Medical Error (25 page)

The display showed four missed calls, three messages, all from Nick Valentine. Well, she probably wasn't going to have any peace until she talked to him. Besides, she felt bad about the way she'd deflected Nick's attempts to build their relationship. He really did seem to care for her, and right now she could use all the support she could get. She dialed his number and he answered on the first ring.

"Nick, this is Anna. Sorry about missing your calls. I was in the tub."

Nick's tone was that of a mortician discussing final arrangements."Anna, we need to talk."

"Sure." She looked around for a chair that would tolerate the water seeping through her robe. "Go ahead."

"No, not on the phone, especially not on a cell phone. Can I come over?"

"Nick, you're scaring me. And I've already had a bad day, so my coronaries don't need any more stress. What's this about?"

"Anna, I can be there in half an hour. It's important."

Anna dropped into an armchair, heedless of the upholstery by now. "If it's that important, sure. I'll see you then."

Forty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, sneakers on her bare feet, Anna looked through the security peephole of her front door and saw Nick on the porch holding a pizza box. As soon as she opened the door, he eased inside and slammed the door behind him.

"Nick, why all the cloak and dagger stuff?" Anna asked. "I told you, you're scaring me."

Nick dropped the pizza box on the coffee table and turned to take Anna by the shoulders. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then pulled her to him and hugged her. "Sorry. But maybe I'm sort of scared too. Sit down. I need to tell you some things, even though telling you could get me in trouble with the police."

Anna felt like she was free-falling from a great height. What more could go wrong? And how was Nick involved? She sagged onto the couch, patted the space beside her, and said, "Okay, let's hear it."

Instead of sitting, Nick began to pace. "I had a visit today from two detectives."

As Nick related his story, Anna tried to make sense of it all. Why did these men seem so determined to tie her to the illicit narcotics prescriptions when the DEA had already told her they were satisfied she wasn't involved? And now, the detectives were trying to hold her responsible for Eric Hatley's death, not as an act of malpractice, which was bad enough, but cold-blooded murder?

"And as they left, they told me this was an ongoing investigation, so I couldn't talk about it with anyone. I don't know what they can do to me for coming to you like this, but I don't care. It seems to me that you're in trouble, and I want to help."His forced grin held no humor. "After all, that's what friends do. And we are friends. Right?"

15

N
ICK USED A PAPER NAPKIN TO WIPE A SPOT OF GREASE OFF THE CORNER OF his mouth. "So you already knew that Green and Dowling were trying to make a case against you?"

Anna nodded and pointed to her full mouth. She chewed the last bite of pizza and washed it down with a healthy swallow of Diet Coke. "Yes," she finally said. "Ross and I met with them at the police station earlier today. They must have gone right from our meeting to your office. What was it they said to you? 'Just getting their ducks in a row.' I'd better call Ross and let him know about this."

While Anna made her call, Nick fought to control his emotions. It seemed to Nick that, slowly but surely, her lawyer was monopolizing Anna's time and attention. His rational mind recognized the need for this, but the little green monster perched on his shoulder continued to whisper in his ear.

Anna closed her cell phone and dropped it into her pocket."I had to leave a message. He'll call back."

"I know you need a lawyer in all this," Nick said, "but do you think Ross Donovan is up to defending you? Especially since this has turned into something really serious. I mean, you've told me he's an alcoholic. His drinking broke up his marriage and almost cost him his law license. Won't you let me ask around and find you somebody better?"

The look in Anna's eyes told Nick he'd gone too far. "The man is a
recovering
alcoholic," she said. "He's sober and highly motivated to remain that way. As for his competence, his exwife is the chief attorney for the medical center, and she's the one who recommended him. He's done a good job so far, and I don't intend to make a change now."

Nick threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He pushed the empty pizza box aside and reached across the table. Anna hesitated, but finally put her hand out and Nick took it in both of his. "Anything else?"

Anna pulled her hand back and finished her soft drink."We've got a couple of days, and I don't want to think about this anymore. I have to see Dr. Simpson in the morning, but I should be through by noon. Why don't we get together for lunch in the food court?"

Nick recognized the invitation as a peace offering, and he grabbed at it like a drowning man latching on to a piece of wood floating by. "Sounds great. I'll be in my office. Come by when you're finished."

They both stood. Nick reached for the pizza box and paper plates, but Anna said, "I'll take care of all this. You go ahead. I know you have things to do." She began gathering soiled paper napkins. "Thanks for coming by. Of course, I need to tell Ross about this, but I don't want you to get in trouble with the police over letting me know about their visit. I'll ask him to keep your name out of it."

"Don't worry," Nick said. "I'm not afraid of those guys."

"Well, you should be. They scare me to death."

At the door, Nick turned back toward Anna, but before he could say anything, her cell phone chimed the theme from
Law and Order.

"I'm so sorry. That's Ross's ring. I have to take this." Anna pulled the phone from her pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Nick closed the door a bit more firmly than was necessary and trudged toward his car, wondering if Anna had assigned a special ring to his number as well. If Donovan was
Law and Order,
what had she given to him—maybe the theme from
Friends?

Ross Donovan leaned back in his desk chair and cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder. He crumpled the Snickers wrapper and tossed it toward the wastebasket, missing by about a foot, before shifting the phone back to his hand."You say that Green and Dowling are checking on Hatley's cause of death. How do you know this?"

Anna's voice seemed a mile away, as though by talking softly she could lessen the significance of what she was saying. "I can't tell you my source. I promised I'd keep his name out of this. They threatened him if he discussed a case that's under active investigation."

Ross snorted. "They were throwing their weight around. At this point, they don't even have a case. Besides, how hard would it be for me to find out who signed the death certificate? I'm your attorney. Don't start playing games with me."

"All right. They went to Nick Valentine. He's a pathologist at the medical center, and during this investigation we've become friends."

Ross wondered what Anna's definition of "friend" was, but he decided to let it slide for now. "So we know they weren't bluffing when they talked with us. Tell you what. There's a private detective I've used in the past—good man, knows how to find things out without making waves. He has some contacts in the local police department. I may ask him to make a few discreet inquiries."

Anna's voice got louder. "Is that necessary? I'm not sure I can afford any more fees."

"He owes me a few favors, so I can probably get him to do a little preliminary digging offthe clock. If it begins to look like we're trying to keep you from being charged with murder . . . at that point I suspect we can work out handling his fees."

Ross waited for Anna to respond, but there was only silence on the other end of the line. Finally he said, "Anna, are you there?"

The little girl voice was back again, hushed and fearful. "Yes. I was thinking how simple my life was a couple of weeks ago. I can't help asking God, 'Why? Why me?' "

Ross shifted in his chair. "If it's any comfort, I've had that same conversation with Him. I've asked the question when I couldn't stop drinking, when my wife divorced me, when I almost lost my license to practice law. Wish I had an answer for you."

"Oh, there's an answer," Anna said. "But only God has it. Then again—"

"What?"

"Maybe you're the answer."

After the conversation ended, Ross cradled the phone and stared at the ceiling. It was hard enough not to drink. It was hard enough to defend Anna against charges that seemed to worsen day by day. It was hard enough to remain professional in the face of the feelings he was developing for her. Now, out of the blue, she'd told him God might be using him. Ross began to chuckle. Maybe God really does have a sense of humor.

Mike Simpson opened the chart and fixed her with eyes the color of polished steel. "Anna, how do you feel?"

The response was automatic. "Fine."

Simpson shook his head. "No, don't just say 'fine.' You know what I mean. Any headaches?"

"Some, but Tylenol takes care of them."

"Vision?"

"That's all clear now. No fuzziness, no double vision."

Simpson flipped a page, although Anna knew the checklist was in his head, not on the chart. "Weakness? Incoordination? Falling?"

"Nope."

Simpson eased onto the stool at the foot of the exam table on which Anna sat. "How's the thinking? Able to concentrate? I guess you know that's usually the last thing to clear after a severe concussion like you had."

Anna pursed her lips. If she told the truth—that she could think clearly now—that opened the door for Green and Dowling to put her on the hot seat and grill her some more. But to say otherwise would be a lie. Did God allow a little white lie if it kept her out of jail?

Simpson saved her. "I see you're having to think about that one, so maybe we'd better not rush it. Let's give it another week before you go back to work. I'll call Neil and let him know. I'm sure he'd want you to be one hundred percent before you get back in the OR."

Anna swallowed a couple of times, wishing she'd accepted the water the nurse had offered her. "Mike, I . . . I need to tell you something, but it's embarrassing."

Simpson's expression was neutral as granite. "I think I've heard just about everything at one time or another, Anna, so I doubt that you'll shock me. And it won't go outside this room."

"You may be getting a call from some detectives who'll want to know whether I've recovered from my concussion. They had me in for questioning, but my lawyer put a stop to it until I was in full possession of my faculties, as he put it."

"What's this about?"

"They're accusing me of deliberately giving a patient a drug he was allergic to, then easing up on treating the anaphylaxis so he'd die. They say they're going to charge me with murder."

Simpson closed the chart, marking his spot with a finger."Well, I just thought I'd heard it all until now. Anna, that's the most far-fetched thing I've ever heard of. What does your lawyer say?"

"He tells me not to worry, but things seem to be coming at us faster and faster."

"Who do you have? I can recommend someone if you're not satisfied with this one."

Anna took a deep breath but still felt like she couldn't get enough air. "It's Ross Donovan."

Simpson frowned. "Name's familiar. Isn't that Laura Ernst's ex?"

Anna nodded.

"Didn't he . . . ? Wasn't there . . . ? I mean . . . He's practicing again?" Simpson rushed on, apparently trying to get past an awkward moment. "I recall Laura telling me once that her husband was a good lawyer. At least, he was then. But let me know if you need another name."