Code 15 (39 page)

In spite of her pleas, Al refused to have it removed. Every couple of months the pain became so unbearable that he wound up in the emergency room.

“How’s it going, Al?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “I’m okay. I hope you’re not here to try and talk me into surgery.” He patted his belly. “Me and the old gallbladder are doing just fine.”

“That’s not exactly the tune you were humming a few weeks ago. Why are you being such a baby? It’s a routine operation. You’ll be home the next morning.”

“You mean if nothing goes wrong.”

“Why should anything go wrong?”

“I work in a hospital. I hear all the gruesome stories of what goes on over there. I also read the papers and watch
20/20
. Hospitals are about as safe as hang gliding.”

“It’s not that bad.”

He snickered, interlaced his fingers and set them down on the information counter. “A couple of years ago, a woman in an Ohio hospital was having some heartburn after a routine operation. Her doctor ordered an ounce of Maalox. The nurse, who was obviously not the sharpest knife in the drawer, got the Maalox and went into her room. And then, while this poor woman slept, this angel of mercy injected the antacid in her IV. Now, most children of ten would know that you’re supposed to drink Maalox, not put it in an IV.” Al raised his hands with his palms up. “Needless to say, the Maalox took care of both her heartburn and her heartbeat.” Al scratched at his salt-and-pepper stubble and then added, “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just hold on to my gallbladder for a while.”

“Okay,” Morgan conceded with a smile, “but don’t come crying to me the next time you go overboard at Taco Bell.”

“It’s a promise,” he told her, raising three fingers. “Now, since I doubt you came over here to discuss my health, what can I do for you?”

Morgan moved to the middle of the counter.

“I have a little problem that I need your help with.”

He examined her over the top of his reading glasses. “What kind of a problem?”

“I have some questions about the Fast-Pass visitor identification system.”

“Why would Dade Presbyterian’s very busy chief of Emergency Medicine give a hoot about the Fast-Pass system?”

She tilted her head just slightly to one side. “It might be better if you didn’t know. Do you think you can help me?”

“Fast-Pass isn’t exactly a matter of national security, so I don’t see why not. What do you want to know?”

“Basically, how it works.”

“Well, we have one at every entrance and other strategic points in the hospital,” he said pointing to end of the counter. “They’re all identical to the one right there.”

“Who gets photographed?”

“Anybody who enters the hospital who doesn’t have a Dade Presbyterian ID has to go through the system. We photograph them, enter their intended area of visitation, and make a copy of their driver’s license. The machine then spits out a paper ID about the size of a playing card that they stick on their shirt. The whole process only takes about thirty seconds.”

“Can you show me how it works?” she asked.

“Sure. Move down to the end of the counter and we’ll print out a pass for you.”

Morgan took a few paces to her right and lined up in front of the small apparatus.

“Let me have your driver’s license,” Al said.

Morgan reached into her purse, pulled out her wallet, and handed it to him.

“I feel like I’m being arrested,” she said.

“We have handcuffs for that, Doc.” He pointed to the lens. “Look right into that little window.”

Al rolled out the keyboard, slid Morgan’s license into the Fast-Pass, and then tapped a single key. In a matter of moments, the machine spit out a black-and-white picture ID of Morgan. He peeled it off its adhesive back and handed it to her. She was surprised at how good the quality was.

“Does the computer store a copy of this?” Morgan inquired sticking the paper ID to her shirt.

“Sure.”

“For how long?”

“Forever, I guess. The system has a huge memory.”

Morgan cleared her throat and averted her eyes. “Supposing somebody wanted to retrieve copies of the passes issued on a particular day, at a particular station, for a specified period of time. Would it be possible?”

He placed his palms flat on the counter and smiled. “Why would somebody want to do that?”

“I didn’t say they would. Think of it as a hypothetical question.”

“I see,” he said with a deliberate grin. “In that case, the answer to your hypothetical question would be that it’s definitely possible.”

Morgan took a step back. “Al, supposing I told you that I needed to see the Fast-Pass ID for everybody that came into the emergency room on March third of last year. Specifically, between the hours of nine and midnight.”

“Are you serious?”

“There’s more. I also need the passes of everybody who went into the Cardiac Care Center on May thirteenth of this year between the hours of seven and nine.”

Looking as if somebody had just asked him to drive a get-away car in a bank heist, he crossed his husky arms in front of his chest.

“C’mon, Doc. What’s this all about?”

“Al, if this wasn’t incredibly important, I wouldn’t be here asking you.”

“It might help if I knew what you’re trying to find out.” Morgan stood silent. Al raised his hand. “Forget it,” he said. “Don’t tell me. I’m probably better off not knowing.”

“If you can get me the pictures; I’ll look through them and then destroy them.” She put her hand to her heart and with a smile added, “I promise.”

Al snuck a peek over his shoulder. Sitting on the other side of the office in front of a full wall of monitors, one of the officers manipulated a joystick. He appeared totally immersed in his surveillance.

“You realize, this may be an AHCA violation. I mean with respect to patient privacy issues. There are names on these IDs.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but technically, a person walking into an ER hasn’t been registered yet, so strictly speaking, they’re not a patient and wouldn’t be protected under AHCA regulations.”

Al drummed the countertop and then rubbed his chin skeptically.

“Give me an hour. I’ll have one of my guys drop them off in your office.”

“Thanks, Al. You’re a lifesaver.”

“After you’ve had a look at these, you’re going to destroy them—right?”

“I’ll shred them into tiny strips and then incinerate them.”

He smiled. “Okay, Doc. But this squares us for the free advice.”

“I’d kiss you, but you’re on duty.”

He laughed. “My wife would shoot us both.”

Morgan left the security office and was on her way back to her office when she realized she had completely lost track of the time.

“Shoot,” she muttered, checking her watch. It was quarter to five. She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone.

Will answered on the second ring.

“Hi. It’s Morgan Connolly. I’m so sorry but I got side-tracked and completely forgot about our appointment. Can we reschedule for tomorrow?”

She heard him chuckle. “I guess I’ve been guilty of the same thing myself more times than I care to admit. I’ll check my calendar and give you a call.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“You sound a little frazzled. What’s going on?”

“I think I may have finally figured out a way to find out if Mason Kaine was really the one responsible for my father’s death and the Code Fifteens.”

Morgan took a minute to explain her plan.

“Well, if it works, you may have found a way of eliminating a major conflict in your life,” Will said.

“I’m sorry about our appointment,” she told him again. “I know you wanted to get together.”

“Tomorrow will be fine. By the way, if something comes up tonight and you want to talk, just call me back. My family’s out of town. I’ll be here all night.”

“I may do that,” she told him with a genuine appreciation of his thoughtfulness.

Morgan started across the main road that traversed Presbyterian’s campus. She was just about to step up on the opposite sidewalk when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID. It was the emergency room.

“This is Dr. Connolly.”

“Hi, Morgan. It’s Sherry. We have a little situation over here. I think we could use your help.”

Morgan had known Sherry Chang for a long time. She was a competent charge nurse who wasn’t prone to overreacting.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asked.

“Kipplinger’s on call today for internal medicine. We called him a little while ago to come see a patient in renal failure. I guess he forgot he was on call. Anyway, he had made plans to get out of the hospital early.”

“So, he’s been acting out a little.”

“Ranting and raving would be a more accurate description. He’s been on the warpath since he got here.”

“Who’s on for us?” Morgan asked.

“Patti. She’s doing her best but . . .”

“Great,” Morgan moaned under her breath.

Mild-mannered and accommodating, Patti Casoni was an excellent physician. But she was only one year out of residency, and on her best day, no match for the likes of Dr. Stephen Kipplinger.

“Tell Patti not to get into it with him. I’ll be right over,” Morgan said, turning around and heading back toward the emergency room.

Above the rattling of its faulty air conditioner, Detective Vic Prieto guided the Ford Taurus down Mason Kaine’s street.

“That’s it,” Jody said, gesturing at the two-story palatial brick colonial on the opposite side of the street.

Vic whistled. “Must be nice,” he said, pulling up to the curb directly across from the house. “What do you figure? About three million bucks?”

“Four easy,” Jody said.

They stepped out of the car into a warm afternoon and started across the street.

“Maybe we should ask the sheriff for a raise,” he suggested.

They walked up the path to the front door. Jody rang the bell. A minute passed with no response. She rang it again. Finally, a disconcerted-appearing woman appeared at the door.

They each produced their identification.

“My name is Detective Baxter and this is Detective Prieto. We’d like to speak with Mr. Kaine.”

The woman, who reminded Jody of her humorless and overbearing aunt, took a long look at their IDs. She then scanned them both, looking at them as if they were trying to sell her the latest miracle vacuum cleaner. The usual apprehension Jody was accustomed to seeing on the faces of the people she was about to question was absent. From the entranceway, Jody noticed a tall, muscular man standing under an archway. He was dressed in a dark suit and stood with his hands clasped in front of him. His gaze was on them.

“Mr. Kaine has been ill,” the woman said officiously. “He’s resting at the moment. If you would like to arrange a time when—”

Vic wagged his finger and said, “We’re police officers. We don’t arrange times. If Mr. Kaine’s too sick to speak with us, then we’ll be happy to call nine-one-one and have him transported to the nearest emergency room. We’ll let the doctor decide if he’s well enough to talk to us.”

Trying to avert any further unpleasantness, Jody handed the woman one of her cards. “Maybe you could inform Mr. Kaine we’re here and see if he’ll agree to speak with us.”

The woman folded the card in half, glared at Vic, and then walked away. Jody watched as she slowly ascended the ornate staircase.

“That worked,” he said.

“The good cop/bad cop thing’s getting kind of old. Anybody who watches TV is on to it.”

“What do you think?” Vic asked. “Nurse, personal assistant, girlfriend, or all three?”

“I don’t have the foggiest,” Jody said with a half shrug as she marveled at the flamboyant furnishings in the huge foyer.

A few minutes passed and Jody heard the clip-clop of footsteps coming down the staircase.

“Mr. Kaine will see you now,” the woman said from the bottom step.” Vic winked at Jody and together they crossed the entranceway. “I would ask that you conduct your business as quickly as possible. Mr. Kaine needs his rest.”

“We understand,” Jody said, before Vic could make a regrettable wisecrack.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, the woman escorted them down a wide hallway and then past several bedrooms until they reached the end of the hall. She knocked and then pushed the double doors, which opened onto an immense library with twenty-foot ceilings, silk drapes with French pleats, and floor-to-ceiling oak bookcases. Two cherry-stained ladders on brass runners faced each other across the room.

At first, Jody was so lost in the magnificence of the room that she didn’t see the man on the other side of the library sitting next to a large bay window. When she finally did notice him, he was staring at her with his arms folded. As a police officer, Jody was used to surprising and unusual situations, but what lay before her left her speechless.

It took Morgan over an hour to defuse the acrimonious situation in the ER.

With undying patience, she finally managed to convince Dr. Kipplinger that it wasn’t the emergency room’s fault that he had forgotten it was his day on call, nor were they trying, as he put it, to assassinate his patient. Forcing herself not to tell him what she thought of his bully-like antics took every drop of self-restraint she possessed.

When she arrived back at her office, it was well after seven. Kendra had long since left for the day. Morgan was anxious about the Fast-Pass IDs and prayed Al had dropped them off as he’d promised. She unlocked the door, walked straight past Kendra’s outer office, and continued into her own. Sitting in the middle of her desk was a large manila envelope. After a brief sigh of relief, she picked it up and sat down. Sliding out its contents, Morgan tried to ignore the fine tremor in her hands.