Code 15 (13 page)

“Thank you.”

Morgan walked over and found a seat on the far end of the bench. She looked around hoping to spot a magazine, but there weren’t any. Sitting there, she contemplated the best way of pitching her case to Wolfe. Before she could get very far, she saw him approaching. His hair looked longer and more disheveled than she remembered. He was carrying a single manila file folder in one hand and a foam cup in the other. He needed a shave.

“It’s nice to see you again, Doctor.”

She stood up. “I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”

Morgan followed him to his office. He took a seat behind his desk and invited her to take the chair across from him. The window edges were grimy and his desktop looked as if he hadn’t opened his mail or read a memo in months. A half-eaten Danish sat atop a scuffed-up leather briefcase. The few certificates that hung on the wall appeared as if they had been placed by somebody with no sense of symmetry.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“How can I help you?”

“We haven’t spoken in a while. I understand the details of your investigation are confidential, but I was still hoping you could give me a general idea of how things are going.”

Wolfe flicked some crumbs from his shirtsleeve. “We’re working on the leads we have and trying to develop new ones. I’d say we’re making progress, but it’s slow.”

“Have you found any of my father’s old patients who might have wanted to harm him?”

“As you told me, he was much adored by his patients.”

“So your answer is no.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a long process, Dr. Connolly. We’ve interviewed everybody who was in the waiting room that day. We’re also reviewing the video of the parking lot hoping to see this guy getting in or out of his car.”

“I assume that hasn’t led anywhere either?” Morgan asked, wondering how long it could possibly take to review an hour’s worth of surveillance tape.

“Not so far.”

Taking every precaution to sound reasonably concerned but not inappropriately meddlesome, Morgan said, “I’m not sure it means anything, but there’s something I’d like to make you aware of.”

Wolfe pressed his palms together and gestured for her to continue.

“I’m the chairperson of Dade Presbyterian’s Patient Safety Committee. One of our roles is to review all cases that involve a medical error. Recently, we had a young woman in our Cardiac Care Center die for no apparent reason. I can’t go into the details, but suffice it to say they were extremely bizarre. Just prior to her death, she had a visitor. The man was very athletic in appearance, had a gap between his two front teeth, and claimed to be a professor at Broward College.” Morgan paused for a moment to gather her thoughts and try to translate the expression on Wolfe’s face. It was neither condescending nor indifferent, but she felt a sudden sense of urgency to get to the point. “The reason I mention this is that I spoke to my father’s physician assistant a few days ago. She told me that the man who attacked my father also claimed to be a college professor. As I’m sure you recall he—”

“He was well built and had a gap between his two front teeth.”

Morgan nodded.

A perplexed look came to Wolfe’s face. “But this patient you referred to . . . this young woman. She died as the result of a medical mistake. Your father was murdered. I’m not sure I see the connection.”

Morgan said nothing.

Wolfe swiveled in his chair. A few more seconds passed. When the light went on, his voice filled with skepticism. “Dr. Connolly. I hope you’re not trying to tell me that this woman who died unexpectedly was actually murdered . . . and that you suspect the man who killed your father was responsible.”

Holding back a sigh, Morgan counted to three before responding. “I’m simply making an observation. Both men were athletic-looking. They each had a gap between their teeth and they both claimed to be college professors. That seems pretty coincidental to me.”

“I agree. That’s a bit of a coincidence but—”

“Look, Detective. My committee has looked at this case dozens of times. We’ve spoken to everybody involved and gone over every aspect in detail. The bottom line is we have absolutely no clue why this woman died.”

“Which hardly constitutes a case of murder.”

“But don’t you think that—”

“Dr. Connolly,” he began slowly with a raised hand. “Unfortunately, the fact that you can’t explain her death doesn’t mean somebody killed her. I’m not a doctor, but I would venture to say that it’s not unheard of for a patient to die for no apparent reason. Is it the hospital’s official position that this woman’s death may not have been the result of natural causes?”

Morgan averted her eyes. “No.”

“I assume you’ve already checked to see if she had ever been a patient in your father’s practice?”

“There’s no record of her,” she confessed.

Wolfe pushed some files aside and then reached for a blank piece of computer paper.

“Does the hospital keep the names of the patients’ visitors?”

“The cardiac ICU does. He signed in as I. Ogden. I went on Broward College’s website. There’s no such professor listed.”

Wolfe picked up his pen again. “Well, the University of Miami doesn’t have anybody on their faculty by the name of Stuart Artesian either.”

“I can understand why Artesian lied. Why would Ogden?”

“I don’t have the first clue. But if I’ve learned anything in twenty years on the job, it’s that people lie for more reasons than you can count.” Wolfe ran the back of his hand across his brow. “Look, Doctor, I’ll do what I can to check out this guy, Ogden. Unfortunately, there are probably thousands of athletic men in South Florida with gapped teeth who have a penchant for lying.”

Thankful for any assistance, Morgan said, “I appreciate your help.”

“You mentioned there was a committee involved in investigating this case.”

She nodded.

“I assume it’s made up of doctors.”

“Largely,” Morgan said.

With circumspect eyes, he inquired, “Are you the only one who feels this woman may not have died from natural causes?”

Regretting ever setting foot in his office, Morgan answered, “I would say that I’m the only one who’s considered the possibility.”

“I think you know what I’m going to say,” he told her, tossing the pen onto a brown blotter. “It’s not within the purview of this office to routinely investigate the deaths of hospital patients. We would only get involved if the hospital contacted us and made a formal report to the state.”

Morgan stood up. “I felt I should bring the information to your attention. I guess you’ll have to decide what to do with it.” She watched Wolfe’s barrel chest fill with a profound breath. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“Dr. Connolly, please understand that a police investigation is based on statistical likelihoods and probability. I give you my word we’re doing everything humanly possible to find the man responsible for your father’s death.”

Feeling handled and seeing no reason to be coy, Morgan asked, “I’m not a police officer, but I have a strange feeling you haven’t heard the end of Gideon.”

“Gideon?”

“I know about the note.”

“How come that doesn’t surprise me?” Wolfe came out from behind his desk and walked Morgan back to the reception area. “Please try to remember that we have a lot of investigations going on and I do have significant manpower restraints. If we come up with anything, I promise I’ll call you.”

Morgan left the building with no regrets. Her fears of feeling foolish or embarrassed were more imagined than real. She had no illusions that Wolfe would do anything more than a cursory investigation of Ogden, but that was more than she had an hour ago. After allowing a slow moving line of cars to pass, Morgan quick-walked across the street. She then headed into the public parking lot.

She knew Ben would be anxious to hear how her meeting had gone. She glanced down at her watch. It was almost ten. Before getting into her car, she rechecked her schedule on her PDA. She had no other commitments until a two o’clock conference with the nurses. Instead of calling him, she decided to take a ride out to his flight school and catch him between lessons.

DAY EIGHT

 

 

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Robin St. Clair, director of Dade Presbyterian Hospital’s operating room, groaned into the phone.

The last thing she wanted to hear on one of the busiest mornings she could remember in months was that Morgan Connolly wanted to do another review of the Tony Wallace case.

“It will only take a half hour,” Morgan assured her.

“That’s what you told me last time and we wound up—”

“I promise. Thirty minutes.”

“Please, Morgan. Not today. I have ninety cases on the schedule. Besides, we’ve already done this twice.”

“I swear. This will be the last time.”

Robin had always been the consummate team player. It was probably the single most important reason she had risen so quickly in the operating room administrative hierarchy.

“What time?” she asked with a groan.

“It’s eight now. How about nine?”

“I’ll set you up in the conference room.”

“Can you possibly see if Todd Kettering’s available?” Morgan asked.

“He just finished an emergency case. I’ll tell him you want him there.”

“I’m sorry about this, Robin, but I’ve got Bob Allenby and everybody else in administration breathing down my neck about this case.”

Robin paused. “You’re on the hospital’s executive committee, Aren’t you?”

“All the department chiefs are.”

“Good. Just remember us when the operating room budget comes up for approval.”

Morgan said, “I’ll enthusiastically vote yes on everything. If I have anything to say about it, you’ll have the best-equipped OR in the state.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” came Robin’s dubious response. “I’ll see you at nine.”

Morgan arrived in the operating room a few minutes early.

Robin walked in a few minutes later. In one short hour, she had converted the teaching center and conference room into a staging area for the Tony Wallace case. In the middle of the room, a long folding table was stacked high with medical devices, supplies, and surgical instruments. Lined up against the far wall sat three cardboard cartons, also filled to the brim with drugs and other medical supplies that had been used in the case. Morgan walked up to the table.

“Where do you want to start?” Robin asked.

Morgan picked up the photocopy of Tony’s medical record and thumbed through it until she found a copy of the operative note.

After reading it through, she said, “Let’s just concentrate on the last few minutes leading up to the pump clotting off. I want to go over those events in their exact chronological sequence just the way they happened the morning of surgery.” She looked toward the door. “Is Todd going to join us? I really need him.”

“I spoke to him about twenty-five minutes ago. He was just checking the circuit on one of the pumps. He said he’d be over as soon as he finished.”

“Good. There was something I wanted to ask you,” she said to Robin.

“Sure.”

“Did anybody report anything out of the ordinary from the night shift?”

“For instance?” Robin asked, tilting her head slightly to one side.

“Did you receive any reports of any unauthorized persons in the operating room?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Were there any new staff assigned to the Wallace case?” Morgan asked.

“No. Dr. McBride had his regular team.”

Morgan flipped to the anesthesiologist’s handwritten record of the case. She skipped down until she got to the medication section and marked the page.

“Okay, let’s get started,” she said, scanning the cartons until she found the one containing the medications. She opened the top and looked inside. “I assume all the meds are still in here?”

“Nothing’s been touched. Everything’s just the way we left it last time we did this—and the time before.”

“Good,” Morgan responded, unruffled by Robin’s sarcasm. She began by removing the medication bottles and lining them up on the table. There were exactly fourteen. Just as she was completing her inventory, Todd, dressed in undersized rumpled scrubs, walked in.

“Is it just me or is anybody else having déjà vu?”

Morgan was the first to reply. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate your forbearance.”

Todd rubbed his chubby hands together. “Let the games begin.”

“When did you first notice the clots?” she asked him.

“After the grafts had been sewn in and we were re-warming.”

“Tell me specifically how that’s done.”

“We simply bring the temperature up on the circulating blood. If we can’t get the patient’s temp back to at least ninety-seven degrees, it’s hard to get their heart started again.”

“And I assume Mr. Wallace’s temp was coming up okay.”

“It was.”

“Fine. What do you do next?”

“Nothing. Once the heart is warm, it generally starts beating on its own. After that, if everything looks good, we take the patient off bypass.”

“How long does the whole process take?”

“About twenty-five minutes.”

Morgan walked back over to the table. “Okay. Let’s concentrate on what happened from the time you started the re-warming process until the pump clotted off. What exactly were you doing?”

“I was checking the circuit and talking to the medical student.”

“Who was the first to notice there was a problem?”

“Dr. McBride. He saw clots in the pericardial well and let me know. When I checked the circuit, I had the same thing.”