“The irony is that the guy was a personal-injury lawyer,” Michael whispered when Lynn joined him.
“What else did you learn?”
“Not much. I’ve only been out here for a minute or two.”
“Anything more about the protein abnormality the wife had?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on! Let’s get this little errand over with.”
After donning booties, the two students pushed into the OR proper. All the lights were blazing, but the place was deserted, even the main desk. Everyone seemed to be back in the surgical lounge. There were no cases going on. As Lynn and Michael passed the PACU they did hear some music drift out into the hallway, but they avoided looking into the room. Although they had a story to offer for what they were doing, they still preferred not to bump into anyone.
“How should we go about this?” Lynn asked. “Should we just check every room, maybe you on the right and me on the left?”
“Let’s check twelve first and go from there.”
“I wonder how many patients leave this hospital with a diagnosis of a blood protein abnormality,” Lynn said as they walked.
“I’m wondering the same thing,” Michael said.
They got to twelve and had to put on the lights. The anesthesia machine was off to the side. Lynn struggled with an emotional reaction she didn’t expect, wondering if she was looking at the machine responsible to some degree for Carl’s tragedy. Michael walked directly over to it.
“It’s number thirty-seven,” Michael said, having bent over to read the service record.
For a few beats the two students stared at the machine with its profusion of dials, gauges, flow meters, vaporizers, and monitors. Three cylinders of compressed gas were hanging off the back.
“Okay,” Lynn said. “Now that we found it, what do you want to do?”
Michael shrugged. “I suppose I’d just like to make sure it has actually been used.”
“That’s easy. We can just go back to the main desk and see if there were any cases in this OR today. I’m sure there were, but come on!”
With no one at the main desk to tell them otherwise, the two students checked the surgical log. OR 12 had been busy. There had been a hernia, a lumbar fusion, and a mastectomy. Apparently there had been no problems. All the patients had gone back to their respective rooms after short stays in the PACU.
“Satisfied?” Lynn asked.
“I guess I’ll have to be. What do you want to do now?”
“Let’s head up to the neuro ICU while we’re still in scrubs,” Lynn said. “I have to find out about Carl’s possible transfer, but if you don’t want to come, I understand.”
“I’m with you for the long haul, girl!”
As they waited for the elevator they could see that the TV in the surgical lounge was back to its original game show. They rode up to six in a mostly empty car. When they got off, the only other person still in the elevator was a uniformed member of hospital security.
Like the rest of the hospital, the neuro floor was comparatively tranquil. Visiting hours were about to end at eight, so good-byes were being exchanged by the visitors who were staying until the last moment. A few patients were wandering about for exercise, pushing IV poles in front of them.
Lynn and Michael didn’t speak until they got to the doors leading into the ICU.
“Maybe I should make it easier for you,” Michael said. “I could go in and see if he is there.”
“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Lynn said. The closer they had come, the more nervous and emotional she felt. Michael sensed it.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” Michael said. “Try to chill.”
All Lynn could do was roll her eyes, as there was no way she was going to relax. After the doors closed behind Michael, she did try to take her mind off Carl’s status by thinking about what she was going to do for the rest of the evening. Having told Frank Giordano that he needn’t worry about Carl’s cat, she was obligated to go back to Carl’s house. It wouldn’t be difficult to get there because she had driven Carl’s Cherokee to the hospital that morning.
Lynn checked the time. She also wanted to call her architect friend up in Washington, DC, to see if he had any bright ideas about navigating around inside the Shapiro Institute, since his firm did commercial building design, including health-care facilities. She figured it best that it was not too late when she called as he was married with two young kids. Lynn had known him in college, when they’d had a brief affair that ended pleasantly. Over the years they’d stayed in touch. His name was Tim Cooper.
Lynn had anticipated that Michael would come back out from the ICU immediately. She didn’t know how to interpret that he didn’t. Either Carl was still there or he wasn’t. Lynn guessed that Michael had gotten himself involved in a conversation. Was that good news or bad? She didn’t know. To keep from thinking the worst, she pulled out her mobile phone. She had Tim’s number in her contacts and as a diversion decided it was a good time to make a call, as she could make it quick. It turned out to be a good time for Tim, too, and he answered on the first ring.
As soon as they got through the pleasantries, she turned the conversation over to why she was calling. She started by asking him if he had ever heard of the Shapiro Institute.
“I certainly have,” Tim said. “It was quite a project. It was done by a design firm from Chicago called McCalister, Weiss, and Peabody, which specializes in automation. They generally design automotive assembly plants, although they have done a number of medical labs. It was a coup for them to do a health care facility.”
“Do you know anybody at that firm?”
“I do. Why do you ask?”
Lynn explained that she was going to be visiting the Shapiro Institute and wanted to have an advance idea of its layout. She asked if Tim would be willing to call his acquaintance and see if he could possibly get her a floor plan.
“I’d be happy to,” Tim said without hesitation. “But I have a better idea. As I recall, the Shapiro is within the Charleston City Limits. Am I right?”
“It is,” Lynn said.
“If you want plans, go down to the Charleston Building Commission. They’ll have a full set available. All public buildings like hospitals have to have blueprints on file, including an as-built set. They have to be submitted to get an occupancy permit, and it’s public information.”
“I never knew that,” Lynn admitted.
“Most people don’t,” Tim said.
Pleased to have learned what she had, and certain that Michael would soon be appearing, Lynn wrapped up her conversation with Tim. It wasn’t difficult. She told him she was in the hospital at that very moment, about to go into the intensive care unit. Both agreed they would talk soon.
Replacing her phone in her jacket pocket, Lynn looked at the ICU door. She shook her head. Her patience was exhausted. She stepped forward with the intent of going in when the door opened. It was Michael on his way out.
32.
Tuesday, April 7, 7:58 P.M.
By merely seeing Michael’s expression, Lynn could tell instantly that Carl was gone. She felt a wave of emotion bubble up inside her.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “My bad!”
“It’s not your fault,” Lynn managed, fighting back tears.
“It’s my bad for taking so long and having to give you bad news on top. Carl was transferred about an hour ago. What kept me was that I ran into our third-year neurology preceptor. He was all excited about my residency plans. Seems that he did his neurology at Mass General in Boston and insisted on giving me all sorts of tips. I couldn’t get away. Sorry!”