The Society (30 page)

Katz actually sloshed water from his glass trying to raise it to his lips. Even though the years had taken some toll on the man, he still was a skillful surgeon who lived his life with quiet dignity. Will ached to see him in such a state. Even though he had predicted to Patty that the killers might make some effort to restore his decimated credibility, he was stunned at the cruelty of their threat. It was quite apparent that the others were, too.

“Nice friends you have there, Dr. Grant,” Silverman said. “Detective Brasco?”

“One second, Doctor.”

Brasco pulled out his cell phone, made a call, and spoke in hushed tones, nodding his head importantly.

“As long as you’re done with the envelopes, why don’t you bring them right over,” he said, raising his voice loudly enough for all in the room to hear. “Third-floor conference room at the hospital.” He grinned in an odd, smug way. “No, the
L
doesn’t surprise me at all. Not at all.”

An
L
. Jim Katz’s death sentence had arrived in an envelope in the form of the letter
L
, undoubtedly block printed on white cardboard. Brasco’s expression at that moment was as subtle as a wrecking ball. The
L
didn’t surprise him in the least.
Why not?
It had to be that he knew something, Will thought. It had to be that he and the cryptographer had solved the killer’s puzzle.

“Sorry,” Brasco said, setting his cell phone aside. “Where were we? Ah, yes, we were starting to debate the merits of giving in to the demands of a serial killer. I would like to say here and now that our position, like that of the President, is that we don’t bargain with terrorists.”

The knot in Will’s neck muscles tightened once again. Brasco was a cowboy—an explosive with a minuscule fuse.

“Well, Lieutenant,” Silverman said, clearly appalled by Brasco’s insensitivity toward Jim Katz, “I would say you’ve made your position quite clear. However, I would like the rest of you to feel free to tell us what you can and would be willing to do to protect Dr. Katz, who has done so much for our hospital and community. Miss Leary?” He nodded to the hospital attorney.

“Since we first learned of the nature of the killer’s demands,” Leary said, “we have been discussing how far we might be able to go in reinstating Dr. Grant, at least temporarily. There is some precedent in our hospital, albeit from a number of years ago, for lifting a physician’s suspension while the claims against him are being investigated. Our medical staff executive committee is willing to consider the possibility out of deference to Dr. Katz, but they would insist on a psychiatric evaluation of Dr. Grant as soon as possible by a therapist chosen by us or the Board of Registration in Medicine. They would also very much like some other sort of mitigating evidence relative to the allegations of drug use, which Dr. Grant has so staunchly denied. They have requested at least some notarized affidavits from respected members of the medical or civic community attesting to his moral character, and they would prefer something more concrete and substantial—hard evidence that at least suggested Dr. Grant’s innocence.”

“Ms. Weiss,” Silverman said to the board’s attorney, “is there any chance the board would agree to stay Dr. Grant’s suspension pending an investigation of the allegations against him?”

Weiss, dark and studious, held a brief, whispered exchange with the other board attorney.

“Ordinarily, I would say no,” she replied. “The board exists to protect the public. We take a very harsh position in disciplining physicians when there has been patient harm, as in this case, or in many instances even the possibility of patient harm. However, there are most certainly extenuating circumstances here. Dr. Katz, I was informed that you actually served as one of the members of our board.”

“That was a few years ago, but yes,” Katz said, still quite gloomy. “Governor Wilcox appointed me. I served for two years.”

“You have a fine reputation throughout our office.”

“Thank you.”

Again the board attorneys whispered to each other.

“Given the severity of what happened with Dr. Grant in the OR, we can’t make any promises,” Weiss said finally. “But if your executive committee approves his reinstatement, it is possible the board would follow suit. Dr. Grant, have there been any new developments in your efforts to determine what happened to you?”

“Theories,” Will said, taking pains not to look in Gordon Cameron’s direction, “but nothing firm yet.”

“And you do agree to get an evaluation by a psychiatrist certified in addiction medicine?”

“Absolutely.”

“And some letters attesting to your personal character?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“The more, the better.”

“No problem.”

Weiss turned to Katz.

“Dr. Katz, Attorney Emspak and I are both terribly disturbed by what is happening to you. We will do everything we can to help ensure that no harm comes to you.”

“I very much appreciate that,” Katz said, “just as I appreciate that there are no guarantees at this point.”

“Dr. Lemm?” Silverman asked.

“Our organization has a great deal of respect for Dr. Grant and the work he has done both as a surgeon and as a member of the Hippocrates Society. We are looking for any valid excuse to reinstate him. However, as I’m sure you all know, his is a very high-profile case. It sounds as if all three of our agencies—the hospital, the board, and the Society—will be out on a very thin public-relations limb, as the press is almost certain to latch on to this.

“I think we should have a carefully crafted and well-coordinated explanation as to why we have changed our position on this case. Perhaps, in the absence of anything other than a supportive psychiatric evaluation and some letters of support, we can allude to other elements of Dr. Grant’s case that have come to light without being specific. I am sure that I speak for the Society when I say that what it seems we need to do is to give Detective Brasco and his people enough time to catch this killer, while at the same time protecting Dr. Katz in any way we can.”

Silverman allowed multiple conversations to hold sway for a time, then turned to Will.

“Dr. Grant, I would ask that you redouble your efforts to save us from the public-relations volcano that is certain to erupt the moment it is learned that our organizations have reinstated you—
if
, in fact, we do. The killer has given us one week to reverse the suspensions. I suggest we meet here again at this time the day after tomorrow. By then we’ll know from Dr. Grant if any other information has been unearthed regarding his claims of innocence and from the board if you have found an addiction specialist to evaluate him. Hopefully we’ll be in a position to vote and, if we decide to proceed, to begin preparing whatever explanation we need for the press.”

“Good,” said Weiss. “Dr. Grant, do you have any problem doing your part?”

“I’ll be happy to pay the independent evaluator and to try and come up with some theory or evidence you all can use with the press. Before I promise anything else, I’d like to see what the killer is insisting that I say to the media, but of course I would do anything I could to protect Dr. Katz.”

At that moment, as if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Brasco leapt to open it and returned with two manila folders. He glanced at one—apparently the one that held the letter
L
—kept it, and tossed the other in front of Will.

“I admire your nobility, Dr. Silverman,” Brasco said, returning to his chair, “and yours, Dr. Lemm, and also the good ladies of the Board of Medicine, but I would have to say that in my opinion you are choosing a path that could backfire in a big-time way if this man goes out and gets himself overdosed again. Personally, I feel we can supply enough protection for Dr. Katz until we put this psycho away for good. Believe me, Doctor, we’ve protected witnesses against larger threats than this one.”

“Excuse me, Detective Brasco,” Will said, “but I think you are underestimating these people. They are predators—vicious, brilliant, and remorseless. Just look at the way they’ve killed. Having dealt with them already, I can only say that in my opinion, if they want Dr. Katz dead, they will find a way.”

“That’s only because you’re probably one of them, you friggin’ junkie!” Brasco snapped with startling abruptness. “You’re just trying to save your own hide.” He stood, sending his chair hurtling backward. “Well, let me tell you something. This whole discussion is unnecessary, because before your week is up, we’ll have nailed the bastard. You all can do whatever you want, but let me tell you one more time: We don’t make deals with terrorists, and we also don’t make deals with junkies!”

Before anyone else could say a word, Brasco whirled and stormed out of the room.

CHAPTER
23

For several minutes, those remaining in the Sears Conference Room sat in stunned, motionless silence. Finally, Sid Silverman stood, adjusted his vest, and gathered his papers together.

“The day after tomorrow, then,” he said, as if Brasco’s outburst was too outrageous even to acknowledge. “Dr. Grant, please be sure Attorney Weiss has a way of getting ahold of you.”

“Here’re my cell phone and home numbers,” Will said, passing them over to her. “I . . . I know this situation isn’t easy for any of you. Jim, I just want you to know that I am horribly sorry for what this monster is putting you through. Julia, too. If you all decide to go along with the killer’s demands and reinstate me, I promise to keep a very low profile and not cause any problems. I doubt Lieutenant Brasco will be back here for our next meeting, but
I
will. Hopefully, before too much longer, you’ll all know what I know, namely that I’m not guilty of anything.”

The meeting ended without fanfare. Drained, Will remained in his place as the others left the room. Jim Katz, still pale and shaken, hurried out without so much as a glance at Will. Of the others, only Susan and Gordo made eye contact with him.

Will felt sad about this latest turn in his insane saga, but he also felt, in some strange way, vindicated. From the moment the fentanyl was detected in his blood, he had been a pariah in the hospital, among his colleagues, and in the press. Now, thanks to a murderer—a multiple murderer—the Society, the hospital, and the Board of Registration in Medicine were begging him to give them a reason, any reason, to restore his medical license, position within the Society, and hospital privileges. If he was being selfish in the face of Jim Katz’s anguish, so be it. No one could fully understand what he had been through, or how desperately he wanted his life back. He wanted to belong, to be challenged again. He wanted his children not to be ostracized from their playmates. He wanted to matter in the world that had mattered so much to him. He wanted to be a doctor again.

Was that so wrong?

It was quite possible that even letters of support from Benois Beane and Susan and Gordo and Jim, and maybe a couple of the docs who hadn’t turned away from him, would not be enough to convince the attorneys from the hospital and the board, but for the moment that was all he could think of to do.

Susan.

Will was gathering his notes together when he realized he had intended to speak with her after the meeting about the BB in Grace’s films, radiologist Rick Pizzi’s opinion, and the strange, violent reaction of the man who had referred Grace to her in the first place. He stuffed the papers in his briefcase and was just pushing back from the table when Sid Silverman returned to the room. His moon face was more flushed than usual.

“I thought I’d find you still here,” he said.

“I was just fixin’ to leave.”

“I came back to see to it that you do.”

“What?”

“You’re still suspended from here.”

“So?”

“So, I want you out of this hospital until—when and
if
—we restore your privileges to work here. Personally, Grant, I think you’re dirty. I think you took that drug, and I think that somehow you’re more involved with this killer than you would let anyone believe. If it weren’t that Jim Katz’s life is at stake, I would have leapt up to support Brasco’s position in a heartbeat. And if something happens to Katz, I hope you’re prepared to live with it. Now, get out of here.”

Having issued the order, rather than leave, Silverman stepped back against the wall and waited, his arms folded against his chest as tightly as his anatomy would allow.

Will wanted so desperately to charge across the room and punch the hospital president senseless.
Stupid, insensitive bastard
. In what he hoped was exasperatingly slow motion, Will stood up and made a pretext of repacking his briefcase. It was then he realized his cell phone was ringing. Gesturing
what can you do?
to Silverman, he answered it.

“Grant, Micelli here,” the lawyer rasped. “You someplace you can talk?”

“I can talk, Augie.”

The longer you have to stand around and wait, Sid, the happier it makes me.

“Grant, listen. As I told you earlier, I’ve been studying the pharmacology of fentanyl and thinking about how this could have happened to you.”

“And?”

“The drug had to be inside your shoes—those red sneakers you wear every time you operate! It’s the only explanation that makes any sense other than that you’re a liar, and I’ve chosen not to consider that possibility anymore. The drug—probably a lot of it—was soaked into the insoles of your OR shoes and allowed to dry there. Then, your own sweat reconstituted it and you absorbed it through your feet, just as if your socks were giant fentanyl patches. We have to find those shoes, Grant. Any idea where they could be?”

Stunned, Will sank down into the chair, the cell phone pressed tightly against his ear.
Was it possible?
Micelli was crazy. There was no way he was right this time. Still, Will was well known for the red Chuck Taylor All Stars he invariably wore in the OR. He decided to hang on to the possibility, at least for the moment. Like Micelli had said, they were long on facts and way short on explanations.

“I have no idea where they can be now,” Will said. “The ER nurses put everyone’s clothes into a labeled plastic bag. I never got them back. Maybe the police have them.”