Lutz’s eyes shrank to ball bearings. “You’d be a lot less comfortable with a ten-million-dollar lawsuit with your name on it.”
“But I never even laid eyes on Clara Devine or Edward Zuchowsky.”
“That may be so, but you’re employed to oversee residents’ medications. And lawyers can make ugly mountains out of molehills. It’s for your protection that we’re having this conversation.” He narrowed his eyes to say that she should be grateful.
“Forgive me, but violating the law and ethical standards is hardly protection.”
“Ms. Ballard, we are not talking about ethical standards, but a higher morality—which you agreed was for the welfare of our patients.”
“Clara Devine let herself out by tapping the security code. We all saw the video and I’m told she did that because of Memorine. So, why are we denying that?”
“Because if it becomes known that she was a subject in the clinical trials of a drug which may have made possible her escape, massive lawsuits would fly, and everybody associated with this home and GEM Tech would find themselves tied up in a legal free-for-all for years to come—the results of which could be suspension, heavy fines, exorbitant legal fees, and acrimony. It would almost certainly mean the termination of the development of a cure for Alzheimer’s disease. And that simply cannot happen.”
“But what you’re asking me to do is wrong.”
“Some abstract notion of right or wrong is not the point. It’s to do what’s right by our residents.”
“What about the others—nurses, doctors, administrators?”
“They’re in concurrence with our higher mission here.”
So, this was getting the new girl in line. “What about Clara Devine’s medical records? Surely the Zuchowsky lawyers will want to see if anything there can explain her attack.”
“Her records won’t be a problem.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Altering medical records could cost us our licenses to practice.”
Lutz took a deep breath. “Ms. Ballard, what is proper and improper are relative matters since the circumstances are unique. Greater issues are at stake, namely, the beneficial outcome of this drug research. Secondly, there is absolutely no evidence connecting the compound with Mr. Zuchowsky’s death. Something in her just snapped.”
“But once the drug’s approved, won’t the Zuchowsky family wonder if Clara had been enrolled and attempt to raise a connection?”
“Not unless you say something about it, because I can assure you that the rest of the staff here will not.”
Jesus! He was putting the whole thing on her. “Do your lawyers know about the clinical trials?”
His face filled with blood. “No. And let me remind you that Clara Devine was suffering dementia and was known to have delusions even before the trials. Any speculation to the contrary could compromise the trials and the marketing of the compound.”
He was telling her to lie and everybody else would swear to it. Because we’re team players.
“You are, of course, free to hire your own attorney,” Lutz continued. “But I’m sure CommCare will provide you with one.”
She nodded, feeling confused and resenting how she was being manipulated. She wished she had never seen the videos, had never noticed the irregularities.
“As you may know, the locking system has been replaced, as has the camera.”
“What about the security video of Clara Devine?”
“I really don’t think that’s something that concerns you.”
“But I thought we were all team players.”
Carter Lutz’s eye twitched reflexively. “Let’s just say it’s no longer a liability.”
Translated: Destroyed.
Lutz closed his hands over the papers and stared at her. “So, are you with us?”
“I need some time to think this over. You’re asking me to compromise some basic professional ethics. You’re also asking me to withhold information from my employer—that because of Memorine, Clare Devine was able to elope from this home and kill someone.”
“There is absolutely no evidence that she did what she did because of the drug. And if you even breathe a hint that there’s a connection, the promise of a cure may be destroyed.”
Then his manner softened. “Look, Ms. Ballard, I’m asking you to put aside your self-concern and think of the residents in this home and the Alzheimer’s patients throughout this country—and throughout the world. Think of your residents. Think of anyone you’ve been close to who may have suffered or died from Alzheimer’s disease.”
She nodded.
“And while you’re thinking about it, I suggest you visit some of the residents who have experienced a miraculous turnaround. And I suggest you do so soon because lawyers will be calling on you any day.” He got up and walked to the door.
René followed him. But before he opened the door for her, he said, “And, it goes without saying, what we discussed in here is to be held in the utmost confidence.”
“Of course.” She left, feeling as if there were a nugget of ice at the core of her body.
21
THEY MOVED JACK TO A STEP-DOWN unit in another wing of the hospital.
He was still being monitored by machines but not at the same intensity level as in the ICU. It was still impossible to predict the speed of recovery. Or that it would ever happen.
“Mrs. Koryan, I know how difficult it is,” Dr. Heller said, “but I think we have to prepare for all eventualities and discuss long-term care for Jack. He may wake up in the next hour or day, but given the lack of progress in his condition it’s also possible he may go on indefinitely. I’ve arranged a meeting with his other physicians, hospital caseworkers, and an administrator from the insurance company.”
Beth knew what was coming.
“There are some very fine institutions in the area.”
“You mean nursing homes?”
“Well, that’s an option, but it doesn’t make sense for a man thirty-two years old to be put in a facility for elderly patients. There are fine rehabilitation centers in the area. I’m sure we’ll find the appropriate place. Do you have any in mind?”
“Greendale Rehab Center in Cabot,” she said. It was what that pharmacist René Ballard had recommended the other day.
“Yes, Greendale has an excellent reputation. In the meantime, we’re going to move him to Spaulding Rehab right next door.”
They wanted him out of the hospital as soon as possible, Beth thought. They had stabilized him, and their job was done. The rest was rehabbing his muscles, monitoring his vital functions, and just waiting for him to surface. She glanced at Jack, stuck wherever he was, his breathing the only sign beyond the electronics that he was alive.
“I’ll look into Greendale,” Beth said, and Dr. Heller left the room.
A few minutes later one of the machines made a double chirp. And on the screen the green sawteeth made a series of ugly spikes.
Jack began to wince and thrash. This lasted for almost a minute, then subsided. Ordinarily Beth would have called the nurse, but the spells usually passed.
As she looked down at Jack, so wan and withered, it crossed her mind that this was no life for either of them. And even if he were to wake up, it could be months or years from now. And what would they have? What would they do while she hung around nursing him back to health? And even if he got better, regained his memory and physical health, they’d be back to where they had left off—estranged at best. Wishing they were living somebody else’s lives.
She hated herself, but she had to admit to a thought which had several times wormed its way up from the recesses of her mind: That it would have been better if Jack had drowned.