Fatal Trauma Read online

  “But that’s in Mexico,” Mark said.

  “Right,” Ames replied. “And in Mexico, it’s not difficult to find them. On the other hand, here in Texas, almost anyone could be a Zeta. Various law enforcement groups are constantly working to ferret them out, but as for apprehending the gang members who might be gunning for you, as you might put it . . .”

  “I think I see,” Mark said. “You’re fighting an uphill battle already. I guess you’re saying my life and that of my colleagues could be in danger indefinitely.”

  “Not necessarily indefinitely, but I can’t say when it will end. If we can cut off the head of the monster, the tentacles curl up and die. There’s one man in this area that is the chief, or Jefe, of the local Zetas. Believe me, he’s the target of a number of law enforcement agencies, not just the Drayton Police. We’re all working to find and arrest him. Until we do . . .”

  Mark felt his heart sink. “I understand.”

  “I wish we had enough men to provide security for all of you, but you can see our problem. This isn’t our only case. Because of the Zeta aspect of it, I imagine you’ll hear from one of the federal agencies fairly soon.”

  And in the meantime, I’m walking around with a bull’s-eye on my back. Mark felt his stomach revolt, threatening to bring up what he’d just consumed. Then he realized that, once more, his first thought had been for his own safety, not Kelly’s. What was wrong with him?

  ***

  The shooter wondered how long the police investigation would last, and how intensive the manhunt would be. It had been almost too easy to kill Buddy Cane. And there should be nothing to connect the shooter with the incident. Soon the gun would be safely stowed where no one could possibly find it. Right now it had to be accessible for more killing if it was necessary. No, make that when it was necessary. There was definitely more to do.

  Of course, the police would spread a wide net looking for the perpetrator, but the shooter wasn’t afraid of discovery. All that remained was to stay calm and do nothing that would arouse the suspicions of the police. Meanwhile, there were other tasks to finalize and carry out.

  ***

  Mark checked his watch and did some quick mental calculations. If he went back home, he’d literally arrive in time to turn around and head for work. On the other hand, if he drove to the hospital now he’d arrive more than an hour before his shift in the ER began. Maybe he could—

  His cell phone buzzed. As Mark answered, he started walking toward his car. He could sit inside it, out of the sun and away from the buzz of traffic that had begun to pick up, while he talked.

  The caller ID showed Memorial Hospital. Could Eric need something? No, Eric would call on his personal cell phone. Whoever was calling, Mark knew he needed to answer.

  “Dr. Baker.”

  “Doctor, this is Diane, in Dr. Goodrich’s office. He would like to know if you can meet with him . . . as soon as possible.”

  Mark thumbed the remote to open his car and climbed inside. He started the engine and let the air conditioner begin to overcome the effect of the summer sun on the interior of his vehicle, all the while wondering why the hospital administrator would want to see him—and why “as soon as possible”?

  “I can be there in fifteen minutes,” Mark said. “Any idea what this is about?”

  “I’m sorry. He didn’t say.”

  Mark ended the call and headed for the hospital. Well, that answered his question about what to do with the extra time before his shift started.

  While he drove, Mark remembered that he hadn’t yet notified Eric McCray of the possible malpractice suit. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Eric. When his call rolled to voicemail, Mark ended it. No problem. I’ll let him know later. As he stowed his phone, Mark wondered what Goodrich wanted from him. Oh, well. He’d see soon enough.

  ***

  Kelly hurried out her front door to the curb, looking all around for suspicious activity. Everything seemed quiet, and she wondered if she wasn’t being a bit paranoid.

  She climbed into Tracy’s little red Hyundai, tossed her purse and backpack into the rear seat alongside her friend’s, and buckled her seat belt. “Thanks again for letting me ride with you.”

  Tracy pulled away from the curb. “Glad to do it. Matter of fact, you may recall that I asked you about doing this several months ago, but you wanted to have your own wheels.”

  “I know,” Kelly said. “Usually I run errands on the way to work—stuff like picking up or dropping off dry cleaning. And I’ve found a 24-hour grocery where there’s almost no one in the store around midnight when I’m on my way home. But with this scare about the Zetas . . .”

  “No problem. And if we need to detour sometime to let you do an errand, I guess we can do that.” She changed lanes. “But how long are you going to be looking over your shoulder? Surely the police can do something to neutralize this threat.”

  “I’m not sure.” Kelly said. “Mark called me earlier about this. He talked with one of the detectives and apparently it’s not as simple as finding one or two people and putting them behind bars. He offered to drive me, but I don’t want a bodyguard or a babysitter.” She sighed. “I just want this to be over.”

  “Speaking of Mark—”

  “Before you ask, no, I didn’t tell him I was falling in love with him. I was going to, but he beat me to it by saying he was disappointed in himself for thinking about escaping the gunman instead of rescuing everyone else. He wondered if he’d been guilty of making things revolve around him. So, until he gets his head straight, he doesn’t think he should date anyone.”

  Tracy turned her eyes briefly on her friend. “Actually, in the end he took a big chance, put himself at risk, to save you.”

  “I told him we all fail at times. Even cited Scripture. It’s how we do in the end that counts.”

  Tracy came to a stop sign. She applied the brakes and looked both ways before proceeding. “I heard a great comeback to the argument that people who fail God couldn’t ever be used by Him.”

  “I’d love to hear it. Maybe it will come in handy.”

  “Let me see if I can get it right.” She signaled for a right turn. “Oh, yes. ‘If God doesn’t use people who’ve failed, who’s left for Him to use?’”

  ***

  Mark parked his car in its usual spot and tossed his blazer into the back seat. He had a clean white coat in his locker in the ER. Maybe he’d pick it up and put it on before going to Goodrich’s office. Wearing it might help remind the hospital administrator that Mark was a real doctor and Goodrich was not. On a few occasions in the past when the two of them engaged in dialogue, that distinction seemed to have been lost on Allen Goodrich.

  Just a few minutes past the fifteen minutes he’d predicted on the phone, Mark arrived in the hospital administration suite. Diane, Goodrich’s administrative assistant, looked up, smiled, and said, “Dr. Baker. Thanks for coming in. I’ll let Dr. Goodrich know you’re here.”

  It was well known among the staff that Allen Goodrich had flunked out of medical school in his freshman year. He’d gone on to get an MBA, and something—rumor was it was a large donation—prompted his alma mater, a small college in the Midwest, to confer an honorary PhD on Goodrich. Honorary or not, he clung to the title and used it at every opportunity.

  Mark took a seat and wondered how long Goodrich would keep him waiting. He was betting on not less than five or more than fifteen minutes. Surprisingly enough, only three minutes later Diane emerged from the inner office and said, “Go right in. He’s waiting for you.”

  Being called to meet with Goodrich wasn’t totally unusual. Having to wait less than five minutes to gain entrance to the inner sanctum, on the other hand, was practically unheard of.

  “Dr. Baker,” Goodrich said. “Have a seat.”

  Goodrich didn’t look like a hospital administrator so much as he resembled a college professor, down to the tweed sport coat with leather elbow patches. He was tall, thin, and wore rea
ding glasses that repeatedly slipped down on his nose, giving rise to a Goodrich imitation that was the life of many staff parties . . . when the administrator wasn’t present.

  The man half-rose from behind his desk and nodded his head, making an unruly lock of straw-colored hair bob below his eyebrows for a moment. He didn’t extend a hand, but simply pointed to the chair across from him. Mark nodded and sat, but decided to remain silent. Goodrich had called the meeting. Let him start.

  “Quite an episode on Saturday night in the ER,” Goodrich said.

  “Yes,” Mark replied. “It’s a tragedy that we couldn’t save Sergeant Purvis, but none of our people were injured by the gunman.”

  “I suppose the police have questioned you.”

  “Extensively and repeatedly,” Mark said. “Is that what this is about? Because I’ve told them everything I could recall about the incident. It was too bad we couldn’t save the sergeant, but—”

  Goodrich held up his hand, palm out. “I’ve heard nothing from the police. But we were contacted first thing this morning by an attorney who mentioned more than once that a malpractice claim might be in the offing.”

  “By whom? What malpractice? There’s—”

  Goodrich turned to the computer monitor on a side table beside his desk. He tapped a few keys. “This is the electronic medical record for Hector Garcia. Apparently his family has engaged an attorney, who feels he has a strong case against you and the hospital for the treatment rendered to Mr. Garcia.” Goodrich swiveled back to face Mark. “They claim you not only were guilty of malpractice, but violated his civil rights by not administering proper treatment in a timely fashion.”

  “May I see that record?”

  Goodrich turned the monitor so Mark could see it. The chart, or what passed for one, was a brief narrative. Eric had volunteered to dictate it while Mark was tied up with the police. Mark read: “The subject was brought to the ER by his brother, who threatened the staff at gunpoint, telling them to save the subject’s life . . .”

  Mark looked up from the screen. He’d seen enough. “This man was DOA . . . dead on arrival. We didn’t tell his brother, because he would have started shooting everyone. There was no malpractice. There was no treatment involved.”

  “Notice that this narrative was Dr. McCray’s, not yours. You have nothing on the record. That, of course, calls the account of the incident into question.”

  “But what Dr. McCray said was accurate. I’ll attest to that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I felt his carotid pulse—he had none. I put a stethoscope on his chest—there was no heartbeat. The man had expired.”

  “Did you try cardiopulmonary resuscitation? Can you swear that he was beyond saving with CPR?” Goodrich leaned back in his chair. “Think about those questions, because they’re the ones you’ll be answering under oath if this case moves forward. In the meantime, I think it would be best if Dr. McCray suspends you from your work in the ER until the matter of the lawsuit is settled.”

  8

  Kelly reached into the rear seat of Tracy’s car to reclaim her purse and backpack. “Where do you want to meet after our shifts end?”

  Tracy grabbed her stuff and used the remote to lock the car. “I guess the first question is what time we’ll get away. If there’s an emergency case going and I’m scrubbed in, it might be after midnight.”

  “And if things are crazy in the ER, the same with me,” Kelly said. “Why don’t we contact each other if we see that happening? Otherwise, I’ll meet you in the food court. I think I’ll be safe there.”

  The two women went through the sliding glass doors of the ER, and before they could go their separate ways, Kelly’s cell phone rang. She looked at the display. Why is Mark calling me?

  Tracy raised her eyebrows, but didn’t speak.

  “It’s Mark,” Kelly said. “I think we’ve spoken more often after he told me we shouldn’t see each other than before.”

  “Are you going to see what he wants?”

  “I think I have to.” Kelly turned toward an unoccupied corner of the ER waiting area. “I’ll talk with you later.” She answered the call.

  “Kelly, where are you right now?”

  Kelly wasn’t sure what there was in Mark’s voice that made the hairs on her arms stand at attention, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it. “I’m right outside the ER, headed for work.”

  “I’m leaving the administration suite right now. Do you know the benches in the lobby next to the admitting desk? Can you meet me there? This won’t take long, but I’ve been given some news that might affect both of us . . . actually, I already know that it affects me. Matter of fact, it could be a death blow for my job here.”

  ***

  Mark collapsed on the bench near the mural that was the centerpiece of the hospital’s lobby and pondered the effect of the news he’d just received. It was ridiculous, of course. Any decent lawyer would turn down such a suit. And the results of the autopsy would confirm that Garcia’s injuries were enough to kill him, no matter how heroic Mark’s treatment might have been.

  While he waited for Kelly, Mark wondered about getting a cup of coffee, but after what he’d heard from Allen Goodrich, he didn’t think he could keep down even a couple of swallows.

  When he saw Kelly, he rose from his seat and waved.

  She hurried over, a frown on her face. “Mark, what this about?” She dumped her purse and backpack on the bench and sat.

  “I’ve just come from the administrator’s office,” he began.

  “That’s what you said when you called.” She looked at her watch. “Look, Mark. I have to get to the ER, so why don’t you tell me why it’s so important we talk . . . again.”

  Mark swallowed, but the cotton ball in his throat didn’t move. “It seems I could be the target of a malpractice suit by the family of Hector Garcia.”

  “Who?” It was obvious from her expression that Kelly didn’t recognize the name.

  “That’s the man you wheeled into the ER Saturday night—the one his brother wanted us to save.”

  Kelly shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. He was dead when he reached the ER.”

  Mark shook his head. “That’s the catch—was he? Did we consider CPR? No, we just pretended to start resuscitation until the police rescued us from his brother.”

  “But . . . But there was a man holding a gun to my head, threatening both of us. We couldn’t be expected to—”

  “Makes no difference,” Mark said. “Anyone can sue anybody for anything. And our administrator is apparently so afraid of the publicity that might come of this, he’s checking with my boss right now to see about getting me suspended.”

  Kelly sat, tight-lipped and silent, but Mark could imagine what was going through her mind. She’d undoubtedly be included in any malpractice suit. What would this do to her professionally?

  “Don’t worry, the doctor is still ‘captain of the ship’ in situations like this. If there’s a malpractice action, I’d be the primary one named. They might include the hospital, because that’s where the deep pockets are, but you’re unlikely to be harmed by this. At most, you’d be called to testify. I just thought you should know what’s going on.”

  “I don’t—”

  Mark looked at his watch. “You need to get to work, and I have to call Eric McCray and see if I still have a job. If I do, then it’s time for me to get to the ER, too.” He rose. “Kelly, I’m sorry you’re involved in this. Believe me, I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

  Kelly nodded dumbly, retrieved her things, and hurried away. Mark sat down and scrolled through the numbers on his cell phone. He’d better see if Eric had talked with Dr. Goodrich. As he waited for his call to go through, he realized that, for a few minutes at least, his thoughts had been of protecting Kelly rather than saving his own skin. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

  ***

  Dr. Eric McCray felt as though people were converging on him from all side
s. He was at the end of his seven a.m. to three p.m. shift in the emergency room of Memorial Hospital when his cell phone rang. Unlike most of the doctors and nurses who worked there, he didn’t leave his phone in his locker. As the person in charge of the ER physicians group, he had to be available 24/7.

  Fortunately, he had a bit of breathing room, so Eric moved toward the staff lounge as he pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his scrub pants. “Dr. McCray.”

  “Eric, this is Dr. Goodrich. I think we should talk.”

  “I’m sort of busy. Why don’t you give me the short version?”

  The staff lounge was empty at the moment. Eric dropped into a chair and listened without comment as Goodrich told him of the threatened malpractice suit against Dr. Mark Baker.

  “Don’t you think it would be prudent to suspend Dr. Baker until this issue blows over?”

  “No,” Eric said.

  Goodrich launched into an explanation of why it would be best for the reputation of Drayton Memorial Hospital to relieve Mark of his duties. “We simply must minimize any negative publicity,” he concluded.

  Eric shook his head. “We’ve had suits threatened, we’ve had suits filed, we even had one suit initially go against us, although it was reversed on appeal. What’s so different about this one? You need to have a good reason to order Mark out of the ER.”

  Goodrich hemmed and hawed and began repeating his arguments.

  Eric heard a noise and looked down at his cell phone. “Look, I have another call coming in. So far as I’m concerned the decision is made. Mark Baker stays unless you can come up with a better reason.”

  He ended that call and answered the next. The caller ID had already told Eric who was calling, and he knew why. Without preamble, he said, “Mark, I’ve just talked with Goodrich and essentially told him to stuff it. Now hurry on down here and get to work.”