Deadly Errors (17 page)

Ferguson’s expression softened. “I know. I’m sorry about your career, but at least you did the right thing.”

“The right thing?” Tyler coughed a sarcastic laugh. “Considering what happened, that’s debatable. But you know what? I learned from that experience. And here’s what I learned. One—” holding up a finger, “Don’t get involved. Two—” up came a second finger. “Don’t trust the FBI to stand by you. They’re only out to win their own game. They don’t give a damn about the people they ask to help them get there.”

“What happened to you was unfortunate, but believe me, there was nothing we could do to help the situation.”

“Bullshit.” His anger flared. “I trusted you guys when you agreed to protect me. Protection? Jesus, what a joke. Nothing happened to Weiss, not even a slap on the hand. But me? Hey, my professional record is stamped ‘Impaired Physician’ and I get carted off to a drug rehab program and my wife leaves me. Wow, what a hell of a good deal that turned out to be. And now you’ve got the nerve to ask me to make the same mistake twice? Jesus, where do you guys get off?” Tyler realized a waitress and two customers were staring at him. He dropped his voice to a hiss. “You have any idea what that’s done to me?”

Before Tyler could answer his own question, Ferguson leaned forward. “Believe me, there was nothing we could do. Someone got word to Weiss before we had a chance to subpoena the records. That gave him enough time to blow the smoke from the gun barrel before we could nail his sorry ass. We could’ve protected you from any collateral damage, but once those drugs were found in your locker there was nothing we could do about it.”

“So you just watched me go down the toilet on trumped up drug charges? Like a chump? Jesus!” Tyler slammed his palm on the table. His heart was pounding his sternum like a sledge hammer.

A moment later he added. “This job at Maynard? It’s all I could get coming out of rehab. Nobody wants an impaired physician on staff. It’s like asking a sex offender to live next to a grade school.” He turned to Ferguson. “Know what my dream was going into neurosurgery? To be a department chairman at a good university. Know how much chance I have to get there now?” He raised his hand, thumb tip to index finger. “Zero. You guys ruined my career and my marriage.” He started to slide out of the booth.

Ferguson grabbed his arm. “Sit down and listen up.”

Tyler jerked away, but couldn’t break the agent’s grasp. “Let go. I’ve listened up enough.”

Ferguson’s grip released. “Sure, have it your way hot shot, but before you go, take a look at this.” Ferguson handed him a folded piece of paper.

Tyler snatched the paper from his fingers and opened it. A mixture of embarrassment and rage hit.

“Where’d you get this?”

In the next instance he realized it would’ve been easy to obtain if the FBI had wanted it. They must’ve targeted him a while ago.

“We have every one you ever wrote, Mathews, so sit down and listen up.”

He remained standing, undecided what to do.

“I said, sit down.”

“Asshole!”

Ferguson grinned but not one of amusement. “In my job that’s a term of endearment.”

“You think it’s funny what you guys did to me? The way you ruined my life?” He caught himself from saying anything about Nancy. He didn’t want to jinx the possibility of getting back together.

“That’s in the past.” Ferguson held up the paper Tyler had dropped on the table. “This is the present.”

He felt compelled to justify the prescription. “You have no idea what it is like, being railroaded into a drug rehab program then having your wife walk out on you. I couldn’t sleep … still can’t … another doctor, a friend of mine …” He let the words die. No sense trying to justify it.

“You think I give a damn why you did it? Think again.” Ferguson’s malicious grin widened. “But I do give a damn it’s a federal offense. ’Cause it means I have a hammer on you. So, here’s the deal, plain and simple. Bring us solid evidence the software’s flawed, and get it to me within the next seven days or I turn this evidence over to the DEA with the recommendation to prosecute you for forging prescriptions for a controlled substance.”

Tyler didn’t try hiding his disgust. “You enjoy doing this to people, don’t you.”

“Think I give a shit what you think?” Ferguson laughed. “Know a doc name of Michelle Lawrence?”

A heavy premonition hit. He’d forgotten to check back with her. “Yes … ?”

“She was found dead yesterday morning. Narcotics overdose. Only problem is she had no other signs of prior use.” He wagged his eyebrows again. “Seems kind of strange to the cops to OD the first time out, especially all alone in her bedroom with the door closed. Know what I’m saying?”

Tyler swallowed a wave of nausea. He thought of Michelle’s fingernails, her manly swagger, her totally screwed up self-image. A real character, but a person he really liked.

Although he suspected the answer, he had to ask, “What does that have to do with me?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I have no idea.”

“No? Not even the fact she was your anesthesiologist on your unfortunate patient? Think about it, Mathews. And while you’re at it, think about one other thing. That JCAHO committee report’s due to come out in two weeks. They endorse Med-InDx and it will become the de facto standard. Prophesy, its only competition, will be forced out of the business. That happens, and Med-InDx becomes the only game in town. It’ll become kind of like Microsoft and operating systems. That software will be in all major hospitals in this country within five years. You think there’s a problem at Maynard with the present system? Well think what it’ll be if that problem’s magnified a couple thousand times.

“And another thing,” Ferguson added before Tyler could respond, “our source believed the problems are much worse than they appear. You know for a fact that for the past two decades medicine has been moving toward more outpatient procedures. Only the sickest patients are the ones in hospitals now. Our informant firmly believed that the mistakes that software’s making are at least three times what’s being noticed. Probably worse than that. The problem is that many of the deaths are simply being chalked up to the fact the patients have life threatening problems in the first place.” He shot Tyler a serious look. “You getting any of this? It making any sense?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. We have maybe a week before the committee’s report is sealed. After that … well it’s on your conscience, Mathews.”

Ferguson pushed out of the booth. “One other thing … a word of advice. We think some of the Maynard upper echelon are fully aware of the bug and are helping to keep a lid on it. What I’m saying is don’t trust
anybody.
And I mean nobody. Learn something from your friend’s death, Mathews. Be smarter than you’re acting now.”

Ferguson glanced at his bowl of chili, slapped a five dollar bill on the table. “Damn! Chili got cold.” He glanced at Tyler as if realizing he was still there, straightened up, adjusted the fit of his blazer. “I was nice a minute ago. Let me put it this way … if I don’t have something with which to bring down Med-InDx within a week I’ll have the DEA do a number on you that’ll make what happened in California look like foreplay.”

N
ANCY SAID, “WHY don’t you cut the small talk Tyler. I can tell it’s forced. Just tell me what’s got you so upset.”

They occupied a corner table of a small Thai restaurant she claimed to be within walking distance of her apartment. The crammed-to-capacity interior buzzed with dinner conversation white noise and busy kitchen clatter. The air smelled of peanut sauce and spices.

Her frankness triggered a short laugh. Pure Nancy. She could read him so easily no matter how hard he tried to disguise his emotions.
Then again, I usually have my mood de jour displayed in block letters across my forehead.

“I want to talk about you, and possibly us … not me.”

“Fine, but as long as you seem so preoccupied with something else, we won’t be able to talk about anything at all. So you might as well cough it up.”

He set his beer on the table and considered how much of the problem to divulge. He wanted to confide in her but couldn’t. Not as long as the Ambien thing threatened. Any chance at getting back together would be out the window if she knew about that.

“Well?” She was eyed him with that inquisitive Chinese face he loved to kid her about.

“There’s this problem at work.”

“Oh, Tyler …”

He finished the sentence for her, “not again,” with the weight of her unspoken condemnation heavy on his shoulders. She had warned him last time not to get involved—a stance he chalked up to growing up in a politically oppressive country.

“Sorry Tyler, that wasn’t called for.” She reached across the table and took his right hand in hers. “Go on, tell me about it.”

“As long as
that
issue’s come up … you need to know I was never abusing. The drugs found in my locker? They were planted.”

“We’ve been through that a hundred times, Tyler. What about the urine tests? How could they turn up positive?”

“Simple. Someone switched samples and gave the lab someone else’s … someone who was using. It’s easy enough to pull off if you really want to.”

“I want to believe you, Tyler.” Her eyes softened and met his directly, underscoring the sincerity in her voice.

“Think back, Nancy. You know the symptoms. Did I ever act like user? Did I have any of the characteristic signs?”

She looked down at her folded hand in her lap. “I have thought about that. No you didn’t. That’s one of the reasons I took this job. To give us another chance.”

A rush of vindication swept over him, almost making him cry with joy. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand. Maybe there was hope of salvaging their marriage.

“Go on, tell me about what’s wrong at work,” she said.

He told her about Larry Childs and the clinical trial he was involved in, the radiation overdose, the question of how it happened, and finally Larry’s death. He said nothing about Special Agent Gary Ferguson or the implication of their earlier conversation.

She listened intently, asking only an occasional question to clarify a point.

When he finished she asked, “How do you explain the mix up in radiation dose?”

He paused to sip his beer and consider just how much detail to delve into. He thought of Michelle and Ferguson’s implication. “Only thing I can think of is a hacker,” he lied.

At this point the waitress brought their orders of Pud Thai and Swimming Rama. Grateful for the distraction Tyler used it to steer the conversation back to Nancy and her work.

D
INNER FINISHED, BILL paid, Tyler folded the yellow VISA copy and stuffed it into his wallet. “It’s still early. Want to go someplace for a drink?’

Nancy covered a yawn with her hand. “I better get home. I need to get up early tomorrow.”

Both stood. “I’ll walk you home.”

Outside, the summer sky was transitioning through deepening purple hues. To the west a burnt orange glow highlighted the Olympic Mountains. The air still contained enough warmth for Tyler to throw his windbreaker around his neck and be comfortable in short sleeves. As they started along the sidewalk he reached for her hand. She gave him a little squeeze, as if to say, good move, Tyler.

Their conversation dwindled into a soft comfortable silence bred from familiarity. They crossed Pine, then Pike Street, leaving the Capital Hill neighborhood for “Pill Hill”—an area dominated by hospitals and professional office buildings. Her brick apartment building was built in the 1930s and encircled a courtyard. A path entered the yard then T’d to entrances on opposing sides.

Climbing the three stairs to the courtyard, Tyler said, “I like some of these older buildings. They have more character.” He thought of his parent’s home, the one he grew up in. It was older too.

“The rooms are bigger but the downside is the bathroom. There’s only one. And that’s a problem in the mornings when we’re both trying to get out of there. But it suits me for now.”

Tyler wondered what “for now” meant.

As they reached the building’s front door she rummaged a key from her rucksack and turned to him. “I’d ask you up, but …”

“But?”

She nestled against him. “I have a roommate.”

Without thinking he wrapped his arms around her and hugged. Gently he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. It felt as natural and familiar as if they had kissed goodbye at the door this morning.

“Next time, your place,” she murmured.

“How about tonight?”

“Poor timing.” She broke away from his arms, stood on her tiptoes and pecked him on the lips. “Thanks, Mathews.”

“Thanks, Fan.”

She turned, put the key in the lock.

“How about tomorrow night?” he asked.

“I forgot to tell you. I have to fly back down to San Francisco tomorrow. It’s just an overnight trip to clean up some things in the lab. I’ll call you when I get back.” She blew him another kiss then slipped inside the door.

Tyler walked the six blocks back to his car fantasizing what it would be like to have his wife back. The months away from her had blunted just how much he missed her. Although she had not followed through on the divorce, each passing month had left him with less hope of reconciliation. Now she was stepping back into his life and it appeared she was serious about making a go of it. Or if not, at least considering it. All of a sudden, today’s turmoil seemed to pale against the possibility of renewing his marriage.