by Wally Duff
“Gee, that sounds easy enough,” Molly said. “All we do is have someone hack into their computers and download what we need.”
“How about Frankie’s guy?” Rick asked. “His skill in taking down Diane’s home computers was amazing.”
“Frankie talked to him this morning,” I said. “He checked MidAmerica’s computer system and found multiple new firewalls and other security devices built into its system to prevent us from doing what we need to do. He would have to sit down and work on one of their computers to complete the hack.”
“It’s too bad Alan is off his rocker,” Marcia said. “He would be perfect for this since he’s one of their doctors.”
What?!
“I didn’t know he worked at MidAmerica,” I said.
“He and his partners had so many referrals there that he reluctantly joined the staff,” she said. “He quickly became disenchanted with Diane Warren’s method of administration, and he stopped going there with any frequency.”
“Did he resign from the staff?” Cas asked.
“Knowing Alan, he is probably still on the staffs of most of the Chicago area hospitals,” Marcia said. “It’s not like him to quit anything, even if his brains have blown up.”
“Where are you going with this, Cas?” I asked.
“When a doctor comes to the desk in a busy hospital ICU, most nurses don’t even bother to look up. The doctor could examine each chart at the nurse’s station and no one would ask him why he was doing it.”
“Marcia, how many doctors know Alan is sick?” I asked.
“Only Dr. Richard Murphy, the internist who takes care of him. They are — or better, were — partners in the medical group founded by Alan. Dr. Murphy and I decided to keep Alan’s problem secret. I want his patients to remember him for the brilliant physician he was, not the demented old man he’s become. As far as I know, the hospital staff thinks he is able to practice but is now semi-retired.”
116
It was Thursday afternoon. Linda and I had joined Cas and Lori at Alan’s home office. For the past two hours, we had taken turns attempting to prepare him for our visit to MidAmerica Hospital’s ICU. He hadn’t given us any positive indication that he understood what we needed him to do for us.
Cas was dressed in a white nurse’s pantsuit, which she had worn when she worked as an RN. Over it, she wore a long white lab coat with a stethoscope draped over her shoulders. She had on a blond wig, black-rimmed glasses, and a heavy application of makeup, something she rarely uses.
Alan had on a black pinstripe suit, a starched white shirt with French cuffs, and a red and black bow tie. His eyes had been dull since we arrived, not a good sign with what we needed him to do. He stared at the wall and didn’t say anything.
Lori was dressed in her usual nurse’s outfit. She was also going with us to the ICU. The idea was for Cas and Lori to follow Alan who, as a staff doctor, would appear to be making rounds on his patients with his own two nurses.
Molly wasn’t with us. None of us could come up with a way to disguise her figure enough that she wouldn’t stick out like a Bears fan at a game in Green Bay’s Lambeau Field. Instead, she was babysitting our kids at her home.
Our plan was based on MidAmerica Hospital’s continued use of both computer hospital charts and conventional paper medical records. They did it because that was the way Fertig had wanted it to be, and Diane Warren had never bothered to change the system.
Lori would sift through the paper charts at the nurse’s station while the nurses worked on their computers. If any patient had an autoimmune disease, she would grab the chart and lead Alan into the patient’s room.
She would discuss the patient with him loudly enough that anyone walking in the hall past the room would think it was hospital business as usual. Cas would check through the chart and take pictures of any information helpful to us.
Linda and I were unisex from head to toe. I wore padding under a shapeless, brown exercise outfit and men’s leather shoes. David was an expert with makeup and had made my nose wider and had added size to my cheeks. My hair was tucked up under a black, short wig, and I wore heavy brown glasses and blue contact lenses. My own mother wouldn’t have known me.
Linda opted for a short, curly, gray wig and wire-rimmed glasses. She had on a flannel shirt and bib overalls with work boots. David had made her nose as big as her husband’s, and she had deep wrinkles on her forehead and cheeks.
Rick would place a small smoke bomb in the men’s bathroom. I would do the same thing in the women’s bathroom. If it all went to hell, we would use remote controls to start what appeared to be fires in both restrooms.
Linda would then pull the fire alarm, and David would call 911 to report the disaster. We hoped to escape in the ensuing chaos. Frankie would be in the lobby with Enzo and Luca. If guns became the final option, they would be there to save us.
“Alan, we are looking for patients with autoimmune disorders,” I said. “We need your help.”
He turned to me, and for the first time since we had arrived, his eyes lit up. “And you shall have it.” He turned to Lori. “We need to leave. I hate to keep my patients waiting.”
Cas drove her Hummer. We climbed in.
Show time!
117
When our group arrived at MidAmerica Hospital, Cas, Lori, and Alan continued on to the nurse’s station in the ICU. I stopped in the woman’s bathroom and placed the smoke bomb in a trash can. The remote control was in my backpack. Linda waited for me and then we proceeded to the ICU waiting room.
David and Rick were already there posing as family members of a sick patient. David wore a black suit with a white shirt and narrow black tie. He had on sunglasses and a back fedora. Rick was dressed in a similar outfit. Apparently they had chosen to channel the Blues Brothers.
I noticed a bulge at Rick’s right hip, so I knew he was armed. When he made eye contact with me, he nodded. He had placed his device in the men’s bathroom.
Locked and loaded.
We watched Alan and his nurses through the windows of the waiting room. When they arrived at the nurse’s station, I opened the door so we could hear what was being said.
“Nurse, we need to see the charts of Dr. Peebler’s partners’ patients,” Lori said.
“Are you making rounds for them?” the nurse asked.
“Yes, we are,” Lori said.
“I heard you were retired, Dr. Peebler,” the nurse said.
“Do I look retired, young lady?” he asked loudly.
“No, doctor, I guess you don’t.”
“There is no place in medicine for guessing. It is how patients get killed. Now let’s get cracking and see if I can prevent that.”
118
We had planned our visit to coincide with the shift change. The on-duty nurses had to finish their computer charting before they went home. The nurses coming in had to read about any new patients or medication changes during the previous twelve hours.
They were too busy to notice Lori shifting through the paper charts. She picked up one of them and led Alan and Cas into the patient’s room. They were in there about five minutes, and then they repeated the process in another room.
Forty-six minutes later, Alan stomped out of a room and went to the nurse’s station. Lori tried to grab his arm to stop him but she wasn’t quick enough.
“What idiot wrote this order?” Alan demanded, waving the patient’s chart in the air.
Lori stood next to him and hung her head. Cas came out of the same room, turned the opposite direction, and went into another room. She glanced around as she took that chart with her.
“I did,” a tall, dark-skinned doctor said. He had a British accent.
Alan peered over the top of his glasses. “And who might you be?”
“I am Dr. Qamar, the hospitalist.”
“Do you routinely attempt to kill your patients, Doctor?”
“I am sorry?”
Lori put her arm on Alan’s shoul
der. “Dr. Peebler, I think it’s time to leave.”
He pulled away from her and got in the doctor’s face. “Doctor, what are you treating this lady for?”
The doctor checked the name on the chart. “She has Lupus with end-stage renal disease.”
“When was the last time you examined this unfortunate creature?”
“I am not sure.”
“Did you examine her at all today?”
“I looked at her chart.”
“I have a new concept for you. Try examining the patient instead of checking the chart. This lady is having an evolving stroke and you missed it. I strongly suggest that you go into her room and do what you were trained to do to save her life. You might want to stop the medicines that are at this moment destroying her brain with an intracranial hemorrhage.”
He didn’t exactly yell, but he made his point. The doctor ran into the patient’s room followed by three nurses. I heard shouting followed by a “Code Blue” blaring over the loudspeaker system.
Lori grabbed Alan’s arm and headed for the elevator. Cas came out of a room and joined them. The elevator doors opened and four security guards stepped off. Diane Warren was with them.
119
“Dr. Peebler, I have to say I was surprised when the head of hospital security called me and said their cameras showed that you were in our ICU,” Diane said.
Alan didn’t say anything. Since his back was turned to me, I couldn’t see his eyes, but his lack of a response could only mean that he was in la-la land again.
Diane turned to the security guard to her left. “Dr. Peebler was alleged to be one of the top internists in the United States, but for the life of me, I never saw it. I felt it mostly hype since he was married to Marcia Peebler. He certainly never produced any significant revenue for this hospital.”
Alan remained silent.
“Please take these people to my office. I have no idea who these two women are, but from what I’ve recently heard about Dr. Peebler, they are most like here to make sure he doesn’t get confused or wander off. Oh, and you need to be careful. People with dementia can be combative and belligerent.”
Standing up, I reached into my backpack and took out the remote control to set off the smoke bomb in the woman’s bathroom. I held it up for Rick to see.
“Ready,” he said, holding his control up, his thumb on the button. He pushed his button. I did too.
“Linda, run out to that fire alarm box on the wall,” I said. “I’ll let you know when to pull the lever.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, as she stood up.
“I have an idea,” I said, as I pulled out my gun.
The security guards ushered Alan, Cas, and Lori on to the elevator. Diane followed. I ran toward them, but their backs were turned and they didn’t see me approaching.
When they were all on, they turned around, and the guard to my left pushed the button for the first floor. I reached the elevator door and stopped it from closing with my foot. I raised the Glock and pointed it at Diane. I kept my finger on the trigger guard.
“Change of plan,” I said, as I turned to Cas. “Get off the elevator. Take Lori and Alan down the exit stairs to Frankie.”
I shifted to my left to let them leave but kept my foot against the elevator door. The trio moved past me into the hall and toward the stairs. Smoke began to pour out of the bathrooms into the hall.
Moving my gun up, I pointed it directly at Diane’s face. The guard to my right twitched slightly.
I put my finger on the trigger. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said. “I don’t think blood will look good on your boss’s designer dress.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Linda standing by the fire alarm box. “Do it!” I shouted over my shoulder.
She broke it open and pulled the switch. “Done!” she yelled. The fire alarm began shrieking and red and white lights on the ceiling began flashing. “Code Red, ICU! Code Red, ICU!” blared from the loud speakers on the wall.
I moved my foot and the elevator door slid closed. The noise from the machine meant it was moving.
Linda ran to me. “Why did you want me to do that?”
“When the fire alarm goes off, the elevators stop running. It’ll take a minute or two for the machines to recycle, and then they’ll head to the floor closest to an emergency exit, which is the basement. Diane and her guards will be trapped and then taken to the wrong floor.”
Rick held the door to the exit stairs. David had already gone through it. Linda and I followed as smoke continued to roll into the hallway. The call of “Code Red” was now continuous.
The ICU was on the fourth floor. By the time we hit the landing on the second floor, firefighters were racing up the stairs. They stopped when they saw us.
“What’s going on?” one of them asked.
“Fires in the bathrooms on the fourth floor,” I said.
The man in the lead was a captain. “Robbie, get these people out of here.”
A fireman turned to us. “Follow me. I’ll escort you to safety.”
120
We returned to Alan’s home and gathered in the West Gallery.
“Guys, I am so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t anticipate that they would react like that when they saw Alan’s face on the security cameras.”
“You saved us,” Cas said. “That’s all that counts.”
“I guess, but it’s still embarrassing. Did you get anything?”
“Did we ever,” she said. “Every patient in the ICU who has an autoimmune disease has a history of breast cancer.”
“Did it say who treated their cancer?” Linda asked.
“No, it didn’t, but I think that was done on purpose,” she said. “Several different doctors dictated the H and Ps, but in each case, the wording about the patient’s breast cancer history was exactly the same and the treating doctor wasn’t named.”
“That can’t be a coincidence,” I said.
I turned to Alan to see if he had any ideas, but from the blank look on his face, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Does that mean we have Diane in our clutches?” David asked.
“I would certainly hope so,” Rick said.
Frankie walked into the room. “If you have anything on her, you better hurry.”
We waited.
“Alberto, another one of my boys, is monitoring the bugs in her house. Since Diane came home, she hasn’t stopped screaming about you guys.”
“That’s no surprise,” David said.
“Tina, you had most of her story, but we all missed the most important part,” Frankie continued. “It’s the lawsuits that are gonna break her.”
“The criminal system will have a difficult time proving a case against Diane,” Linda began. “But Frankie is right. In the civil courts she could get decimated if she doesn’t have the right kind of insurance to cover her liability.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“The breast cancer patients started getting sick after the supplements Fertig sold them ran out and were changed without their knowledge,” Linda continued. “He’s dead, so they can only sue his estate, and that is difficult to do.”
“But can they sue the hospital corporation where Fertig worked and where he was employed?” Cas asked.
“They can, and the hospital does have insurance for that,” Linda said. “But Diane isn’t a doctor so she doesn’t practice medicine; therefore, she can’t get medical malpractice insurance.”
“Where does that leave her?” Rick asked.
“She owns the hospital. Her wealth will entice the lawyers to go after her as the sole owner,” Linda answered.
“That could be big dollars,” Cas said.
“That would be true, and any personal insurance coverage she might have won’t cover the size and number of these medical lawsuits,” Linda said. “As each new one is filed, it will attract more publicity and more patients will think they might have been damaged by the supplements, e
ven if they weren’t.”
“It will be a feeding frenzy,” David said.
Linda smiled.
Gotta love lawyers.
121
Frankie’s cell phone rang. He answered, responded in Italian, and disconnected.
He turned to us. “Alberto. He says Diane’s guys found the listening devices. He heard her freaking out before they shut us down. He heard her say she’s gonna leave.”