Coma (33 page)

Susan got into the shower, turning on the water as hard as it would go. She let it crash down on her head while she slowly rotated. She cupped her hands over her breasts to protect them from the needlelike jets of water. The effect was soothing and it gave her time to think. She thought about calling Bellows but decided against it. Their embryonic intimacy would make it difficult for Bellows to react to the information objectively. He’d probably respond in some idiotic male overprotective fashion. What she needed was a
mind with the perspective to challenge her deductions. Then she thought about Stark. He had not been overly influenced by her lowly position as a medical student or by her sex. Besides, his astonishing grasp of medical and business matters was immediately apparent. Above all, he was maturely rational and could be counted on to be objective.

Once out of the shower, Susan wrapped her hair in a towel and donned her terrycloth bathrobe.

She sat down by the phone and dialed the Memorial. She asked for Dr. Stark’s office.

“I’m sorry, but Dr. Stark is on another line. Can I have him call you back?”

“No, I’ll wait. Just say that it is Susan Wheeler calling and that it is important.”

“I’ll try, but I cannot promise anything. He’s talking long distance and may be on the line for some time.”

“I’ll hold just the same.” Susan was well aware that doctors often ignore returning a call.

Stark finally came onto the line.

“Dr. Stark, you said that I could call you if I found out anything interesting in my little investigation.”

“Of course, Susan.”

“Well I have found out something extraordinary. This whole affair is definitely . . .” She paused.

“Is definitely what, Susan?”

“Well, I’m not sure how to put it. I guess I’m now sure that there is a criminal aspect. I don’t know how or why, but I’m quite certain. In fact, I have a feeling that some large organization is involved . . . like the Mafia or something.”

“Sounds like a pretty wild conjecture to me, Susan. What has brought this idea to mind?”

“I’ve had a pretty funny afternoon with no laughs.” Susan looked closely at her abraded knees.

“And?”

“I’ve been threatened tonight.”

“Threatened with what?” Stark’s voice changed from interest to concern.

“My life, I guess.” Susan looked at the photo of her brother.

“Susan, if that is true, then this becomes a serious affair, to say the very least. But are you sure this isn’t some
sort of prank by some of your classmates? Medical school pranks can get rather elaborate on occasion.”

“I must admit I hadn’t thought of that.” Susan gingerly felt her lacerated lip with the tip of her tongue. “But I think this was the real thing.”

“Conjecture is not what’s needed at this point. I will personally advise the hospital executive committee of this. But, Susan, now is definitely the time for you to withdraw from further involvement. I advised you to do that before, but only because I was afraid it might hurt you academically. Now, it’s apparently a different game. I think professionals should take over. Have you reported this to the police?”

“No, the threat included my younger brother, and there was a plain warning not to go to the police. That’s why I’ve called you. Besides, if I went to the police, they’d probably dismiss it as a simple attempted rape rather than a specific threat.”

“I doubt it very much.”

“Most males would.”

“But if the threat included your family, you are probably right to be careful with whom you talk. But my gut reaction suggests that you should report the incident to the police.”

“I’ll give it some thought. Meanwhile, I wondered if you’d heard that I’ve been kicked out of my surgery rotation at the Memorial. I have to go to the V.A. to do my surgery.”

“No, I’ve not been told about that. When did this happen?”

“This afternoon. Obviously I’d much prefer to stay at the Memorial. I think that I could prove that I am a good student if given the chance. Since you are Chief of Surgery and since you are aware that I have not been merely goofing off, I thought maybe you might be willing to reverse that decision.”

“As Chief of Surgery I should have been told about your dismissal. I will get in touch with Dr. Bellows immediately.”

“I don’t think he knows about it, either, to tell you the truth. It was a Mr. Oren.”

“Oren? Well that’s interesting. Susan, I cannot promise anything, but I’ll look into it. I must tell you that you have not been the most popular student here with Anesthesia and Medicine.”

“I’d appreciate anything you can do. One other question. Would it be possible for you to arrange a visit for me to the Jefferson Institute? I’d very much like to visit the patient, Berman. I’m sort of hoping that if I can see him again that maybe I’ll be able to forget this whole affair.”

“You certainly have a lot of difficult demands, young lady. But I’ll call and see what I can do. The Jefferson is not university-controlled. It was built by government funds through HEW, but its operation has been turned over to a private medical management firm. So I have little voice there. But I’ll check. Give me a call after nine tomorrow, and I’ll let you know.”

Susan hung up the phone. Obviously in deep thought, she bit her lower lip, as was her habit. The result was painful. She stared at one of the posters on her walls but with unseeing eyes. Her mind raced over the events of the last few days, searching for possible associations that she had missed.

Impulsively she got up and took out the nurse’s uniform she had purchased. Then she began to dry her hair. Fifteen minutes later, she viewed herself in the mirror. The uniform fitted reasonably well.

She picked up the photograph of her brother for the second time. At least she felt reasonably confident that there was no immediate danger for her family. It was winter vacation for public schools and her family was skiing in Aspen for the week.

February 25

7:15 P.M.

Susan had no illusions about her situation. She was in danger and had to be resourceful. Whoever it was that had decided to threaten her undoubtedly expected that she would mend her ways and live in fear, at least for a while. Susan felt that she had about forty-eight hours of relative freedom of movement. After that, who knew.

The thing that encouraged her the most was that someone had decided that she was important enough to be threatened. It might mean that she was on the right track; maybe she had already found more answers than she could associate. She could be like the professor who had carefully discovered all the information necessary to break the secret of DNA. But he had not arranged it properly, and it took the ingenuity of Watson and Crick to pull it all together, to see the whole molecule as the wonderful double helix.

Susan carefully leafed through her notebook, reading all that she had written down. She reread her notes about coma and its known causes; she underlined those articles she still planned to read; she underlined the title of the new anesthesiology text she had seen in Harris’s office. Then she reread the extensive material on Nancy Greenly and the two respiratory arrest victims. Susan was sure that the answer was there but she couldn’t see it. She knew that she needed more data to increase the likelihood of making
correlations. The charts. She needed the charts from McLeary.

It was seven-fifteen when she was ready to leave her room. As if she were in some spy movie, she checked out the parking lot from her window, to see if she were under obvious surveillance. She looked over the cars, but saw no one. Susan pulled the curtains closed and locked her door, leaving her lights on. In the corridor, she stood for a moment, then, extrapolating from her movie experience, she rolled a small wad of paper into a ball and carefully inserted it between the door and the jamb, next to the floor.

In the basement of the dorm there was a tunnel leading over to the Anatomy and Pathology Building. It carried steam pipes and power lines, and Susan and her classmates occasionally used it during inclement weather. Susan had no idea if she would be followed but she wanted to make it difficult, hopefully impossible. From the anatomy building Susan used the passageway to the Administration Building, which she found unlocked. From there she exited by the medical library, catching a cab on Huntington Avenue. She had the cab do a U-turn after a quarter of a mile and drive back, passing the spot where she had hailed it. Nestling down in her coat to keep from being seen, Susan tried to see if anyone was following her. She saw no one at all suspicious-looking. Relaxing, she told the cab to take her to the Memorial Hospital.

Like any professional “hit man,” Angelo D’Ambrosio felt an inner satisfaction at having successfully completed a job. After communicating the message he had for Susan, he had walked back to Huntington Avenue and caught a cab near the corner of Longfellow. The taxi driver was delighted: finally he’d found an airport run which meant a decent fare and undoubtedly a good tip. Prior to D’Ambrosio he’d had nothing but old ladies going to the supermarket.

D’Ambrosio settled back in the cab, content with his day’s work. He had no idea why he had been contracted to do what he had done in Boston that day. But D’Ambrosio rarely knew why, and in fact he did not want to know why. On the few occasions when his information and briefing had been more complete, he had had more trouble. On the current assignment, he had been merely told to fly to Boston in the evening of the twenty-fourth and stay at the Sheraton Downtown under the name of George Taranto. The following morning he was to proceed to 1833 Stewart Street and to the basement apartment of a man named Walters.
He was to have Walters write a note saying, “The drugs were mine. I cannot face the consequences.” Then he was to dispose of Walters in a fashion that would suggest suicide. Then he was to isolate a female medical student by the name of Susan Wheeler and “scare the shit out of her,” telling her that she would be in danger if she did not return to her usual occupation. The orders had ended with the usual exhortations about being careful. There was a packet of information about Susan Wheeler, including the photo of her brother, some background, and a schedule of her current activities.

Looking at his watch, D’Ambrosio knew that he could easily make the 8:45 American flight back to Chicago. He also knew his thousand dollars would be in the usual twenty-four-hour locker, number 12 near the baggage claim for TWA. Contentedly, D’Ambrosio watched the play of lights flicker past the window. He thought about the ghoulish Walters and tried to imagine the connection he could have with the attractive Wheeler. D’Ambrosio remembered Susan’s appearance, and how he had had to fight with himself not to put it to her. He began to imagine a series of sadistic delights that awakened his sleeping penis. D’Ambrosio found himself hoping that he’d be ordered back to make a second contact with Miss Wheeler. If he ever was, he decided he’d screw her in the ass.

When he reached the airline terminal D’Ambrosio entered a phone booth. There remained one small detail in a routine assignment: he had to call his central contact in Chicago and report that the job was done.

The number rang the agreed-upon seven times.

“The Sandler residence,” answered a voice on the other end.

“May I speak to Mr. Sandler, please,” said D’Ambrosio, bored. He did not quite understand this maneuver and it took a few minutes. He always had to remember the current name. If the wrong name was used he was supposed to hang up and call an alternate number. D’Ambrosio wet his index finger with his tongue and drew circles of saliva on the phone booth glass. Finally the voice returned.

“It’s clear.”

“Boston’s done, no problems,” said D’Ambrosio with no inflection in his voice.

“There’s an update. Miss Wheeler is to be disposed of as soon as possible. The method is up to you but it must appear to be a rape. You understand, a rape.”

D’Ambrosio couldn’t believe his ears. It was like a dream come true.

“There’ll be an extra charge,” said D’Ambrosio matter-of-factly, carefully concealing his anticipation of sexually assaulting Susan.

“There will be an extra five hundred dollars.”

“Seven hundred fifty. This won’t be so easy.” Easy? It was going to be a breeze. D’Ambrosio thought that he should really be paying.

“Six hundred.”

“You’re on.” D’Ambrosio hung up the phone. He was immensely pleased. He checked the night flight schedule. The last departure for Chicago was 11:45 TWA. D’Ambrosio thought he could get his little kicks and still make that one. He descended to the baggage area and caught a cab. He told the driver to take him to the comer of Longwood and Huntington avenues.

By seven-thirty the ebb and flow of humanity slowed to a trickle at the Memorial. Susan entered through the main entrance. In her nurse’s uniform no one even gave her a second look. She first went up to the lounge on Beard 5 and left her coat. Then she checked McLeary’s office on Beard 12. The door was locked as she expected and the lights were off. She checked all the nearby offices and labs. All were empty.

Susan returned to the main entrance and walked down the corridor toward the emergency room. Unlike the rest of the hospital, as evening fell the ER became more active. There were a few gurneys with their respective patients parked in the corridor. Susan turned left just before the ER and entered the hospital security office.

The office was small and cluttered. The entire far wall was a bank of TV screens, about twenty or twenty-five of them. Displayed on each screen were images of the entryways, corridors, and key areas of the hospital, including the ER area, televised to these monitors from remote control video cameras. Some of the cameras were stationary; others repeatedly panned over an area. Two uniformed guards and one plainclothes security officer occupied the room. The plainclothesman sat behind a tiny desk, seeming even smaller next to his obese hulk. The skin on his neck overlapped his shirt collar. His breath came in audible gasps.

All three men were oblivious to the TV monitors they were paid to watch. Instead, their eyes were fixed on the screen of a small portable TV set. They were engrossed in the furious combat of a televised hockey game.