HARMED - Book 1: First Do No Harm Read online

  Claire got up from the couch and returned to the kitchen.

  “Need a hand?” said Jack.

  “You want to help me in the kitchen?” said Claire. “Something must be wrong. Check for a fever.” She placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

  “Claire, there is something bothering me,” he said, his smile slowly morphing into disquietude. “Two of the ICU nurses came to me and told me several young patients had died from cardiac arrests for no good reason. They seemed really perturbed. To tell you the truth, I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention at first, except that I’ve just cared for a man who died, though his cardiac tests had all been normal.” He swallowed hard, his gaze on Claire. “I wonder if Heather and Julie are right. Is there really an epidemic of deaths in young healthy patients going on at Newton Memorial Hospital?”

  CHAPTER 8

  The score was two to one. The Old & Arthritic, a team consisting mostly of physical therapists, had been the only team to beat the Heartbeats the previous three seasons of the coed indoor soccer league. As such, the Heartbeats, a team captained by Doctors Jack Norris and John Connor, remained in second place. Jack hoped that bringing up these facts right before the game would give his teammates the burning fire necessary to get the win.

  The Old & Arthritic had proven to be formidable opponents as they scored two well-orchestrated goals. Right before the half, a questionable handball inside the box by one of the Old & Arthritic defenders had led to a penalty kick, which resulted in a goal for the Heartbeats.

  The clock ticked downward. It was now a minute and a half before the end of the match, and the Heartbeats knew it was now or never. Vera and Jennifer were playing midfield. Jack, playing right fullback, had passed the ball to the women, advancing the ball to the middle of the field. Seeing the right corner of the pitch unattended, Jack ran up the field. A relatively inexperienced Old & Arthritic left defender had come up to defend the midfield. Vera saw the possibilities unfold, even before the ball was played. Jennifer had passed her the ball. With a precise one-touch pass, Vera placed the ball in front of Jack, now in full gallop. John Connor saw it, too. From his left forward position, Connor tracked to the middle of the field, anticipating a pass from Jack to quickly change the point of attack with a shot on goal.

  Jack collected the ball near the corner and had a quick decision to make. He could either kick the ball on goal or pass the ball to Connor, now positioned a few feet in front of the goalkeeper but well guarded by the left fullback. Jack kicked the ball on goal. The Old & Arthritic goalkeeper dove to her left and smothered the ball, yet again denying the Heartbeats from scoring. Several seconds later, a loud buzzer resonated, proclaiming the end of the game.

  “We’ll get them next time,” said Jack to Vera and Jennifer with a wink. The Old & Arthritic troop shook the hands of the Heartbeats players, repeating the usual rhetoric.

  “Good game.”

  “Good game,” came the reply.

  “Jack, I need to talk to you,” said Connor, a serious look on his face.

  “I know I should have passed that ball to you; I thought I could—”

  “No, not that. I really need to talk to you. I need your help with a potentially very serious issue. Something I found out late this afternoon. At work.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Jack. “What’s up? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this serious before.”

  “Great game, guys. See you next week,” said Vera, walking by the two doctors in her socks, her indoor soccer shoes in her hands.

  “Yeah, you too, Vera,” said Jack, who then turned to Connor with a look of concern.

  Connor had remained still and quiet. “Jack, I think there’s something going on in the research lab. I need to talk—”

  “Hey, Jack, what’s the league fee? I forgot to pay last week. I’ll do it right now,” said Brooke, one of the players.

  “Sixty dollars.” Jack looked back at John. Brooke handed the cash to Jack and waved good-bye.

  “Jack, I can’t be here next week. We’re going to Atlanta,” said Brad, another Heartbeats player who was passing by.

  “OK, Brad. Can your brother cover for you?” said Jack.

  “No, he’s going, too,” said Brad.

  “I’ll get somebody to play for you,” said Jack. His eyes again found Connor’s.

  “Jack, can we talk tomorrow morning?” said Connor. “Claire, too. I want her opinion as well.”

  “Of course, buddy,” said Jack. “Tomorrow morning sounds great.”

  “Yeah. Let’s talk tomorrow.” Connor walked away. Jack tried to follow him, but before he could, he was mobbed again.

  “Good game, Jack.” It was Fred, the Old & Arthritic team captain. They touched knuckles. Five of his players accompanied Fred.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We may never be able to beat you guys. But we’ll keep trying,” said Jack.

  “It’s just our luck. We always have a close game against you,” interjected one of the opposing players.

  “You guys have an awesome goalkeeper. What’s her name?” said Jack.

  “Anna Diaz. She is pretty good,” said Fred.

  “Are you playing outdoor soccer at all?” asked one of the other players.

  “No, I’m getting too old for outdoor,” said Jack.

  “Listen to you, too old! If you change your mind, let me know. I’m getting an outdoor team together and could use you,” solicited Fred. “Need more people.”

  “I’ll ask my people if any of them are interested,” said Jack.

  “Want to go get a beer?” asked another man in the group.

  “I can’t. Gotta get up early tomorrow.” Jack raised his hand to signal he was leaving and walked fast to the parking lot. His feet and thighs ached as he rushed, but he hoped he could see his cohort. He did not. The space where Connor had parked his car was now empty.

  CHAPTER 9

  The air was cool, increasing the airplane’s lift characteristics. The takeoff had been accomplished with textbook precision, and the aircraft climbed effortlessly at a thousand feet per minute to seven thousand feet. Jack scanned the airspeed indicator to ascertain that the pull on the yoke was just right. It was. Once at six thousand feet, the warning buzzer alerted him that the time to discontinue the climb was near. He had filed this flight to seven thousand feet; seven thousand and one would be legal but in bad form, if you asked Jack. He made all the necessary yoke and trim changes, and soon the airplane stopped climbing. He leaned the fuel and air mixture and positioned the prop lever at its correct setting. Immediately beneath him, he could see the fluffy material of a large cloud being overtaken by the speeding aircraft.

  Being the senior cardiac electrophysiology fellow caused Dr. Jack Norris’s already busy daily schedule to become even more hectic and sometimes unbearably so. The time he could devote to fly the Beechcraft Bonanza became ever so scarce. His Bonanza was to him as a pacifier to a baby. He would make every effort possible to get up at five o’clock in the morning at least once a week so that he could take her for a flight into the clouds. He loved that best. To direct the Bonanza into the fluffy whiteness of a calm cloud relaxed Jack to the point where the expected troubles of the rest of the day would become meaningless. He would fly just above the clouds until it was time to return home. A plunge into the white swirls of cotton-like mass would make instrument flying necessary. He felt challenged but in control.

  His beeper vibrated. Then his cell phone. Then the beeper again. He had flown for forty-five minutes, though it seemed like only forty-five seconds had passed. Evidence of a busy day ahead was mounting as his cell phone quivered again. Better fly back, he thought.

  By the time the Bonanza came to a complete halt on the tarmac, Jack had received two more pages and another phone call. Although not atypical for a busy doctor to be summoned so often during the workday, it seemed unusual for this to happen before seven o’clock in the morning. This piqued his curiosity. He had not had a chance to see who was trying so persistent
ly to contact him. Now that the airplane was parked and secured on the tarmac, Jack examined his beeper’s numerical display first. Multiple pages from the same extension at the hospital appeared. His cell phone’s Missed Calls display indicated the same number had tried him three times. He dialed it. An excited Dr. Stanley Mansfield answered on the first ring. Mansfield was a young-looking, thin junior cardiology fellow who Jack tolerated despite his constant nervous demeanor and obvious lack of confidence.

  “What’s up, Stan?” said Jack into the receiver.

  “Where the hell are you, Jack?” said Mansfield. “This place is going to hell in a handbasket. That patient we admitted yesterday—what’s his name, Butterfield or Butterhands or—”

  “Butterworth,” interjected Jack in a composed, controlled voice in an attempt to calm down the nervous young doctor on the other side of the phone call.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Butterworth. He just shot John Connor dead!”

  Jack gasped and squinted his eyes. “What?”

  “He shot a whole bunch of people at the hospital. Right here in our CCU. Oh my God! There’s blood all over the place,” continued Mansfield.

  “Is this a joke?” said Jack. “That can’t be!” He felt as if his heart had just dropped to his feet. “Are you sure?” Jack felt a growing lump form in his throat.

  “It’s like a war zone over here,” shouted Mansfield.

  Phone to his ear, Jack ran to his car and began his drive toward the hospital. This can’t be true!

  CHAPTER 10

  Mansfield was too disturbed and troubled to give any useful details of what had happened. Jack decided it was best to hang up and concentrate on the drive. The trip to the hospital seemed longer than ever. In the distance, he could hear sirens blaring. He was in shock, barely able to grasp what he had just been told.

  Jack felt a growing, burning, unquenchable fire inside.

  Still zipping through slower traffic, he dialed Claire’s cell phone. “Honey, something terrible has happened,” he said, taking a deep breath. “John Connor has been shot at the hospital. Stan Mansfield said John’s dead, Claire.”

  Jack heard Claire gasp and hold her breath. “What? John’s dead?”

  “Also one of the CCU nurses, Heather. I’m on my way to the hospital now. Call your supervisor at Newton Memorial and see if they want you to come in. They may want to keep as many people away from campus as possible. If you do come in, call me before. And please be careful.” A pause. A sniffle. Jack’s stomach was in a growing knot.

  “This is awful,” said Claire. “I can’t believe this sort of thing would happen here. In our hospital. In our town.”

  Jack hung up. He felt a tear percolating in the corner of his eyes and a brewing wave of rage inside his chest. As he entered the Newton Memorial Hospital campus, he realized that Mansfield was not exaggerating a bit. This was big. Police cars, trucks, and vans were scattered all over, all flashing red-and-white lights. Jack stopped at the doctors’ parking-area gate and removed his wallet from his back pocket. In it, a keycard would automatically signal the electrical clearance that would allow the computerized gate to permit entrance. Just like every other morning for the last five years, the gate opened, and he drove in. Unlike every other morning, however, two cops waited at the entry into the underground garage.

  “Hang on! We’re checking ID for all people coming in and out,” ordered the younger of the two police officers.

  “Sure,” said Jack, showing his hospital badge. “What happened?”

  “Don’t know much yet, Doc,” said the second cop. “We’re still assessing the crime scene.”

  Jack parked his car. The employee parking garage was nearly full. The police had prevented the night-shift personnel from leaving, and the morning shift was just arriving. Jack saw multiple people in groups, no doubt discussing the morning’s tragedy. The doctors’ parking area, however, was nearly deserted. The residents and doctors in fellowship training who were not on call were not expected to arrive for another thirty minutes. And they have been told not to come in, he supposed.

  Jack did a double take when he realized Rupert’s car was in its parking stall. “LAB RAT,” read the license plate of the black 745Li BMW, which was impeccably clean. “Geek,” he said softly under his breath, shaking his head to no one in particular. Why are you here so early? Jack mused. Never before had Jack noticed Rupert’s car in the parking lot so early. He had many people doing the grunt work so he could sleep late and drive his 7-series BMW and wear expensive suits. Son of a bitch! As he walked into the hospital, the thought returned to Jack’s head. “Why is Rupert here so early today?” he whispered to no one. Is Rupert involved with John’s murder?

  As a cardiac electrophysiologist, Jack didn’t work closely with Dr. Rupert. Thank God for small favors. On rare occasion, Jack had requested an appointment with the mighty research guru to discuss a study patient on his service. Going to see Rupert, Jack had thought, was like petitioning an appointment with the pope. It was a complex and nerve-racking task to accomplish. However, to Jack’s surprise, despite his air of arrogance and brilliance, Rupert had been helpful and kind during those earlier sessions. Jack understood why the man had acquired the power and importance he achieved. Maybe he deserved some of it. However, Jack’s last encounter with Rupert, that abominable man, was forever etched in his memory. The laboratory scene when Rupert literally and rudely kicked Jack and his entourage out continued to play and replay widely in his mind. So, what’s the bastard doing here so early? The same thought returned. Jack hurriedly headed to the cardiology department office on the tenth floor. To get there quicker, he took the stairs two by two. By the time he reached the first landing, his thoughts shifted to the horror he was about to face.

  “I can’t believe Dr. John Connor is dead,” said Beverly, the cardiology department secretary.

  “What do you know, Bev?” asked Jack, hungry for information.

  Beverly was an older woman who Jack thought was the most organized and sensible person on earth. She had worked at Newton Memorial for over thirty years in many different departments. She had gotten to know everyone. Everyone knew her well. Everyone admired her.

  “One of the cardiac patients in CCU shot Heather and Dr. Connor. Do you know Heather McCormick? She is—” Beverly paused and sighed deeply. “She was a nurse. She was such a beautiful and nice person. Very hard worker.” Beverly stopped and wept for a short moment, tears flowing down her cheeks. Jack slowly approached her. She got up from her chair, and the two hugged for a long moment in silence, all eyes tearing.

  “Yes, I knew Heather. She was a great nurse,” Jack said. “Do you know any other details?” He was barely able to talk, the emotions intermittently choking him at the throat.

  “He also killed Mike Huber. He was a night-shift security officer,” she said when she was able to speak again. Jack removed two tissues from a box nearby and handed one to Beverly. “That’s all I know. Sorry.”

  “I’m going to see if I can find out more,” said Jack. “Page me if you need to talk, OK?” Jack forced a smile. Beverly dabbed at her teary eyes again.

  Jack exited the cardiology office hastily and scampered to the CCU on the second floor. As he approached, he saw a huge commotion. The unit and the surrounding waiting-room area were crowded with wall-to-wall law-enforcement people. The entrance was roped off with the familiar yellow police tape. He had seen that sort of tape on TV cop shows but never before in real life. At every several feet stood a police sentinel, making sure those who entered the area had proper clearance. Jack craned his neck but was unable to peer inside. He noticed there were people taking pictures, observing occasional bursts of flashing lights coming from inside the unit, now turned into a crime scene.

  What happened to you, John and Heather? thought Jack. How and why did you get yourselves killed? He swallowed hard. Is this something to do with the cardiac-arrest epidemic at Newton Memorial?

  CHAPTER 11

  Detective S
usan Quentin was busy snooping in and around CCU. She wanted to formulate some preliminary ideas about what went on before the arrival of her senior partner and mentor, Detective Herb Fuller, who would be in charge of the investigation. White sheets covered the four lifeless bodies—two on the floor next to the bed, one on the hospital bed, and a fourth farther away, closer to the door into the room. Blood spatter was visible on the walls near the bodies. The appropriate specialists would soon scrutinize the pattern of spatter, or lack thereof, for clues.

  Evansville was a small community, and Newton Memorial Hospital was a small community hospital. The four murders at the facility would cause quite a stir in the district. A swift resolution to the carnage was necessary.

  “Good morning, Suzy,” said Fuller as he entered the CCU. “What do we have here?”

  “This man, Arthur Butterworth, was admitted yesterday,” said Quentin, pointing at the covered body on the bed. “This morning, for no apparent reason, while everything appeared to be going well, he suddenly became confused and combative. He pulled out a gun and started to shoot.”

  “Where did he get the gun?” asked Fuller.

  “No one knows.” She stepped aside to allow Fuller to get closer to the bed. “He killed this man, Dr. John Connor.” She paused to point to one of the bodies on the ground, covered with a blood-soaked white sheet. She lifted up the sheet, allowing Fuller to inspect underneath. He bent down to take a closer look. Quentin stayed on her feet, holding up the corner of the sheet. The dead man was young and handsome. He was pale from the fatal bloodshed. A bullet wound had ceased spewing blood from the center of his chest, the obvious mode of death. Fuller picked up the deceased’s hand to check for rigidity. None was present—the telltale sign of a recent kill. He stood up, and Quentin allowed the white sheet to drop and again cover the body.

  “What a waste of life,” said Fuller, shaking his head.