Critical Judgment (1996) (25 page)

“I can’t think of too much worse than having
you
drop out of emergency medicine.”

What will you do if the findings are negative?

Sandy Stuart’s question turned over and over in Abby’s mind as she drove back to Patience. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Willie Cardoza was toxic. After spending the night at Sandy’s she had put in another two hours in the library before heading north. She steered clear of the mountain roads and took the interstates as far as she could. The route wasn’t nearly as scenic, but memories of her harrowing trip down would have made it hard to relax and keep her eyes off the rearview mirror.

The one issue still nagging at her was the simple fact that she was still alive. If Quinn was responsible for David Brooks’s death, why hadn’t he just followed through with another “accident”? Perhaps he and Colstar had secrets that he feared weren’t buried deeply
enough. Two accidental deaths among the emergency staff at the hospital were bound to prompt an investigation, especially with the Alliance around to call the question.

Abby drove into Patience from the west, along the same state road she had taken out of town the previous morning. The rain was gone, but a heavy blanket of clouds still covered the valley. In twenty-four hours she would have the answer from Sandy Stuart. For Willie’s sake she hoped the test would be positive. Nothing would bring Peggy Wheaton back to life. But convicting a man of murder who was chemically insane would add no dignity or meaning to her death. That dignity would be achieved only by punishing those who had created her killer with their toxin.

On an impulse Abby cut off at Five Corners and headed north. Lew’s farm was just a couple of miles away, and rather than drive all the way home just to call him, she could do it from a pay phone. She could hear the relief in his voice.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked excitedly. “Cardoza’s blood has got to be positive, yes?”

“It’s not done yet, Lew. Sandy’s lab is just getting geared up. The blood’ll be run late today or tomorrow. She wasn’t sure which.”

“But she’s going to call as soon as she has some numbers?”

“The moment.… Lew, some things have happened on this trip that I want to talk to you about.”

“Such as?”

“Such as someone in a big red pickup truck nearly running me off the road yesterday. I think Lyle Quinn or one of his Colstar goons may have been trying to kill me.”

“But you’re all right?”

“Barely.”

“Thank God. After what happened to David, we shouldn’t be surprised by anything that monster does. I
was fearful from the moment you told me Quinn might have seen you draw Cardoza’s blood. You’re really okay, though?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Lew, if you’re free right now, I’d rather tell you about all this in person. I’m just past Five Corners.”

“In that case the cows can wait.”

“Want me to bring lunch? There’re some golden arches right across the street.”

“I might not be able to do better, but I’d like to try. Let’s see.… Do you have any problem with shrimp or artichoke hearts?”

“I suppose the Big Mac I was planning on can wait,” Abby said.

“I like to cook,” Lew said as he set their lunch on the maple kitchen table.

“You also like to understate. This looks wonderful.”

Abby had already finished a detailed account of her close call on the highway, and her evening with Sandy Stuart. Now, over strawberry soup, a shrimp-and-artichoke salad, and sourdough bread, she told him for the first time about the visit from Lyle Quinn following the Alliance meeting, and about her tour of Colstar with Kelly Franklin.

“They know we’re getting close, Abby. That’s why they’re trying to woo you away. The more minds and hands we have working on this thing, the more likely it is we’re going to figure out what they’ve done, and what they’re doing now to cover it up. These people are vermin.”

“I agree with you on Lyle Quinn, but I have to say that I liked Kelly Franklin.”

“She’s Quinn’s stooge in this. Mark my words.”

“Maybe. But if she’s covering something up, I’m here to tell you she’s a heck of an actress.”

“They’re all fakes. They’ve hurt people, lots of people,
and they’ll go to any lengths to avoid the blame. Colstar is an Ezra Black company, and everyone knows that man is a scorpion. The bottom line for anything he owns
is
the bottom line.”

“Maybe,” Abby said again.

“There will be no doubt in your mind when we get the results from your friend at St. John’s, especially if we can make some headway with our analysis of the rest of the NIWWs.”

He laughed at the initials, which he had embraced as if they were an actual medical diagnosis.

“Speaking of NIWWs, Lew, I’m beginning to wonder if Josh could be following Willie Cardoza’s pattern. I’m very concerned about him, and I don’t know who else to turn to. I hope you don’t feel awkward talking about it.”

Lew filled their cups with dark, aromatic coffee and settled back down in the chair across from her.

“Abby, I’d be a fool
and
a liar if I said I wanted things to work out between the two of you. But I certainly don’t want anything bad to happen to him. What’s going on?”

“I mentioned to you that some of Josh’s symptoms resembled what Colette Simmons told me Willie was like.”

“Yes. I was impressed with the similarities.”

“Then there was the article I told you about. The one from Poland about the guy who stabbed his wife and kids to death.”

“Cadmium contamination in the gold dental implant.”

“Exactly. Well, Josh has been getting more and more irrational and more and more physically violent. He actually moved out because he was afraid he might hurt me. Now he seems to have disappeared. Quinn said he was missing from work and that no one had been able to reach him at home. Last night I tried calling him myself at the place he’s living. The phone didn’t even ring. I’m very worried, and I really don’t know what to do.”

Lew thought for a moment, then handed her the phone and the Patience Valley directory.

“Here. Try him where he’s staying again.”

“Thank you, Lew.” Abby looked up the number and spoke as she dialed. “Orchard Road. Do you know where that is?”

“I do. It’s not too far from that McDonald’s you called me from.”

“No ring at all,” she said. She looked up Colstar’s main number and called it. “Kelly Franklin’s office, please.”

“Into the lair of the enemy,” Lew whispered.

“Kelly, it’s Abby Dolan.”

“Abby, it’s nice to hear from you. What’s happened with Josh?”

“Actually, that’s what I was calling
you
about. Have you heard from him?”

“He hasn’t been at work for several days. No one seems to know why. Today there was some talk about his being replaced if he doesn’t show up or call in by tomorrow. He has several partially completed projects.”

“Lord.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you find him?”

“Just call me if he shows up or you hear anything. You have my number, don’t you?”

“Yes. Abby, I heard what happened at the hospital the other day. It must have been awful for you, having to make a choice like that.”

“It was, Kelly. Thank you for appreciating that. I haven’t forgotten that I owe you a call and dinner when all of this business calms down.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just find Josh.”

Abby set the receiver down, certain that Kelly Franklin’s concern for Josh and for her was genuine. Lew was too invested in getting to the bottom of the Colstar syndrome to think otherwise. But this time he was wrong.

“Lew, I need to drive out to Orchard Road,” she said suddenly. “Could you tell me exactly where it is?”

“I can do better than that,” he replied, slipping into a tan windbreaker. “Let’s go.”

They left The Meadows and headed back toward Five Corners.

“Lew, tell me something,” Abby said. “Assuming Willie’s blood is positive for cadmium, what do we do then? Whom do we go to? The police? Joe Henderson at the hospital? State authorities? Federal?”

“How about all of the above?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, let’s start by remembering that, for all intents, Colstar owns the town, including, and maybe especially, the hospital. That eliminates Henderson, the locals, and even the state police. A good lawyer might get Willie off if we can prove he’s been poisoned, but our goal is to shut the plant down right now, and to keep it closed until it comes clean and makes retribution. As far as I’m concerned, that leaves us back at OSHA and the EPA. Either of them could intervene if we could show conclusive proof that Colstar has acted irresponsibly, or has information on an environmental exposure—air or water—that they’ve held back.”

“But you told me that both OSHA and the EPA have already sent teams in to investigate.”

“Exactly. And there’s not much chance they’d come back again, either, unless we present them with positive blood work and some sort of incontrovertible pattern pointing to the big concrete house on Colstar cliff. That’s why we need more in-depth record study like what you were doing the other night. Age, sex, water supply, street location, driving route to work, medications, recreational habits—I don’t know what it is, but I firmly believe the explanation is to be found somewhere in those records, or maybe in a combination of the records and a questionnaire to the NIWWs. We’ve just got to accumulate more data.”

“It’s just not possible, Lew. Joanne Ricci’s got a lock on the system. I can’t retrieve records anymore without
going through the record-room person on duty. That woman is hard.”

“Dave Brooks and I used to call her the Dragon Lady. Did you know she fired that poor girl who helped you out the other night?”

“Donna Tracy?”

“Yes. I called Len McCabe in the ER this morning to check on changing some shifts. He warned me against conducting any more unauthorized chart reviews and told me about the Tracy girl. The hospital is starting to resemble a stalag.”

“I can’t believe Donna lost her job because of me. That’s horrible. She has little kids. After we check on Josh, I’m going to call her.”

“Maybe she can come up with some way for you to crack back into the system.”

“Lew, I would never ask her to do that.”

“Why not? What does she have to lose—her job? I’m telling you, Abby, this is war. And until you came, we didn’t have a hell of a lot of ammunition.”

For the first time since she had begun to know Lew Alvarez as a person, Abby felt a spark of irritation at the man.

“I’m not here to join anyone’s army, Lew,” she said. “I keep telling you that. I just want to help the patient I’m being blamed for saving, and the man who, until just a month or so ago, was the most important person in my life.”

“What about all those NIWWs? I suppose you don’t give a damn about them.”

“Okay, okay. I care about them, too. Lew, just don’t push me. When people push me, all I ever seem to end up doing is pushing back. And I don’t want that to happen between us.”

“Understood. I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep my feelings to myself.”

Orchard Road was part of a middle-class housing development with no trees older than five years or so,
and remarkably featureless rows of houses. The Sawicki place, number seventeen, was a modest ranch, white with maroon shutters, set on a typically small lot. The lawn was brown beyond reclamation, and the low shrubbery abutting the house was badly in need of attention. It saddened Abby to think of Josh living in such a place, even temporarily. She flashed on how excited he’d been, reporting that the house he’d found for them to rent was on a secluded dead-end street, backed up to the pine forest, and full of character.

The driveway, leading to a carport with a corrugated aluminum roof, was empty. They parked in the drive and rang the front doorbell. Nothing. Abby stepped behind the shrubs and peeked in the living-room window. What she could see of the room was a shambles, with newspapers and crumpled computer printouts everywhere. In addition, there were half-empty cartons of take-out food, beer bottles and soda cans, and an array of opened chip and pretzel bags.

“Let’s go around back,” she said in a half whisper.

She followed Lew around to the backyard with a sinking feeling in her chest. The side door, under the carport, was locked. The backyard, like the one in front, was barren and brown. A few weeds and low-lying vines had begun to encroach. Abby kicked at an empty tin can, one of several lying about. The shades were drawn on all the windows. She tried peering beneath but could see little. Then she tried the steel storm hatch leading to the basement. The heavy door swung open. Down a short flight of stairs, she found the basement door open as well.

“Lew, quick, down here,” she called out.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” he replied, pulling the hatch closed behind him, then ducking to fit under the low door frame.

The basement was cluttered with tools and yard implements, plus a typical array of boxes and old furniture. They walked upstairs and cautiously entered the first
floor near the kitchen. That room, like all the others, was untended and littered with trash. The sheets were torn off the beds. Josh’s clothes were strewn about. The phones were unplugged or else torn from the wall. Abby moved apprehensively from room to room, peering behind the sofa and beds, dreading that at any moment she would see Josh’s body. The smell from rancid food permeated the house.

Josh’s computer and printer were set up on a Formica table at one corner of the living room. The floor around it was strewn with balled sheets of paper. Abby smoothed one out. It was a rambling, disjointed letter to the governor, decrying those industrial barons throughout the state who had forced their former employees into homelessness and depravity. A second page, similar in tone and composition, was a fragment of a letter addressed to the President. Abby was reaching for a third sheet when Lew called to her from the bathroom.

“Abby, come on in here.”

She dropped the paper and hurried down the hallway, fearing the worst.

But there was no body. Instead, there was a message, crudely printed in reddish brown on the mirror.