Redding's thoughts were soaring through the possibilities of Estronate 250 when, with a soft knock, Nunes entered the office, set a package on the desk, and retired to his observation room. For another hour, Redding sat alone, savoring his mint chip ice cream and deciding how he might best break the news to Dr. John Ferguson that their fifteen-year-old collaboration was about to take on a new dimension. + "I love you, I miss you, and I don't want to not live with you anymore."
Kate read Jared's note again and then again, drawing strength and confidence from it each time. She had returned to her office following two distressing and frightening visits. One was to Ellen, who was, for the first time, receiving a transfusion of packed red blood cells.
The second was to Norton Reese. If the connection between Metropolitan Hospital of Boston, the Ashburton Foundation, and Redding Pharmaceuticals was as intimate as Reese's clumsy evasions were leading her to believe, she would need all the strength and confidence she could muster. Thank you, Jared, she thought. Thank you for pulling me out from under the biggest pressure of all. Her meeting with Reese had started off cordially enough. In fact, the man had seemed at times to be inappropriately jovial and at ease. Ever since their confrontation before the board of trustees over his diversion of budgeted pathology department funds to the cardiac surgical program, Reese had dealt with her with the gingerliness of an apprentice handling high explosives.
Now, suddenly, he was all smiles. His congeniality lasted through several minutes of conversation about her department and Stan Willoughby's recommendation that she succeed him as chief, and ended abruptly with mention of the Ashburton Foundation. Whatever fortes the man might have, Kate mused at that moment, they certainly did not include poker faces. His eyes narrowed fractionally, but enough to deepen the fleshy crow's feet at their corners. His lips whitened, as did the tips of his fingers where they were touching one another. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to open the Ashburton Foundation files to you,
" he had said, his eyes struggling to maintain contact with hers and failing. "However, I shall be happy to answer what questions I can."
"Okay, " Kate said, shrugging. "My first question is why aren't you at liberty to open the Ashburton Foundation fiies to me?"
"It's… it's part of the agreement we signed when we accepted a grant from them." It was bizarre. In a very literal sense, the man was squirming in his seat. "Well, suppose I wanted to apply for a grant for my department. How would I go about contacting them?"
"I'll have Gina give you the address on your way out. You can write them yourself."
"I already have a post office box number in Washington, DC. Is that it?"
"Yes. I mean, probably."
"Well, suppose I wanted to visit their offices in person. Could you ask Gina to give me a street address as well?" Reese continued to fidget.
"Look, " he said, "I'll give you their mailing address and phone number.
I'm sorry, but that's all I can do. Why do you want to know about the Ashburton Foundation anyway? " he managed. "Mr. Reese, " Kate said calmly, "If I answer that question, will you open their files to me?"
"Not without written permission from the Ashburton Foundation."
"Well then, it appears we've got a Mexican standoff, doesn't it?
I'll tell you this much, " her voice grew cold. "Two women have died and a third may be dying. If I find out the Ashburton Foundation is connected in any way with what has happened to them, and you have kept significant information from me, I promise that I won't rest until everyone who matters knows what you have done. Is that clear? " Her uncharacteristic anger had, she knew, been prodded by the sight of Ellen Sandler mutely watching the plastic bag dripping blood into her arm and by the knowledge that this was, in all likelihood, just the first of many transfusions to come. Reese checked his watch in a manner that was as inappropriate as it was unsubtle. It was as if he had left a message to be called at precisely nine-twelve and was wondering why the phone hadn't rung. "Mr. Reese?"
The administrator shifted his gaze back to her. His face was pinched and gray with anger-no, she realized, it was something deeper than anger.
Hatred? Did the poor man actually hate her?
"You really think you're something, don't you, " he rasped in a strained, muddy voice. "I beg your pardon?"
"Who made you the crusader? Do you think that just because you have an MD degree and all that old family money you can ride all over people?"
"What? Mr. Reese, I nev-"
"Well, let me tell you something. You don't intimidate me like you do some around here. No, sir, not one bit. So you just ride off on that high horse of yours and let me and the department heads-the official department heads-worry about grants and foundations and such."
Kate watched as the man sat there, panting from the exertion of his outburst. For five seconds, ten, her green eyes fixed on him. Then she rose from her chair and left, unwilling to dignify Reese's eruption with a response. Now, alone in her office, Kate sat, trying to crystallize her thoughts and doodling a calligraphic montage of the words "Reese" and "Asshole." After finishing four versions of each, she began adding "Ashburton" and "Paquette." First there was the bribery of Ian Toole, an act which seemed to her equivalent to shooting a chipmunk with an elephant gun. She would have been quite satisfied with an admission by Redding Pharmaceuticals that they had somehow allowed a batch of their generic vitamins to become contaminated and would gladly recall and replace them. Their illogically excessive response had to have been born out of either arrogance or fear. But fear of what?
"Omnicenter" made its first appearance in the montage. The Ashburton Foundation had endowed an entire ob-gyn department and subsidized a massive, modern women's health center. Philanthropic acts? Perhaps, she thought. But both of her calls to the foundation had gone unanswered by Dr. Thompson, the director, and her efforts, though modest, had failed to come up with an address for the place. Then there was Reese's refusal to discuss the organization that had been, at least in part, responsible for the resurgence of his hospital. At that moment, almost subconsciously, she began adding another name to the paper. Again and again she wrote it, first in the calligraphic forms she knew, then in several she made up on the spot. "Horner." Somehow the cantankerous, eccentric computer genius was involved in what was going on. The notion fit too well, made too much sense. But how? There really was only one person who could help her find out.
Another minute of speculation, and she called William Zimmermann.
Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way through the tunnel to the Omnicenter when Tom Engleson entered from the cutoff to the surgical building. "Hi, " she said, searching his face for a clue as to how he was handling the abortive end to their evening together. "H'lo, " his voice was flat. She slowed, but continued walking. — "Going to the Omnicenter?"
Tom nodded. "I have a clinic in twenty minutes."
"You all right?"
"Yeah, sure. Great."
"Tom, I-"
"Look, Kate, it's my problem, not yours."
"Dr. Engleson, you weren't exactly alone on the couch last night, " she whispered, glancing about to ensure that none of the tunnel traffic was too close. "I feel awful about giving out such mixed messages.
But you are an incredibly comfortable and understanding man. With all the trouble at the hospital I'm afraid I just allowed myself to hide out in your arms. It was wrong and unfair-more so because I really care very much for you. I'm sorry, Tom."
They reached the stairwell leading up to the Omnicenter. "Wait, " Tom said. "Please." He guided her to a small alcove opposite the staircase.
"You know, considering the nature of the Metro grapevine, we'll probably be an item by…" Two nurses chattered past them and up the stairs.