Code 15 (16 page)

His tone became patronizing. “Surely, there have to be other, more rational, explanations.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time on these cases, Bob. If anybody can come up with one, I’m all ears.”

Bob’s complexion took on a scarlet hue. “Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?”

Morgan found herself at a delicate juncture. Raising the possibility the Code 15s were intentionally caused and actually proposing it were quite different. She understood Bob’s astonishment. The Cardiac Care Center had been his brain-child, a project he had shepherded from its inception to the ribbon cutting. The result was the most comprehensive and profitable state-of-the-art heart surgery program in south Florida. To Bob’s credit, his vision had proven to be a booming success.

Morgan said, “I think you’re going to have to strongly consider that these two patients didn’t die accidentally.”

With a dumbfounded look on his face, Bob spread his fingers and placed his palms flat on the conference table.

He cleared his throat twice and then said, “If I report to the Agency for Health Care Administration that there’s a deranged lunatic loose at Dade Presbyterian who’s killing our heart patients, they’ll shut down the Cardiac Care Center faster than a New York minute. As soon as they’ve done that, they’ll probably insist we all admit ourselves to the psych hospital. Do you have any idea of the types of sweeping disciplinary powers AHCA has when it comes to dealing with Code Fifteens?”

“Of course I do.”

“If what you’re saying should ever become public, the damage to this hospital would be irreparable. It’s like when somebody gets accused of molesting a child. The accusation’s as bad as the deed. Guilt or innocence doesn’t really matter.”

“With all due respect, Bob, don’t you think it—”

“Hear me out,” he interrupted. “I’ve listened to everything you’ve said very carefully, and I truly believe you’ve done an incredible job figuring out how Mr. Wallace and Miss Greene died. But that doesn’t mean they were murdered. Doesn’t it make more sense that their deaths, while tragic, were unintentional medical mishaps?”

“I don’t believe so. What I do believe is that our first responsibility is to the safety of our patients.”

“I’m well aware of our responsibilities. What I’m saying is, just because we don’t know exactly how these Code Fifteens occurred doesn’t mean we should go off the deep end and come up with some preposterous explanation that could potentially destroy the Cardiac Care Center.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time looking at these cases. All I can tell you is that at the moment, it’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”

Bob leaned back in his chair. His tone became much calmer. His next question came as no surprise. “Have you discussed your suspicions with anybody else?” Before she could answer, he injected, “I hope you haven’t spoken to the police about this, Morgan.”

She did her best to look appalled. “Give me some credit, for goodness sake,” she told him, wanting to cross her fingers behind her back.

He stood up and walked back over to his desk. He picked up a stack of pink phone messages and began nonchalantly leafing through them. When he was finished, he folded them in his hand and then casually strolled back toward the conference table.

“Have you received any grief counseling since your father passed away?”

Although she was frustrated, Morgan smiled. “No, Bob. Do you think I need some?”

“I think you’d agree that all of us could use a little help from time to time.”

“My father’s death and my state of mind have nothing to do with my conclusions regarding these Code Fifteens.”

“All I’m saying is that with the demands of running the emergency department and the Patient Safety Committee coupled with losing your father, well . . . you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe you came back to work too soon.”

Morgan was resolute not to show any outward signs of becoming unglued.

“I’m fine, Bob. The problem isn’t my emotional well-being. The problem is finding out what really happened to these two patients.”

“It seems to me you’ve already done that.”

“I think you know what I mean.”

“There’s no way I’m reporting these two deaths to the state as some type of criminal act,” Bob said categorically.

“Excuse me,” Morgan said.

“It seems obvious that Mr. Wallace was the unfortunate victim of a bizarre but inadvertent medication error. We’ve seen these types of mistakes before.”

“And Miss Greene?”

“How could the nurse have known that the cross was magnetized or that it could result in a serious pacemaker problem? I’m sure her visitor meant no harm. The entire thing was just a peculiar sequence of events that led to a horrible tragedy.”

Morgan waited a few seconds before asking, “Do you really think the Agency for Health Care Administration is going to believe that?”

“I think they’re more likely to believe a rational explanation involving systems failures than some outrageous explanation that shifts blame to some imaginary homicidal lunatic.”

“But you must know that—”

“The only thing I know is that you and your committee diligently performed a comprehensive root cause analysis for each of these cases and now have rational explanations to explain what happened.” He slapped his hands together and added, “The rest is up to the investigators from AHCA. If they raise the issue of criminal activity . . . well, I guess we’ll have to deal with it. But we’re certainly not going to plant that seed in their suspicious heads.”

“You just can’t leave it at that, Bob.”

He shrugged and stood up. “Well, I’ll tell you what. I just did.” He walked her toward his door. “I’d like you to write your reports in a calm, rational, and professional manner. I also need an action plan that I can show the AHCA team, which outlines how these problems will never happen again.” He paused for a moment before going on. “What I don’t need is a screenplay for Steven Spielberg’s next movie.”

“You may regret this, Bob.”

“I’m prepared to take that chance. Just call me when the committee’s report is ready so I can have legal review it.”

Seeing the futility in pursuing the conversation any further, Morgan said, “I’ll call you when we have something.”

“Good. I’ll look forward to reading it,” he told her, escorting her to his outer office.

Morgan walked past Julia’s desk. A casual glance behind her was all she needed to confirm her suspicion that Bob was standing in his doorway watching her. To her dismay, the meeting had gone pretty much as Ben had warned her it might. The one saving grace was that she now knew that irrespective of what the facts of the Code 15s were, Bob Allenby would fight tooth and nail before allowing Dade Presbyterian to be the main attraction in some embarrassing media circus.

The sunset flight back from Vero Beach had been a beautiful one.

After taxiing Ben’s Mooney Ovation back to his flight school, Morgan shut down the engine and slipped off her headset. From the right seat, Ben pushed open the door and climbed out onto the wing. Once he was on the tarmac, he turned to help Morgan down.

“That was a perfect hour of flying,” he told her, taking her hand and making sure she stepped down without incident.

“Except for your approach. You were at least a hundred feet high.”

He rubbed his chin. “I sometimes forget which one of us owns a flight school.”

“I have those same feelings myself every time we fly together.”

After a short grumble under his breath, he said, “Mike will tie her down. Let’s go inside.”

Walking toward the school, they continued to review each aspect of the flight. Once inside, they went straight into Ben’s office where Morgan fell into a burgundy leather chair that sat below a constellation of wall-mounted aircraft prints. Ben’s entire facility was appointed considerably nicer than any flight school she had ever been in. Between its vast size, high-end aviation artwork, and luxurious furniture, Morgan felt as if she were sitting in the private office of the Boeing Company’s CEO.

“You haven’t mentioned a word about your meeting with Bob.”

“I was waiting for the right time.”

“I assume that meant things didn’t go too well.”

“That’s not entirely true,” she said.

“What did you tell him?”

“Precisely what I told you,” she answered, knowing Ben would give her the I
told you so
speech.

“What was his response?”

“He made it abundantly clear that the hospital’s official report to AHCA would identify the causes of deaths but would include nothing that suggested criminal behavior may have played a role.” With a minor frown, she added, “Before I could raise an objection, the conversation shifted to my grieving process and how it was affecting my professional judgment and performance.”

Morgan felt a cramp in her left calf. She rubbed the back of her leg for a few seconds before standing up and walking around.

“I could speak to Chuck Bingham.”

“The chairman of the hospital board?” she asked, not really surprised that Ben was traveling in those circles. “I didn’t know you guys were pals.”

“Let’s just say we’ve had a long-standing business relationship.”

“I appreciate the offer, but what good would it do?”

“Chuck might feel that Bob’s a little out of line on this one. You’re the chairperson of the committee assigned to investigate Code Fifteens. This is a medical investigation. Bob can’t cover things up or style the inquiry to suit the hospital’s agenda, especially when it’s an issue of patient safety. Bob may not agree with your findings, but I don’t think he can summarily dismiss them without further investigation. I think Chuck might agree with me.”

“If you speak to Chuck, he’ll go straight to Bob, who will then say that I’m a stressed-out practitioner with a Hollywood imagination. Even if Bingham is open-minded, he’s going to give Bob the benefit of the doubt. The other downside is that now you’ve involved yourself in this mess.”

“Which I couldn’t care less about. I’m not beholden to anybody at Presby.”

“I appreciate you trying to help, but Bob will assume I put you up to it. There’s no telling what he might do.”

“It’s your call. But if you change your mind, the offer stands.”

“Thanks, but I think the way to approach this is to come up with irrefutable proof of what really happened. That’s the only way to compel Bob to be honest with the AHCA investigators. I also suspect it’s the only way we’ll ever find out who killed my father.”

“It sounds like you’re giving up on Detective Wolfe.”

“I’m not giving up, exactly; I’m just not totally relying on him.”

Morgan’s less-than-veiled implication was clear. In spite of his advice, she had no intention of giving up on her own investigation. He wouldn’t abandon his efforts to persuade her to tread carefully, but for the moment, lecturing her again about the disastrous effects her amateur inquiry might have upon her career seemed hopeless.

DAY NINE

 

 

At eleven thirty p.m. on Friday night, Faith Russo strolled up to the registration desk of Dade Presbyterian Hospital’s emergency room.

Even though the man she knew as Steve had spent the better part of an hour prepping her, she was still more nervous than she thought she’d be.

After giving the nurse some basic information, she was told they would call her as soon as possible. She was then directed to the waiting area. In spite of her trepidation, the registration process had gone well. Her confidence strengthened, Faith took the first empty seat she saw.

Some of the people waiting to be seen paced the floor, while others had fallen asleep in their chairs. An elderly woman with a pained expression on her face pressed an icepack against her shoulder while she rocked back and forth in her seat. Every few seconds she moaned softly and shook her head.

Faith spotted a magazine on the empty seat next to her and picked it up.

She was thumbing through it for the third time when she heard her name called. As Steve had instructed, she checked her watch. It had been just under an hour since she registered.

With a noticeable limp, which she had rehearsed coming across the parking lot, she made her way over to the triage area. A nurse wearing a floral shirt greeted her and then asked her to describe the circumstances of her knee injury. Faith took her time and recounted the events of her fictional bicycle fall. When the nurse was finished entering the information on her chart, she motioned to one of the orderlies, who grabbed a wheelchair and strolled over.

The young man helped Faith into the chair and then took her straight back to examination room number seventeen, which was one of three orthopedic rooms. He wished her good luck and slid the glass door closed behind him. She had been waiting only for a few minutes when a second nurse walked in. Faith guessed she was about her own age.

“Miss Russo?” she asked with a pleasant smile.

“Yes.”

“My name’s Denise. I’ll be the nurse taking care of you. How’s your knee feeling?” she asked, walking over and taking a closer look.

“It still hurts quite a bit.”

“Your chart said you were bike riding,” Denise said, picking up the chart.

“I’m afraid so. I guess I could have used a few more lessons before going for the land speed record.”

“I ride all the time and I fell twice last week.” Denise then took Faith’s blood pressure and checked her pulse. When she was finished, she said, “The doctor should be here in a minute.”

“I hate to ask you this, but . . . do you have a female physician on duty tonight?”

“Dr. Connolly’s on. She’s also the chief of the department. She’s great. You’ll love her.” Denise grinned before adding, “I think she’s also a bike rider.”