Yes?"
Clayton Iverson, his weathered face flushed, his eyes smoldering, could not respond. "Oh, and Judge, " she said, "there is one other thing. I would like to review that material Guy Beaulieu accumulated. I promise its return in a few days."
"You can't have it, " the Judge snapped. "Judge Iverson, I know I don't have to spell it all out for you, but let me do it anyway. If you go along with our request, your son will be exonerated from all he has done, and we will complete our purchase of the hospital. If you do not, your son will probably end up in prison, and his family will be disgraced. Your influence in Sterling will be greatly diminished, if not destroyed, and we shall almost certainly end up with Ultramed-Davis just the same."
"This is insane!"
"Perhaps, " Leigh Baron said. "Perhaps it is… That material, please?"
"Dammit "Judge Iverson, face it. It's going to happen. Our business arrangement is going to be consummated as it was laid out. Either easily and cleanly, or very, very messily. But it's going to happen. Now…"
Reluctantly, the Judge passed Beaulieu's folder across. Leigh Baron slipped it into her briefcase. "As I promised, " she said, "I'll return this in a few days. Don't bother to show me out. I know the way."
His face buried in his arm, Clayton Iverson sat alone in his study, listening to the soft spattering of night rain against the shutters. In all his business dealings, in all his years on the bench, never had he been manhandled so brutally or efficiently as he had by Leigh Baroin this night. Desperately, he struggled to keep his anger in check-anger directed as much at his son as at the Ultramed CEO. At this point, he reminded himself, he had only Leigh Baron's side of the story. Before he made another move, before he spoke to one more member of the board, he and Frank had to talk. If Frank could adequately explain why he took the money, how he lost it, how he was planning on replacing it, perhaps they could work something out. if not… Went to Frank's. Please don't worry. Clayton Iverson set the note for Cinnie on his desk and walked, somewhat shakily, to the Chrysler, wondering if perhaps he had had a bit too much to drink. His thoughts tumbled about as he tried to focus on what his options might be. He needed the fresh air of a drive as much as anything… needed to clear his head… needed to confront Frank…
He put the car in gear, turned around with more difficulty than usual, and sped down the winding drive. Frank would have an explanation, he thought. He would have an acceptable explanation for everything, and together they would find a reasonable way out. But if there was no explanation… if Frank had nothing to offer evcept greed… The Judge sped through the turn onto the Androscoggin access road. A station wagon speeding south swerved sharply, narrowly avoiding a collision. Clayton Iverson did not notice… Of all the ungrateful, inconsiderate things Frank had ever done, he was thinking, this was absolutely the worst…
Perhaps it was time he put his foot down… Prison or no prison, disgrace or no disgrace, perhaps it was time… His eyes open, but unseeing, Toby Nelms lay twitching on the cooling blanket, jerking one restrained hand from time to time in what might have been an attempt to get at the breathing tube Jack Pearl had inserted into his trachea. His core temperature, despite the blanket, intravenous cortisone, and several doses of rectally-administered lylenol, was still 103.
Absolutely not, " Pearl was saying. "There's absolutely no way I am going to put a critically ill child under anesthesia for some off-the all theory."
"Jack, let me go over this again, " Zack pleaded, making no attempt to mask his exasperation. "What I'm proposing is not off the wall. Just because it isn't a widely used technique doesn't mean that it's wrong.
Hell, the problem hasn't been studied enough to be certain one way or the other. But there is the LSD article. Why do you think I drove all the way home to get it from my files for you?"
"No way, " Pearl said. Suzanne joined the two other physicians at the bedside. For more than an hour she had been battling one flurry of irregular cardiac rhythms after another in the boy. Now, for the moment at least, the situation seemed to have stabilized, but the dusky shadows enveloping her eyes were mute testimony to the tension of the struggle.
"So, where do we stand? " she asked, sipping tepid coffee. Throughout the crisis she had made no overt reference to Zack's theories regarding Mainwaring and Pearl, although several times her expression had warned-or begged-him against any confrontation with the anesthesiologist. "Well, " Zack said, "we're right where we were before the arrhythmias started. Cerebral edema. Nothing more. Could be caused by the fever, could be the cause of it, could be both."
"Well, for what it's worth, his arrhythmias seem to be under control."
"It's worth plenty. Nice going."
"Thanks. So, have you two decided? Are you going to put the boy back to sleep?"
The two men exchanged glances. Then Pearl looked away. "Well, Jack,"
Zack said, "go ahead and tell her. Tell her what wetell her what you have decided. Look down at that child there, think about what I've told you, what I've shown you, and tell her."
"Zack, please, " Suzanne said. She turned to the anesthesiologist.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Jack? " she asked. "I refuse to do it, " Pearl said simply. "The evidence that this child's anesthesia had anything to do with his present condition is flimsy enough by itself. Used as justification for a highly questionable maneuver, such as Iverson here is proposing, is absurd. I positively refuse to do it."
"Do what?"
Frank Iverson appeared near the foot of the bed. He glanced from one physician to the next and then, with some discomfort, at the thrashing boy. "Do what, Jack? " he asked again. "Frank, " Pearl said, "earlier in the week I filed an official report and complaint about a visit I had from your brother, here. At that time, he accused me of any number of things, including improperly anesthe izing this child."
"Why, that's ridiculous, " Zack said. "I never-"
"Zack, will you please let him finish… Thank you. Go ahead, Jack."
"Well, now the boy's got cerebral edema-that's brain swelling from God knows what. Maybe some form of encephalitis or something. Your brother has this theory that if this is some nervous system reaction to the anesthesia he received, my putting him under again with the same drugs might reverse the effect."
"And? " Frank said. "And I won't do it." why?"
"Why! Well, because it… it won't work, Frank. That's why."
"Zack, has this been done before?"
"In analogous circumstances, yes. I brought in an article describing the theory behind it."
"Then, Jack, " Frank said calmly, "what harm would it do to put this boy to sleep again as Zack is suggesting? You put critically injured and ill patients under all the time, don't you? "
"Well yes, but-"
"Suzanne, do you think this child would be able to handle being put to sleep?"
"I… well, his cardiac problems seem to have quieted down, and he is already on a ventilator, so actually, I don't see why not."
"But-"
"No buts, Jack. I'm sorry I didn't get over here sooner to discuss all this, but I was tied up trying to reach some people in Akron. Now listen. We're in the business of helping people. That's why we're here.
If there's a chance that what Zack is suggesting will help this kid, I think you should try it. My brother's a pain in the neck sometimes, but he's hardly foolhardy. If he says he has evidence, then by God, He's got evidence."
Witnessing the bizarre exchange from his spot by the head of Toby's bed, Zack sensed an intense nonverbal interplay occurring between his brother and the anesthesiologist. he could also tell from Pearl's expression that the strange little man was no longer going to object to administering the drugs. "What were the anesthe ics again? " Suzanne asked. "Peiitothal and isoflurane, " Pearl said. gil", yes. "Are you going to do it? " Zack asked. "How long do you think we'll have to keep him under?"