“I expect he’ll have a good bit of free time now,” Donna Lee added. “I just hope he uses it to get some help.”
More confused about Will Grant than ever, Patty had left the hospital and driven over to keep her appointment with Benois Beane, whom she tracked down after discovering Will had won an unsung hero award from the Boston Celtics for the work he did at the Open Hearth. Following her session with Will in his office, it was easy for her to believe he had no involvement in the managed-care slayings. Now, however, there could be no way around the fact that he had taken a potent narcotic and then attempted to perform surgery.
Would the real Will Grant please stand up?
“Sergeant Moriarity,” Benois Beane was saying, “we have twenty-eight people who work here and a couple of hundred who volunteer regularly and probably know Will Grant. I’d wager not one of them would believe he knowingly took drugs and went into the OR.”
Let alone killed three people, Patty almost added, but didn’t.
“I just don’t get it, then,” she said. “The drug was in his blood. That’s a given.”
“I don’t care. If it was in his body, someone put it there.”
“Tell me how.”
“I can’t, but I can sort of prove he doesn’t take narcotics.”
“Go on.”
“A few months ago, maybe three, one of our regulars, Sophie Rennet, died after a long battle with cancer. Will was her surgeon and did his best, but the cancer had gone too far from the start. It just so happened that one night when Will was working here, Sophie’s family called to say that she had passed on. Will and I both went over to her place to pay our respects and for Will to pronounce her dead so the mortuary could come and get her. As we were leaving, her son handed us a box containing her medications, saying he hoped maybe someone else could use them. Inside were bottles and bottles and vials and vials of narcotics-all kinds of narcotics. Once we got back here, Will took a hammer to each of the vials and flushed the pills down the toilet. I saw him do it.”
“But he could have just as easily told you he was taking the medicine back to his office.”
“Exactly. I have known a lot of addicts in my day, a lot of addicts, and not one of them would have thrown away such a stash. I would think that’s got to prove something.”
Patty thought of several rebuttals to Beane’s logic, but she knew in her heart that none of them carried much clout.
“Are you sure he’s awake?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s got to wake up sometime.”
Hospital president Sid Silverman’s distinctive tenor worked its way into the darkness. The other voice, irritated and sardonic, was Donna Lee’s. The veteran nurse and Silverman, once an endocrinologist on the staff of FGH, had known each other for years. Now they had something else in common-a clear distaste for one Will Grant. Will tested his arms and legs and found that the wrist restraints were back in place. Shit.
“I just came from the recovery room,” Silverman was saying. “The guy looks bad, real bad. His blood pressure won’t stay up. There’s talk about bringing him back into the OR to open him up again and see if something’s bleeding.”
“That’s terrible,” Donna said.
“You’re damn right it is. If he doesn’t make it, his family could end up owning this place.”
“I doubt they’d want it. Well, go on in there. We haven’t given him anything for a while, so he should be pretty light.”
Will kept his eyes closed but sensed Silverman approaching his bed. He pictured the man glaring down at him, his paunch stretching the vest of his trademark three-piece suit.
“Welcome to the ICU, Sid,” he said keeping his eyes shut for a few more seconds, then slowly opening them. “I don’t suppose it matters to you, but I didn’t take any fentanyl.”
“It was in your blood and in your urine,” Silverman said flatly. “Do you have any explanation that I can give to the executive committee when they meet in an hour?”
“I didn’t take anything. Listen, can you crank me up halfway? I don’t like lying flat like this. I feel like I’m on a slab getting ready to be sacrificed.”
Silverman hesitated, then raised the head of the bed.
“And while you’re at it, Sid, could you please tell the nurses to take these restraints off? I’m not going to cause any trouble. Promise.”
“I’ll send the nurses in when I’m finished,” Silverman said. “I asked if you had any explanation for how the fentanyl got into your body.”
“Maybe someone put it in my breakfast. Everyone knows I have OJ and a jelly stick on the days when I operate. Maybe someone injected it in there.”
“Maybe. You’re also going to have to explain how two unopened vials of the stuff got into your locked locker in the surgeons’ lounge.”
“That’s absurd.”
“The locker was opened and there was the fentanyl, wrapped in a washcloth.”
“The same person who poisoned me put them there. Can’t you see that? And, Sid, not that I have anything to hide, but you had no right to open my locker without my permission.”
“I didn’t open it, Will. The police did. They got a warrant very quickly. Your locker and your office, and maybe your condo as well.”
“Jesus. Sid, can’t you see that this is all a setup? Someone’s doing this to me. Someone who knows me pretty damn well or has made it their business to learn about me.”
“Like the evil managed-care companies?”
“Don’t be snide. I haven’t the strength or the inclination to deal with it right now.”
“Okay, then, here’s the situation. I’m recommending to the executive committee that you be suspended from the staff immediately until this matter can be resolved. I actually have the authority to do this myself, but I want their support.”
“Why don’t you just ask me to take a week’s leave or something? I promise I won’t work until I get clearance from the executive committee. Besides, don’t suspensions have to be reported to the Board of Registration?”
“Any change in privileges gets reported. Will, you should use the time off to check yourself into a treatment center someplace. Get in touch with the physician-health people at the medical society and have them recommend a good one.”
Will sensed himself about to blow. Fists balled, he forced his hands upward until the broad restraints cut into his wrists.
“I didn’t take anything,” he said through nearly clenched teeth. “I have never taken anything, and I’m not going to any goddamn treatment center.”
“Suit yourself,” Silverman said, his stubby fingers wrapped around the bed rail. “You’re going to have a day after you’re discharged from here to get your strength back, then twenty-four hours to wrap up your dictations and any other business here. After that, until you’re convicted or cleared of drug charges, I don’t want you near this hospital. I’m sorry, Will. I had hoped you’d be more forthcoming.” He turned and strode to the doorway, then turned back. “Our PR people are together right now working on damage control, but there’s no way we can keep this from becoming a media circus as soon as the press gets word of what happened. And believe me, they will hear about it. I’d suggest you notify Maxine so she can prepare your children. I would also give your malpractice carrier a call so they can keep on top of things.”
Silverman left, and a few minutes later Anne Hajjar came in and removed Will’s restraints.
“Dr. Millstein will be up in a little while,” she said.
“I want to sign out.”
“Please wait and speak with him.”
“It won’t matter. He can discharge me or I’ll sign out AMA. I didn’t take any drugs and I want out of here.”
“Dr. Grant, please. Just don’t do anything crazy until Ken gets here. We have a security guard right outside.”
“I won’t cause any trouble. Anne, you’ve known me for years. Do you think I’m someone who would take drugs and then go into the operating room to do a complicated case?”
“I only know what I hear,” she said. “I hope it turns out you didn’t, but I admit it sounds like you did. By the way, your wife called from the lobby. She’s on her way up.”