HARMED - Book 1: First Do No Harm

by L Jan Eira

  “Gulfstream, four-two-tango-juliet, hold short of runway one-eight,” yelled the controller.

  The jet did not obey, and soon the airplane was lined up with the center dashed line. As the airplane taxied onto the runway, Ganz returned to his seat. He sat down heavily, his gaze still on the two pilots, the cockpit door ajar. He looked out his window apprehensively. Seeing the airplane take the runway, he let out a deep breath. He fastened his seatbelt.

  The jet gunned its engine as it scampered down the runway. Ganz closed his eyes and took another deep breath. Just then, the airplane made a sudden stop, causing him to jerk forward. He heard the blast of multiple sirens. Ganz looked out the window and saw many police vehicles setting up positions to barricade the plane on all sides. Police officers got out of their cars, guns drawn.

  CHAPTER 62

  The hospital room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sounds of the respirator pushing air into the sleeping patient. Multiple IV bags dripped medicines into his veins. At his side, a woman sat gloomily, holding the patient’s hand, staring at his face.

  Earlier, a loud ring upset the stillness and monotony in the room. Claire had answered Jack’s cell phone. It had been a man by the name of Steve Peski, a supervisor at the airport. He was reporting to Jack about a certain airplane’s arrival. Jack had days earlier requested that Peski inform him right away should this occur. So he did.

  Speaking to Peski and looking at her husband’s sedated state, she was reminded of his love of flight and began weeping inconsolably, something she was prone to do these days. She gave the phone to Quentin, who was at Jack’s bedside as well. The two conversed a minute, at which point Quentin terminated the call and rushed out of the room, her own cell phone in hand.

  The cell phone rang again; this time it was Claire’s. Startled, Claire sat upright and answered it.

  “We got him!” exclaimed Quentin. “Thanks to the tip from the airport maintenance guy.” Quentin was obviously elated. “Ganz was trying to escape to France. But we got him! Thanks to Jack.”

  Claire hung up the phone and noticed that the loud ring had awakened Jack, or so it seemed. She smiled at him. His eyes remained nearly shut, obvious torpor clouding his mind.

  “Jack, they got him. Susan arrested Mike Ganz. He’s in police custody,” she said.

  Jack seemed to smile. Claire squeezed his hand but received no squeeze back.

  Jack’s brain was in a deep fog due to the intense intravenous medications he was receiving. Once Claire’s message registered in Jack’s brain, adrenaline commenced to outpour into his circulatory system. Inside his body and mind, turmoil was afoot. Jack fought the heavy sedation, wanting to shout and scream. There was more to be declared. There was much more to be done.

  Stop these drugs. Get me off the respirator. I have something I have to say right now, Jack wanted to yell. But he could not. His muscles were nearly completely paralyzed, and his mind was blanketed by the heavy sedatives. Sitting right next to him, Claire could not perceive any change whatsoever. All was calm.

  Jill, Jack’s nurse, strolled into the ICU cubicle. “What’s going on?” she said, looking around the room and then at Jack and his monitors. Her gaze met Claire’s.

  Somewhat perplexed, Claire said, “Nothing. He seems to be doing OK.” Jill had just checked on him about ten minutes before, and all had been stable and well.

  “We just picked up an increase in his heart rate and blood pressure on our monitors up front. His oxygen levels are still fine. I wonder what caused the sudden changes in his vital signs.” Jill continued to snoop around, looking at all instruments and assessing all the information she could glean from them. The monitor indicated a heart rate of ninety-two beats per minute, and the blood-pressure monitor showed 168/92.

  “Is that bad?”

  “No, no. Nothing bad. Just a change, is all. Hmmm.” Jill placed the stethoscope in her ears and listened to Jack’s heart and lungs. She felt his extremities and then his forehead. She took his temperature. She assessed the tiny tube in Jack’s groin artery, allowing for constant monitoring of his blood pressure. She flushed the line. She inspected all the intravenous lines for signs of irritation or infection. All seemed intact. All was registering properly.

  “What do you think?” asked Claire, not sure of what to think.

  “It’s all normal,” reassured the young nurse.

  “I just got great news on the phone. I shared the information with Jack. Do you think that caused his pulse and blood pressure to go up?”

  “Maybe…yes,” said Jill. “I guess so.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Could it have been bad news?”

  “No! It was great news. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, bad news would be more likely to cause this. Not so much good news. It’s more of a distress response. I’ll increase his sedation and paralyzing meds. We’ll watch him carefully for now.” Jill dialed in the higher drip rates for the intravenous agents and documented the changes in the electronic medical record. She walked around the bed again. The effects of the drugs would be instantaneous. The nurse observed for a few minutes as the higher dose entered Jack’s bloodstream, noticing the change in vital signs. Happy with the results, Jill walked out of the room.

  After five minutes, the heart rate began to drop back to the fifties, Jack’s baseline. His blood pressure was back down to 102/56. Claire decided to call Quentin back.

  “I told Jack the good news about you arresting Mike,” said Claire on the phone. “It’s hard to know how much of it he understood, if anything at all.” There was a long moment of silence.

  “I feel there’s a but coming…”

  “But after I gave him the news, his heart rate and blood pressure temporarily increased. His nurse told me this usually means bad news rather than good news.” Another few seconds of hush came over the call. “Go figure, huh?”

  “Well, there’s no way apprehending Mike is bad news, right?” said Quentin. “That was his intention for days.”

  “Now I feel like you have a but coming…”

  Claire heard Quentin take a deep breath. “But I wonder if Jack wants to tell us something. Some bad news. Maybe he’s trying to speak. I’m on my way in. Will you talk to the doctors and see if it’s safe to stop the sedatives for a little while?”

  “Sure,” said Claire. “I’ll page Dr. Irvin and discuss that with him. I’ll see you here soon.”

  After hanging up the call with Quentin, Claire asked Jill to page Jack’s doctor. Twenty minutes later, Susan arrived. No sooner did she enter Jack’s cubicle than Dr. Irvin arrived. Introductions were made, and the three stepped outside to talk away from the patient. Jill took Claire’s place at Jack’s side and reevaluated him once over again.

  Dr. Jeff Irvin was an older intensivist with many years of experience. Jack thought the world of him and had told Claire many times. When he was assigned to his care, Claire felt very comfortable. Now she stared him in the face.

  “It would be potentially dangerous to stop these medications, especially if that was done suddenly. When we do it, we have to wean them over about twelve hours.”

  “I understand, Dr. Irvin. I appreciate your time,” said Quentin, shaking the doctor’s hand. She hugged Claire and departed the area without a word.

  Quentin walked out of ICU while she formulated a plan. If Jack is trying to tell us something, there might be clues in his office. She took the elevator and soon reached the cardiology suite. The area was deserted, as it had been designated a crime scene; yellow police tape closed off access to this wing. The office and the area around it would be scrutinized this morning by the CSI team. Two sentinel officers were present, one reading a magazine and the other talking on his cell phone.

  Quentin nodded at the men, entered the office, and sat at Jack’s desk. OK, Jack, so you’re sitting here. You’re reading some papers. Papers you found at Rupert’s cabin. She looked around the small office. Everything seemed in order. A quick look-see by a junior detective, Jimmy Oliver, h
ad determined already that the documents Jack was reviewing were stolen. Some guy enters and sprays you in the face. You know it’s a poison that’s going to kill you. Now, what do you do? She stood up and held her breath. You know this stuff enters your body as you take breaths. So, you hold your breath and run out of the room. Quentin was now at the doorway into Jack’s office. Where do you go? She looked to the right and then left. To the left, there are only other offices. Dead end. You’d go right. You run fast. This guy may be chasing you. She walked to the right, down the hall, past several offices and a conference room, and stopped by the elevator she had used to come up to the office. She pushed the Down button, and the light became illuminated. She crossed her arms and waited. You wouldn’t wait. Not if you’ve been poisoned. The bad guy may be chasing you. She looked around and found the door to the stairway. No, you’d take the steps. You’re used to taking the steps, and they’re faster. Quentin smirked as she briefly recalled the day she met Jack. They walked up these stairs to go to his office.

  She pushed through the door and stopped. You’d go downstairs. She climbed down the stairs. She continued until she suddenly stopped, her gaze fixated on the wall. Astonished, she used her cell phone as she reread the blood-written message: “JAMES MILLER = RAT POISONER! CHECK CPAP STORES.”

  CHAPTER 63

  The multicolored robe was the last thing to pack. James Miller was now ready to go. Leave forever. On the positive side, he had a one-way ticket to Jamaica, where life was easier, beer smoother, and the ocean waves softer. With time, he would even learn to enjoy watching a game or two of cricket.

  He had closed all his bank accounts. He would invest his money overseas. He would drive the rental car to Miami and then fly to Jamaica. It was all planned out.

  James got into the car and placed the key in the ignition. He started up the car and drove on. He turned right at the second light, en route to Newton Memorial.

  • • •

  At that exact moment, an unmarked car arrived at Miller’s house. Two detectives got out of the vehicle. Wordlessly, one of them walked to the front door of the home while the other strolled toward the back of the property. There, a separate smaller structure served as the garage occupied by Miller’s car. The detective walked around the vehicle making observations. He used a flashlight to illuminate the semidark environment. The garage and car were impeccably clean. He felt the hood of the car. It was cold, a sign that the engine had not been turned on for many hours.

  Meanwhile, the cop on the small front porch looked around for clues. Once at the main entrance, the officer pushed the doorbell.

  “Police department. Open up,” he said, knocking on the door. Nothing. Nobody.

  Moments later, the officer tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He opened the door and prepared to enter the residence, when he heard a distinct muffled click. Quickly, the detective shut the door and ran away from the house.

  It was at that point the earsplitting explosion occurred, heard many blocks away. The officer was thrown several feet in the air, landing on his side, temporarily losing his breath. With all his might, he fought to drag his body as far from the burning structure and scattered, flying, fiery debris as he could. By then, his partner was at his side, helping him escape from the blazing house.

  “Dispatch, Delta-seven-six, officer down. We have an explosion and fire at this location. Send the fire department and EMS,” shouted the cop.

  • • •

  That was way too quick, thought Miller, hearing the blast as he drove down the street, now several blocks away. I didn’t think you had me pegged in the Rat Poison scheme. How did you find out about me?

  An instant later, multiple sirens converged on the scene of the burning house. James pulled over to the side of the road as a red fire truck sped by, going in the opposite direction. Then another. Then an ambulance.

  “The only connection to me is Norris. Maybe he’s come back from the dead,” whispered James to his own face displayed on the rearview mirror.

  Norris wasn’t killed? wondered Miller. Well played, Evansville PD. Well played. Miller accelerated the rental car, now even more eager to leave town. Don’t you fret, Evansville. I’ll be back soon enough. Disgusted, Miller hit the steering wheel with his fist. I’ll be back to take revenge on Dr. Jack Norris. Your snooping around cost me a lot of money. And happiness, Jack! You’re not going to get away with it for long. I will definitely be back, Evansville.

  James drove to the home-medical-equipment facility, near the hospital campus, where he would make a quick stop on the way to Florida. As he turned the corner, he noticed an unmarked police car parked inconspicuously in front of the store. The cops are already here? Well played again, Evansville Police. My biggest problem was not giving you enough credit. Well, Evansville Police, I won’t make that mistake ever again.

  James kept on driving past the establishment. When he turned south onto Interstate Route 41, he accelerated, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed.

  “Marlene, I won’t be needing that CPAP equipment after all. I’m cured from my sleep apnea. Good-bye, darling!” James closed the phone, opened up his car window, and tossed the mobile device.

  He turned on the Rolling Stones CD, picked the seventh song, sat back comfortably, and prepared for the long trip to paradise, while Mick sang his heart out: “You can’t always get what you want! But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need!”

  CHAPTER 64

  The Rat Poison was now out of Jack’s system. The weaning process from the sedatives, other intravenous medications, and respirator had been initiated earlier in the day. As this process was carried out, Jack’s awareness of the world around him began to slowly return. When his brainpower sufficiently came online punching through the fog, Jack anxiously signed to Claire and his nurse that he wanted to write something down. The endotracheal tube was still in his lungs bypassing his vocal cords, and as such, he was unable to speak. As soon as he was provided with a clipboard, paper, and a pen, he wrote, “Get James Miller!” and handed the clipboard to Claire, forcefully and repeatedly pointing to the words.

  “I’ll call Susan right now,” she said. Claire fished out her cell phone from her purse and dialed. After a short phone conversation between the two women, Claire closed the mobile phone and placed it back in her purse. “Susan already knew it was Miller. She told me to thank you for your message on the wall. The police have been trying to find him, but he’s nowhere to be found. He may have left the city, maybe even the country. She’s on the way here and will fill us in when she arrives.”

  This message had a great soothing effect on Jack. He took a deep sigh.

  Jack tolerated the slow discontinuation of the sedatives and other medication drips and was taken off the respirator. It felt good to be alive, to breathe slowly, and not to feel his heart hammering away inside his ribcage.

  Quentin walked in the room, greeted Claire, and hugged Jack tightly.

  “Thank you, Jack,” said Quentin. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “If medicine doesn’t work out for me, maybe I can come work with you?” said Jack, his voice still raspy from the recently removed endotracheal tube.

  “Don’t make me laugh; it still hurts,” said Claire, holding on to her left side.

  “Jack, how did you know James Miller was involved with the murders?” asked Quentin.

  “He was the one who sprayed Rat Poison in my face,” said Jack.

  “I got your message,” said Quentin. “We’ve been looking for Miller ever since. We have every cop in the state looking for him. We’re checking airports and bus and train terminals all over the state, but so far, we’ve not found him. He booby-trapped his house to explode. It went up in flames when the front door was opened. One of our detectives got minor burns, but he’ll be OK.”

  Jack nodded slowly. “If I was him, I would change my name and my appearance and leave the United States.”

  “I agree. I’d be gone by
now,” said Quentin. There was a pause.

  “Did you check stores that carry CPAP equipment?” said Jack.

  “Yes. It took me a while to get that part of the message, but ain’t Google great?”

  “CPAP? What’s that?” said Claire.

  “Continuous positive airway pressure,” said Jack.

  “Why were CPAP-equipment stores places to look for Miller?” said Quentin.

  “Miller has obstructive sleep apnea,” said Jack. “It’s a condition where people stop breathing when they enter deep sleep. That makes them feel very tired all the time, since the quality of sleep is very poor.”

  “How do you know he has sleep apnea?” asked Quentin.

  “He’s obese, speaks nasally, looks tired all the time, and I’ve seen impressions on his face from the mask,” said Jack.

  “What mask?” questioned Claire.

  “Patients with sleep apnea have to wear a CPAP mask attached to a pump that pushes air into the mouth or nose or both during the night, so the patient will continue to get oxygen even when they stop breathing on their own. The mask is attached with straps, which leave an impression on the face, if you look carefully. He had them.”

  “So what? How does this help?” said Claire.

  “If you depend on a CPAP machine to sleep well, and you’re about to leave the country permanently, what do you do?”

  “Hmm, you need to get equipment and supplies to last you awhile,” said Claire.

  “That was great thinking,” said Quentin. “I sent a police car to all stores and nothing. One of the store owners told one of the officers that they had an order to be picked up by Miller, but he canceled that same day. Somehow, Miller figured us out.”

  There was a long pause during which Jack took a deep breath. The fresh air entering his lungs felt extraordinarily amazing.

  “Jack, I need to know everything you know. Will you start from the beginning?” asked Quentin.