He switched on the tape player.
'. . I've got to know why you've donethis to me.'
'I did nothing to you.'
'My clients are very upset.I've lost an account that was paying over ten thousand dollars a month. Somevery angry and anxious people are still after me to find out what you havelearned, and what you intend to do with the information.'
'Page, I told you. I'm workingon a story about upscale escort services. Yours was just one of several Iworked for.'
'What are you going to do withthe story?'
'I can't tell you that justyet.'
'Those people want to know.'
'Then tell me who they all are,and I'll invite them to come and ask me.'
'You 're a very selfishperson.'
'Do you have any otherquestions?. .'
'She goes on,' Galahad said, 'but that'sthe gist of it. All the woman ever admits is that she's working on a storyabout escort services. She didn't mention us or the insurance industry once toPage. We've checked with people at the local TV stations, newspapers andmagazines, and even a friend at 60 Minutes. No one knows anything aboutan escort service story.'
'I was certain you would have found outwho she is by now,' Percivale said nervously. 'Do you think we're safe?'
'What options do we have?' Lancelot chimedin. 'How can we buy her off if we can't find her?'
'First of all,' Kay said, 'we don't haveany idea whether she even knows about us. Second, we're not going to allowanyone to blackmail us. That is inevitably a losing proposition.'
Kay had aristocratic features and a gentlebut persuasive voice. From the expressions around the table, it was clear hisopinion carried weight.
Galahad shrugged. 'Tristram and Gawaineswear she didn't ask more than a few passing questions about their line ofwork. But neither of them has recordings of their sessions, and you can betthis woman does. My sense is that she's probably telling the truth when shesays she's working on an escort service story and nothing more. But obviously Ican't be certain.'
'So?' Percivale said.
'I don't see how she could have any harddata on us,' Kay said, before Galahad could answer. 'My guess is the wholething's a coincidence.'
'Even so, maybe we should hold off meetingfor a while,' Percivale offered. 'In fact, I move we suspend operations for twomonths.'
No one bothered commenting on the motion.Merlin handled the vote, which was initially six to zero in favor of continuingon the second and fourth Tuesdays. Percivale at first abstained and then madethe decision unanimous.
'So, we're done, then,' Merlin said.'Galahad, do you intend to keep trying to find out who this reporter is?'
'I do. We've come too far to allow anyoneto threaten our work.'
'Just don't do anything too rash,' Merlinsaid. He smiled and added, 'At least, not until you're certain none of ourcompanies is carrying a policy on her.'
Chapter6
Harry had seen and experienced enough ofwhat could go wrong in hospitals to fear ever being a patient in one. Each day,every day, thousands of patients were cared for at hospitals in and aroundManhattan. Most physicians, nurses, aides, and technicians were dedicated,competent, and focused. But invariably, on any given day, some weren't. Therewere simply too many patients, too many illnesses, and too many caregivers withhuman frailties for the system ever to be perfect.
Over his twenty-five years in medicine,Harry had confronted or heard about all manner of disasters, many of thembeyond anything he could have imagined. Orange juice given intravenously by anurse who had misunderstood a physician's telephoned orders and was toointimidated to call back and question them. A lethal dose of medicationadministered to a child because a harried physician omitted a decimal point.B-positive blood inadvertently finding its way into the bloodstream of anA-negative patient. Then there were the countless IVs that emptied far morerapidly than they were supposed to, the bedrails carelessly left down, and theunanticipated psychoses in response to tranquilizers or sleeping medication.
Along with the preventable disasters werethe so-called complications — the documented and accepted 1 percent, or0.1 percent, or 0.001 percent adverse reactions to medications and invasiveprocedures that were enumerated in the textbooks, PDR, and packageinserts, and were only of concern if they happened to happen to you.
With such thoughts refusing relegation tothe back of his mind, Harry made his way through the corridors of MMC to theneurosurgical unit on Alexander 9. It was five past eight in the evening.Visitors were streaming toward the exits. He had hoped to make it up to thefloor earlier, but a long-standing patient of his had been brought to the ERvomiting blood. Now, having stabilized the man's bleeding ulcer, he had finallybeen able to sign out to the doc on call.
Earlier in the day, he had met Evie at themain lobby and walked with her to the admissions office. He offered to staywith her during the pre-admission ritual, but she declined. She seemedpreoccupied and distracted, just as she had the night before. Certainly thesurgery was on her mind. But there was something else. Harry felt certain ofit.
The evening before, they had walked fromtheir apartment to the SeaGrill in virtual silence. Although they talked someduring dinner, only one topic of substance was discussed. Evie made him promiseto fight any attempt to prolong her life if there was brain damage of any kind.And as they were walking back to the co-op, she apologized for not having putthe energy back into their marriage that she might have. There was abittersweet finality to the way she said it. Harry acknowledged the apology,but could not read its significance.
Alexander 9, an 'L' with fifteen rooms oneach arm, was in transition from evening to night. The corridors were emptyexcept for a nurse's aide wheeling a patient back from the lounge and a janitorreadying his large, metal-enclosed floor buffer. The nurse's station was midwaybetween the elevators and Evie's room. An attractive, redheaded nurse withhigh-gloss crimson nail polish was seated behind the counter writing notes.Harry had never seen her before.
'Hi, I'm Dr. Corbett,' he said.
'I know,' the woman said. 'Your wife'sdoing fine.'
'That's great. I spoke to her on the phonea while ago and she sounded okay, except she was a little distressed about herroommate.'
The nurse's face wrinkled in distaste.'She's not the only one. We've all just about had it up to here with MauraHughes. I really think there ought to be a hefty tax on alcohol to pay for themedical treatment of people like her. Don't you?'
'I don't understand.'
'Alcoholics. Oh, I thought your wife toldyou. Her roommate, Maura's, in the DTs. Unfortunately, there are no other emptybeds on the floor.'
'Evie said she wasn't too bad.'
'As long as the Librium is working sheisn't. She came to the floor from the OR three days ago. She was on a bigbender and fell down the stairs of her building and fractured her skull. The CTscan showed a collection of subdural blood, so she had to have it drained. Shedid great until yesterday when she suddenly began complaining about the spiderscrawling along the ceiling and the ants under her sheet.'