Miracle Cure
Authors: Michael Palmer
Praise for the novels of
M
ICHAEL
P
ALMER
CRITICAL JUDGMENT
In the tiny town of Patience, California, Dr. Abby Dolan has seen a frightening syndrome among her emergency room patients. It begins with baffling, seemingly minor symptoms, but builds relentlessly until it plunges its victims into insane, murderous rages. Abby searches for clues to this deadly mystery, but she may not find the answer until it’s too late to save her patients, her career … her life.
“Wrenchingly scary … Palmer is reaching the top of a demanding craft.”
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“A novel that manages to scare the socks off the reader while still providing made-for-Hollywood entertainment.” —
The Globe and Mail
, Toronto
SILENT TREATMENT
When Dr. Harry Corbett’s wife Evie dies suddenly the night before her scheduled surgery, the police suspect homicide—and Harry is their sole suspect. But before Harry can uncover what secrets led to Evie’s death, the murderer strikes again. And this time it’s clear to Harry that the killer stalking this busy urban hospital can only be a doctor.
“Guaranteed to terrify anyone who … has reason to step inside the doors of a hospital.”
—The Washington Post
“Palmer owes this reviewer about three hours of sleep spent reading this can’t-put-it-downer. You are cautioned:… Don’t start this one at 10 at night.”
—The Washington Times
FLASHBACK
Eight-year-old Toby Nelms is losing his will to live. Months after surgery, Toby wakes up screaming, reliving every moment of his operation—all the trauma, all the pain. Dr. Zack Iverson is determined to find out why—because the next victim may be wheeling into surgery right now.
“The most gripping medical thriller I’ve read in many years.” —David Morell
EXTREME MEASURES
Talented and ambitious, Dr. Eric Najarian has been chosen to join a clandestine elite of medical professionals who think he has what it takes—if he will play by their rules. Should he refuse to take part in their sinister plan, he will be their next victim.
“Spellbinding … a chillingly sinister novel made all the more frightening by [Palmer’s] medical authority,”
—The Denver Post
“Packs a substantial wallop.” —
Publishers Weekly
“Fast-paced … a bedrock of authentic medical detail.”
—Kirkus Reviews
NATURAL CAUSES
A young doctor’s prescription for prenatal vitamins is the only factor linking three emergencies in childbirth, two of them fatal. As Dr. Sarah Baldwin races to clear her name and find the real cause of death, it becomes horrifyingly clear that someone will do anything—even murder—to hide the devastating secret.
“Reinvents the medical thriller.” —
Library Journal
“Timely … Entertaining. A page-turner.”
—Publishers Weekly
SIDE EFFECTS
Dr. Kate Bennett has it all: A loving husband, a great hospital to work in, a rosy future. Then her best friend falls ill, victim to an unknown disease that has already killed two women. Racing desperately to save her friend, Kate uncovers a terrifying medical secret that threatens her sanity and even her life—and whose roots lie in one of the greatest evils in the history of mankind.
“Has everything—a terrifying plot … breakneck pace … vividly drawn characters.”
—John Saul
THE SISTERHOOD
Inside Boston Doctors Hospital, patients are dying: surviving surgery only to perish inexplicably, horribly, in the dark, hollow silence of the night. A tough, bright doctor and a dedicated nurse will risk their careers—and their very lives—to unmask the terrifying mystery that threatens us all.
“Terrific … A compelling suspense tale.”
—Clive Cussler
“A suspenseful page-turner … jolts and entertains the reader.” —Mary Higgins Clark
Michael Palmer has been a practicing physician for more than twenty years, most recently as an emergency room doctor and a specialist in the treatment of alcoholism and chemical dependency.
ALSO BY MICHAEL PALMER
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This edition contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
MIRACLE CURE
A Bantam Book
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1998 by Michael Palmer.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-4884.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-78124-6
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, New York, New York.
v3.1
TO JUDITH PALMER GLANTZ
F
OR YOUR TALENT AS A MOTHER
AND YOUR GRACE AS AN EX
AND
I
N LOVING MEMORY OF MY FATHER
W
E MISS YOU
, P
OP
My name is on the cover of this book but it was hardly written in a vacuum. My deepest gratitude goes once again to my tireless editor, Beverly Lewis, assistant editor Christine Brooks, and my incomparable agents, Jane Rotrosen Berkey, Don Cleary, and Stephanie Tade.
In addition, thank you—
Dr. Anthony Zietman for the evening at the King’s Rook;
Drs. Michael Fifer and Igor Palacios and the gang at the MGH cath lab for your skill and hospitality;
Dr. Jerry Faich for the inside stuff;
Dr. George Allman for sharing knowledge and experience;
Dr. Michael Czorniak for the articles;
Dr. Bob Smith and Bill Wilson for the tool kit;
Beverly Tricco, Sam Dworkis, and Mimi Santini-Ritt for the readings;
Matt, Bekica, Daniel, and Luke for the inspiration and the help in solving problems;
And special thanks to Dr. Cary Akins, Renaissance man and mender of broken hearts.
The people named above have contributed mightily to the color and flavor of this novel. Any errors or other misrepresentations of fact are purely mine.
M.S.P.
THERE ARE THREE KINDS OF UNTRUTHS; LIES, DAMN LIES, AND STATISTICS
.
— A
TTRIBUTED TO
B
ENJAMIN
D
ISRAELI BY
M
ARK
T
WAIN
PROLOGUE
I
T TOOK EVERY BIT OF HER STRENGTH, BUT
S
YLVIA
Vitorelli managed to force a third pillow under her back. She was nearly upright in bed now. Still she felt queasy and hungry for more air. It was the dampness and the mold, she told herself. If she were in her apartment in Boston rather than her son’s farmhouse in rural upstate New York, this would not be happening. Not that her breathing had been all that great in Boston, either. For months her ankles had been badly puffed and her fingers swollen. And now, over the past few weeks, she had been experiencing increasing trouble catching her breath, especially when she lay down.
Sylvia cursed softly. She should never have agreed to make the trip to Fulbrook. She should have told Ricky that she just wasn’t up to it. But she had really wanted to go. The ghost of her husband, Angelo, had made living in their apartment a constant sadness. And the dust and
noise surrounding construction of Boston’s central-artery tunnel had made living in their part of the North End unpleasant. Besides, her daughter-in-law, who had always acted as if her visits were an inconvenience, had actually made the call inviting her to spend almost two weeks away from the city.
The kids ask for you all the time, Mama
, she had said.
And autumn is so beautiful up here
.
Sylvia checked the time. Ricky, Stacey, and the children would be at church for another half hour or so and then were going to stop by to see some friends. She had begged off going with them, citing a headache. The truth was, she didn’t feel as if she could even get dressed. She should try to get up, maybe make something to eat, watch Mass on TV, but when she tried to move, she suddenly was seized by a violent, racking spasm of coughing, accompanied by a horrible liquid sound in her chest.
For the first time, she began to panic. The dreadful gurgling in her lungs persisted. Now she was gasping for breath. Sweat began to pour off her forehead, stinging her eyes. Her purse was right next to her on the bedside table. She fumbled through it for her pills with no clear idea of what she would do once she found them. Her fingers, which lately had remained somewhat swollen most of the time, were now stiff, obscene sausages, bluish and mottled.
The air in the musty room seemed heavy and thick. An extra fluid diuretic pill might help. Maybe one of the nitroglycerins, too. Desperately, she emptied her purse out onto the bed. Alongside several vials of pills was an appointment card from the clinic at Boston Heart Institute. Drops of perspiration fell from her face onto the ink. Her next appointment was a week from tomorrow. In order to fly to Ricky’s for the eleven days, she had had to skip a Vasclear treatment—the first one she had missed in almost a year. But the missed medication couldn’t possibly be the reason she was having so much trouble breathing
now. She was down to only one treatment every two weeks, and was due to drop to one a month before much longer. Besides, her cardiologist had told her when she called that it was perfectly okay for her to go.