Tampered (13 page)

Late that Thursday afternoon, Hamish handed Todd Jarvie a paper towel after the two men had washed their hands at the sink in the utility room next to the Mountain Wing nursing station. This was Todd's third day at Camelot, on an impromptu medical-school elective arranged by Zol Szabo. Todd, a senior student, had taken the night shifts on Tuesday and Wednesday and was functioning efficiently on very little sleep. He seemed made for this work.

“We make a good team,” Hamish told Todd. “You haven't missed an iv yet.”

Todd tossed the paper towel into the wastebasket and smiled. He rubbed his palm across the stubble of his unshaven cheek. Hamish usually hated that raspy sound because it reminded him of his childhood, of his father warming up for an outburst of fury. But there was a mellowness about Todd, a kindness in his eyes that neutralized the painful memories.

“Thanks, Dr. Wakefield,” Todd said, “but we need a break.” He seemed to catch himself and smiled sheepishly. “Well, you a lot more than me. You haven't taken a step out of Camelot in nearly a week. Good thing you found that icu nurse to take the night shift tomorrow. How about you and me going out for a drink?”

“Tomorrow?”

Todd nodded. “Sure.”

“I don't know. I'm not much into the bar scene.”

“The Reluctant Lion can be a lot of fun, especially on Friday nights when it's karaoke.”

Todd stood almost a head taller than Hamish and bore a handsome, square-jawed face, a thick neck, and the rugged build of a bricklayer. His arms and shoulders were no stranger to the weight room. His sandy-blond hair was naturally dishevelled, not studied or moussed. His moustache and goatee looked great on him.

“Why would a guy like you want to go to a place like that?” Hamish asked.

“Um . . .” Todd hesitated, then pressed on. “You're new to the game, eh, Dr. Wakefield?”

“Please, call me Hamish. We must be the same age, and you've been in health care longer than I have.”

“I'd say your gaydar has a pretty narrow focus . . . Hamish.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I have to spell it out?”

Hamish swallowed hard, then looked around to be sure they were still alone. “
You?
You don't mean . . .”

Todd nodded. “Well, yeah. Sure, I'm gay.”

“You look so . . .”

“Normal? Masculine? Could pass for straight?”

“All of those. Exactly.”

“I've got my hang-ups. But I'm comfortable in my own skin.”

“I've barely crept out of the closet. Only been to one gay bar. A place downtown, across from the library. Ken took me there a couple of times.”

“I know the one. Lawyers and academics. Awfully tame, but a safe place to enter the scene.” Todd scratched an itch behind his ear. “Ken's your boyfriend?”

Hamish's second thoughts about Ken were growing stronger every day. He'd come to realize Ken was more a mentor than a boyfriend. A few months ago, he'd dragged Hamish out of the closet and shown him the ropes. The validation had been liberating and the sex a fantastic revelation, but surely there was more to a relationship than that. They used to see each other almost every day, but now it was down to once or twice a week.

“Ken's a trial lawyer,” Hamish said. “Emotional warmth doesn't come with the package.”

“I know what you mean. My partner in Cross Lake was a constable with the RCMP. Talk about cut and dried. No shades of grey with those guys. He thought I was crazy for applying to medical school, said I was already making good money as a nurse practitioner, and working in the north gave me as much independence as a GP. He refused to follow me to the decadent south. At first, I thought I'd made a big mistake, but . . .”

“Did you find another partner?”

“A couple of guys for a few weeks, but nothing serious.” Todd read the alarm clouding Hamish's face. “It's okay, Mr. Infectious Diseases Doc, sir. I'm a stickler for condoms.”

Todd pulled on his lab coat, then glanced at his watch. “Time to make the rounds with the vanco.” He grabbed the bottle of vancomycin capsules from the medicine cart beside him. “I'm helping the nurses. They get a kick out of the fact that I used to be one of them. But I draw the line at bedpans. I'm not getting myself eighty thousand in debt to keep wiping bums and sluicing shit down a hopper.”

The sleeve of Todd's lab coat caught on the medicine cart's open drawer, and the pill bottle flew out of his hand. It crashed to the floor, scattering blue-and-beige capsules everywhere. “Shit,” he said, retrieving the empty bottle. “Geez, I'm sorry. That must be a five hundred dollars worth of vancomycin.”

“Or more,” said Hamish.

“Can we apply the five-second rule?”

Hamish crouched beside him and started gathering the dozens of overpriced capsules. “We may have to.”

Todd crept forward on his haunches, scooping up the pills. A crunch came from beneath his shoe. His ears turned crimson. He knew he'd just crushed fifty dollars' worth of medicine under his heel. He slowly stood up and eased backwards.

Hamish struggled to hold his tongue. It was going to be quite a production to get the insurance company to pay for more vancomycin. He looked at the five splintered capsules on the linoleum. There was something strange about them. No mess. No white powder. He picked up the fractured shells and held them in his palm. “Hey, look at these.”

Todd lifted one of the broken capsules and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. “I don't believe it.” He took a second one and eyed it closely. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit, all right,” Hamish said. “They're blanks.”

Hamish drummed his fingers against the nursing station counter. He'd been forced to listen to three levels of phone-attendant automatons at Steeltown Apothecary, and a gum-chewing clerk had put him on hold until the boss was free.

He hadn't seen Viktor Horvat since the man had tried to strangle him from his intensive-care bed. His stomach churned as he pictured the man's powerful, stubby fingers counting Betty's pills.

“Can I helping you, Dr. Wakefield?”

There was no mistaking that voice, that accent, but Hamish had to be sure. “Is that Mr. Horvat?”

“Yes, this Vik.”

“I'm calling from Camelot Lodge.” Hamish could feel his vocal cords tightening. The best he could manage was a dry croak. “There's a problem with the . . . with the vancomycin capsules you sent over.”

“Sorry. I not hearing.”

Hamish repeated himself.

“Problem?” Horvat said.

“They're empty.”

“Bottle not empty. I count myself.”

“Not the bottle. The capsules. Not a thing inside them.”

“I not understanding, Doctor.”

What was there not to understand? Was Hamish's croaky whisper too much for Horvat's limited English? Or was the man playing dumb on purpose?

Hamish passed the phone to Todd. “Here, you tell him.” He pointed to his throat and shook his head. “This always happens when I get upset. He'll understand you better.”

Todd introduced himself and told Horvat about the capsules getting accidentally crushed, then found to be empty. He also explained how he and Dr. Wakefield had opened up twenty more vancomycin capsules and found every one of them empty.

Todd passed the phone back to Hamish. “He says it's not his fault. He didn't open the capsules.”

Hamish scanned the counter. Sometimes a glass of water or juice soothed his voice. Nothing in sight, of course. The infection- control measures on the Mountain Wing had put food and drink under strict control. “Of course, Mr. Horvat,” he said, forcing out the words, one by one, “it's not your fault. But you did send us dummies. No medicine inside.”

“What you want I should doing?”

“Send me another bottle as soon as you can.”

“I am needing permission from insurance company.”

“Call your supplier, tell them what happened, and get them to send a replacement right away. They'll be happy to do what it takes, even send it by taxi.”

“Taxi? From Toronto?”

“Sure. It's their fault. They sent you the empty capsules.” Hamish had no idea where the empty capsules had originated — from Horvat himself or from a legitimate supplier. But this was no time to get the man's back up by accusing him of fraud. Especially a guy with an ugly temper. He glanced at the clock. Four-thirty. Horvat's drug wholesaler should still be open. They'd be mortified that a batch of empty capsules might have left their warehouse. And they'd move heaven and earth to deliver a new set today. They could get them here in an hour.

“And Vik?”

“Yeah?”

Hamish wanted to tell him that if he got the vanco delivered to Camelot by six o'clock this evening, they'd be even. But Horvat wouldn't remember him from the ICU. All Hamish could bring himself to say was, “Um . . . thanks.”

At five-fifty-five, Todd dashed out of the stairwell and into the Mountain Wing nursing station. “Here you are,” he said, handing Hamish a white paper bag with
Steeltown Apothecary
printed in large blue letters.

“Did you see Horvat?” Hamish asked.

“No. Some other guy made the delivery.”

“What a royal screw-up. I hope he gave his wholesaler you-know-what.”

Hamish washed his hands at the sink, then opened the bag and lifted out the white pill bottle inside it. He unscrewed the lid, pulled out the useless cotton batten that always found its way into medicine bottles, and peered at the two-toned capsules. They seemed darker in colour than the first lot of vancomycin.

He shook four capsules into his palm. “Wash your hands, then examine these carefully. Compare them with the others.”

Todd washed and dried his hands, then shook out two capsules from the first vancomycin bottle, now marked with an X. He looked from his palm to Hamish's, examining the two sets of capsules. “The blue is the same, eh? But the brown looks darker.”

Hamish rolled two of the new capsules in his fingers and held them up. “These have ‘125 mg' printed on them. And the brand name. Is there any printing on yours?”

“No.”

“Put the imposters away, then do the honours with a few of mine.”

Todd looked puzzled for a second, then said, “You mean, open the new ones?”

“Just a few.”

“But they're so expensive.”

“And useless, if they're empty.”

Todd took one of the new capsules and tried to pull it apart. It wouldn't budge. “Is there a knife around here somewhere?”

Hamish opened a couple of drawers before finding a pair of bandage scissors. “Try these.”

Todd snipped through the middle of a capsule, then inverted the two open halves. A tiny mound of white powder glinted on the countertop.

“That's more like it,” Hamish said.

“Should I try a couple of others?”

“Before you do that, let's make sure they all look alike.”

Hamish looked around for a dish. On the far end of the counter he spotted a plate under a bedraggled geranium. He washed the plate with soap and hot water, dried it, and lined it with a fresh paper towel. He dumped the sixty new vancomycin capsules onto the paper and raked them with his fingers.

“What do you think?” asked Hamish.

“They all look identical to me.”

“Open two more.”

Todd took the scissors, picked two capsules at random, and snipped them open. White powder puffed out of both of them.

“Should we taste it?” Todd asked.

“You can if you like, but I've got no idea what vancomycin is supposed to taste like.”

“Never mind.” Todd looked pensive for a moment, then walked over to the medicine cart and rummaged through its drawers. “Geez, where are they?” he said, after opening the fourth drawer. “The girls here are sloppy with their meds. Every drawer should be labelled.”