Ben hated to admit it, but the man was right. Rather than a pot of gold, University Children’s had ended up on the losing side of a legal shootout over the flu vaccine — draining its coffers in the process — all because Elmer had failed to get that Tartaglia woman’s signature on an employee contract.
“Henry, give it a rest,” Caleb said while looking at his watch. “It’s late, and we’re off topic.”
As the recipient of grants that comprised fully one-fourth of the entire research budget at University Children’s, and with a reputation that opened doors in the rarefied domain of international healthcare policy, Caleb was one of only a few medical staff members with the stature and inclination to confront Barnesdale.
He was also Elmer’s longtime friend and research partner. Caleb had contributed much of the immunological groundwork for Elmer’s flu vaccine. If anyone had a right to be angry about the Zenavax debacle, it was Caleb.
But the angry blush on Barnesdale’s cheeks had little to do with Zenavax. Apparently, it galled him that Elmer was too oblivious, and Caleb too powerful, to submit to his will.
Barnesdale really is a pompous ass, Ben thought, and living in a glass house. Once a pediatric surgeon whose skills were on the mediocre side of ordinary, he was the last person at their table who should be sniping about someone else’s professional competence.
Even so, Ben’s feelings for the man vacillated between disdain and pity. He hadn’t always been a schmuck. It wasn’t until a few years after his wife was devastated in an automobile accident that Barnesdale seemed to abandon his better angels.
But then, the world was full of people who had faced similar tragedies without giving into bitterness. Ben glanced at Caleb, whose only child had died from a genetic disorder. On those rare occasions when the man spoke of his son, Caleb’s pain was as plainly visible as a cattle brand. But unlike Barnesdale, Caleb didn’t foist his personal anguish onto others.
The intercom on Barnesdale’s phone sounded. “Sir, excuse me for interrupting,” his secretary said, “but there’s a phone call for you.”
“Tell them I’m busy,” Barnesdale fumed.
“I explained that you’re in conference, sir. They told me you had instructed them to interrupt you if you were in a meeting.”
“Who is it?”
“The Guatemalan Consulate, sir.”
12
Luke reached his office and was unlocking the door when a surgical resident came barreling around the corner. The resident sidestepped him in an agile move and raced into Trauma One, which was just down the hall.
Luke’s altercation with the football player and Kate’s murder were tonight’s topics of conversation in the E.R., and he was using his dinner break to escape the chatter. Once inside the office, he dropped into his chair without bothering to close the door.
The gossipmongers had settled on a comfortable consensus that Kate was the victim of a random robbery-homicide. Luke was still trying to convince himself that they were right. Was he overthinking it? Were his feelings toward Kate — the untidy blend of onetime affections and vexing disappointments — clouding his judgment?
Whatever the case, between Kate’s murder, his scuffle with Erickson, and the Guatemalan boy’s peculiar death, the past twenty-four hours had taken on a chaotic rhythm. Perhaps he was searching for existential order where there was none to be had.
His windowless room wasn’t much bigger than a cubicle, which was fine with him because he was almost never there. His routine was to stop by on Mondays and Thursdays, and then only to pick up his mail, check his phone messages, and wade through whatever paperwork the hospital bureaucrats had thrown at him.
He looked through his e-mails, going back over the messages he had already seen on Friday night. Then he checked the computer folder that held deleted messages. There was nothing from Kate. Where had her e-mail gone?
He’d spoken to one of the hospital’s computer programmers earlier that afternoon. The guy had agreed to search the hospital’s e-mail server for any incoming messages with a sender’s address that contained all or most of the letter sequence T-A-R-T-A-G-L–I-A, but he told Luke that his backlog of work orders would keep him from getting to it until Monday or Tuesday.
Luke had also called Zenavax. The officious operator who seemed unaware of Kate’s fate had been exceedingly unhelpful. If he wanted to talk to someone about an e-mail, he would have to call back on Monday. And no, she would not disturb Dr. Tartaglia’s secretary at home over the weekend.
He sat forward and punched the voicemail button on his phone. There were three messages. Two were from hospital staff members wanting to hear more about his fight, though they couched their meddlesome curiosity in expressions of concern. A third was from a drug rep who wanted to know if Luke was interested in coming to a drug symposium. He wasn’t.
There were no messages from Kate.
“McKenna.”
Luke cocked his head to the side. Barnesdale and another man were standing in the doorway. The second man took in his office with one eye; his other eye remained fixed on Luke.
Barnesdale pointed down the hall. “Come with us.”
Luke followed the two men into a small meeting room. He didn’t know the second man, but the pretentious sheen on his suit marked him as trouble.
Once in the room with the door closed, Barnesdale came right to the point. “The Medical Executive Committee has voted to temporarily suspend your clinical privileges, pending an inquiry.”
He waited for Luke’s response. When he gave him none, Barnesdale continued, “Your suspension is effective immediately and will last for three weeks, assuming our inquiry doesn’t require us to take further action.”
Luke said nothing.
“Do you have anything you want to say?” Barnesdale asked.
“That question usually comes before someone is suspended from their job.”
Barnesdale’s jaw tightened. “You had your chance — last night. You didn’t take it.”
Luke glanced at The Suit, then back at Barnesdale. “Touché.”
The Suit said, “Our law firm represents the hospital in certain matters. Dr. Barnesdale has asked me to act as counsel to the committee that will examine this incident. You’ll have every opportunity to present the facts as you see them, and I want you to know that we’ll do everything possible to deal with this issue quickly and fairly.”
Luke couldn’t tell whether the attorney was looking at him, or the door behind him. He nodded at the man’s nose and said, “While you’re busy looking out for my welfare, who’s looking out for the child?”
“The child?” asked Barnesdale.
“Erickson’s daughter. The one that looks like a punching bag. The girl who might just turn up dead someday.”
“That’s up to the case workers at the Department of Children and Family Services. DCFS is perfectly capable of doing their job. Maybe you should take a lesson from them, and stick to doing your job.”
Luke fought to control his anger. “Anything else?”
The attorney said, “I hope you’ll take some time to think about the hospital’s position in all of this. Of course, we want what’s right for the girl, just as you do, but the hospital is in a delicate situation here, and further provoking the Erickson family isn’t going to help the hospital’s position, or yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Perhaps you were mistaken about Erickson. Perhaps there’s another explanation for what you saw.” The attorney’s eyes jogged to Barnesdale. “We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves, but—”
“I’ll tell you what,” Luke said. “Let’s pretend that you weren’t about to ask me to withdraw the DCFS report on that girl. That way, we can keep a civil tone to this conversation.”