Harmful Intent (32 page)

“Ah, Mr. Amendola,” Bodanski said, leaping to his feet as if Jeffrey were some important visitor. “Thank you for coming by. Please sit down.”

Jeffrey sat down, as confused as ever as to why he'd been summoned. Bodanski asked him if he'd like some coffee. When Jeffrey refused, he sat down as well.

“First, I'd like to say that all reports have indicated that you have already become a valuable employee of Boston Memorial Hospital.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jeffrey said.

“We'd like you to stay on as long as you'd like,” Bodanski continued. “In fact, we hope you'll be staying on.” He cleared his throat and played with his red pencil.

Jeffrey was getting the distinct impression that Bodanski was more nervous than he.

“I suppose you're wondering why I called you in here this morning. This is a bit early for me, but I wanted to catch you before you went home. I'm sure you're tired and would like to get some sleep.”

Out with it, thought Jeffrey.

“Are you sure you don't want some coffee?” Bodanski asked again.

“To tell you the truth, I would like to go home to bed. Maybe you should just tell me why you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, of course,” Bodanski said. Then he got to his feet and paced in the small space behind his desk. “I'm not good at this sort of thing,” he added. “Maybe I should have enlisted the help
of the psychiatry department, or at least social service. I truly don't like to meddle in people's lives.”

A red flag went up in Jeffrey's mind. Something bad was coming: he could sense it.

“Exactly what are you trying to say?” Jeffrey asked.

“Well, let me put it this way,” Bodanski said. “I know you have been hiding.”

Jeffrey's mouth went dry. He knows, he thought, he knows.

“I can appreciate the fact that you have had some big problems. I thought that in some small way I could help, so I made a call to your wife.”

Jeffrey gripped the arms of his chair and pushed forward. “You called my wife?” he asked with incredulity.

“Now take it easy,” Bodanski advised, holding out his hands, palms down. He'd known this would upset the man.

Take it easy, thought Jeffrey with alarm. Why Bodanski had called Carol was beyond him.

“In fact, your wife is here,” Bodanski said. He pointed at the double doors. “She's eager to see you. I know she has some important things to discuss with you, but I felt it best to warn you she was here rather than let her surprise you.”

Jeffrey felt a sudden rage build within him. He was angry at this meddlesome personnel director and at Carol. Just when he was making some progress, this had to happen.

“Have you called the police?” Jeffrey asked. He tried to prepare himself for the worst.

“No, of course not,” Bodanski said, stepping over to the double doors.

Jeffrey followed. The question in his mind was whether he would be able to contain this catastrophe. Bodanski opened one of the doors, then stepped aside for Jeffrey to enter. His face had one of those patronizing smiles that galled Jeffrey all the more. Jeffrey stepped over the threshold into a conference room with a long table surrounded by academic-style chairs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey saw a figure rushing toward him. In a flash, he decided it was a trap. Carol wasn't there, it was Devlin! But the figure rushing toward him was a woman. She fell on him, clutching him in her arms. She buried her head in his chest. She was sobbing.

Jeffrey looked toward Bodanski for help. It certainly wasn't Carol. This woman was nearly three times as heavy. Her tangled hair was like bleached straw.

The woman's sobs began to subside. She let go of Jeffrey with
one hand and pressed a tissue to her nose. She blew loudly, then lifted her eyes.

Jeffrey stared into her wide face. Her eyes, which initially reflected a kind of joy, immediately flashed anger. The tears stopped as abruptly as they had begun.

“You are not my husband,” the woman said indignantly. She pushed Jeffrey away.

“I'm not?” Jeffrey questioned, trying to make sense of the scene.

“No!” shouted the woman, again overcome with emotion. She came at Jeffrey with raised fists. Tears of frustration erupted and streamed down her cheeks.

Jeffrey retreated around the conference table as the shocked director tried to come to his aid.

The woman then turned her venom on Bodanski, screaming that he'd taken advantage of her. But after a minute she was overwhelmed by tears and she collapsed into his arms. That was almost more than the man could take, but with herculean effort, he managed to maneuver the mountain of a woman over to one of the academic chairs, where she collapsed in a sobbing mass.

A dumbfounded Bodanski took his white show handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his mouth where the woman had struck him. A small amount of blood dotted the silk fabric.

“I never should have gotten my hopes up,” the woman wailed. “I should have known Frank would never take a job cleaning in a hospital.”

Jeffrey finally grasped the situation. This was Mrs. Amendola, the wife of the man in the tattered suit. Now that he'd thought of it, Jeffrey couldn't believe that it had taken him so long to understand. He also realized it wouldn't take Bodanski long to figure out what had happened. When he did, he might insist on calling the police. Jeffrey would have to do a lot of explaining to figure a way out of this one.

As the director tried to console Mrs. Amendola, Jeffrey backed out of the double doors. Bodanski called out for him to wait, but Jeffrey ignored him. Emerging from personnel, he ran for the main entrance, trusting that Bodanski would feel compelled to stay with Mrs. Amendola.

Once outside the hospital, Jeffrey slowed his gait. He didn't want to give the security people reason to pursue him.

Walking briskly Jeffrey made his way to the cab stand and got in the first available taxi. He asked the driver to take him to Brookline. It was only after the cab began to turn rght on
Beacon Street that Jeffrey hazarded a look back. The front of the hospital appeared tranquil. The morning's rush of the sick to the clinics had not yet begun, and Carl Bodanski had not appeared.

After the cabbie crossed Kenmore Square, he eyed Jeffrey in his rearview mirror and said, “You're going to have to be more specific. Brookline is a big place.”

Jeffrey gave the driver the name of the street behind Kelly's. He told the man he didn't know the number of the house, but that he'd recognize it.

With the concern about Devlin possibly being around Kelly's house, Jeffrey was unable to recover from being rattled by the confrontation with Mrs. Amendola. His stomach was in a tight, painful knot, and he wondered how much longer his body would put up with the tension he'd been under for the last four or five days. Anesthesiology had its moments of terror, but they were short-lived. Jeffrey wasn't accustomed to such protracted anxiety. And on top of it all, he was exhausted.

Explaining that he was from out of town and had been in the area only once before, Jeffrey got the cabdriver to cruise the neighborhood around Kelly's house. He surreptitiously slouched down in his seat so that he couldn't be easily seen. At the same time he kept an eye out for Devlin. But there was no sign of the man. The only people Jeffrey saw were commuters leaving their homes for work. There were no cars parked near Kelly's house. Her home looked invitingly quiet.

Jeffrey eventually had the cabdriver drop him off at the house behind Kelly's. After the cab pulled away and turned around the next corner, Jeffrey skirted the house and slipped into the small thicket of trees that separated it from Kelly's property. From the shelter of these woods he surveyed the house for a few minutes before crossing the backyard and slipping into the door Kelly had left unlocked for him.

Jeffrey listened for a while before cautiously searching the entire house. Only then did he close and lock the back door.

In hopes of appeasing his contorted stomach, Jeffrey got out the milk and cereal. He carried them to the table in the family room. He also brought over the computer printout Kelly had gotten from St. Joe's. Taking the list he'd gotten from Boston Memorial that night out of his pocket, he put them side by side.

As he ate, Jeffrey compared the two staff lists. He was eager to see what physicians had privileges at both hospitals. He was immediately dismayed to see how many there were. On a
separate sheet of paper Jeffrey began his own list of doctors whose names appeared twice. He was chagrined to see that the list swelled to more than thirty doctors. Thirty-four people were far too many to investigate in any depth, especially given his current circumstances. Somehow he had to narrow it down. That meant getting more hospital lists. Going to the telephone, Jeffrey called St. Joe's and asked to be put through to Kelly.

“I'm glad you called,” Kelly said brightly. “Any problem getting into the house?”

“No problem,” Jeffrey said. “The reason I called is to remind you to make that call to Valley Hospital today.”

“I already did,” Kelly told him. “I couldn't decide who to call, so I called several people, including Hart. He's such a dear.”

Jeffrey told her about there being thirty-four doctors with privileges at both her hospital and the Memorial. She immediately understood the problem. “Hopefully I'll hear back from Valley this afternoon,” she added. “That should help narrow things down some. There have to be fewer people with privileges at St. Joe's, the Memorial,
and
Valley.”

Jeffrey was about to hang up when he remembered to ask Kelly to repeat the name of her friend who'd died the day before.

“Gail Shaffer,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Sometime today I'm going to the Medical Examiner's office to check on Karen Hodges. While I'm there I'll see what I can find out about Gail Shaffer.”

“You're frightening me again.”

“I'm frightening myself.”

After hanging up, Jeffrey went back to the remains of his cereal. Once he'd finished, he put the dishes in the sink. Then he returned to the table to look at his hospital list again. To be thorough, he thought he should compare the employee lists as well. This was harder than comparing the staff lists; those had been alphabetically arranged. The employee lists were organized differently. The one from St. Joe's listed the names by departments, the one from the Memorial had them by salary, probably since that list had been made for the purpose of soliciting contributions.

In order to compare them accurately, Jeffrey had to alphabetize both. By the time he got to the E's, his eyelids were sagging. His first find roused him. He noticed that a Maureen Gallop had worked at both hospitals.

Jeffrey searched the St. Joe's list for Maureen Gallop. He
found that she was presently working in St. Joe's housekeeping department.

Jeffrey rubbed his eyes, again considering how easy it had been for him to wander around the hospital pharmacy. He added Maureen Gallop's name to the list of the physicians who had privileges in both hospitals.

Galvanized by this unexpected find, Jeffrey went back to his alphabetizing. On the very next letter he found another match: Trent Harding. Taking the St. Joe's list again, Jeffrey searched for Trent Harding. He found the name in the nursing department. Jeffrey added the name beneath Maureen Gallop's.

Jeffrey was surprised. He hadn't expected to find any hospital-employee names overlapping. He thought it was quite a coincidence. More awake now, he finished the time-consuming cross-check, but there were no other matches. Maureen Gallop and Trent Harding were the only names appearing on both staff lists.

Jeffrey was so tired by the time he completed comparing the lists that it was all he could do to get himself from the table to the couch where he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He didn't even stir when Delilah emerged from the pantry and leaped on the couch to curl up with him.

 

There was something about Boston City Hospital that Trent liked the moment he walked through the door. He guessed it was the macho atmosphere of an inner-city hospital. There would be no pussyfooting around here like there was in the plush suburban hospitals. Trent was confident he wouldn't be scrubbing on any nose jobs disguised as septal operations for insurance coverage's sake. Instead he'd be seeing some challenging gunshot and stab wounds. He'd be in the trenches, dealing with the fallout of urban terror in a kind of Don Johnson-
Miami Vice
sort of way.

There was a line in the employment office, but that was just for people seeking jobs in food service and housekeeping. As a nurse, Trent was sent directly to the nursing office. He knew why, too. Like all the hospitals, they were desperate for more nurses. As a male nurse, he was in particular demand. There was always an opening for a male nurse in those areas of the hospital where some muscle was needed, like the emergency room. But Trent didn't want the emergency room. He wanted the OR.

After filling out the application form, Trent was given an interview. He wondered why they even bothered with this
charade. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. At least he was enjoying himself. He liked the feeling that he was needed and wanted. When he was a child, his father had always told him he was a worthless sissy, especially after Trent had decided he didn't want to play in the junior football league his father had helped set up on the Army base in San Antonio.

Trent watched the woman's expression as she read over his application. The name tag on the front of her desk read:
MRS
.
DIANE MECKLENBURG
,
R
.
N
.,
SUPERVISOR
.

Supervisor, bull crap, thought Trent. He guessed she didn't know her ass from a hole in the wall. That's what supervisor usually meant in Trent's experience. She probably got her nursing degree back when they were still using whiskey for anesthesia. Since then she'd probably taken a bunch of courses like Nursing in a Complex Society. Trent would have bet a hundred dollars she wouldn't know the difference between a pair of Mayo scissors and a Metzenbaum clamp. In the OR she'd be as much help as an orangutan.