Fatal Trauma Read online

  “Please ask him to call Dr. Mark Baker.” Mark added his cell number and an emphasis that the matter was urgent.

  The voice on the other end of the call was polite enough, but Mark figured he wouldn’t receive an immediate return call. Meantime, he had other things to do.

  Next he phoned Dr. Anna King. He needed to tell her about Jackson’s visit and its implications . . . for both of them. Contrary to what some people might think, Mark knew that surgeons don’t spend all their time at the hospital. In fact, they spend more time in their office, seeing post-op follow-ups, pre-op evaluations, and consultations than they do in the operating room. So he played the odds and called Anna’s office first.

  The secretary who answered gave Mark both good news and bad. Dr. King was in the office this morning, but she was tied up with a patient at that moment. Could she call him back? Mark left his number and moved on to the next call on his list.

  “MSI, how may I help you?”

  MSI stood for Medical Specialists, Incorporated, and Mark wondered how a receptionist who must answer a hundred calls a day about medical malpractice could sound so chipper. Maybe the words didn’t even mean anything to her anymore. Maybe they issued directly from her lips without any input from the cerebral cortex. He’d have to think about that some more. “This is Dr. Mark Baker, in Drayton, Texas. I need to speak with one of your representatives about a potential claim against me.”

  “I presume you’re insured with us,” the receptionist said.

  “You carry the insurance for our group. It’s Emergency Physicians LLC. Dr. Eric McCray is the CEO.”

  Mark waited through three minutes of what probably passed for light rock before he heard a cheerful voice. “This is Buddy Blankenship. How can I help you, doctor?”

  “I need to advise you of a situation that might turn into a malpractice claim. I don’t think there’s anything to it—” Isn’t that what all of us say when we first become aware we might be the subject of a suit? “But I’ve been told many times to let you all know as soon as I become aware of a potential malpractice suit.”

  “That’s the best thing to do,” Blankenship said. “Tell me about it.”

  Mark did, trying to be as objective as possible in his recounting of an episode that still brought cold chills to him. When he’d finished, Blankenship said, “So all you have is a feeling that this Detective Jackson, acting on behalf of the family, is sniffing around to see if you did everything right to save the policeman’s life?”

  “Right. And I know I’m probably jumping at shadows—”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve seen suits threatened or even brought in similar situations. And if what you tell me is true about Dr. King, she might be the principal person in such a suit.”

  “But just because she has a history of drinking—”

  “That will be up to a judge and jury, of course.” Mark heard a faint thud. “Sorry, had a sip of coffee and put the cup down too firmly,” Blankenship said. “Have you told your group’s CEO of this?”

  “Not yet, but I will. All this is coming pretty fast.”

  “Okay. After you talk with him, I’d advise you not to say anything further about the threat of a suit. Simply leave it with me, and call if anyone else contacts you about the situation.”

  Mark hung up, hoping he’d done the right thing. Somehow, he felt he was being disloyal to Anna.

  His main job now was to stay safe until the police put an end to the potential threat from the Zetas. And, if she’d let him, he’d do his best to protect Kelly as well.

  The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that he’d done everything he could to save the life of Ed Purvis. So far as he could tell, so had Anna King. He ought to let Eric McCray know about this. After that he’d follow Blankenship’s advice and not talk to—

  The ring of his phone interrupted his thoughts. When he saw the caller ID, Mark thought, “Oh, no.” He’d forgotten that he’d called Anna. And now she was calling back.

  Mark stood with his phone in his hand. His malpractice insurance representative had just warned him against talking about the possible claim to anyone. Did that include Anna? After all, she was the primary surgeon in the case. Besides, she was more than a colleague. She was a woman he’d dated. True, working with Anna in surgery the other night had shown him a side of her that wasn’t as appealing as what he’d encountered on their dates, but maybe all surgeons behaved that way.

  He squared his shoulders and answered the call. “Anna, thanks for getting back to me.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t turn loose when you called. What’s up?”

  “Two things, I guess. I had a phone call from the detective working the shooting in the ER, telling me that the men who died were members of the Zeta drug cartel.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know they had gotten this far north into Texas.”

  “Apparently they have,” Mark said. “And the detective tells me they’re pretty fanatical about revenge. Their usual reaction is to kill everyone involved. I guess that means you might be in danger, since you operated on the policeman who actually killed the gunman.”

  “That’s silly. Why would they go after the surgical team?”

  “I wasn’t convinced either, until I heard that Buddy Cane was shot to death yesterday.”

  The silence on the other end of the line lasted long enough for Mark to wonder if he’d lost the connection. When Anna responded, there was a catch in her voice. “I heard that. Poor Buddy.”

  Mark took a deep breath. “You won’t like the other bit of news any better. I got a personal visit from Detective Jackson to ask me if you’d been drinking when you operated on Sergeant Purvis.”

  Anna’s voice cooled several degrees. “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told him the truth—that I couldn’t smell alcohol on your breath, and that you didn’t talk or act as though you were impaired.”

  “Thanks,” Anna said. “Matter of fact, I was stone-cold sober, and I can prove it.”

  “How?”

  A woman’s voice sounded in the background. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work. Why don’t we have dinner together and I’ll explain?”

  “I’ve got the three to eleven shift in the ER tonight,” Mark said.

  “Okay, let’s do this. It’s a little before eleven a.m. now. Why don’t you meet me for lunch about half past twelve?”

  Although Saturday night’s interaction with her had already made Mark decide not to pursue his social relationship with Anna, and he’d been warned only minutes ago not to discuss the possible malpractice suit with anyone, he didn’t see a good way to turn down the offer. After all, what she had to say might be important. “I guess I can do that.”

  “Meet me at Bella’s. I’ll have my secretary call and ask them to put us in the back room so we can have some privacy.”

  He would have preferred something much more public, but he didn’t think Anna would bend easily. She was showing more of the personality Mark had seen at the operating table, but never before in a social setting. He decided not to fight it. “Sure. See you then.”

  After he hung up, Mark stood there with the phone in his hand. What have I gotten myself into now?

  ***

  Kelly looked at her watch. Almost noon. If Tracy had worked the three to eleven shift last night, she should be up by now. Since Kelly was going to ask her friend for a favor, she didn’t want the conversation to start with Tracy upset by being awakened. But if she waited longer . . .

  Kelly punched in the number, and breathed a sigh of relief when Tracy answered on the first ring, her voice betraying no evidence of sleepiness.

  “Tracy, are you working in the OR again today?”

  “Right. Three to eleven. Did you want to do something? I’ll have to leave for work in a couple of hours, but—”

  “No, I’m calling to ask if I can ride with you.”

  “Sure. Car trouble?”

  “No. It’s all a part of the shooting in the
ER on Saturday night.” Kelly wondered how much to tell Tracy, but decided that her best friend deserved to know what was going on and why she was asking this favor. So she told her.

  “Of course you can ride with me,” Tracy said. “I guess we don’t know how long this will last, but that’s okay. One day at a time.”

  “Thanks, Tracy. I hope it won’t be long. And if you think I’m putting you in danger, we’ll stop. Do you think that’s the case?”

  “I’m probably in more danger from someone running a stop sign and ramming my car than I am from a stray bullet aimed at you. Besides, that’s what friends are for.”

  “Just let me know what time you want to come by,” Kelly said.

  “Why don’t I pick you up at two?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “And when we leave work, I’ll introduce you to Carl—it’s really Carlos, but he’s trying to adapt. He’s the tech who works with me on the evening shift. I’m off tomorrow evening, but maybe Carl can pick you up then.”

  “Are you certain about that?” Kelly asked.

  “No problem,” Tracy said. “You’ll be safe with him. I haven’t known him all that long, but he seems nice.”

  “How he seems to you doesn’t mean a lot to me right now,” Kelly said. “I’m worried about someone trying to kill me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tracy replied. “You can depend on Carlos. I’d trust him with my life.”

  7

  Mark’s usual lunch was something he threw together at home—maybe an apple and a container of yogurt or a couple of slices of leftover pizza. If he went out, Burger King was more his style than Bella’s. The exclusive Italian restaurant in downtown Drayton had an extensive menu and a wine list that ran to two pages. Mark wondered if they’d have something light . . . both on his stomach and his wallet. He hoped his credit card could stand the hit if he ended up with the check. Maybe the cost would be worth it if Anna’s news turned out to be important.

  When he arrived, Mark discovered that the valet parking attendants he’d seen when he drove by Bella’s in the evenings were sort of like vampires—active at night, absent during the day. He found a spot about a block away and left his Toyota Camry at the curb. He didn’t know if Bella’s required a jacket and tie, but just in case, he wore his blue blazer, a blue-and-red striped tie in the pocket. His shirt was white Oxford cloth with the button-down collar open. His khakis were clean and had a sharp crease. Maybe nobody would notice his Reeboks and athletic socks.

  “Dr. Baker. I’m meeting Dr. King,” he told the attractive lady behind the lectern right inside the front door.

  She gave him a smile that was probably part of the job. “Of course. This way, please.” The hostess led him through the restaurant, which was only about half full, and parted the maroon velvet curtains at the rear, gesturing him into a small private dining room. Anna was seated at the only occupied table. The lights were dim, but it didn’t prevent Mark from seeing the oil portraits and lovely tapestries on the wall.

  Anna didn’t rise. “Mark, glad you could make it.” She gestured to the chair opposite her at the table for four. “Please, have a seat.”

  Mark noted that the white linen tablecloth bore two place settings of heavy silverware plus goblets of ice water. Centered in the middle of the table was a basket of bread plus a shallow saucer of oily golden liquid with a swirl of dark brown in the middle.

  “The bread is good, especially if you dip it in the olive oil and balsamic vinegar,” Anna said. She gestured to the menu, which the hostess had deposited at Mark’s place and which lay unopened in front of him. “Order anything you want. I invited you. You’re my guest.”

  Mark tried not to make his sigh of relief too apparent. At that moment, the waiter approached. “May I get you folks something to drink?”

  Mark nodded toward Anna, signaling for her to go first. “Just water will be fine.”

  Score one for Anna’s sobriety. “The same for me,” Mark said.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” Anna told the waiter. “I’m ready to order.”

  She looked at Mark, who nodded and opened his menu. Surely he could find something.

  “I’ll have a large salad with house dressing on the side,” Anna said. “Mark, would you like to split the stuffed mushroom appetizer?”

  “Sure. And the salad for me, as well.”

  When the waiter had gone, Anna said, “I promised you an answer to your question. Actually, there’s someone who’ll be joining us who’ll answer it for you.”

  She apparently saw Mark’s eyes stray to the two sets of silverware. “No, he won’t be eating with us. I had to twist his arm to get him to join us for a minute or two.”

  The curtains behind them rustled. Mark turned and saw a man dressed much as he was, with the exception that the newcomer didn’t have a jacket. Either he was more familiar with Bella’s dress code, or simply didn’t care. Mark suspected by the man’s manner that the latter was the case.

  The newcomer strode to the table, took the chair between Anna and Mark, and looked at her. “So, I’m here. What can I do for you?”

  “Mark, forgive this gentleman’s manners. Jack Tanner, this is Dr. Mark Baker.” She looked at Tanner. “Mark asked me a question, and I promised him an answer. I think that answer would be more believable coming from you.”

  Tanner favored Mark with a brisk single nod. “Okay.”

  Mark frowned. The question he’d asked Anna could be embarrassing. “Are you sure—”

  “Yes, Mark,” Anna said. “Jack knows all about my problems. That will become clear when he responds.”

  “Okay.” Mark took a deep breath. “Dr. King and I did emergency surgery Saturday night. The patient didn’t make it. I was asked yesterday if she had been drinking at the time of the surgery. I posed the question to her, and she said she’d answer. But apparently she thinks it would be better coming from you.”

  “She wasn’t drinking,” Tanner said.

  “I haven’t given you the time frame.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Dr. King is trying to regain partial custody of her daughter from her ex-husband. Part of that effort involves not drinking. She came to me on the advice of her lawyer, wanting to prove that she’s staying sober.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

  “Dr. King is wearing a SCRAM ankle bracelet. That’s ‘secure continuous random alcohol monitoring.’ I monitor the results. She hasn’t had any alcohol for at least the past eight weeks.”

  Anna turned and extended her left leg to the side so it was visible to Mark. She pulled up the hem of her fashionable black slacks to reveal a wide strap securing a small black box to her ankle. “This is the monitor. I was wearing it Saturday night, the same way I’ve done every hour of every day for two months.” She turned back and let the pants leg fall into position. Then she nodded at Tanner. “Thanks for coming, Jack.”

  He rose and left without a word.

  When they were alone again, Anna said, “I think that should answer the question. Don’t you?”

  Mark knew that implicit in Anna’s statement was another question: “Does that satisfy you, too?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  The waiter served the stuffed mushrooms and the salads, and there was little conversation as they ate. All physicians learn early in their training to eat when it was available, consuming the food rapidly, since they never know when the next opportunity will present itself. But while Mark took in the food, barely tasting it, his thoughts were on the Anna King who’d shown herself here yet again.

  Anna consulted her watch. “I have to get back to the office. I’ve already signed the check, so we’re good to go. Ready?”

  Mark decided that perhaps the compliant, soft, easy-going woman he’d dated was a façade, a personality she could turn on and off depending on the circumstances. He contrasted that with the Anna he’d seen in the OR on Saturday night and again here today—the take-charge woman. Was this the real Anna Kin
g? And if it was, was this the type of person in which he was interested? All the votes weren’t in, but for now he thought the answer was “No.”

  ***

  Mark thought he’d felt the buzz of his cell phone in his pocket during the meal, but it had come when Jack Tanner was delivering the news about Anna’s monitor and he didn’t want to interrupt the story by checking his phone. Now he stood outside the restaurant and saw two things: he’d missed a call from an unfamiliar number, and he had one voicemail.

  He moved to a bench several steps away from the doorway where he could have some privacy. Mark checked the voicemail and heard, “This is Detective Addison Ames, returning your call. You can reach me at this number. It’s my cell.” That was it.

  When he’d first met the two detectives in the ER, his impression was of an unmatched duo, the short, stocky, somewhat pugnacious Jackson paired with the tall, thin, blonde, easy-going Ames. Well, now he’d see how easy-going Ames was outside the presence of his partner. Mark pushed “redial” and in a minute heard, “Ames.”

  “Detective, this is Mark Baker. I’m the doctor—”

  “I know who you are. How can I help you?”

  So that was going to be Ames’s style: brisk, to the point, not rude but not social. Okay, so be it. “Your partner contacted me yesterday to say that I and other people involved in the incident Saturday night might be at risk from the Zetas. In view of the shooting of Dr. Cane, I wondered if the police are taking any steps to protect the rest of us until you apprehend the gang members who might be responsible.”

  Was that a chuckle coming from the phone? Maybe Mark had been wrong about Ames. Sure enough, there was a smile in his voice when he replied, “Doctor, how much do you know about the Zeta drug cartel?”

  “Only what I read in the papers and see on TV.”

  “In Mexico, they’re the most powerful force there. Police and military give them a wide berth. The populace live in constant fear of them.”