"As president of the hospital, that would have been wise," Angela agreed. "It would have saved us this embarrassment." Then, turning to Laurie, she said, "You do understand that this is private property."
"I understand," Laurie said. "But David Jeffries is a medical examiner case, and by law, I have subpoena power for documents and whatnot, and to visit the scene in order to investigate fully the cause and manner of death."
"There is no doubt legal recourse for you to carry out your duty, but barging in here is not one of them. Someone has already visited us from your office the previous evening and was shown appropriate hospitality. I will be very happy to discuss this with the chief of the OCME, Dr. Harold Bingham, whom I have had the pleasure of meeting on several occasions."
Laurie felt a chill descending her spine. Despite knowing she ultimately had the legal right to make the visit, the very last thing she wanted was for Bingham to be dragged into this ridiculous brouhaha over nothing, especially since she knew from past experience he'd probably side with the hospital.
"Thank you for your industriousness," Angela continued. "I'm sure your motivation was to help us, but as you can imagine, this problem has taken a terrible toll not only on some of our patients but on our institution, and, frankly, we are inordinately sensitive to the crisis. When I call Dr. Bingham, I will mention that we are not averse to you or anyone from the OCME visiting our OR, but we will require a warrant and that whoever is designated be tested as a carrier for MRSA. As part of our attempt to deal with this horrible problem, we insist that everyone entering the OR suite be clean."
"I had not thought of that," Laurie said, with a touch of guilt. Never once did it cross her mind that she could be a carrier herself, especially from having autopsied an individual just that morning who was chock-full of the bacteria.
"We, on the other hand, are extremely aware of it. But the point is we are not trying to limit your investigation. At the same time, we are certain your visiting our OR would not be enlightening in the slightest. The epidemiologist for the New York City Board of Health, Dr. Clint Abelard, who is a public servant like yourself, has inspected our OR on two occasions and found nothing. Of course, he wasn't allowed in until it was assured that he was not an MRSA carrier."
"I wasn't aware an epidemiologist had been involved until I got here," Laurie said. "Obviously, he's much more qualified than I. I'm sorry to have caused any misunderstanding. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you too much."
"You haven't. Dr. Sarpoulus, Dr. Osgood, and I were here attending the monthly medical staff meeting. It's not as if we had to come all the way from our home office."
"I'm pleased."
"There's one other point I wanted to make. You have questioned our decision not to accurately subtype the particular strains of the involved MRSA causing us such havoc. To explain, I've asked Dr. Osgood to accompany me to meet you. I know Dr. Sarpoulus has alluded to the reasons, but Dr. Osgood can explain it better, as he is boarded in both clinical pathology and microbiology. It's important for you to understand we have done every possible thing in our power to rid ourselves of this problem. Anything else would be irresponsible."
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Angela and Cynthia were in a cab heading south on Fifth Avenue. Walter had stayed behind to meet with the orthopedic hospital's laboratory supervisor. Angela and Cynthia had ridden in silence, with Angela staring out the side window of the taxi and noticing that the trees of Central Park had the very first suggestion that spring was around the corner.
But Angela was thinking less about nature and more about her problems with Angels Healthcare, which seemed to grow with each passing day. The last thing she expected at this late date was a problem with the medical examiner's office. The concern was publicity, which had been a worry from the start. Back when the MRSA cases first occurred, she'd made it a point to contact the chief medical examiner, to convince him that they were on top of the problem to the extent of having reported it to the New York City Department of Health and encouraging the epidemiologist to come to the hospital.
Angela turned to Cynthia. "What was your take on that medical examiner? Did she strike you as an independent sort?"
"Absolutely. Why else would she come out and visit our hospital when there was no mystery about the cause of death. I didn't like her there while we're trying to keep a lid on this affair. That's why I came down to get you. I thought it was something you should handle."
"I'm glad you did. I considered her a threat the moment I laid eyes on her. I don't know exactly why, but she struck me as very focused and driven, and, to compound it, very intelligent. Did you see how she made eye contact? Most people caught in a similar circumstance would have been cowed to some degree."
"She did the same to me," Cynthia said. "I definitely challenged her the moment I heard she was a medical examiner."
"She worries me," Angela admitted. "If she manages to get any of this MRSA problem into the press, it will certainly come to the attention of institutional investors as part of their due diligence. If that happens, more than likely the IPO will have to be postponed, or if it's not, it certainly won't be successful."
"I think you did a terrific job talking to her."
"You think so? Really?"
"I do. First, you mixed just enough condemnation and commendation, threat and praise, to put her off balance. Second, your warning about calling her boss definitely affected her negatively; I don't think she will be making any more visits, whether announced or not. And finally you made her understand that there are a number of people working on solving the problem who have much more epidemiological training than she has. I'm sure she feels she'd fulfilled her responsibility."
"I hope you are right," Angela said, not fully convinced.
"I'm sure I am. I was impressed. You were brilliant. You really played her like a violin."
Angela shrugged. She wasn't so sure. Her intuition was telling her the opposite, and that Dr. Laurie Montgomery was going to be a problem. Angela wondered if she should talk to Michael about her. But then, after another short session staring out the taxi's window, Angela suddenly pulled her cell phone from her Louis Vuitton bag, slipped it open, and speed-dialed her secretary.
"Loren? Get me Dr. Harold Bingham's number."
To Cynthia, she said, "I want to be totally certain Dr. Laurie Montgomery behaves."
DR. WALTER OSGOOD was nervous. The whole time he'd been talking with his supervisor of the Angels Orthopedic Hospital's clinical laboratory, Simon Friedlander, he kept thinking about the surprise visit from the woman medical examiner. He'd explained to her why he'd advised not to bother testing the MRSA to determine their explicit subtype. The woman had nodded repeatedly as if she'd understood, yet he sensed she hadn't agreed. It was subtle but definite, and it worried him.
When he'd finished the meeting with Simon, which had been stressful because of his nervous preoccupation with Dr. Laurie Montgomery's visit, Walter asked if he could use Simon's office to make a private phone call. Sitting at the man's desk, he noticed a family photo. One of Simon's sons was the same age as Walter's only child. Before making his call, Walter picked up the framed photo so he could see the boy's image more clearly. He was an obviously healthy child, with a shock of unruly blond hair and a purposefully silly but happy expression. Walter fought off a sudden surge of sadness, anger, and envy. He put the photo back down, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to rein in his emotions involving the unfairness of life. At the moment, his son was far from healthy, having been diagnosed with a rare, severe form of Hodgkin's disease requiring what his health insurer deemed "experimental" treatment. At the moment, Walter's son had no hair and had lost a quarter of his former weight.