“That’s only because you’re probably one of them, you friggin’ junkie!” Brasco snapped with startling abruptness. “You’re just trying to save your own hide.” He stood, sending his chair hurtling backward. “Well, let me tell you something. This whole discussion is unnecessary, because before your week is up, we’ll have nailed the bastard. You all can do whatever you want, but let me tell you one more time: We don’t make deals with terrorists, and we also don’t make deals with junkies!”
Before anyone else could say a word, Brasco whirled and stormed out of the room.
CHAPTER 23
For several minutes, those remaining in the Sears Conference Room sat in stunned, motionless silence. Finally, Sid Silverman stood, adjusted his vest, and gathered his papers together.
“The day after tomorrow, then,” he said, as if Brasco’s outburst was too outrageous even to acknowledge. “Dr. Grant, please be sure Attorney Weiss has a way of getting ahold of you.”
“Here’re my cell phone and home numbers,” Will said, passing them over to her. “I. . I know this situation isn’t easy for any of you. Jim, I just want you to know that I am horribly sorry for what this monster is putting you through. Julia, too. If you all decide to go along with the killer’s demands and reinstate me, I promise to keep a very low profile and not cause any problems. I doubt Lieutenant Brasco will be back here for our next meeting, but I will. Hopefully, before too much longer, you’ll all know what I know, namely that I’m not guilty of anything.”
The meeting ended without fanfare. Drained, Will remained in his place as the others left the room. Jim Katz, still pale and shaken, hurried out without so much as a glance at Will. Of the others, only Susan and Gordo made eye contact with him.
Will felt sad about this latest turn in his insane saga, but he also felt, in some strange way, vindicated. From the moment the fentanyl was detected in his blood, he had been a pariah in the hospital, among his colleagues, and in the press. Now, thanks to a murderer-a multiple murderer-the Society, the hospital, and the Board of Registration in Medicine were begging him to give them a reason, any reason, to restore his medical license, position within the Society, and hospital privileges. If he was being selfish in the face of Jim Katz’s anguish, so be it. No one could fully understand what he had been through, or how desperately he wanted his life back. He wanted to belong, to be challenged again. He wanted his children not to be ostracized from their playmates. He wanted to matter in the world that had mattered so much to him. He wanted to be a doctor again.
Was that so wrong?
It was quite possible that even letters of support from Benois Beane and Susan and Gordo and Jim, and maybe a couple of the docs who hadn’t turned away from him, would not be enough to convince the attorneys from the hospital and the board, but for the moment that was all he could think of to do.
Susan.
Will was gathering his notes together when he realized he had intended to speak with her after the meeting about the BB in Grace’s films, radiologist Rick Pizzi’s opinion, and the strange, violent reaction of the man who had referred Grace to her in the first place. He stuffed the papers in his briefcase and was just pushing back from the table when Sid Silverman returned to the room. His moon face was more flushed than usual.
“I thought I’d find you still here,” he said.
“I was just fixin’ to leave.”
“I came back to see to it that you do.”
“What?”
“You’re still suspended from here.”
“So?”
“So, I want you out of this hospital until-when and if-we restore your privileges to work here. Personally, Grant, I think you’re dirty. I think you took that drug, and I think that somehow you’re more involved with this killer than you would let anyone believe. If it weren’t that Jim Katz’s life is at stake, I would have leapt up to support Brasco’s position in a heartbeat. And if something happens to Katz, I hope you’re prepared to live with it. Now, get out of here.”
Having issued the order, rather than leave, Silverman stepped back against the wall and waited, his arms folded against his chest as tightly as his anatomy would allow.
Will wanted so desperately to charge across the room and punch the hospital president senseless. Stupid, insensitive bastard. In what he hoped was exasperatingly slow motion, Will stood up and made a pretext of repacking his briefcase. It was then he realized his cell phone was ringing. Gesturing what can you do? to Silverman, he answered it.
“Grant, Micelli here,” the lawyer rasped. “You someplace you can talk?”
“I can talk, Augie.”
The longer you have to stand around and wait, Sid, the happier it makes me.
“Grant, listen. As I told you earlier, I’ve been studying the pharmacology of fentanyl and thinking about how this could have happened to you.”
“And?”
“The drug had to be inside your shoes-those red sneakers you wear every time you operate! It’s the only explanation that makes any sense other than that you’re a liar, and I’ve chosen not to consider that possibility anymore. The drug-probably a lot of it-was soaked into the insoles of your OR shoes and allowed to dry there. Then, your own sweat reconstituted it and you absorbed it through your feet, just as if your socks were giant fentanyl patches. We have to find those shoes, Grant. Any idea where they could be?”
Stunned, Will sank down into the chair, the cell phone pressed tightly against his ear. Was it possible? Micelli was crazy. There was no way he was right this time. Still, Will was well known for the red Chuck Taylor All Stars he invariably wore in the OR. He decided to hang on to the possibility, at least for the moment. Like Micelli had said, they were long on facts and way short on explanations.
“I have no idea where they can be now,” Will said. “The ER nurses put everyone’s clothes into a labeled plastic bag. I never got them back. Maybe the police have them.”
“They don’t. I checked.”
“I can check with the nurses in the ICU.”
“No! We’ve got to find them, but we need a cop there with us when we do. A cop or someone from the DA’s office. And also someone in authority at your hospital. So, for God’s sake, don’t go looking for them, because if you luck out and actually find them, you’ve ruined everything. We’ll need a tight chain of custody. Listen, I know someone in the DA’s office who owes me a favor. Maybe he’ll come. Meanwhile, see if you can get someone from your hospital to meet us in the lobby there at, say, eight tonight. Call me if you can’t pull that off.”
“I’ll do my best. I know a state police detective I might be able to get.”
“Terrific. For this search, the more witnesses the merrier. It’s the shoes, pal! It’s always the shoes!”
Will slipped the phone back in his briefcase and turned dramatically to Silverman.
“We need to talk, Sid,” he said.
Sid Silverman flatly refused to represent the hospital in the search for Will’s OR shoes. Instead, he led Will to attorney Jill Leary’s office, stayed long enough to ensure she would be available at eight, and left with another warning that when his business with Leary was finished, Will was to wait outside the hospital until Micelli’s group convened in the lobby. Learning that the infamous Law Doctor was representing Will did nothing to brighten Silverman’s day.
“I thought Micelli just sued doctors,” he said.
“He’s making an exception in my case.”
“Why?”
“I think it’s because he believes I could be innocent, Sid.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“You know what I think? I think Micelli’s right. I think the shoes are how I was poisoned. And I think you’re frightened to death that you might be wrong about me and wrong in the way you’ve treated me. And when we find out that he’s right, and you’re wrong, I want my staff privileges back on the spot. And you know what else I want, Sid? I want you never to speak to me or about me again.”