“As I said, I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”
“Well, let me tell you something about Dr. Passero. She was one hell of a left-winger troublemaker, wanting to be on every goddamn committee of this hospital and constantly searching for a reason to get on her high horse and complain. Her causes were endless and constantly expanding, like the oppression of Native Americans, the history of slavery, the plight of trans people, you name it. I could go on and on. I tell you, she was one big pain in the ass and far too much a part of this goddamn woke culture. She and Cherine Gardener were out to ruin this hospital’s reputation. Those of us who care about this venerable institution were equally committed to putting an end to it all.”
With angry gestures, Henry went back to dressing, seemingly having had as much of a conversation with Jack as he could tolerate. Jack watched him. The man radiated hostility, yet was it enough to drive someone to homicide? Jack had no idea, but it certainly added to his theory that Sue’s work environment and reputation among the staff was far different than he’d imagined from knowing her socially.
When Henry finished dressing, he turned to Jack, who had waited patiently. The man was clearly angry. His face had even significantly reddened. “All I can say is good riddance to Dr. Passero! The MMH is better off without her.”
“I did hear that she had a strong desire to join the Mortality and Morbidity Task Force, but that you and other people were opposed to the idea. Would you like to comment on that issue?”
Henry’s facial flush deepened. Jack tensed, thinking the man might take a swing at him. But the moment passed. “I’m finished with this conversation,” he spat. He slammed his locker door and strode off without looking back.
Jack glanced over at the nearest doctor, also in the process of dressing, who was only about six feet away. He was considerably younger than Dr. Thomas and had obviously witnessed the confrontation between Jack and Henry.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” the younger doctor said. “Don’t mind Dr. Thomas! He can be quixotic, to say the least, and often flies off the handle. On the plus side, he’s a damned good trauma surgeon and oversees a well-run orthopedic department.”
“He seemed rather quick to take offense,” Jack said.
“It’s his narcissistic style. Don’t take it personally.”
“Have you heard about Dr. Susan Passero’s death?” Jack asked.
“Yes, of course. I didn’t know her, but the word is that she was a respected internist. Rather sad, I’d say.”
“Dr. Thomas seemed to feel she was a firebrand. Had you ever heard anything along those lines?”
“Can’t say I have,” the man said, “but then again, I try to steer clear of hospital politics.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Turning around, Jack headed back out to the lounge. He wondered if he’d see Henry Thomas perhaps having a coffee or talking with a colleague, but he was nowhere to be seen. Jack had in mind to give him one of his cards in case he came to his senses and was willing to have a more reasonable conversation. After checking his watch to make sure he’d still have plenty of time to hopefully meet Ronald Cavanaugh down in the ED, he approached another pair of women conversing near the windows. The courtyard was lighted with hundreds of small, white lights carefully wound around the trunks and out all the branches of the leafless trees, anticipating the upcoming holiday season.
“Excuse me,” Jack said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m looking for Dr. Carl Wingate. A few minutes ago, I heard that he was in OR eight.”
“He’s out now,” one of the women said. “That’s him over at the coffee machine.” She pointed toward a very heavyset man of medium height dressed like everyone else: in scrubs and surgical hat. His face was full and rather doughy with a bushy mustache. He had just added cream to a freshly filled mug while chatting with a somewhat slimmer colleague.
After thanking the woman, Jack approached. As he got closer, he could see Carl had distinctive red patches on his cheeks just below his eyes, as if he was wearing rouge. Having been reminded of the approaching holiday season by the festive lights in the courtyard, he imagined that Carl Wingate with a white full beard could make a convincing Santa Claus.
“Excuse me, Dr. Wingate,” Jack said. “I hate to butt in, but can I have a moment of your time?” After the short and turbulent conversation with Henry Thomas, Jack was more prepared on this occasion come what may. He already had one of his medical examiner cards in hand, and he extended it toward the anesthesiologist. The man took the card with his free hand.
“I’ll catch you later,” the colleague said, and headed toward the door.
As Carl examined Jack’s card, Jack went through the same initial introduction he’d given to Henry Thomas, including the issue and apparent controversy about Susan’s hospital committee assignments. As he was talking, Jack’s active and forensically creative mind reminded himself of something that he hadn’t thought of until that moment. Of all people in the hospital, an anesthesiologist might be the most knowledgeable person concerning the best ways to kill someone in a fashion that would be difficult to detect. In a very real sense, every case of general anesthesia required putting a patient into a near-death state, maintaining them, and then saving them at the end of the procedure.
After examining Jack’s card, Carl gestured to give it back.
“No, that’s yours to keep,” Jack said, holding up his hand, palm out. “It will make it easy for you to contact me if, after our chat, you remember something else you think might be significant.”
“I can’t imagine that will be the case,” Carl said. In sharp contrast with Henry Thomas, he spoke with no discernable change in his demeanor after hearing Jack’s introduction. Instead, he merely shrugged, pocketed the card, and then added, “Who have you spoken to so far about Dr. Passero?”
Jack relaxed a degree. Up until that point he’d wondered if Carl was going to react in a fashion similar to Henry Thomas. Jack was relieved when it appeared that wasn’t going to be the case. “I spoke briefly with Dr. Thomas,” Jack said, watching Carl closely. He purposely didn’t mention Cherine Gardener.
“I was told that the doctor had a heart attack,” Carl said, maintaining his composure.
“So far there is no indication that was the case,” Jack said. “And a preliminary screen has ruled out a channelopathy. At this point, we are proceeding as if it wasn’t a natural cause, especially since it has come to our attention that there was some bad blood between her and others on the staff, particularly you, Dr. Thomas, and Peter Alinsky.”
For a few beats, Jack remained silent and watched Carl carefully. The only reaction to Jack’s potential accusation was a slight quivering of the man’s mustache.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Carl said after a pause.
“I suppose a combination of the two,” Jack said. “Is that a fair description of the relationship between you and Dr. Passero? Was there bad blood?”
“Let me say this: Dr. Passero was, in my estimation, a rabble-rouser. Perhaps she had good intentions, but the resulting turmoil she invariably evoked was not in the best interests of this institution. If you have already spoken with Henry, I’m sure he communicated the same message but probably with more vehemence. You’d also get the same message from Peter. The woman might have been a good internist, but she was a pain in the neck about all her trivial and sundry causes and complaints.”
Jack nodded. He got the message, but he had to restrain himself from asking if Carl felt the possibility of there being a medical serial killer on the loose was trivial. He would have liked to ask, but he was afraid to because he knew that if it were true, it could be anyone on the staff, from janitors to heads of departments like Carl Wingate. After all, as he had reminded himself, who could be a more efficient serial killer than an anesthesiologist? Instead, Jack said, “I understand there was a particular contention about her wish to be on the Mortality and Morbidity Task Force. Is that true and, if it is, why was she denied a seat?”