Sleight of Hand (32 page)

CHAPTER 25

"My name is Dr. Richard King.  I'm an alcoholic," he said turning his face full onto the Executive Committee.  

Cassie sat on her hands and wrapped her foot around the base of her chair to keep from jumping up.  She'd already protested Richard's presence here with no success. Of course, it didn't hurt that Richard's father was the Chief of Orthopedic Surgery and Vice-chair of the committee.

"And recovering from an addiction to pain relievers," he added, lifting a hand to dab at a small spray of spittle.  

Pain relievers, Ecstasy, methamphetamine–whatever happy pill he could get his hands on.  What the hell was Richard doing here, talking about his past problems?  They had nothing to do with the charges against her. 

"I received the treatment I needed.  And with the grace of God and the help of my friends and family, I've been sober for a long time now."  Meaning that it was a long time since breakfast, Cassie translated.  "But I have a confession to make."  He paused and looked away as if needing to compose himself.  Jesus, he was good.  He even had her half-believing him.

"While I was addicted, I was married to another physician, Dr. Cassandra Hart.  She was aware of my addiction, in fact she shared in it."

What the hell?  Cassie leapt to her feet.  Richard's pronouncement had an equally energizing effect on the other physicians who as one turned to glare at Cassie.  "That's a lie!  I never–"  

"Sit down, Dr. Hart," the chairman told her, banging his fist on the table when the others began to talk at once.  "You'll have your turn.  Go ahead, Dr. King."

"Cassandra never received the help she needed for her drug use.  She refused my pleas to attend therapy, to go into rehab.  Like many addicts, especially impaired physicians, she felt that she could handle it, that she was above human frailties.

"Last month Cassandra was involved in the investigation of a narcotics ring that operated out of Three Rivers.   She was on the scene of several homicides and even admitted to killing a man."

"How dare you!" Cassie raged.  One of the deaths he mentioned was her best friend, who had died in her arms.  The other received his injuries while he was trying to kill Cassie and Drake. 

"The police filed no charges against her.  Maybe in part because Cassandra was having an affair with the lead detective on the case."

More uproar from the others on the committee.  

"What does this have to do with Dr. Hart accusing Mrs. Ulrich of child abuse?" a lone voice was heard over the melee.

Ed Castro.  Cassie appreciated his help, but hoped that he didn't bring the wrath of the others down on him in the process.

"I now believe that my ex-wife is suffering from paranoid delusions, possibly brought on by past drug use, and that her illness has caused her to falsely accuse Mrs. Ulrich.  It is with a heavy heart that I make these feelings known.  Only the possibility of an extreme miscarriage of justice could make me do it."  He turned to Cassie.  "Cassandra, I beg of you, please, get the help you need."

Cassie raged with impotence as her anger surged through her.  The bastard.  And he'd done it without the slightest hint of a smile.  But she knew that someone else had written the script for him–in his current condition, she doubted that Richard could concentrate long enough to compose such a statement.  Probably his brother, Alan.  Or maybe even the Senator himself.

Richard slumped back in his wheelchair, apparently exhausted from his recital.  His father left his seat to join him.  

"I hope you all realize how much this has cost my son to come here today and speak to you," the orthopedic surgeon said in his careful, precise speech.

"We do," the chairman said.  "Thank you for your time, Dr. King.  The committee appreciates your efforts."  

Richard's father wheeled his son from the room, then returned to his seat.  The chairman consulted his notes.  

"I think we should now address the matter of Ms. Rachel Lloyd's complaint against Dr. Hart," he intoned.  "Apparently Dr. Hart took matters into her own hands when a patient became violent and threatened harm to a staff member.  Dr. Hart refused police intervention and arranged for the patient to be injected with a potentially lethal dose of succinylcholine."

"Why did you assume you were better equipped to deal with the situation than the police officers on the scene?" the head of internal medicine fired at Cassie.

Cassie didn't answer at first, still preoccupied by Richard's litany of lies.  She could tell the committee about his own bias, about the affair with Virginia, but it would only make her look jealous and desperate.  She felt the others staring at her and tried to focus.  "The police weren't doing anything and I had a plan–"

"Yes, the famous succinylcholine switch.   Just what made you so certain that you weren't sending that man out onto the street with a lethal drug?  How do you know he wouldn't have injected someone else with the succinylcholine?"

"Morris was coming down from a crack binge," she tried to keep the frustration from her voice.  Why couldn't they see that she'd done the only thing possible?  "I knew he'd want to take the edge off, shoot up with something right away."

"You knew? Based on what your personal experience?" Richard's father flung the last at her.

She snapped her head up.  "I assumed," she emphasized the last word, "based on Morris' past history."

"So you risked lives based on the predictability of a homeless drug addict high on crack cocaine?"  Cassie remained silent as the internist continued.  "Tell us, Dr. Hart.  What evidence do we have that your husband's allegations aren't correct?  That you haven't abused drugs."

"I'll take any test–"

"Ah, but what good would a negative test do us now?  What proof can you offer us besides your word?"  This last came from Sterling, the first he'd spoken since the meeting began.

Cassie stared at him.  "What proof do we have that you're not a drug user–besides your word, Dr. Sterling?" 

Silence settled over the room as all eyes turned on Cassie.  She knew immediately that she'd gone too far.  

"Dr. Hart," the chairman snapped, "please try to conduct yourself in some semblance of a professional manner."

She took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry.  What I meant is, there is nothing beyond our word, our honor to prove any of this."

"So you're saying we should simply believe you and leave it at that?"

"Why is this suddenly a trial of my morals?" she demanded.  "What about Charlie Ulrich?  Aren't we supposed to be discussing the facts of his case instead of listening to a known drug addict?"

"Tell us.  What would Dr. King have to gain by lying to us about such a thing?  What could possibly motivate such actions?"

She floundered.  How could she explain that the shrunken man in the wheelchair still harbored a deceitful, willful purpose when it came to Cassie?  How to explain that when Richard King had lost everything valuable to him he was driven to decimate her to similar circumstances?

She looked around at their closed faces.  They wouldn't believe her even if she tried.  They'd already made up their minds about her.  This whole thing was a sham.

Sterling was the only one at the table who met her eyes.  At least he didn't smile as he nodded to her, accepting her silent surrender.

CHAPTER 26

Cassie walked back toward the ER, clutching the small bundle of files on Charlie Ulrich, her anger growing with each step.  Other than Richard's accusations that she was deluded, Charlie's case had not been mentioned.  No one seemed to care, everyone had their own agenda.  

At least Charlie was safely in protective custody. She could stop worrying about him.

The cause of her new worries glided up to her on silent wheels.

"I'm sorry, I had to do it," Richard said, his voice earnest.

"I'm not having this conversation."  Cassie kept on walking, but he kept pace with her.

"Please, Ella, let me explain."

Richard's voice held a note of pleading she'd never heard before.  She shrugged, what did she have to lose by listening?  

"I know how you feel," he began, his words emerging in a slow, precise way as if he had practiced this speech.  "You've lost everything important to you–just like I have."  To her surprise, he reached out his strong hand and clasped hers.  "I was wrong to blame you.  I was angry, hurt." 

Cassie snatched her hand away.  She took a step back.  The Armani suit, despite its lapel smeared with saliva, the polished Italian leather shoes–he almost looked like the old Richard.  

"Don't you see, Ella?  Now that we've both hit bottom we can climb back.  Together.   This is our chance to rebuild our lives."  He caressed her ring finger.  The one where his ring used to live.  "You and me–just like it was always meant to be."

"No."  The single word echoed through the small space of the hallway.  "Never."

"Why?"  He looked down, his face hidden from her and she wondered if he was crying.  "Don't you understand?  I love you, Ella.  I need you."  He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked back up.  "You need me.  Especially now.  Drake can't help you now."

"This has nothing to do with Drake.  You think that I've lost everything today?  You're wrong, Richard.  You say that I've hit bottom just like you–"

"You'll never get another job practicing medicine, not after today–"

"Not after your lies, you mean!"

"But," the word emerged a stuttered slur, "I did it for you, for us–"

"You did it for you, Richard.  And because Virginia Ulrich or someone in her family got hold of you and convinced you that I'd come back to you or I deserved it or whatever."  The wheelchair rocked back and forth, a witness to his agitation, and she knew she was right.  

"Not Virginia."  He shook his head, tiny bubbles of saliva splattering the air as he did..  "Alan said, and Scott Thayer and the Senator, he said–"

"He told you to destroy my career to save his own reputation."

"No.  That's not why I did it.  We're the same now, we've both lost everything–" His eyes clouded with confusion as he repeated his mantra.

Cassie felt sorry for him.  He'd done terrible things, awful things, he was narcissistic, sociopathic even–but once upon a time she had loved the man.  And he had lost everything important to him.

"They were wrong, Richard."  She crouched down so that their eyes were level.  "I did lose everything once. My pride, my integrity, my self respect–I lost it all once, but not today."

"Not today?"

She shook her head.  "Not today.  I lost it all that last night with you.  You finished with me, left me in a bloody mess on the floor, and I got to my feet.  I hurt all over, but I couldn't really feel it.  Like everything you'd done hadn't really happened to me.  I looked in the mirror and I thought–that's not me.  Not that woman with the black eye and split lip.  Who is that?"

His hand covered hers on the arm of his chair.  "It'll be different now, I promise."

"You don't understand.  I might have just stayed, let you keep separating me from my soul until I forgot who I really was.  But then the phone rang."

He frowned.  "The phone?"

"You were supposed to be on call.  A patient needed you.  And you were passed out, drunk."  She stopped, looked down at the floor, stomach clenched as she remembered the shameful thing she'd done.  "I lied for you, Richard.  I told the hospital you had a bad case of food poisoning.  I could barely talk, got blood all over the phone, couldn't even look at myself in the mirror–but I still loved you enough to lie for you, to protect you."

"You love me."  His hand tightened over hers as if she'd offered him a lifeline.

"I did.  Once.  But when I hung up, thought about what I did, what you did–that was when I knew I had lost everything.  That was when I hit bottom, Richard."

"That was when you left me."

"I built a new life, just like you will now.  It won't be easy.  But it can be done."

"But, I need you, Ella.  Can't do it without you–"

She pulled her hand from his grasp and stood.  "You will."  She swiped errant tears from her eyes.  "I did."  

She moved toward the ER's door, knew what she had to do now.  First thing was to protect Ed Castro from any fallout.  He'd risked a lot coming to her defense.

Then she'd talk to Drake.  Together, they'd think of something.

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Nellie Steadman sat in the family waiting room, hoping that Muriel would return from the CAT scan soon.  The TV was tuned to a local news station covering an event at the front steps of  Three Rivers Medical Center.  She heard a familiar name and her attention perked.

"Has the hospital begun an investigation into Dr. Hart's misconduct?"

"Have any other patients or their families complained about Dr. Hart?"

"What legal action are you taking, Mr. Ulrich?"

The questions were fired in a staccato fashion.  Paul Ulrich, one arm comforting his wife, raised a hand to quiet the reporters.  Nellie looked up as Jacob roused from his nap on the couch and joined her, sitting on the arm of her chair, one arm automatically going around her shoulder.

"We are working with both the hospital administration as well as the legal system to rectify this miscarriage of justice."  Mr. Ulrich's was the voice of reason, not that of an upset or hysterical parent.  "In fact Judge Flory and the Deputy Secretary of Children and Youth Services are meeting with us tomorrow.  We can only pray that our son remains safe until then.  Virginia and I would also like to thank Dr. Sterling for his excellent medical care as well as his compassion in coming forward to help us get our child back where he belongs, with his parents.  Thank you, that is all."

With a dramatic flourish, he dismissed the reporters.  The camera zoomed in on the station's correspondent, a pretty young blonde in a perky red hat.

"And that concludes the press conference convened by local attorney, Paul Ulrich.  In summary, the Ulrichs claim that they are the targets of an unwarranted attack by a physician here at Three Rivers, Dr. Cassandra Hart.  They claim that she has reported malicious and unfounded  accusations which have resulted in CYS taking their child, who lies critically ill in the pediatric ward of Three Rivers, into protective custody.