Deadly Medicine (30 page)

Ward’s accountant had informed her of the phone app, and she was using it to track the expenses she incurred on her travels through the mountains. Since so many doctors traveled for conferences, Abby told her it might be helpful info to share with the medical staff. “Let me look at my phone,” Ward said.

She pulled the device out of her backpack and turned it on. “So how’s your day going?” she asked as it powered up.

“Ah…” Abby practically moaned. “It started out great.”

Ward tried hard to suppress the grin that threatened to erupt as she recalled their morning. Multiple orgasms before breakfast, again. A beep made her glance at the phone in her hand. She had a text from Kathy Henderfield, Frieda’s niece and the head nurse at the hospital where Ward had spent the month of April.

Call me. Important.

Ward checked her apps and gave Abby the information she’d requested. “So, what’s for dinner?” she asked.

“Oh, so you’re available?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Abby giggled, and Ward imagined the twinkle in her eyes and the smile on her face. They made plans to drive to Clarks Summit for sushi, and as soon as Ward disconnected the phone, she dialed Kathy’s number.

“Hey, Kath, what’s up?”

“I don’t know, something kind of weird. Frieda told me you’d asked about her neighbor, and when I mentioned your call, the unit clerk reminded me about another patient.”

“Oh, really?” Ward sat upright. Kathy had her full attention.

“Yeah. The patient was here in the beginning of March, during one of those freak late-winter snowstorms. He came in at the change of shift and Dr. Somerset was listed as the doctor of record, but actually Dr. Hawk took care of him.”

“So what happened with the patient?”

“Well, that’s what’s weird. He suffered a compound fracture of his leg in a snowmobile accident. He seemed stable, but then he coded. Something you hear about but never, ever, see.”

Ward’s mouth went dry. She clutched the phone with a choking grip. “What did he die from?”

“A venous air embolism.”

Vertigo

Her ER was empty, and Ward was happy. As she hung up the phone, Kathy’s words rang in her ears. She was dizzy, her mind overwhelmed. Kathy had confirmed that Dr. Hawk had placed a central line in the dead snowmobiler and that he’d coded immediately afterward. That made two patients in four months with fatal venous air emboli, when the odds dictated it should have taken Hawk more than a thousand years to accumulate such bad luck. When Ward considered the fact that his colleagues thought he was creepy, in addition to the two diabetic patients who’d died for no apparent reason, and Frieda’s neighbor who was found dead in a similar manner, she could no longer wishfully suppose this was just bad luck or incompetence. This
had
to be intentional. Hawk was murdering his patients, using a syringe of air instead of a knife or a gun, but he was murdering them, she was sure. The odds simply didn’t support any other conclusion.

What to do now? Ward had no proof of any wrongdoing, just this circumstantial evidence, but she had to stop Hawk. If she didn’t, the body count would continue to climb. Should she call the state medical board? It had been her sad duty to report a physician colleague once before, when he refused to step down in spite of multiple appearances at work while visibly intoxicated. The process had been rather benign. As soon as the state launched their investigation, the physician in question had admitted he had a problem and voluntarily entered a rehab program. A year later, he sent Ward a card of thanks for her intervention.

Something told Ward it wouldn’t go the same way this time. It was hard to imagine Hawk taking a call from the medical board and admitting to murder.

Thankfully, she’d never found herself in this position before. Pulling up the state board’s Web site, she read about handling a physician suspected of illegal behavior. It suggested making a formal report to the local police in addition to a complaint with the board.

Ward picked up the ER phone and dialed the direct extension to Abby’s office. “Abby Rosen,” she said a second later.

Normally, Abby’s voice brought a smile to her face, but not this time. Ward was nervous. “I really need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

“Absolutely. Your place or mine?”

“We need privacy. Should I come up?”

Sixty seconds later, after telling the smirking ER clerk she’d be in Abby’s office, Ward walked through the door.

“He’s murdering people, Ab. I know it. There was another venous air embolus,” she said as she paced the room.

“Where? When?” Abby asked, breathing deeply and folding her hands that seemed to be shaking. Her skin seemed to pale before Ward’s eyes.

Ward gave her the details.

“And there’s no chance this is coincidence?”

Ward shook her head. She stopped wearing out Abby’s carpet, but instead of sitting, she stood, leaning against the bathroom door and closing her eyes against the light.

“He was here in January, too.”

“Huh?” Ward asked as she opened her eyes and stared at Abby.

“Hawk. He was the emergency replacement for Dick when he got sick. He was only here for three weeks, but do you know there were six deaths in January? It was a little high, but nothing that raised suspicions. Not at the time, anyway.”

“Can we look at those charts?”

Abby nodded. “Of course, they were already reviewed, but in light of current events, I thought another look was warranted. I had the list pulled this morning and e-mailed it to medical records. Someone’s going to get me the causes of death and attending docs.”

“When will you have it?”

Without replying, Abby turned her attention to the screen on her laptop, perched on her desk. Her fingers flew across the keys and Ward saw her smile. “It’s ready,” she said as she typed away. An instant later, the printer beside Ward came to life and spit out a sheet of paper.

Abby stayed seated as Ward reached for the paper and scanned the document.

“January ER summary of causes of death by attending physician. Number one—January first, Marion Jones, MI, Dr. Rove. Number two—January fifth, John Fitzgerald, CHF, Dr. Litzi. January fifteenth, Stella Miles, MI, Dr Farley. January twenty-first, James Dutton, heroine overdose, Dr. Hawk. January twenty-fourth, Valerie Vincent, MI, Dr. Farley. January twenty-ninth.” Ward stopped speaking, looked at Abby, and closed her eyes again. It was hard to breathe. She was dizzy. This was really happening.

“What?”

“Benjamin Moss. Dr. Hawk.”

She felt Abby’s hand on hers pulling the paper from her shaking fingers. She opened her eyes just as Abby began scanning the document. “Venous air embolus,” Ward said softly.

Abby was silent as she walked to the leather couch against the wall adjacent to her desk. Ward followed and sat beside her, numb.

“So what should we do?”

When their eyes met, Abby’s looked confused. Ward could understand that. Abby’s parents were both physicians, healers. She’d grown up at this hospital, knew all the great men and a few women who’d practiced medicine here since her childhood. Most of them did an outstanding job, and even the ones who weren’t stellar clinicians at least had their hearts in the right place. Ward had spent more time in the city than Abby had, and she knew that careless, reckless, even malicious physicians existed, but she’d never known anyone like this. She’d never even heard of anyone like Hawk. She thought for a moment, pushing the numbness from her neurons, and remembered what the state board’s Web site had said.

“The state board suggests calling the police. And obviously reporting him to the state board.” She laughed halfheartedly and frowned.

“Ward, I’m going to ask you again. Are you sure about this? Because once I call the police, I can’t take these accusations back. If we’re wrong, I’m setting the hospital up for the slander claim of the millennium.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to go out on a limb here, Ab. Just because people are dying.”

Abby turned her head and glared at her. “I don’t believe that attitude is necessary. I’m just trying to come up with a solution, the same as you.”

Ward closed her eyes again and pinched the bridge of her nose. Abby was right, of course. They were in this together, and in their solidarity they’d find the solution.

“Abby, I know he murdered those people. I know it. But can I prove it? No, I can’t. There’s just a tremendous amount of circumstantial evidence pointing at Hawk. From an ethical standpoint, we have no choice but to report him. As long as we stay professional and keep this to ourselves, perhaps we can spare the hospital a lawsuit. We just hand over our information to the police and let them investigate. Ditto for the state board. What else can we do?”

Abby bit her lip. “I guess we can do that. But how long will it take the police? If he’s murdering people, shouldn’t we do something more to stop him?”

Ward stared out the window. Abby really had a magnificent view. The sun was out today, shining in a bright-blue sky over the Endless Mountains beyond the town. It was picture perfect, this scene. How could she look upon such beauty while discussing murder?

“I don’t know what else to do, Ab—”

Someone knocked at the door, and Ward turned in that direction. Abby’s secretary stood in the doorway, her hand poised to knock again.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Ms. Rosen. Dr. Thrasher is needed in the ER.”

“Thanks,” Abby said.

“Thank you,” Ward added.

Their eyes met and Abby’s seemed to pierce hers. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I’ll call the police. The chief is a friend of mine. He should be able to give me some guidance.” Abby stood and pulled Ward to her feet, into her arms. She hugged her tightly. Nothing had ever felt so good as Abby did right now. She wished she could take her home, crawl into bed again, and wake up to find she’d dreamt all this nonsense. She knew better, though. “What about the state board?” Ward asked.

“I’ll call them, too. The least they can do is evaluate his competence. Perhaps they can prohibit Dr. Hawk from inserting central lines.”

Abby’s tone was teasing, and Ward felt a welcome sense of relief, as if this was going to be all right. How, she hadn’t a clue. But Abby just made her feel that way.

A minute later she was back on solid ground, in the comfortable chaos of the ER. A motor-vehicle accident had summoned her, and seven victims from two cars were being escorted through the department on stretchers and in wheelchairs. It was an hour before Ward even had an opportunity to think of Edward Hawk again.

Everyone’s injuries had been minor, but one patient had suffered a significant laceration to the thigh, and as soon as all the paperwork was complete to release the other six, she went about the business of stitching.

Within moments she felt calm, the concentration needed to sort out the planes of tissue and plan the repair essentially shutting everything else from her mind. Once she knew where layers of fascia, fat, and skin were supposed to go, she inserted the needle into its holder and drove it home. One well-placed stitch told her the wound would close easily, and after a few more passes of suture through flesh, the actions became so routine her mind began to wander.

Abby’s words came back to her. Could they do something else to stop Hawk? She had virtually no knowledge of police work, but investigations seemed to be time-eating monsters that often disappeared back into the forest before any real progress was made. That happened when real, certain homicide victims existed. In this case, murder was just speculation. How hard would the police pursue this case when they weren’t even sure there was one?

In the meantime, Hawk would keep killing. Where was he now? Wherever he was practicing, patients were going to die, from bizarre diagnoses that should never be written on death certificates. It was so frustrating to think she had no proof, no weapon with which to stop him.

Or did she? The medical community in the mountains was relatively small, and while she might not know the ER directors at every hospital, she knew enough of them to be able to talk about this. People like Erin, nurses who worked with Hawk, suspected him of wrongdoing. Paramedics were uneasy around him. How much would it take to cause an ER director to show Hawk the door? Especially if they’d developed their own suspicions. She would have to work quietly, of course. If Hawk got wind of it, she would be signing over the house, the car, and the kayaks before his lawyers were done with her. But if she could keep the campaign very informal, off the record, perhaps she could convince someone to put Hawk out of work until the state board and the local police had a chance to investigate. Perhaps it would only take a week or two for them to complete their investigations, and then Hawk might be grounded for good.

Hopefully, he was still somewhere in the mountains. Ward felt pretty confident she could reach out to one of the small, local directors. If he’d headed to a big city, where no one knew her, or Erin, or Abby, they’d likely just dismiss her for lunacy.

How to find out? She’d met Hawk only once, even though she’d been following him for nearly five months. Did he keep in touch with the nurses? She doubted it. Nothing was endearing about the man. The nurses were happy to see him go and not likely to take his number when he did. Would Abby have it? Was he required to leave contact information in the event a chart needed a signature or something? No. Abby would just contact the…of course! The locum tenens company would know his present location. Just how would she convince them to share that information with her?

With the task of suturing nearly complete, she returned her full attention to her patient. Other than a coating of blood that seemed baked onto his skin, the leg looked great. She gave him verbal instructions and told him she’d write them down as well, pulled off her surgical gown and gloves, and headed back to the nurses’ station.

“You’re only seven patients behind, Dr. Thrasher. It could be worse.”

Ward chuckled. “It could always be worse, so don’t jinx me.”

After completing the instructions, Ward chose the most critically ill patient and got busy. After another three hours, sans lunch, she had a break in the action. As she sat at her computer, hastily consuming a hospital-grade turkey sandwich, the unit clerk told her Abby was on hold for her. “You certainly earn your paycheck, Dr. Thrasher. What’s that, fifteen patients and you’re only halfway through the day?”