'I'm sure she doesn't look it to you rightnow, but Maura really is a very special, very talented, very good person.'
After just a few minutes of conversationwith Tom Hughes, several things had become quite clear to Harry: althoughyoung, Hughes was very intelligent and as sharp as any policeman he had evermet; and despite his older sister's obvious problems, he was absolutely devotedto her. He was also convinced that the man she claimed to have seen enter herhospital room had actually been there.
'A doctor in a white clinic coat came inshortly after you left,' Hughes related to Harry. 'Maura was apparentlyhollering at the time — she said something to me about the nurses never payingany attention to her unless she makes noise. The doctor smiled at her, strokedher forehead, leaned over, and whispered to her to just relax. Then he wentaround the curtain, spoke with your wife for a short while, and left. He was inhis thirties or early forties, five foot eight or so, with brown hair closelycut, unusually dark brown eyes, a large diamond ring on the little finger ofhis left hand, and a blue and green clip-on tie.'
'A clip-on? How could she know that?'
'I'm telling you, drunk or sober, or evenin the DTs, my sister is a remarkable woman. She's an artist, a painter, andshe has an incredible eye for detail.'
Harry recalled the quickness with whichshe had spotted his lapel pin.
I notice things, she had said.
'Well, maybe some doctor came up the backway, or slipped past the nurses.'
'Slipped past the nurses maybe,' Tom said.'But not came up the back way. The door is locked and alarmed after eight. Thenurse warned me about that when I called to ask if I could come in latetonight. Anyone who comes on or off any floor in this building after eight hasto come by elevator and check in at the nurse's station.'
'I guess I knew that,' Harry said. 'I meanI've only worked here for a decade or two. Why didn't you say something aboutthis mystery doc to Sidonis or the nurses?'
'The way things were going down, therereally wasn't much chance for me to say anything to anyone. Besides, they'renot very fond of my sister here on Alexander Nine. I hardly think they wouldgive much credence to anything she has to say — especially if it conflicts withwhat they say.'
'I think you're probably right.'
It was after eleven now. Rather thandisturb the overextended staff on Alexander 9, the two of them had wheeledMaura back to her spot in room 928. Fifteen minutes later, the call Harrydreaded had come from neurosurgeon Richard Cohen. Evie was still in the CTscanner, but the initial images were as bad as they had feared. The hemorrhagewas massive. The rapid swelling and pressure had forced a portion of her brainthrough the bony ridge at the base of her skull, totally and irreversiblycutting off circulation to her cerebral cortex — the gray matter responsiblefor all thought. Surgery was no longer even a long-shot possibility. All thatremained was a series of EEGs. . and a decision.
As Maura Hughes continued her stertorous,unnatural sleep, Harry sat opposite her brother in the dimly lit room. As muchas he wanted to be alone to sort out what had transpired with Sidonis and todeal with the decision he would shortly be asked to make, he was grateful forthe man's company.
'No one's been able to explain to me whatthe DTs is, or why my sister got it,' Hughes said. 'She definitely was on abender when she fell, but I know a lot of people who are much heavier drinkersthan she is and never seem to get into trouble.'
'Most alcoholics coming off alcohol justget the shakes and some intestinal stuff,' Harry explained. 'There are tworeally frightening things they can get: seizures and DTs. Seizuresusually happen in the first day or two. The DTs come on later — two days to aweek or even more after the last drink. We have no way of predicting whetherthey'll happen at all.'
'But Maura's pretty damn lucid about somethings — even while she's seeing the bugs and such.'
'All I can say is, that is not unusual.The mix of fantasy and reality is unexplainable. You know, I take care of afairly large number of alcoholics in my practice. Many of them have been soberfor years, some of them against monstrous odds. If you and she would like, I canhave one or two of them stop by and speak with her.'
'You mean AA?'
'Possibly.'
'I've tried to get her to go to AA. Butshe never would go. Too much pride, I guess.'
'Maybe you should take some videos orPolaroids of her right now.'
Tom Hughes grinned at the suggestion.
'Maybe I should at that,' he said. 'Dr.Corbett, do you mind if I ask you a little about what's going on between youand that other doctor?'
'Sidonis?' Harry shrugged. 'I think you'veheard most of it already. He claims my wife has been having an affair with him,and that she planned to leave me for him. He thinks she told me all about itlast night at the restaurant we went to. He even knew the name of the place.Now that I look back on our evening, I think Evie actually wanted to tell me.But she never did.'
'So you believe him? I mean, there is anotherpossibility. He could have been obsessed with your wife and followed you tothat restaurant.'
Harry looked down at the floor andswallowed at the fullness that had again begun building in his throat.
'No,' he said finally. 'I believe him.'
'And he thinks that because of what youknew, you gave something to your wife to … to what?'
'To send her blood pressure up high enoughto cause her cerebral aneurysm to rupture.'
'God. Are there such drugs?'
'A number of them, actually. They'recalled pressors. We use them to treat shock, which essentially is dangerously lowblood pressure.'
'So this stuff — this pressor medication — is what? Injected? Or is it a pill, or a liquid of some sort?'
Harry smiled grimly.
'No, no,' he said. 'Not by mouth. Thepatients who need a medication like that are in too much trouble to takeanything be — '
'What is it? … Dr. Corbett?'
Harry was on his feet.
'Maybe nothing,' he said. 'But it justoccurred to me. Evie had an IV in her arm. D-five-W — five percent sugar water.It was what we call a KO infusion. Keep open. Just fast enough to keep theplastic catheter in her vein from clotting off.'
'So?'
'It seemed a little unusual to me that sheshould have one in place the night before her surgery, especially when she hadbeen so stable for so long. I even asked her who ordered it. She thought it wasthe anesthesiologist. But usually they establish their IVs in the OR.' Heheaded out of the room. 'If anyone calls, I'm at the nurse's station. I'll beback in a few minutes.'
The order in Evie's chart read:
D5W; 100cc; K.O. 50cc./hr.
T.O. Dr. Baraswatti.
T.O. — telephone order. Harry skimmed through therecord. Baraswatti had seen Evie late in the afternoon for the preoperativehistory and physical required of every patient who was to receive generalanesthesia. Four-fifteen, the nurse's note read. However, the order forthe IV wasn't phoned in until six-thirty. Harry dialed the hospital operator.Dr. Baraswatti was still the anesthesiologist on duty in the hospital. He madeno attempt to mask the fact that Harry's call had awakened him.
'I don't know what you're talking about,Dr. Corbett,' he said in a clipped Indian accent. 'I always insert my IVs inthe operating room. Why should I wish to do otherwise?'
'I … I don't know,' Harry mumbled. Heset the receiver down as the anesthesiologist was asking if there were anyother questions he could answer.
Harry sat on the edge of the counter andcarefully reviewed Evie's chart. She had arrived on Alexander 9 at one-thirty.At four-thirty the anesthesiologist had come up, examined her, and writtenpreoperative orders. At six-thirty someone claiming to be that anesthesiologisthad called the floor nurse and ordered a keep open dextrose infusion to be putin place. The nurse had notified the intravenous nurse on duty for thehospital. At six-fifty, the IV nurse's notes stated, she had placed an 18-gaugeangiocath in Evie's left hand. A few hours later, at least according to Maura Hughes,a physician had entered their room. And a short time after that, Evie'saneurysm had burst — either as a result of, or resulting in, a systolicblood pressure of over three hundred.
Now, Caspar Sidonis was accusing Harry ofthe intravenous injection of some sort of pressor that had caused thecatastrophe. Was it possible Harry was being set up by Sidonis? The physiciandescribed by Maura — real or figment — bore no resemblance to the arrogantcardiac surgeon, who was significantly taller than five eight and had thick,jet hair and a mustache. Something was wrong. . very wrong. Bewilderedand apprehensive, Harry returned to room 928.
Maura Hughes was awake and thrashingabout.
'Right after you left she started moaninglike she was in pain or maybe having a nightmare,' Tom explained. 'Thensuddenly, like a shot, she woke up. She's all over the place right now,fighting the restraints and hallucinating even worse than she was before.'
'Go ahead and ring for the nurse,' Harrysaid. Noting that Maura was drenched in sweat, he toweled her face off andassured himself that her IV was open and running. She looked stressed, but notin danger. 'It's probably just the sedation wearing off. None of the medicinewe use actually changes what's going on in a DT patient's head. All it does isblunt their reaction to it. I'll check her over.'
'Gene, Gene, don't be mean,' Maura sang,thrashing against her restraints. She smiled up at him and suddenly adopted aDixie accent that would have made Scarlett O'Hara proud. 'I swear on mymother's grave, darlin', if you'd just get these fuckin' bugs off me I'd be allright. I'd be fine.'
Using his own stethoscope and pocketophthalmoscope, Harry did as good an exam as possible under the circumstances.Maura neither helped him nor fought him. Instead, she kept up a constant verbalstream as she tried to brush away the crawlies. The nurse checked in over theintercom. She was in the conference room getting the change-of-shift report.Unless there was real trouble, she would be in after they were done.
'I don't find anything to worry about,'Harry said to Tom. 'I think we're just seeing what her condition is likewithout the mask of tranquiliz-'
'Hey, I'm looking for someone namedSidonis. Dr. Cash Sidonis. Something like that.'
Harry and Tom turned toward the door. Asallow, balding man in a polyester suit stood appraising them. He was holding afrayed, spiral-bound, stenographer's notepad from which he had read Sidonis'sname. His small, sunken eyes were enveloped in shadow. From six feet away Harrycould smell a two — or three-pack-a-day tobacco habit.
'Lieutenant Dickinson!' Tom exclaimed.
Squinting, the man bobbed his finger atTom, trying to place him.
'The Yalie, right?'
Tom grimaced.
'Yes, I guess you could call me that. I'mTom Hughes. This is Dr. Harry Corbett. Harry, this is Lieutenant AlbertDickinson. He's a detective in the two-eight. They have an opening for adetective there that I've interviewed for. He was on the panel.'
You and about half the force,' Dickinsonsaid, none too kindly. 'I wouldn't count on nothing if I was you. Thecompetition is fierce. Fierce. Some of the PR people and the imagepeople think being a Yalie is to your credit. But a lot of us who work thestreets ain't so sure. A lot of us look for the guy with the degree from theCollege of Hard Knocks, if you know what I mean. Good ol' Fuck U.'
His hoarse laugh dissolved into a hackingcough. Tom remained outwardly unfazed. Harry wondered if the man's abominablerudeness was some sort of test.
'They call anyone they think graduatedfrom college a Yalie,' Tom explained pleasantly enough. 'In my case, not thatit matters, it happens to be true.'
'Corbett, huh,' Dickinson said. 'You'rethe guy Sidonis's complaining about. After I talk to him, I want to talk toyou. Bastard must have some clout to have them send me here on a night likethis. Some fucking clout.'
'Dammit, get off me!' Maura shouted.'Boogery little ants. Get off! I'm sick of this!'
Dickinson glanced over at herdispassionately. 'Whozis?' he said, jerking his head toward the bed.
'She's. . um. . she's my sisterMaura,' Tom said, forcing himself to stand just a bit straighter.
Harry noticed that one of Tom's fists — the one out of Dickinson's line of sight — was clenched. Dickinson peered at Mauraagain. In ten seconds his assessment was complete. Maura Hughes was a hopelessdrunk.
'Hey, do you two know why the Irish gotthe whiskey and the A-rabs got the oil?' he asked suddenly. 'Give up? It'sbecuz the Irish got to pick first.'
He was launching into another mucous laughwhen Maura spat at him. From eight or so feet away she missed by only a foot.
'Bitch,' Dickinson muttered, checking tobe sure he hadn't been spattered.
'Pinhead,' Maura shot back.
The night-shift nurse interrupted via theintercom.
'Is there a Detective Dickinson in theroom? If there is, you were supposed to check in at the nurse's station beforegoing into any patient room. Also, Dr. Sidonis is here to see you. He's in theconference room by the nurse's station.'
Dickinson looked at Harry. 'Don't go away,Corbett,' he said. 'You neither, Yalie.'
He shoved his notebook in his suit-coatpocket and left the room. Tom waited until he was certain the man was out ofearshot.
'This is not going to be fun,' he said.'Dickinson is totally burnt-out. He wouldn't go an extra inch to help his ownmother.'
'But he's on a panel that picks who'sgoing to make detective.'
'NYPD logic all the way. I've been toldI'm the leading candidate to get the promotion, but as you just heard, younever know. I really could've done without this little encounter with AlbertD.'
'Sorry.'
'It's not your fault. Look, don't worryabout him. Albert'll annoy you with a few questions from the detective's how-tomanual just to have something to put on his report. Then, when he realizesthere isn't any reason to suspect foul play, he'll leave and spend the nexthour or two at Dunkin' Donuts.'
'But there is,' Harry said.
'Is what?'
'Reason to suspect foul play.'