The Silence That Speaks (13 page)

“Thanks.” Patrick stifled a yawn. “Dave is due here in about forty minutes. Then I’ll head home to catch some sleep and to see if Adele remembers me.”

“Your wife is a sweetheart, and you guys are great together,” Casey replied. “She won’t be forgetting you anytime soon.”

“I’ll tell her that when she’s pissed at me.” Patrick glanced over his shoulder. “I think Madeline just hung up. You want me to get her?”

“Please.” Casey nodded.

A minute later, Madeline’s face appeared on the screen. She looked better but annoyed. “Hi.”

“Let me guess,” Casey said. “The doctor didn’t give you the go-ahead to resume your E.R. duties.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Madeline responded, running her fingers through her hair. “I feel fine. I’m a little sore. I won’t lift anything heavy, but I’m perfectly capable of doing my job.”

“How much longer does he want you to wait?” Claire asked.

“He wants to examine me next week. Then he’ll make a decision.” Madeline glanced around the group. Her gaze lingered on Marc for a second, and Casey remembered that—not counting the dedication ceremony, among throngs of people— they hadn’t seen each other since the day she’d walked into the brownstone.

“I apologize,” Madeline said with a rueful smile. “Good morning to you all. Pay no attention to me. I’m just cranky from being idle.”

“We’re workaholics ourselves,” Ryan replied. “No apologies necessary.”

Madeline’s expression grew quizzical. “Patrick said you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes.” Casey leaned forward. “I have to meet with Conrad—
alone
—and I need your help.” She went on to explain her reasoning, during which time Madeline nodded.

“I’m on the same page as you,” she replied. “And I agree that Conrad would never refuse you. Let me know once you’ve reached him, then I’ll call Crest Haven myself and set the wheels in motion. Between the two of us, we’ll get you in.”

“Great. Give me an hour. I’ll be getting back to you.”

Casey closed FaceTime, and turned to the group. “Questions?”

“Nope. Actions.” Marc rose. “I’ll feed Hero and get things together for our trip up to Danbury.” It never occurred to him that Casey wouldn’t make the trip happen. He unhooked Hero’s leash and snapped his fingers. “C’mon, boy. Chow time.”

“I’m off, too.” Ryan jumped up. “The Lexingtons can say goodbye to their private chitchats and visits. And Emma can say hello to Hacking 101.”

The meeting room emptied out except for Casey and Claire.

Claire’s soft blue eyes searched Casey’s face, and she waited, interlacing her fingers on the desk. “I’m ready.”

Casey explained the idea she’d had last night.

“None of us, including you, trust Dr. Gilding,” she concluded. “But we’re not sure why. You’re the team member with the necessary skills to get a solid handle on her. And I know you. One-on-one is the best method with the least distractions. Do you think you can pull it off?”

“I’ll make it my business to,” Claire replied. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “I just need to prepare myself. You know what a miserable liar I am. Also how hard it is for me to minimize the importance of my gift. But I’ll find the ability to do both. I only hope it’s enough to convince Dr. Gilding to meet with me. She’s big on announcing how crushing her schedule is.”

Casey smiled. “But you represent such a challenge. How can she resist? Pitch it that way. Believe me, it’ll work.”

“I’ll head upstairs to my yoga room.” Claire slid back her chair and rose. “If anything can infuse me with the necessary energy, yoga can.”

“Let me know once you’ve made the appointment.”

“I will.”

Claire shut the door behind her, and headed straight for the stairs and up to the small room on the third floor that Casey had helped her set up as her personal space/yoga quarters.

It was pretty ironic actually, Casey thought as she stared at the closed door. She owned the brownstone outright, thanks to an inheritance from her grandfather, and it was an ideal building for the FI team’s needs. Every single room on three of the four floors was used for some designated purpose.

Then there was the fourth floor—Casey’s apartment, laid out specifically for her. Those were the rooms that got the least use of all. She passed out on the conference room sofa as often as she slept in her bed, and she lived on takeout, almost never making a meal in her kitchen. On the plus side, Hero was a big fan of her bed, and Casey was a big fan of her shower. Otherwise, with the exception of when Hutch was visiting, the apartment was a convenience rather than a home. Yet the brownstone, in its entirety, still felt like home.

It was an interesting reality, Casey thought as she picked up her iPhone. She, like all the other FI members, lived a very different life than the rest of the world. And she wouldn’t change it for anything.

She took out the slip of paper Conrad had given her, and punched in his direct room number.

15

AN HOUR AND
a half later, Marc and Casey were on the road, driving up to Danbury.

“I’m having lunch with Janet Moss tomorrow,” Casey said, settling into the passenger seat of their van. She was exhausted, and relieved as hell that Marc had offered to drive.

“I never doubted it.” Marc swung into the stream of traffic, and began snaking his way through Manhattan toward the West Side Highway. “Do you want to brainstorm while we drive? We can cover our strategy with Conrad and yours with Janet.”

“Good idea. But let’s grab a sandwich and a cup of coffee first. I’m starving.”

“Me, too. We’ll take them on the road. This way we can talk and think without starving to death.”

Casey and Marc covered a lot of verbal territory by the time they pulled into Crest Haven’s gated entranceway. They were ready for their direct approach with Conrad, and Casey had jotted down a long list of leading questions to steer Janet in the direction she wanted when they had lunch.

They went through the tedious security process, parked the van and headed inside.

Their visit this time was completely different. They were welcomed as guests, given visitors’ tags and were cordially escorted upstairs to Conrad’s room.

Casey glanced at Marc as they walked down the hallway, several steps ahead of the nurse. “They really are worried about the fallout from this,” she said quietly.

“Um-hum.” He nodded. “Whether it’s a lawsuit or just bad press that hurts their reputation, they want this to go away.”

There were two guys standing outside Conrad’s door. One, Casey recognized as Hank McCloud, one of Patrick’s men, and the other, who was dressed in a blue uniform, was obviously a Crest Haven aide or orderly or someone posted there to ensure that Conrad didn’t pull a repeat performance.

“Hey, Hank,” Casey greeted the security guard as they reached the door.

“Hey, Casey, Marc,” he replied. He shot a quick sideways glance at the orderly beside him and rolled his eyes.

Casey stifled a grin, waiting as the nurse knocked on the door and poked her head in. “Dr. Westfield? Your guests are here. Shall I show them in?”

“Yes.” Conrad’s voice sounded strong. Good. The better shape he was in, the more effective this meeting would go.

The nurse opened the door wide, and gestured for Casey and Marc to go in. “Please don’t tire him,” was all she said before leaving, shutting the door behind her.

“Ms. Woods, Mr. Devereaux, it’s good to see you.” Conrad was up and dressed in jeans and a navy polo fleece shirt. He was a little pale, but steady on his feet, and with no signs of upset at their visit.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the security you’re providing,” he said, shaking their hands. “I’m still pretty thrown by what happened. First Madeline, now me...this is a nightmare.”

“We’re as relieved as you are that Crest Haven agreed to our guards being outside your room,” Casey replied. “We want you and Madeline kept safe. And by the way, it’s Casey and Marc. We’re not big on formalities.”

He acknowledged that with a nod. “Nor am I. Please call me Conrad.” A shadow crossed his face. “The term
doctor
sounds somehow disingenuous these past months.”

“That’s something we need to talk about.” Marc gestured toward the sitting area. “Can we sit while we talk?”

“Of course. Would you like anything—coffee? Tea? I can request either or both.”

“Nothing, thanks.”

Casey took a seat in the same chair she’d used last time. Marc followed suit, settling himself in the matching chair. Conrad sank down on the sofa, leaning forward so he could meet their gazes.

“You said on the phone that there were several things you wanted to discuss in person. Shoot.”

“Your apartment was trashed.” Casey didn’t mince any words.

Conrad blinked. “What?”

“It occurred to us that if someone was targeting you the way they’re targeting Madeline, they might have broken into your place, as well. So we took a look.”

“But I have a service that—”

“It was canceled, supposedly on your authority,” Casey told him.

“Someone wanted to get in. And they did.” Conrad ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t ask how Forensic Instincts had managed to “take a look,” nor did he seem to care. He just looked as though he was trying to process this.

“What did they take? How bad is the apartment?”

“It’s wrecked,” Marc responded, going on to elaborate everything he’d found. “As for what they took, it’s hard to tell. The one thing that was definitely missing was a USB drive that should have been attached to your Mac Pro. Do you have it?”

Conrad shook his head. “The only computer I have here is my laptop—and no accessories.”

“What was on that hard drive?”

Conrad spread his arms wide in noncomprehension. “Just professional material. Certainly nothing of value or importance to anyone but me. And
definitely
nothing to kill for.”

“Can you guess what they might have thought was on there?”

“Not a clue.”

“Did you keep personal memos or documentation of any kind?”

“Emails. Abstracts. Articles. Videos of cutting-edge surgeries.” He paused. “I can make a full list for you. I’m upset that the material is gone, just as any professional would be. But I don’t feel threatened in any way—not by this.”

“Please make us as comprehensive a list as you can,” Casey said. “Think about it carefully, come up with anything that occurs to you and email us.”

“No problem. I’ll do it as soon as you leave.”

“Good.”

Even more agitated than he’d been before, Conrad propped his elbows on his knees, interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them. Tension rippled through him like an electric current.

“Also, when we talked on the phone earlier, you asked if I was strong enough to talk about Ronald’s surgery. I am. I discuss it frequently in therapy. I think I can handle talking about it with people who are trying to save my life.” His head inclined slightly. “I’m just not sure how it relates to your investigation. Then again, I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

Casey waved away his confusion. “We didn’t think it related to our investigation, either. But now, we’re wondering if whoever is trying to kill you and Madeline might be motivated by revenge.” She proceeded to fill him in on the situation with Nancy Lexington and her children.

Conrad blinked in momentary shock, and then his shoulders sagged. “I wouldn’t think Nancy, Felicia or Ron were capable of murder. But I saw how they were after I lost Ronald. They were furious. I don’t blame them. But Madeline? She played no part in the surgery, other than just being there at the very end.”

“That doesn’t seem to make her less guilty in Nancy’s mind.” Casey stared straight at Conrad, never pausing or averting her gaze. “We need to discuss the surgery itself, and why anyone would believe that a cardiothoracic surgeon of your caliber would unexpectedly lose a patient—particularly
this
patient.”

“Unexpectedly? Or on purpose?” Conrad asked the obvious question. “I swear to you that I would never intentionally harm any patient. I took an oath to save lives, and that was always my goal when I walked into the O.R. As for Ronald, he was my closest friend. The only reason I agreed to operate on him, despite our personal relationship, is that I knew I was the best surgeon to perform the surgery. Intent isn’t even in the room, in this case, no matter what anyone believes.”

Casey never doubted the sincerity in Conrad’s tone or body language. He was innocent of any wrongdoing. The idea of killing his friend because he was an obstacle to a hospital merger was preposterous.

“I believe you,” Casey said. “But we need to discuss the unintentional. What went wrong with the surgery and why?”

Conrad sighed, a sigh that rippled through his whole body. “That question haunts me every day. I wish I had an answer for you. The surgery went well. It was a very delicate procedure, which is why Ronald came to me to begin with. He was suffering from aortic valve and ascending aorta disease.” Conrad glanced from Casey to Marc. “I don’t know how familiar either of you is with that disease or with the Bentall procedure.”

“Not a clue on either.” Casey answered for both of them. “All I know is that the aorta is the large artery that leads from the heart.”

“Correct.” Conrad snapped into surgeon mode. “The Bentall procedure involves replacing the aortic valve, the aortic root and the ascending aorta. Ronald was at a crisis point, and needed the surgery done immediately. He insisted that I be the one to perform it. My success rate is over ninety-nine percent,” Conrad stated the last without arrogance, only the factual, statistical reality.

“What happened this time?”

“I honestly don’t know. The surgery itself went flawlessly—everything from dilating the diseased aorta to replacing that diseased section with a Dacron graft. I finished up, and attached the right and left coronary buttons without incident. To be even more cautious, I reinforced the sutures with tissue sealant. Everything looked hemostatic, so we took Ronald off the cardiopulmonary bypass.”

“Which is?”

“Sorry. The CPB is the heart-lung machine. I closed up his chest. Everything looked fine, so I went out to give Nancy the good news, leaving the surgical team to put in the final skin sutures. While I was gone, there was an abrupt drop in Ronald’s blood pressure and massive bleeding from his chest tubes. A Code Blue was announced, and I rushed back to the O.R. We emergently opened the chest.”

“And?”

“And I couldn’t control the bleeding that was coming from the aortic root. By this time, Ronald’s blood pressure had been low for a prolonged period of time, so we had to put him back on the CPB machine. There was massive bleeding from both the coronary buttons. I removed the sealant to visualize the anastomosis, which I then redid. Things got worse, not better. The bleeding was now more diffuse. We were losing him and I knew it. We rushed him to the ICU with his chest open, held together with a vacuum dressing. We did an EEG and a CT scan, both of which confirmed brain death.”

Conrad’s pain echoed from deep inside him. “So the patient—
my
patient—was declared. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. There were absolutely no indications that this would happen.”

“When did Madeline factor in?” Marc asked.

“When the Code Blue was announced. She rushed in, as did the rest of the code team. It was already too late. I’d reopened Ronald and was trying to repair the damage. The code team left the O.R. Madeline stayed. I believe she was in the ICU, as well, but I was concentrating only on Ronald. He was gone. I don’t recall what Madeline did after that.”

Conrad dropped his head into his hands. “I constantly relive this surgery. I ask myself, did I tie the knots too tightly, causing the sutures to break? Did I tie the knots too loosely, resulting in the bleed-out? Should I not have used glue to clog the needle holes at all? I just don’t know. And I never will.”

For the first time, Casey understood the enormity of the burden Conrad was carrying. To tell him that he’d done everything he could would be patronizing and useless. So she said the only sincere thing she could say. “I’m sorry you have to live with this. I’m also sorry we had to dredge it all up again.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Conrad raised his head. “You’re not dredging up anything that doesn’t haunt me every day. As for Nancy and her kids—I don’t know what to think. I used to have an intuitive feel for people. I seem to have lost that completely. So pursue this in any way you need to.” He gave them a quizzical look. “Is it time for another payment? I can have it wired directly to your account.”

“We’re fine,” Casey assured him. “Madeline paid us well.” She paused for a minute. “I have one more question to ask you before we go. It’s not a particularly comfortable one, but I have to ask it, anyway.”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s your relationship with Sharon Gilding?”

Conrad looked surprised, as if that was the last question he’d been expecting. “Relationship? Do you mean professional or personal?”

“Both.”

“Professionally, we respect each other’s expertise. Sharon is a brilliant neurosurgeon. Yes, I know she’s my competition for the job of chief of surgery. That seemed to bother her a lot more than it did me. She’s a very high achiever. I can’t fault her for that.”

“You didn’t answer the personal part.”

“Sharon isn’t my favorite person,” Conrad admitted. “She’s cold and self-centered. She’s short on compassion for her patients. We’ve argued about that. We have different styles.”

“But you aren’t or weren’t sleeping together?”

“What?”
Conrad’s head shot up. “Absolutely not. Why would you think that?”

“We weren’t sure. Now we are.” Casey paused again. “What about Ronald Lexington? Was she sleeping with him?”

This time, Conrad squirmed a bit. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”

“Go on.” Casey knew there was more, and she wasn’t letting Conrad off the hook. “We need you to be totally candid with us.”

There was a hint of a pause. “This is an uncomfortable subject for me. But fine. In the interest of full disclosure, Ronald liked women, and they liked him. He made it no secret to me that he had extramarital affairs. Some of those were with hospital personnel, and some were with women he met elsewhere. He wasn’t particularly discreet, at least not to my way of thinking. I called him out on it more than once, especially when a few of his paramours’ hospital work suffered so much from the affairs with Ronald that they had to be fired. But he couldn’t help it—he charmed every attractive young female who walked through the hospital doors. I called it the Bill Clinton effect.”

“Can you give us any names?”

Conrad’s forehead creased as he thought for a moment. Then he gave a rueful shrug. “I wish I could. The truth is, I was obsessed with my work. I lived and breathed it. I can tell you minute details of any of my surgeries, but I can’t give you the names of half my patients, much less the names of Ronald’s lovers. In both cases, there were so many.” A wry smile. “That should tell you how vast his sexual adventures were.”