Robin Cook 1982 - Harmful Intent Read online

  For several hours he sat there running through all his failings. Never had he been so low. Obsessed about Chris Everson, he eventually began to wonder what had happened to Kelly Everson. He'd met her on three or four social occasions prior to Chris's death. He could even remember having made some complimentary remarks about her to Carol. Carol hadn't been pleased to hear them at the time.

  Jeffrey wondered if Kelly still worked at Valley Hospital, or, for that matter, if she still lived in the Boston vicinity. He remembered her as being about five-four or five, with a slim, athletic build. Her hair had been brown with highlights of red and gold, which she'd wear long, clasped with a single barrette. He recalled her face as being broad with dark brown eyes and small, full features that frequently broke into a bright smile.

  But what he remembered most was her aura. She'd had a playfulness that had melded wonderfully with a feminine warmth and sincerity that made people like her instantly.

  As Jeffrey's thoughts switched from Chris to Kelly, he found himself thinking that she, more than anyone else, would have some insight into what

  Jeffrey was now going through. Having lost a husband through the emotional devastation caused by a malpractice case, she'd probably be acutely sensitive to Jeffrey's emotional plight. She might even have some suggestions for dealing with it. At the very least she might provide some much needed sympathy. And if nothing else, at least his conscience would be assuaged by finally making a call he'd been vaguely meaning to make.

  Jeffrey returned to the terminal. At the first bank of phones he came to, he used a directory to look up Kelly Everson. He held his breath as his index finger trailed down the names. He stopped on K. C. Everson in

  Brookline. That was promising. He put in his coin and dialed. The phone rang once, twice, then a third time. He was about to hang up when someone at the other end picked up. A cheerful voice came through the receiver.

  Jeffrey realized he hadn't given a thought as to how to begin.

  Abruptly, he said hello and gave his name. He was so unsure of himself, he was afraid she wouldn't remember him, but before he could offer something to jog her memory, he heard her ebullient "Hello, Jeffrey!" She sounded genuinely glad to hear from him and didn't sound at all surprised.

  "I'm so pleased you called," she said. "I'd thought about calling you when

  I read about your legal problems, but I just couldn't get myself to do it.

  I was afraid you might not even remember me."

  Afraid that he wouldn't remember her! Jeffrey assured her that wouldn't have been the case. Taking her lead, he apologized profusely for not having called her sooner as he'd promised.

  "You don't have to apologize," she said. "I know tragedies intimidate people, the way cancer does, or used to. And I know that doctors have a hard time dealing with a suicide of a colleague. I didn't expect you to call, but I was moved you'd taken the time to come to the funeral. Chris would have been pleased to know you cared. He really respected you. He once told me that he thought you were the best anesthesiologist he knew. So I was honored you were there. A few of his other friends didn't come. But I understood."

  Jeffrey didn't know what to say. Here Kelly was forgiving him completely, even complimenting him. Yet the more she said, the more he felt like a heel. Not knowing how to respond, he changed the subject. He said he was glad to find her home.

  "This is a good time to catch me. I just got home from work. I guess you know I don't work at the Valley anymore."

  "No, I didn't know that."

  "After Chris's death I thought it would be healthy for me to go elsewhere,"

  Kelly said. "So I moved into town. I'm working at St. Joe's now. In the intensive care unit. I like it better than recovery. I guess you're still at Boston Memorial?"

  "Sort of," Jeffrey said evasively. He felt awkward and indecisive. He was afraid she'd refuse to see him. After all, what did she owe him? She had a life of her own. But he'd gotten this far; he had to try. "Kelly," he said at last, "I was wondering if I could drop by and talk with you for a moment."

  "When did you have in mind?" Kelly asked without missing a beat.

  "Whenever's good for you. I... I could come by now if you're not too busy."

  "Well, sure," Kelly said.

  "If it's inconvenient, I could..

  "No, no! It's fine. Come on over," Kelly said before Jeffrey had a chance to finish. Then she gave him directions to her house.

  Michael Mosconi had Jeffrey's check on his blotter in front of him when he placed the call to Owen Shatterly at the Boston National Bank. He didn't think he'd be nervous, but his stomach filled with butterflies the instant he dialed. He had taken a personal check only once before in his bail bondsman career. That transaction had turned out fine. He hadn't been burned. But Michael had heard horror stories from colleagues. Of course if anything did go wrong, Mosconi's biggest problem was that his underwriting company forbade him to take checks in the first place. As Michael had explained it to Jeffrey, he was putting his ass on the line. He didn't know why he was getting to be- such a soft touch. Then again, it was a unique case. The guy was a doctor, for chrissake. Also, a $45,000 fee came along only once in a blue moon. Michael had not wanted to lose the case to his competition. So, in his way, he'd offered better terms. It had been an executive decision.

  Someone at the bank answered, then put Michael on hold. Muzak floated out of the receiver. Michael drummed his fingers on the desk top. It was close to four in the afternoon. All he wanted to do was make sure the doc's check would clear before he deposited it. Shatterly had been a friend for a long time; Michael knew there would be no problem finding out from him.

  When Shatterly came on the line, Michael explained the information he needed. He didn't have to say more. Shatterly only said, "Just a sec."

  Michael could hear him tapping his computer keys.

  "How much is the check?" Shatterly asked.

  "Forty-five grand," Michael said.

  Shatterly laughed. "The account only has twenty-three dollars and change."

  There was a pause. Michael stopped his drumming. He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You sure there's been no deposits today?" he asked.

  "Nothing like $45,000," Shatterly said.

  Michael hung up the phone.

  "Trouble?" Devlin O'Shea asked, peering over the top of an old Penthouse magazine. Devlin was a big man who looked more like a sixties-style biker than a former Boston policeman. Dangling from his left earlobe was a small, gold Maltese cross ear-

  ring. He even wore his hair in a neat little ponytail. Besides helping with his work, his appearance was his small way of thumbing his nose at authority now that he didn't have to trouble himself with rules like dress codes anymore. O'Shea had been dropped from the force after a bribery conviction.

  Devlin was making himself comfortable on a vinyl couch facing Michael's desk. He was dressed in the clothes that had pretty much become his uniform since his leaving the force: a denim jacket, acid-washed jeans, and black cowboy boots.

  Michael didn't say anything, which was enough of an answer for Devlin.

  "Anything I can help with?" Devlin asked.

  Michael studied Devlin, taking in the man's massive forearms and their lattice of tattoos. One of Devlin's front teeth was gone, giving him the look of the barroom brawler he occasionally was.

  "Maybe," Michael said. He was beginning to form a plan.

  Devlin had dropped by Mosconi's office that afternoon bdcause he was between jobs. He'd just brought back a killer who'd jumped bail and fled to

  Canada. Devlin was one of the bounty hunters that Michael used when the need arose.

  Michael felt that Devlin was just the man to send to remind Jeffrey about his obligation. Michael thought that Devlin would be far more persuasive than he could be.

  Leaning back in his desk chair, Michael explained the situation. Devlin tossed the Penthouse aside and stood up. He was six-foot-five and weighed two hundred and sixty-eig
ht pounds. His rotund belly spilled over the large silver buckle of his belt. But underneath the layer of fat was a lot of muscle.

  :'Sure, I can talk to him," Devlin said.

  'Be nice," Michael said. "Just be persuasive. Remember, he's a doctor. I just don't want him to forget about me."

  "I'm always nice," Devlin said. "Considerate, well-groomed, well-mannered.

  That's my charm."

  Devlin left the office, glad to have something to do. He hated just sitting around. The only problem was that he wished the task was a bit more lucrative. But he looked forward to the ride out to Marblehead. Maybe he'd hit that Italian restaurant up there and then go and have a few beers at his favorite harbor bar.

  Kelly's house was a charming two-story colonial with mullioned windows. It was painted white with black shutters. The two chimneys on either end were surfaced with old brick. A two-car

  garage was to the right of the house, a screened porch off the left.

  Jeffrey stopped in the street across from the house and pulled up to the curb. He studied the house through the car window, hoping to nerve up enough to cross the street and ring the bell. He was surprised to see so many trees so close to downtown Boston. The house was nestled in a cozy stand of maples, oaks, and birches.

  As he sat there, Jeffrey tried to think of what he would say. Never before had he gone to someone's house looking for "sympathy and understanding."

  And there was always the concern of rejection despite her warmth on the phone. If he didn't know she was waiting for him, he wouldn't have been able to go through with it.

  Marshaling his courage, he put the car in gear and turned into Kelly's driveway. He went up to the front door, briefcase in hand. He felt ridiculous holding it-as a doctor, he wasn't even used to carrying one-but he was afraid to leave so much cash in the car.

  Kelly opened the door before he had a chance to ring the bell. She was dressed in black tights with a pink leotard and pink headband and warm-up leggings. "I go to an aerobics class most afternoons," she explained, blushing slightly. Then she gave Jeffrey a big hug. Tears almost came to his eyes when he realized he couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him. It took him a moment to catch his balance and hug her back.

  Still holding his arms, she leaned back so she could look up into his eyes.

  Jeffrey was a good six inches taller than she was. "I'm so glad you came over," she said. She held his gaze for a beat, then added: "Come in, come in!" She took him by the hand and led him inside, giving the door a kick closed with her stockinged foot.

  Jeffrey found himself in a wide foyer with archways into a dining room on the right and a living room on the left. There was a small table supporting a silver tea service. At the end of the foyer, toward the back of the house, an elegant staircase curved up to the second floor.

  "How about some tea?" Kelly offered.

  "I don't want to be a bother," Jeffrey said.

  Kelly clucked her tongue. "What do you mean, bother?" She led him, still holding his hand, through the dining room and into the kitchen. Extending off the back of the house and open to the kitchen was a comfortable family room. It seemed to, be part

  of an addition. There was a garden outside the broad bow window. The garden appeared as if it could use a little attention. Inside, the house was spotless.

  Kelly sat Jeffrey on a gingham couch. Jeffrey put down his briefcase. -

  "What's with the briefcase?" Kelly asked as she went over to put some water on to boil. "I thought doctors carried little black bags when they made house calls. It makes you look more like an insurance salesman." She laughed a crystalline laugh as she went to the refrigerator and pulled a cheesecake from the freezer.

  "If I showed you what was in this briefcase you wouldn't believe it,"

  Jeffrey said.

  "What makes you say that?"

  Jeffrey didn't answer, but she graciously let it pass. She pulled a knife from a rack above the sink and cut two pieces of cheesecake.

  "I'm glad you decided to come over," she said, licking the knife. "I only bring out the cheesecake when I have company." She put a large tea bag in the teapot and got out cups.

  The kettle began to whistle fiercely. Kelly pulled it off the range and poured the boiling water into the teapot. She put everything on a tray and carried it to a coffee table in front of the family room couch.

  "There!" she said, setting it down. "Did I forget anything?" Kelly surveyed the tray. "Napkins!" she cried, and returned to the kitchen area. When she returned, she sat down. She smiled at Jeffrey. "Really," she said, pouring the tea. "I'm glad you came over, and not just because of the cheesecake."

  Jeffrey realized he'd not eaten since the shredded wheat that morning. The cheesecake was a delight.

  "Was there something in particular that you wanted to talk about?" Kelly asked, setting her teacup down.

  Jeffrey admired her frankness. It made it easier for him.

  "For starters, I guess I want to apologize for not having been much of a friend to Chris," Jeffrey said. "After what I've been through in the past few months, I have an appreciation of what Chris went through. At the time,

  I had no idea."

  "I guess no one did," Kelly said sadly. "Even I didn't."

  "I don't mean to dredge up painful memories for you," Jeffrey said when he saw the change in Kelly's expression.

  "Don't worry. I've finally come to terms with it," she said.

  "But that's all the more reason I should have called you. How are you holding up?"

  Jeffrey hadn't expected the conversation to shift to his troubles so quickly. How was he holding up? In the last twenty-four hours he'd attempted suicide and, failing that, had tried to leave the country. "It's been difficult," was all he managed.

  Kelly reached over and squeezed his hand. "I don't think people have any idea of the toll malpractice takes and I'm not talking about money."

  "You know better than most," Jeffrey said. "You and Chris paid the highest price."

  "Is it true you are going to prison?" Kelly asked.

  Jeffrey sighed. "It looks that way."

  "That's absurd!" Kelly said with a vehemence that surprised Jeffrey.

  "We're filing an appeal," he said, "but I don't have much faith in the process. Not anymore."

  "How did you become the scapegoat?" Kelly asked. "What happened to the other doctors and the hospital? Weren't they sued?"

  "They were all dropped from the case," Jeffrey explained. "I had a brief problem with morphine a few years back. Standard story: it was prescribed for a back injury I suffered in a bike accident. During the trial, they suggested that I'd mainlined some morphine shortly before I came on the case. Then someone found an empty via] of.75% Marcaine in the disposal of the anesthesia machine I was using-.75% Marcaine is contraindicated for obstetric anesthesia. No one found the.5% vial."

  "But you didn't use.75%, did you?" Kelly asked.

  "I always check the label of any medication," Jeffrey said. "But it's that type of reflex behavior that's hard to specifically remember. I can't believe I used.75%. But what can I say? They found what they found."

  "Hey," Kelly said. "Don't start to doubt yourself. That's what Chris started to do."

  "Easier said than done."

  "What is.75% Marcaine used for?" Kelly asked.

  "Quite a few things," Jeffrey said. "Whenever you want a particularly long-acting block with little volume. It's used a lot in eye surgery."

  "Had there been any eye cases in the OR where your accident occurred or any operations that might have required.75% Marcaine?"

  Jeffrey thought for a moment. He shook his head. "I don't think so, but I don't know for sure."

  "It might be worth looking into," Kelly said. "It wouldn't have much legal import, but if you could explain the.75% Marcaine, at least to yourself, it would go a long way in helping rebuild your confidence. I really think that where malpractice is concerned, doctors need to be as diligent in guarding their selfe
steem as thef are in preparing their court cases."

  "You're right about that," Jeffrey said, but he was still thinking about

  Kelly's questions regarding the.75% Marcaine. He couldn't believe that no one had thought to ask about cases prior to Patty Owen's in the same OR. He sure hadn't thought of it. He wondered how he'd go about inquiring now that he didn't enjoy the access to the hospital he once had.

  "Speaking of self-esteem, how's yours?" Kelly smiled, but Jeffrey could tell that despite her apparent lightheartedness, she was dead serious.