s a brand-new experimental agent, one that has not been written about. He was beginning to wonder about Rupert’s connection to it when his thoughts were brusquely interrupted by the familiar ringtone from the cell phone on the table. The loud sound jerked him into the here and now. The caller ID indicated the caller was from Newton Memorial Hospital. He put the Bluetooth receiver in his ear and answered.

  “Dr. Norris, it’s Julie. I have all the charts for you.”

  “How could you have had time to—”

  “I stayed up all night,” said Julie. “I put the charts on your desk. Somebody killed my best friend, and I will do what it takes to see justice served.” Jack could tell in her voice she was determined but emotionally devastated.

  “Thank you, Julie. I will look at the charts and see if that takes us anywhere. Hang in there, OK? We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  After hanging up, Jack sat for a long moment, numb, unmoving, and unthinking. Then, again full of resolve, he got up, drove back to the airport, and flew home.

  The answer has to be in those charts, he thought. If Julie and Heather were right, I’ll find the cardiac-arrest epidemic!

  CHAPTER 19

  “We are gathered here today to pay our last respects to our dear friends and colleagues, John Connor and Heather McCormick.” The priest spoke slowly, clearly, and solemnly into the microphone amplifying his voice. As he spoke, Father Daniel looked at the people filling all the available pews. It was standing-room only at Holy Rosary Catholic Church. On this sorrowful morning, the ceremonial acknowledgment of these lives lost heralded the burial of two young and dedicated souls. All eyes were moist, and most pockets and purses were equipped with the necessary tissues. Soft whimpers could be heard in the background here and there as the words echoed throughout the church.

  Many well-dressed young professionals took turns speaking at the microphone, sharing their sincere, tender sentiments about John and Heather. The sadness in the room expressed the poignancy in their hearts. The words were difficult to utter; the brain wants to express the words, but the emotions choke the sound.

  A long line walked slowly from the back of the church to the altar, in front of which were the two coffins where the lifeless bodies lay in their final resting positions. Each visitor glanced at John, who rested peacefully in an open casket, his clothes concealing the wound that ended it all. Heather’s coffin was closed. A picture of her young, beautiful person was perched nearby, a sorrowful reminder of what once was. An overwhelming feeling of disgust and grief was palpable. Two people destined for greatness now lay lifeless.

  The families were sitting in the front. They were hugged lovingly by those passing, mostly in silence, as there were no fitting words to be murmured. No words could possibly soften the blow that was the loss of a child. Of a sibling. Of a friend. A best friend.

  When the procession was over, the coffins were transported with much ceremony to the waiting hearses outside Holy Rosary Catholic Church. Limousines would transport the immediate family and guide a long motorcade of vehicles with headlights on to the cemetery. It was all so sad. Disheartening.

  The burials proceeded as usual. The overcast, gloomy day’s misty rain added unnecessary melancholy to the event.

  Jack and Claire stood at the graveside among multiple friends and coworkers from Newton Memorial. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed Fuller and Quentin standing in the back of the crowd. He signaled for Claire to follow him, and the couple walked toward the detectives.

  “Thanks for coming,” said Claire.

  Fuller and Quentin nodded and smiled.

  “I did a full search for our alleged elusive drug,” said Jack. “Nothing!”

  “Often what appears to be a clear methodology for a murder case turns out to be a red herring,” said Quentin. “Our theory may have been completely off.”

  “Well, I—” Jack’s words stuck in his throat when, out of nowhere, he spotted the infamous Dr. Ian Rupert and his research-lab director, James Miller. “What are they doing here?”

  Fuller, Quentin, and Claire turned to face the direction of Jack’s gaze. Rupert and Miller conversed with Lindsborg and other hospital heads.

  “Concerned citizens,” said Quentin.

  “They feel bad about the loss of life,” said Fuller.

  “Rupert?” said Jack. “He doesn’t feel bad, not if he caused it.”

  “We’re not sure Rupert had anything to do with the murders any longer,” said Quentin. “We haven’t been able to make anything stick, though we tried really hard.”

  “And your search was fruitless also, seems like,” said Fuller. “I think we’re barking up the wrong tree.” He took a deep breath. “We really shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

  “And we have to get going,” said Quentin. “Wanted to stop by and pay our last respects.” The detectives turned and walked away toward their car parked a few yards away.

  Jack wanted to say more. Much more. But Claire held his hands and gazed into his eyes, a look that spoke nothing but said so much.

  “This isn’t the place, Jack,” she said. “Talk to them tomorrow. They’re grieving. And so are we all.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Jack returned to his office after the funeral. He had multiple patient charts brought in by Julie. Was there really an epidemic of unwarranted cardiac arrests at Newton Memorial? More than ever, the fire raged inside, heightening his resolve. He sat at his desk in his office with the door closed. Beverley had knocked twice, once to bring him a cup of her famous coffee and another to remind him it was lunchtime. She offered to bring him a sandwich from the cafeteria, and after some persuasion, he agreed. The short pause to eat actually did Jack more good than he bargained for. More relaxed and clearheaded, he continued to work. A knock on the door interrupted the silence.

  “Come in,” Jack said.

  “Hi, Dr. Norris.” It was Julie.

  He stopped what he was doing and peered at the nurse. “You can call me Jack. I’m making some progress. How are you holding up?”

  “It’s quiet upstairs in CCU,” said Julie. “The hospital is on diversion, and the patients in the unit are just the ones we had from before. They’re all doing OK. I asked permission to come see if you needed my help.”

  Jack realized that, just like him, Julie needed to do something constructive to calm the intense disquietude inside. She placed a Starbucks coffee in front of Jack.

  “Does everybody in the whole hospital know of my coffee addiction? I vehemently deny it, you know.”

  “Your secret is safe with me, if mine is safe with you.” Julie lifted her other hand, showing a cup. “It’s an iced, white-chocolate mocha.”

  Jack gestured for Julie to sit. “Here’s what I have so far. First, I did a computer search to determine the number of inhospital cardiac arrests. From 2000 until 2004, there were about fifty cases per year.” Jack paused as he searched for a particular file on his laptop. “Ah, here it is. Fifty-two in 2000, fifty-five in 2001, forty-nine in 2002, fifty-three in 2003, and fifty-two in 2004. Last year, the n
umber was forty-six. This year, if the numbers continue to rise at the present rate, we’ll have sixty-nine.”

  Julie squinted her eyes, her gaze on the computer screen. “It looks like something happened starting earlier in 2006 and continued until now. But Jack, what does this have to do with Heather and John’s murders?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but this is either a huge coincidence, or there is some connection,” said Jack. “You and Heather were right all along.”

  “I know what you always say to the students and residents about coincidences. You don’t believe in them. I don’t either.” Julie took a deep breath and sat back on her chair. “What else have you found out?”

  “I went back to when the number of cardiac arrests sharply increased and looked through all the charts, some of which you had given me. So far, I critically reviewed five charts belonging to patients who arrested for no good cause. I still have many more to go through. Are you sure you want to help?”

  “I need to,” said Julie. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Look for age, presence of known heart disease in the past medical history, and whether the patient had a heart attack during the index admission. Look at the lab data for cardiac-marker elevation, potassium levels, EKG abnormalities, and test results, especially those that determined the overall heart function and so on.” He created a chart on a blank piece of paper for information gathering. “I’m also tabulating who the doctors involved were, both inhospital as well as out of hospital.”