Flashback (1988) (55 page)

Still, he had to get back into the hospital—to tell Suzanne of the trigger, and, he hoped, to enlist her help in confronting Jack Pearl. He had given up on even trying to speak at the board meeting. Frank would have him in a cell before he could get close to the door. But Toby Nelms was a different matter. Without cooperation from Pearl, without the mans willingness to admit what he and Mainwaring were doing, he felt quite certain the boy was as good as dead.

Perhaps, he began to think, the board meeting might be the key. With Frank inside the conference room, and his security people stationed nearby, there might be some other, unguarded way inside the hospital. He scratched out a crude drawing of the building as best he could remember it. There was, he was nearly sure, a delivery entrance outside the cafeteria—one that had to be open. Assuming Suzanne was in the ICU, he could enter the hospital through the kitchen and reach the ICU by a back staircase.

He checked the time. The board meeting, if not already under way, would be starting any minute. He could park on the highway and circle through the woods to the delivery entrance. Police or no police, it was worth a try.

He tied Cheapdog on his run and then lurched the camper out of the drive and down the hill toward the hospital, hoping that the time for Toby’s transfer to Boston had not been moved up. As he drove he pictured the boy sitting cross-legged on the rug in his house, watching his favorite hero cavorting across the screen, urging him to join in a song extolling the virtues of the letter P.

“Alas my love, you do me wrong …”

How many others, Jack?
he said to himself, practicing the words he would use.
How many other time bombs have you and Mainwaring planted in your patients?

The hospital was located on the opposite side of town from Zack’s house. Ordinarily, he took the highway bypass around Main Street. This day, lost in thought, he missed the turnoff and was well into town before he realized it. Traffic was heavier than usual, and it seemed, from the long line of cars at the corner of Birch, that the light was malfunctioning. After a moments debate, he backed up a foot and made a U-turn, narrowly missing a two-tone Oldsmobile that was speeding past.

It took several seconds before he realized that the driver of the Oldsmobile was Jason Mainwaring.

Zack began honking and waving, but it was several blocks before Mainwaring became aware of him and pulled over. They confronted one another in a small streetside park, circumscribed by an arc of slatted benches arranged about a marble pedestal and bust of one of Sterlings founding fathers. Several grizzled men sat on two of the benches, smoking cigarettes, watching the passing scene, and occasionally sharing surreptitious sips from a brown bag. They watched curiously as the two well-dressed men approached one another.

“Jason,” Zack began, somewhat breathlessly, “God, am I glad to see you.”

The surgeon looked at him strangely.

“I’m sorry, Iverson,” he said after a beat, “but I’ve signed out to Greg Ormesby. If y’all need any surgical help, I’m afraid you’ll have to call—”

“This has nothing to do with surgical help. Jason, we need to talk. I’ve been trying to locate you for several days.”

“I’ve been at home in—”

“Georgia. I know.” He glanced over at the old men, and then motioned to the bench farthest from them. “Please, Jason, what I need to speak with you about is pretty urgent and very private. Could we talk over there?”

“Well, Iverson, I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a rush. Why don’t we get together, say—”

“It’s about the anesthetic.”

Mainwaring’s color drained.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“Over there?” Zack again motioned toward the bench.

By the time they sat down, the surgeon appeared as composed as ever.

“Now, then,” he drawled, “just what anesthetic are you talkin’ about?”

“It’s the one you and Jack Pearl have been using on your cases, Jason. The one that allows them to get out of the recovery room three times faster than anyone else’s cases.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Mainwaring said.

But Zack could see from his eyes that he did.

“I don’t have time to play games,” he said. “A child is dying, and I have reason, good reason, to believe that your anesthetic is at fault.”

A minute tic developed at the corner of Mainwaring’s eye.
The hint of understanding disappeared from his face. This time, Zack felt certain, the man was genuinely surprised.

“Look, Iverson,” he said, “I just don’t have time for this nonsense. If you have something to accuse me or Jack Pearl of, then I’d suggest you do it through channels. I would also suggest you have a shitload of proof.”

“Jason, please,” Zack said, trying desperately to keep civility in his tone. “This isn’t ethics or charges we’re talking about. It’s a child’s life. Please listen.”

Item by item, in a near whisper, he reviewed his investigation into the case of Toby Nelms. Mainwaring listened impassively. Only at the mention of Darryl Tarberry did Zack detect any reaction.

“So that’s where things stand,” he concluded. “The boy’s mother is certain that at least several times he was watching this children’s show when he had his seizures. It’s a show that features a version of ‘Greensleeves’—the same music you use in the operating room. If I could just get my hands on whatever it is you were using for anesthesia, I think I might be able to help that kid.”

“Oh, you do?”

“It’s a long shot, but right now, it’s his only chance.”

“Well, then,” Mainwaring said, “it would appear that the boy has no chance at all. Because, y’see, Iverson, there is no mystery anesthetic.”

Zack stared at the man in disbelief.

“Iverson, just who have you shared these charges with?” the surgeon asked.

“Jason, these aren’t charges. A child is dy—”

“Who?”

“The child’s mother.”

“That all?”

“Suzanne.”

“She believe you?”

“She was willing to listen. But I spoke to her before I learned about the trigger—the music. Now Jason, please—”

“I asked if she believed you.”

“Not completely, but after I tell her what I’ve learned, I’m certain she’ll—”

“Not completely,” Mainwaring cut in snidely. “Iverson, I sure hope you have one hell of a lawyer. Have you mentioned this nonsense to your brother?”

Zack glanced at his watch. The board meeting was already under way.

“Mainwaring, this isn’t nonsense. If that child dies, if anyone who received that drug dies, then it’s murder.”

“Don’t threaten me,” the surgeon said, shaking a finger at Zack. “Don’t you ever threaten me. Now, I asked if you had shared this hokum with your brother.”

“I did. Dammit, Mainwaring, doesn’t any of this have an impact on—”

“When did you tell him?”

“Just a while ago.”

“And his response?”

“Mainwaring, there’s no time for this—”

“What was his response?”

“He ignored me.”

“Just as I intend to do,” Mainwaring said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He rose.

“Mainwaring, you can’t do this,” Zack said loudly.

The grizzled observers’ interest heightened, and one of them sputtered on the contents of the brown bag.

“Can, and am,” Mainwaring said just as loudly. “Now you just quiet down, Iverson, or you’ll have even more charges to deal with than you already do.”

“Mainwaring, are you some kind of fucking monster?”

The surgeon turned and headed for his car.

“Well, are you?” Zack screamed after him.

Mainwaring, now at his car, turned back and shook a finger at him.

“Watch it,” he said venomously. “Just fuckin’ watch it.”

The sun, which had been gliding in and out of hiding all morning, slid behind a dense billow of gray cloud, instantly cooling the air. Zack pulled the camper onto a dirt track off the Androscoggin road and worked his way upward through a forest still sodden by the midnight rain. He felt ill over his unsuccessful encounter with Mainwaring, and could not dispel his anger—not only at the surgeon, but at his own handling of the man.

Had he been too aggressive? Too abrasive? Would his arguments have been inore effective if he had simply brought Mainwaring to the hospital and let him see Toby Nelms for
himself?
The questions burned in his thoughts as he picked his way uphill toward the north side of the hospital.

Only one thing was certain now. With Frank an enemy, and Mainwaring unwilling to expose himself to charges, Jack Pearl was all the hope the child had left. And without either of the other two men to back him up in a confrontation with the anesthesiologist, that hope was slim, indeed.

Through the trees ahead, Zack could see the top two floors of the hospital. The broad glass windows were, he noticed for the first time, tinted just enough to give them an ebony cast. The effect was cold and uninviting.

He moved up to the edge of the forest and flattened himself against a thick beech tree. To his left, just beyond an expanse of grass and past the corner of the building, was the patio of the cafeteria. A group of nurses sat laughing and talking at the only table in his line of sight. The entire north side of the hospital was deserted.

Cautiously, he picked his way along the treeline toward the corner farthest from the patio. He would have to dash across, perhaps, twenty yards of lawn to reach the delivery door. From there, he would walk nonchalantly through the kitchen, searching for a route to the corridor that did not take him through the crowded cafeteria itself.

Ahead of him the tinted windows of the hospital glinted ominously in the muted midday light. If there were faces behind those windows watching him, he would have no way of knowing. His heart was pounding in his ears, more so than even on the most treacherous climbs.

A crouch, a final check of the building line, and Zack bolted ahead. He saw the blur of movement and color to his right at virtually the same moment he heard the barked command.

“Stop! Right there, right now!”

Startled, Zack stumbled forward, slamming heavily against the brick facing and nearly falling as he spun toward the voice. Standing not ten feet away, brandishing a heavy nightstick, was the security guard, Henry, the pockmarked behemoth who had been present at Guys death and again at his funeral.

“I been following you, Doc,” he said, rubbing a hand over the side of his nearly nonexistent neck. “From that window right there, I been following you all the way across.”

“Jesus, Henry, you just scared the hell out of me,” Zack said, still gasping for breath.

His shoulder was throbbing viciously at the point where it
had collided with the building. Gingerly, he raised his arm. Pain stopped it just below a horizontal position. He’d almost dislocated it. A first-degree separation at least, he guessed.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, Doc,” the huge guard said, lowering his stick nearly, but not completely, to his side. “Just to stop ya.”

“Henry, I’ve got to get in there,” Zack said.

“Mr. Iverson left strict orders not to let you. That’s why I was called in.”

“There’s a kid dying in there, Henry. A kid that only I can help. You’ve got to let me pass.”

“Can’t,” the man said simply. “If I do, it’s my job. No discussion, no excuses. That’s what my boss said. I got three kids, and nothin’ to support ’em with exceptin’ what God gave me from the neck down. Jobs like this one don’t come along that often to a man like me.”

Zack started to argue, but then, just as quickly, stopped himself. He pictured the guard at Guy’s funeral—his ill-fitting blue suit, his quiet, anxious little wife. The man was right. The job probably
was
a godsend to them and their children. And too many people had been hurt already. He would find another way to contact Suzanne, or perhaps a way to lure Jack Pearl outside the protection of the building.

“All right, Henry,” he said. “I won’t try to argue with you.”

He turned and started back toward the woods.

“Doc, wait …”

Zack looked back over his injured shoulder.

“How old’s the kid?”

“He’s eight, Henry.”

“I see.… My Kenny’s almost nine.… Doc, what in the heck happened between you and your brother, anyhow?”

Zack laughed ruefully.

“It’s a long story, Henry.”

“You know, he’s not a very nice man, your brother.”

“No, Henry,” Zack said. “I guess he isn’t.”

“He doesn’t think much of people like me.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t.”

For a few moments, there was only the sound of the wind through the leaves overhead.

“Doc,” the guard said suddenly, “why don’t you just go ahead on in there and do whatever it is you have to do.”

Zack eyed the man.

“You mean that?”

“Talking to me and my wife the way you did at Doc Beaulieu’s funeral—that was a really nice thing to do.”

“Henry, your job may be on the line.”

“I’ll find another one if I have to. You know, I really did think I was responsible for Doc Beaulieu’s death. I’m big, and I’m tough when I have to be, but I’m not mean. I couldn’t eat or sleep after he died—that is, until you talked to me.”

“If anyone was responsible, Henry,” Zack said, “it was my brother. He’s the one who started all those rumors about Dr. Beaulieu.”

“I believe it. You go on in there.”

Zack started toward the door.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Do it for Doc Beaulieu,” Henry said.

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